“Out? You mean, as in back to the front lines? But you just said…”
“We need to maintain the illusion that we’re making a fight of it. Pull out too many people, and McDonald, she’ll figure it out and you can bet she’ll come running. Never met the woman myself, but she’s got a rep, and on the basis of what’s flowing down that volcano, I believe what I hear,” said the colonel. He sighed, shook his head. “It’s hell; I know, Liz. I don’t like it, but I can’t argue with it. Look, those boys and girls out there, your patients, they’re Command’s best shot.”
“They’re convenient cannon fodder is what you mean,” said Trainer. Her voice was saturated with disgust. “Colonel, you’re ordering me to send those men and women off to die—in order to prolong a battle that we’re going to lose eventually anyway.”
The colonel ducked his head in agreement. “I wish I could say it was otherwise, Liz. But I need you to do this. Ramsey, his patients are too damn banged up to help Command any. But yours can. You just got to push them a little faster.”
“How fast?”
“I want them out day after tomorrow.”
“The eleventh.” Trainer exhaled. “That’s fast. Some of them only came in this afternoon.”
“I know that. And there’s one more thing. Stanton: It’d be real nice if you could get him up and moving back to the front line. Shame to see a ´Mechs just sitting and it’s no use to us, anyway. Might just give McDonald’s forces the wrong idea.”
“You mean that we might put up a fight.” Trainer gnawed on her lower lip, then shook her head. “The problem is I don’t think he can. A lot of those kids, probably I can get them out. But something’s really got Stanton by the throat.”
“Something you can medicate?”
“It’s not that type of sickness. Anyway, any medication that strong, and you can forget his being able to walk, much less pilot anything. Stanton’s got a… soul sickness.”
• • •
She was dismissed a short time after. It was a moonless night, and she almost didn’t see Ramsey waiting for her outside. He peeled away from the side of the command Quonset. “Well?”
Trainer jammed her hands in her cammie trouser pockets and shivered. The desert cooled off at night. “It’s bad.”
“Hell. Got a smoke?”
“Sure,” said Trainer, taking out her pack and tapping out a cigarette. There was a small metallic snick of a lighter, and then she saw Ramsey’s face, a ruddy mask, as if a switch had been thrown by the tiny flame as he lit up. His face was lost in darkness again as he cut the lighter. “That stuff’ll kill you,” she said, tucking her pack back into her breast pocket.
“Hunh. Sound medical advice,” Ramsey said, around his cigarette. A puff of smoke shot out of the corner of his mouth. “That is, if our brothers and sisters of the Eleventh don’t first.” He inhaled, held it, then blew out. Trainer’s nose tingled with the scent of burned tobacco. “What’s the story?”
She told him. When she finished, Ramsey was silent, and in the darkness, she saw only the orange glow of his cigarette, and to the west, the sparkle of weapons’ fire. She heard Ramsey drag in a breath then say, “Things must be worse than bad.”
“I’d say so.” She turned back to Ramsey. “You going to fight?”
“You mean, defend my patients with my trusty pistol? I don’t know. We pick up a weapon, then we’re fair game.”
“And if we don’t, then we get to trust Lady Luck.” Trainer sighed. “You think we’re going to get out of this?”
“As in with our skins?” Ramsey flicked his cigarette into the darkness. The small orange dot arced like a tiny meteor and disappeared. He blew out a streamer of smoke. “I think the answer’s pretty obvious, don’t you?”
• • •
The next afternoon dark clouds gathered on the horizon, beyond the mountain. Maybe some rain, finally.
She sat across from Stanton who was huddled on his cot. Stanton looked like crap. He was unshaven, and his steely-gray hair was mussed. The nurses said that he’d been restless during the night and unable to settle down, even with a sedative. He’d been given a fresh change of uniform, but he hadn’t washed and his clothes smelled sour. His eyes were staring at some spot on the floor in front of her boots.
Sighing, she put her hands on her knees. “Captain, you can stay mum for as long as you like. But I can sit here, too, because that’s my job. Now, that means if you won’t talk to me, then you’re giving me no choice.” Empty threats, she knew. She had no intention of drugging him. What purpose would it serve? But she had to try.
“You have a choice,” said Stanton, suddenly. His gaze crawled up to her face. “You’re just choosing one way over another.”
Good, keep him talking. Better to fight than sit and stare. “Oh? Tell me my choices, Captain.”
Stanton exhaled a laugh that was mainly air. His lips were cracked. “You could leave me alone. You could walk away. You don’t want to know what’s inside in my head, Doctor.” His bloodshot eyes roved away a second, then returned. “You just don’t.”
“You don’t know that. I’d like you to trust me.”
“Why?”
“Because I can help.”
“How?”
“Well, by talking, I think you’ll feel better and . . .”
“Listen to yourself.” Stanton’s lips widened into a strange grin. “You’re such a hypocrite. At least, I’m honest about my kind of killing. I get into my ´Mechs . I blast someone to hell before he can blast me. But you.” His gaze clicked down to her boots then back to her face. “You call yourself a doctor, but you’re just
