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Haul Ass
Posted on July 14th, 2021 by Scott Ammora

June 30, 2400

Dust was everywhere. Shouts from all sides created a cacophonous orchestration of chaos and peril. People were dropping, phasers were firing, and incoherent outbursts of information were smothered by the unruly nature of their predicament. Scott stood over Damien Hill, hurt and fighting for life, and Scott held the medkit tightly. Another burst showered him in dirt, his eyes burning from the foreign objects suddenly thrown into his vision.

He knelt down next to his comrade, opening the kit and getting out a tricorder. “Damien, listen to me, keep breathing, we’re going to get you out of here.”

“They’re… going to overrun this position…” He managed to gasp. “Defend.”

“Shut up. You’re going to be okay. Deep breaths.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can, concentrate… in for a count of five through your nose, out for a count of five through your mouth. Hang on.”

“Lieutenant!” That Scott heard, his head whipping around to another officer firing off another round of compression rifle blasts, “They’re breaching the front line. Main defense is falling back to this position. 2nd Regiment is crossing the Xovul’s right flank and headed this way for support, but it’s funneling enemy troops directly at us!”

Scott didn’t have much time. He grabbed a passing crewman, a female, looking scared and disoriented. “You, come here! I need you to do something for me!”

Her face belied her uncertainty. “Yes, sir?!”

“Do you have any medical training?”

More shock, more fear, more pleading with facial expressions for the solace of being anywhere but there in that moment. “Basic training, sir.”

“I need you to monitor him.”

“Sir, I… I….”

“Listen! I don’t have time to find anyone else. I’m going to give you the rundown as quick and easy as I can.” Another explosion caused both of them to cower as more ground came cascading down on their heads. “You need to do EXACTLY what I say, got it?”

Sheepish nod.

“Three columns, three bars. The blue bar is oxygen throughout his system. Anything below the middle, 50%, means circulation is fading. Wherever that may be, you give him this vial and press it into wherever the issue is, you inject the hypo there. It’s a capillary dilator. Second bar, green, that’s synapses. He can manage well enough for the time being unless it drops below 25%. That’s neurological shock. You give him THIS vial in his neck. Third, red, that’s blood flow. If it drops anywhere below the highest quartile, that’s internal bleeding. If that happens you find the closest person and you haul ass to the nearest medical tent. Do you understand?” Scott knew he was taking a chance by trying to give a crash course in standard field stabilization in the middle of a war zone, but he was running out of options.

She nodded, “Blue, oxygen, above middle or the dilator. Green, synapses and shock, in the neck if it drops below 25%. Red, blood, internal bleeding… haul ass.”

“Quick study. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“What about his wounds?”

“No time to teach triage! I’ll be back.” Scott moved back to his position on the embankment, Starfleet Officers flying over it to regain position. The scene was hectic, but Scott knew that help was on the way. When that help would arrive, he didn’t know. And, at this juncture, worrying about it wouldn’t do him or his group any bit of good.

A Xovul came over the lip of their defenses right in front of Scott. He couldn’t get his rifle up in time and took the butt of his enemy’s weapon straight in the chest, sending him sprawling. The pain was dulled by the adrenaline as he got up, only to receive a swift kick in the stomach that sent him back another couple of meters. Now, that one hurt. He couldn’t find his rifle, Scott’s hands pawed at the dirt trying to find a defense as he was advanced on, the seething hatred of the Xovul evident.

Scott put his hands up, grasping two sides of the encroaching warrior’s rifle as it got precariously close to his throat. Centimeter by centimeter the edge of the weapon neared Scott’s windpipe. The gross grin of his attacker burned into his vision as Scott strained against a more formidable adversary. He just wasn’t strong enough. He fought with everything he had to push away the assault, but he felt the cool metal on his skin as he began to struggle to breathe.

Having only seconds left as his eyesight blurred, Scott kicked his legs out, sweeping the legs out from under the Xovul, dropping his aggressor onto his chest. Wrapping his legs around the Reptilian torso, he squeezed with every remaining ounce of energy he had. The Xovul had no leverage, dropping the rifle and grasping at the ground trying to get up. Scott took that as an advantage, sliding the rifle under the chin and pulling up with all his might as he continued the downward pinch on the Xovul’s body.

And then there was stillness. Scott released his hold, exasperated.

“Fuck. You.” His head tilted in the dirt to the crewman watching Damien. He witnessed her pressing a hypospray into his colleague’s neck. Shock. Damn. He pushed the behemoth off him and scrambled over to her. “Green bar?”

“Yeah, dropped low.” She gave him an uncertain look.

“Keep talking to him. Anything. What he had for breakfast, his favorite fruit, what he likes on his salad – anything!” Scott stood up, the war-torn atmosphere not relenting. He didn’t know what to do or where to go. Frozen, he closed his eyes. Focus.

His focus was disturbed by the sounds of approaching units. He prayed they were the reinforcements he was hoping for. “2nd Regiment inbound!” Thank God.

“I’ll be back. What’s his favorite color? What was the name of his childhood imaginary friend? Keep. Him. Talking!” Scott moved away as the leadership for the 2nd Regiment came in from behind, additional firepower suppressing forward advancement of their enemy platoon. He picked up a discarded compression rifle, checked the charge and battery cell, and put it at ready.

A man in his forties approached, flanked by two lower-ranked support marines. “Lieutenant Bennett, are you leading this regiment?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nice work, son.”

I’m not your son, and I hate when people call me that. “Thank you, sir.”

Bennett pointed off into the distance on the right side of the skirmish. “We’re advancing there. A Free Fleets group is moving in from the west, outflanking to the left. That will push them directly at this position. I’ll take it from here.”

“Permission to pull the wounded, sir?”

Bennett turned away abruptly, calling over his shoulder with a dismissively approval to Scott’s request. “Granted. Groups one and two, stay to the right, fire north to push them into the center. Group three, work with the Free Fleets battalion to do the same on the left.” The man was a machine, moving quickly and directly to give orders. “7th Regiment, hold your line, remount standard front-facing defenses!”

Scott returned to Damien and the random crewmember monitoring him. “Time to move.”

Bennett’s cry came suddenly, “Hole on the left! Hole on the left! Approaching Xovul!”

Four warriors breached the defenses, sending Starfleet Marines flying every which way. Hand-to-hand combat ensued. Grunts, groans, and screams of assistance follow. Scott saw them, a couple dozen meters away, and found that his focus needed to be on what he said he wanted to do: evacuate wounded. Evacuate Damien. “Grab him, I’ll be on his left shoulder, you his right, and we…”

“Haul ass?” The marine said with a smile.

“Like you’ve never hauled ass before.”


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2 Comments

  • Kathryn Harper Kathryn Harper says:

    This is an excellent illustration of the chaos of the battlefield, and the contrast of Scott’s fight for his life with his efforts to save Damien’s is effective. Well done!


  •  Emilaina Acacia says:

    This was appropriately chaotic and stressful. Scott being more in his element is nice to see, despite his element being chaos. I felt for him wanting to help but being too busy. It was kind of hard for me to follow the action of the fistfight, but overall a great log!




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