Muffled voices floated in the dark. Dashes and spots of light struck the corners of his vision.
[System rebooting...]
[Data loading...]
[Load successful.]
[Initializing...]
Mack's eyes flew open. Before he could process anything, a searing pain began radiating from his shoulder, driving sparks of white-hot iron agony into his body. He clenched his teeth to stifle a roar of pain, instead only producing a strained grunt. Blood leaked onto his tongue from where his teeth gouged cheek while biting down. Its dry iron taste brought him back to reality.
Calm down.
"Finally awake, are you?" asked a voice in front of him.
Now able to take in his surroundings, Mack saw he was in a makeshift hospital bed. His left shoulder was wrapped with gauze, soaked muted brown with oxidized blood and pus. An IV trailed from his arm, connecting to a bag dripping some piss-colored concoction. The chill of the liquid entering his body sent shivers down his spine and coincided with a bitter rust taste on his tongue.
The man in front of him, still awaiting a response, was of average height and had a stocky build. He wore military armor, and held his helmet at his side. Beneath his untrimmed facial hair was a stern look decorated with puckering scars, and beneath that, a man who would give anything for his soldiers.
"Squad Captain Gram," Mack said, gasping in the aftereffect of shock and pain.
"Attaboy." Gram flashed a grin of pride back at him. "Squad Lucky No. 9 gets to keep its moniker after all."
Mack chuckled as memories gradually leaked back into his mind. His squad. His mission. And their comparatively infinitesimal death rate, earning them a nickname said with honor and pride. The safest place to be in a Frontline battalion was ironically its most aggressive assault squad.
The marching rhythm of his pulsating wound kept tempo with his heartrate, which slowed to a steady thump.
He was a soldier. He had been trained to face much worse.
"So what happened while I was out?"
Gram shook his head, not once dropping that cheeky grin. "Do you even have to ask? Hell, our combat power probably increased with you out of commission."
"Oh har-har. Remind me who saved your ass in last month's siege again?"
Gram cringed. "Don't need to be bringing that up again, boy. You're the one in the hospital bed, not me." He paused for a moment, eyes lost in thought. A look flashed across his eyes, but was quickly gone."It's good to have you back."
Knowing Gram, that was probably the closest thing to real acknowledgement he would get.
"It's good to be back." To be alive, he silently admitted. And getting to keep all of his limbs was a sweet bonus.
Mack's gaze wandered to the table next to him, noticing a bouquet of partially withered flowers placed in a paper cup. Curled purple petals littered the sides around it. "These from you?" he jabbed.
A snort of indignance came from his left. "'Course not. Not into that frilly shit. Reckon Iris came by after you got brought back and gathered some for you."
Iris. The name was familiar, triggering blood vessels in his cheek to flush red. "S-she did?" the words fell.
"Sure did," Gram said with a tease.
A fellow member of 'Lucky No. 9,' Iris had been one of the first people he'd befriended after boot camp. Being the only woman in their squad, she had been inundated with desparate suitors since her conscription. Mack had to admit she was decent looking as well.
Out of all the members of Lucky No. 9, he was probably closest to her. He was one of the few people she seemed to tolerate spending more than a second or two around: the others were Gram, and...ugh.
Seeing that bastard's face in his mind mere moments after waking from a septic coma was more unpleasant than the bullet wound itself.
"Well, I've got to get to the briefing. It's good to see you in such good spirits." Gram gave him a curt nod and turned to leave.
Mack's mind turned the words around before realizing their implication. "Briefing? For the next seige? How long have I been out?"
Gram clicked his tongue. "Almost a week, kiddo. Got intel the next seige is in two days."
Two days? He stared down at his aching shoulder, at the IV liquid that was probably keeping him just numb enough to be sane. This would not heal in two days. No, Mack needed to be out on the field now. He wasn't going to sit back and relax while his squad risked their lives.
Scenarios ran through his mind. Of waking up one morning and someone coming into the medic tent, solemn and head hung low. The expression on their face unmistakable, carrying with them air dense with grief. Waiting, gathering courage, to say those inevitable four words: "They didn't make it."
"Wait--" called Mack, causing the captain to pause.
Without turning around, Gram muttered, "I swear to god if you try getting up in that state..."
A panopticon of decisions spread in Mack's mind and he sprinted towards the only right one.
With a shaking white-knuckled hand, he grabbed the IV tight as a hunter would grab a venemous snake and yanked. There was a flash of pain and a few drops of blood, but he quickly threw the thing down and pressed hard on his vein, sealing the leak.
Without a moment's hesitation and still pressing down two fingers to the crook of his arm, Mack jerked upwards, swung his legs over the bed, and stood.
Panting from exhaustion, injury, and the cocktail of drugs running through him, he said, "Too late on that front, Captain."
"Soldier, an injured person on the battlefield will only slow us down." It was a logical deduction. In the usual cases, at least.
"I won't," came the objection. The worst part was that Gram knew he was right. Only one of his arms was rendered useless, and Mack only needed his right shoulder to absorb rifle recoil.
Before Gram could come up with a better argument, Mack sterned himself, and with all the sincerity in his body, said, "I'm going with you."
Gram could do nothing but sigh--hell, he couldn't even bury his head in his palms with that helmet in them. "If you want to risk your life, then be my goddamn guest."
Mack grinned. That was the closest thing to permission he would get.
The pair left the medical tent and went over to the War Room, where the 8 other members of Lucky No. 9 waited in anticipation for the next orders.