Spooker
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Grass Eaters 2 | 22 | Serenity I
🕑 Added 2024-07-05 16:47:01 +0000 UTCMarine Base Camp Serenity, Charon
POV: Baedarsust, Malgeir Federation Marine Infantry (Rank: Head Pack Leader)
Head Pack Leader Baedarsust retrieved his personal luggage from the overhead compartment of the ground shuttle, where one of the armored Terran figures generously and effortlessly carried it for him.
“Welcome to Charon… Omega Leader?” she asked, peering at his uniform insignia.
“Head Pack Leader,” he smiled, holding out his paw for the traditional Terran greeting, which she shook. “My name’s Baedarsust.”
“I’m Aida,” the woman returned his smile.
“Nice to meet you, Aida.” Then, Baedarsust pointed at the convoy of his peers also rolling their baggage into cabin. “These are my people: Head Pack Leader Frumers, Pack Leader Spommu, and Pack Leader Quaullast.”
Each of them made a wave at the Terran as Baedarsust called out their names. With the Terrans’ help, they quickly settled into their seats as more Marines filed in behind them.
“So, what did you guys do to get here? All the other Puppers we’ve gotten so far were either criminals or drew the short straw. The very short straw.”
Baedarsust thought for a second and shrugged, deciding there was no point in concealing it. “I used to be a backup shuttle pilot. Then, I stole a shuttle, requested political asylum, and got arrested for desertion. The charges didn’t stick, and my old captain got blown up while I was on my way to trial, so I guess the joke’s on him.”
Instead of the horror or disgust he expected, the Terran’s expression was more of curiosity. “That… certainly tops the list of what I’ve heard so far.”
“I volunteered,” Frumers chimed in.
“Volunteer? In the Marines? Now why would you do that?” Aida recoiled in mock horror.
“The food… from the last time we were here in Sol. We were here with the first contact team.”
“Volunteer… in the Marines… for the chow? That… has to be a brand-new sentence.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Exchanging stories over a few bags of snacks in the chow hall, Frumers pointed at Aida. “So let me get this straight, your government didn’t want too many of your Marines to go to war, so they paid you to fight for them?”
“Yup,” Aida confirmed. “That’s what a private contractor does. Well, they’re probably going to activate me from the Reserves when we actually begin combat operations, but for now, they just want me training you up—”
“They needed more bodies, so they’re paying us to fight too?”
“I don’t know if you’re getting paid, but you’ve got the gist of it.”
“These Resistance people are— they’re— they’re physically Terrans. Like you, right?” Frumers asked carefully.
“Yup.”
“What do they look like?”
Aida shrugged. “Like any other ordinary people, I suppose.”
“So how are we supposed to know who to shoot at?”
“If you figure that out, let us know.”
“Wait, what?” Frumers tilted his head.
“Well, usually you’ll be able to tell when they start shooting at you.”
Baedarsust nodded, understanding creeping into his eyes. “Ah, that all makes sense now. We’re here to get shot at and do the dying for you.”
Aida grimaced. “Kind of. We’re not going to just throw you at them like meat for the meatgrinder. That’s what some of the higher ups wanted at first, but thankfully someone knocked some sense into them. That’s why they’re having us train you up to our standards before you get shipped out into the Red Zone.”
He nodded. “I hear your people like to do a lot of that. That training thing.”
“This is just a quick basic course to bring you up to speed. Then, a four-week intensive VBSS program for search and seizure of spaceborne vessels. And then the variable gravity combat training. And for you non-commissioned officers, there’s the counterinsurgency training. And—”
Baedarsust sighed. “I’ll clear my schedule.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
“Welcome to the Marine Combat Care Course,” Aida said to the classroom full of alien students. “This is where you will learn how to treat combat casualties. There are no dedicated combat medics in the Terran Marines. That means every Marine is a combat medic until you can get your casualty into the hands of someone from the Navy who knows what they’re doing. Ninety-nine percent of combat fatalities occur before they get to an evac shuttle. That means ninety-nine percent of Marines dying was because of someone screwing up something I’m going to show you in this class. So pay close attention.”
She gave each of the students a knowing look-over. “Presumably you know absolutely nothing about trauma care. I will not hold that against you today, not too much, but I will hold that against you a week from now. If you have any question, ask immediately; that means there are no dumb questions today. Any questions so far? No? Alright, let’s start with a demonstration of what you already know.”
She gestured to Abe next to her. “Abe will be our example casualty for this demonstration. Pew pew pew. Abe has just been shot.”
“Ouch, I’ve been shot,” he said and laid down on the ground next to her dutifully, groaning in faux pain. “Ow ow ow!”
“Oscar-worthy performance.” Aida looked at Spommu and pointed straight at her. “You. Deal with this.”
“Me?” she squeaked, pointing to herself with a claw.
“Yes, you! Your Republic Marine comrade is down! What do you do?”
