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“-eutenant! Lieutenant Thire!”
Thire eyes fluttered open, something wet trailing down his face. High-pitched ringing echoed in his ears as he dazedly took in his surroundings. A trooper was crouched in front of him, tugging on something. His seatbelt, Thire realised. What happened? Clumsily, he brushed a hand against his cuirass and let out a hiss when he registered the pain his ribs were giving him.
“You with me sir? We got caught in the middle of a dogfight” the trooper, Jek answered. “Lance was able to set us down away from the battlelines but we’re still sitting ducks here.”
That’s right. They were on their way back from a one-way escort mission and something had gone wrong. Thire thought he remembered telling Lance to drop out of hyperspace for some reason. That must have been when things went wrong.
“Sitrep,” he ordered.
Jek broke through the seatbelt and helped him to his feet. “We’re in a small clearing about thirty kliks from where the Republic forces are. No seppies near us so far but we’ve seen a few drones in the sky.”
Thire squinted through the bright light as they exited the smoking ship. The rest of the escort were rescuing supplies and moving everything a safe distance away. “Casualties?”
“None,” Jek half-carried him to the treeline when the world swayed around him. “Lance broke his arm and has a few cuts and Rhys got hit in the leg with an unsecured container. I just have some decent sized bruises.”
“Right.”
They had been lucky to make it out of the crash in one piece. Their ship wasn’t so lucky, and wreckage was scattered across the clearing. Thire though through their options. They could stay where they were, signal for help and hope someone found them before the Separatists did. Or they could trek to the GAR ground forces roughly thirty kliks away. It was unlikely that help would arrive before the Separatist’s engaged them, so he wasn’t keen to stick around the clearing for long.
Rhys crouched next to him. “How are you feeling sir?”
“I’ve been better,” Thire replied. “I think I hit my head and some of my ribs feel broken. How’s your leg?”
“Sore, but I can walk on it,” he replied. “Concussion then?”
“Undoubtedly,” Thire admitted ruefully.
The rest of the escort team gathered around them, taking a moment to breathe after the violent crash.
“What’s the plan lieutenant?” Lance looked at him in askance, injured arm cradled in a makeshift sling.
“We’re going to have to make it to the field base,” Thire said. “It’s a long walk but they’re not going to send out a team to rescue us anytime soon.”
Jek sighed. “At least the weather’s decent.”
-
Thire was starting to falter, and they were only halfway to their destination. He’d been forced to keep one hand on Rhys the whole time, unless he wanted to trip over his own feet again. His head was screaming with pain, similar to the migraine he’d suffered once as a cadet, and his ribs ached viciously. The water he had drank during their last five-minute break was started to make him nauseous. Saliva was pooling in his mouth, even as Thire tried to ignore the feeling.
He gagged, interrupting Lance and Rhys’ quiet conversation, and hurriedly pulled his bucket off to vomit on the bushes. Rhys held him steady as he heaved, ribs flaring in pain as his muscles contracted. Thire choked on bile, coughing as he tried to breathe through the pain.
“The LT’s not looking too good,” he heard Lance whisper through the roaring in his ears.
“Nothing we can do about it,” Jek muttered. “We’ll just have to carry him if worse comes to worse.”
Thire panted as he finally stopped gagging. Sweat had started trailing on his face, stinging his eyes when it dripped down. He swiped a gloved hand across his mouth and pulled his helmet back on.
“Let’s keep moving,” Thire ordered hoarsely.
Rhys stuck close to him, taking a bit more of his weight when he almost tripped over a stray rock. Lance and Jek kept sneaking glances at him frequently now, murmuring to each other. He wasn’t feeling good, and it was showing. Over the next hour or so, Lance’s pace grew slower, and he started to drag his feet every so often. Thire caught the hint, even if he was pretty sure it was a ploy to get him to rest.
“Let’s take a break here,” he said when they reached a less dense bushy area. Through the canopy, Thire could tell the sky was starting to darken as evening fell. “Jek and I will take first watch.”
“Sir, I’ll take first watch with Jek,” Rhys offered. “You’re swaying on your feet.”
Thire relented. “Fine. Make sure your helmets stay on unless you absolutely need to take them off. We’re getting closer to the battle lines now.”
“Yessir.”
Lance propped himself up against a thick bush, leaning into it so he could lay back more comfortably. Thire chose to just lay on his back on the ground, hoping it would soothe his ribs. It was difficult for him to sleep, between the pain and thoughts of the Separatists finding them.
-
Lieutenant Thire wasn’t waking up.
Lance watched nervously as Jek tried to gently shake the lieutenant awake. All of them were tense when he didn’t open his eyes.
“It could be more than just a concussion,” Rhys said quietly. “Maybe a brain bleed?”
None of them were medics and the small med kit they salvaged from the crash wasn’t equipped for anything more than basic first aid.
“What do we do?” Lance asked the two more experienced troopers.
“We stick together,” Rhys said sternly.
Jek nodded. “I’ll carry him, we need to reach the 231st’s lines ASAP.”
Lance swung Jek’s pack over his shoulder. He wouldn’t be of any help when it came to carrying the lieutenant, but he could carry the pack on his good shoulder.
“Have you been able to signal them on comms?” Rhys asked broadly.
Lance shook his head alongside Jek. “Comms went down right after I sent a mayday out.”
“At least they know we’re down here somewhere.”
Rhys and Jek carefully maneuvered the lieutenant’s body onto Jek’s back and in a display of ingenuity, Rhys used the tape from the first aid kit to bind Lieutenant Thire’s hands together. "Just hold on sir."
They all shared a look once they were ready to set off.
Jek handed Lance on of the LT’s weapons. “If anyone other than a vod approaches, shoot.”
“Yessir.” He had never used a DC-17 before but he grasped it tightly.
“Let’s move out. Lieutenant Thire’s counting on us!”