Hesitantly, Spommu picked up the Casualty Care Kit on her table and moved towards the front of the classroom. She knelt down next to Abe’s body, and then looked up at Aida, her eyes asking for a clue of what to do.
Aida pointed a finger gun at her. “Pew pew pew. Congratulations, you’ve just turned one casualty into two. You’re dead too now… lay down.”
Shrugging, Spommu laid down next to Abe on the ground.
Aida pointed at Frumers. “Your turn. Two of your friends are down. What do you do?”
“Uh… do I shoot back?” he suggested.
“That is generally a good idea if someone is shooting at you. Do that.”
“Um… pew pew pew?” he said, mimicking her finger guns with his right paw.
“Good job. You have achieved fire superiority. I’m now suppressed,” Aida said, showing him her open palms.
“Now what?” Frumers asked, moving to the front of the room and bending down next to Abe.
“Now, I will teach you the song of my people that we sing to heal the human body,” Aida replied matter-of-factly.
Frumers’ eyes widened. “You sing songs to heal your injured and sick?”
“N—no.” Aida pointed back down at Abe. “Don’t look at me. Look at him. First, find out if he’s conscious.”
“Are you conscious?” Frumers asked, looking at Abe.
Abe let out a blood curdling scream. “Ahhhhhhhhh!”
“I think he’s conscious,” the “dead” Spommu suggested from her prone position.
Frumers took a stab at the problem. “Where are you hurt, Abe?”
“Ahhhhhhhh! My leg! Ahhhhhhh!”
“That’s… sometimes survivable on a Terran, right?” Frumers asked, looking back up at Aida.
She stared down at him. “What— what kind of question— Ok, when I said there are no dumb questions today, what I meant was: there are very few dumb questions. Never mind. I’m no longer suppressed anymore. Pew pew pew, you’re dead too. Lay down.”
Frumers also laid down on the ground, breathing what seemed like a sigh of relief as he was now no longer part of the active demonstration and subject of Aida’s impatience.
“Your turn,” Aida said, pointing at Quaullast at the back of the classroom.
“Uh… pew pew pew,” Quaullast repeated with the finger guns at her.
“Ok, I’m suppressed again. Next step,” she gestured urgently at the casualty on the ground.
Quaullast shuffled to the front of the room and knelt down next to Abe. “Should I get him into cover?”
“Holy shit, someone in the unit has been using his brain!” Aida exclaimed. “Move the casualty to cover before they get everyone shot.”
Quaullast wrapped his paws around Abe’s neck and began to try to drag him.
“Are you trying to choke him out?” Aida asked incredulously.
“Right,” Quaullast muttered as he grasped Abe’s tactical vest instead, dragging the still-screaming Terran away from where he was “shot”. Surprisingly, Abe was lighter than he looked.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Aida said after he moved Abe a couple meters. “You’re in cover. Now what?”
“His leg,” Quaullast said, opening up his pouch of Terran medical devices. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
She grabbed a model of an “injured Terran leg” with a simulated bullet wound in it from her desk and tossed it to Abe on the ground, who caught it and presented it to Quaullast while helpfully interspersing his screaming with, “Ahhhhhhh! I’m bleeding from my lower left leg! There’s so much blood! Ahhhhhh!”
Quaullast rummaged through the pouch, coming up with a white rectangular piece of cloth — maybe it can be used to wipe up the blood — and stared at Aida for approval.
She sighed. “That’s the weather-proof instructions cheatsheet. You need a tourniquet. Do you know what that looks like?”
He searched the pouch again. This time, he took out a metallic device that looked like a broken wire bracelet with nylon straps attached to it. He looked up again at Aida.
She nodded approvingly this time. “Apply the tourniquet five centimeters above the wound.”
Quaullast wrapped the device around Abe’s “injured leg” above the round hole with what looked like fruit sauce smeared around it. He broke a labeled seal on the tourniquet, and the device automatically secured and constricted itself tightly around the model.
“Good. We made these Marine-proof. Even you can’t screw this up. Now, check his airway and respiration.”
Quaullast looked at Abe, who is still screaming at the top of his lungs. “He’s breathing, I’m pretty sure.”
Aida sighed. “Good enough. Breathing and bleeding. Give his ‘leg’ a universal casualty injection.”
Quaullast brought out a pen-like device from his pouch to Aida’s approval.
“Alright, now put your thumb— your claw, put it on the blue end and— the other blue, genius.”
“I’m colorblind.”
“Wait… really?” Abe asked curiously, stopping his screaming and moaning to look up at him.
“Yeah.”
“Like blue-yellow colorblind?” Aida asked incredulously.
“Yup.”
“What color is this?” she asked, pointing at her blue t-shirt.
He looked dumbly at her without an answer.
“How many of you are like that?” she looked up and asked the class.
Eight or nine other paws shot up in the room.
“Well, that’s inconvenient.” Aida grabbed a sharpie and Quaullast’s injector, marking it on one end with a big X and tossing the sharpie to one of the raised paws. “Alright, all of you, get someone who can see color to do the same for your auto injectors.”
She handed the injector back to Quaullast. “People accidentally injecting themselves with the wrong end is… a surprisingly common problem. There are easier ways to get high. Hold the marked end… good. Now press it into the skin as hard as you can.”
He did as she instructed into the leg model. The needle inside emerged from the packaging, then punctured and applied a large dose of whatever Terran medicine was in it into the model.
“Good, that will manage the casualty’s pain appropriately, force their body to begin clotting, fight infection, oxygenate their blood, keep them conscious, yada yada, boost their chances in general,” Aida explained and pointed at his pouch. “Now, you can apply the combat gauze. That one.”
Quaullast ripped open the packaging she pointed to and began to spread the soft cloth over the “bullet wound” on the leg model.
“No, no, no! Into the wound, not on top of it. Get your paw dirty and pack as much of the gauze into the breach as possible with your index claw… good… good… more… don’t stop… more… okay. See? You want as much of it into the wound and in contact with the arteries as possible. Use the remaining gauze to apply pressure on the wound,” she said, holding her hand over his paw to demonstrate just how much force to apply. “Just hold it. Do not move it up and down. Do not lift it. Do not open it up to check to see if it’s stopped bleeding. It’ll stop bleeding, or it won’t. If the blood soaks through the gauze, put more in, and apply more pressure.”
Quaullast nodded his acknowledgement, holding his paw down on the gauze with the weight of his body.
“That was step number two,” Aida said. “Now, we need to evacuate the casualty.”
She pointed at Baedarsust. “You, stretcher.”
Baedarsust looked confusedly at the array of medical gadgetry on his desk. “Which one is it?”
“The biggest bag.”
Baedarsust picked up the packed orange bag and opened it. As he unpacked it, the material expanded into a far bigger sheet than he expected, about twice as wide and taller than even the Terrans. Trying his best not to look at Aida’s impatient stare, he tried to decipher the instruction pictures on the packaging.
He laid the rectangular material flat on the ground as indicated and dragged Abe (fake groaning all the way) onto it as Quaullast still held the gauze to his fake leg.
“You can let go now, Pack Leader,” Aida instructed. Quaullast let go of the leg and got down on the ground to assist Baedarsust with the stretcher.
Continuing to follow the instructions on the bag, Baedarsust folded the material to fully enclose Abe into it. After some fiddling, he ripped out the small cord attached to the bottom of the bag, and the stretcher fully sealed itself around Abe and hardened into a stiff, airtight shape.
Baedarsust looked up at Aida, who gave him a short approving nod. Then, he grabbed the two front handles attached to the stretcher, Quaullast grabbed the back handles, and they lifted it to waist height with little effort.
“Good. Depending on where you’re deployed, this may be slightly easier. Outside a standard gravity field — Titan’s gravity is one seventh, so you should be able to lift the stretcher with just two. That said, general practice is four to a stretcher on a bad day and ideally six.” Aida then pointed at a smooth, square patch on the stiffened material. “And if you don’t expect to go into vacuum, you can poke a hole in there so poor Abe can breathe.”
Baedarsust hastily stabbed at the softer material embedded on the enclosed stretcher with a claw, opening up a breathing hole for Abe in the airtight container.
Aida added. “But if you’re not sure, don’t risk it. We can fix the brain damage from hypoxia much easier than we can fix prolonged vacuum exposure. Now, you just get the stretcher to the evacuation point and that’s it.”
Baedarsust scratched his head with a claw. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. For a mass hemorrhage wound on a limb. There are a few other scenarios we’ll run through in the next week, and we’ve got a few different procedures for Malgeir units. If you don’t pay attention to anything else in this course, remember this: the point of trauma care, regardless of the species, is to get the patient to the evacuation point alive. Everything else is up to the Navy corpsmen, who are much better at this than you are. And if they can’t figure it out, they can at least keep you alive until they get you to someone who went to medical school for this… Any questions? No? Alright, everyone pair up with the person next to you… we’re going to practice tourniquets until you can apply one perfectly in less than ten seconds with the automatic kit and thirty seconds improvised. Let’s see if you can beat my other class.”
Comments
Spooker
Candidates for his squad name that I didn't end up using: Hoover (they eat everything), Crunchy (snacks and another not-yet-revealed reason), and Asylum Squad (their history).
Desurtfawks
Ok that guys call sign is scooby. Joined for the snacks, yeesh.
Will Howland
Pew
Spooker
Yeah, these guys will be around for a while.
Valdis Trautmanis
Good one! The jokers from the Seuvommae (sp?) from the first contact mission are back 😂 The Malgeir aren't stupid, just poorly trained. They'll be munching on crayons like a proper Space Marine in no time 👍
EclipseDragon96
"Pew Pew"
