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(Page 2 of 9) Dirty Guns, Part II by Charles James
 (5 ratings)
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The wound sizzled for a moment with a soft hiss.
"No major arteries," Fleeman said. "Nanites can take care of the veneous damage." Then he jabbed a needle into King's thigh.
The wounded soldier grunted and clenched his teeth together. The other medics were always pretty careful with needles. Fleeman just jammed the syringe straight into the meat.
"Quit whining." The needled contained nanoscale robots that surfed through the blood stream and repaired damaged blood vessels a lot quicker than anything natural. With that done, Fleeman pulled out what looked like a little white gun with a multi-pronged head. He held it right at the base of the wound while a soft red light scanned the surface of the skin. "Now this is gonna hurt."
King didn't have time to object.
Lobster-like claws dug into the flesh and pulled it together as a fine nozzle shot a yellow-green gel into the wound. It moved forward with a swimming-like motion, clamping onto raw flesh, and then binding it with the gel and pulling forward. Fleeman slowly zipped up the wound.
The muscles in the corporal's cheeks flexed as he squeezed his eyes together and turned his head.
"Ain't you supposed to give him a painkiller?" Grier asked.
When Fleeman was finished he looked up at Grier. "For a tough guy like James here? He doesn't need any drugs. Do you, James?"
King didn't say anything. His eyes were still closed and his face was flushed pink. Fleeman made the report verbally into his medical log. The platoon's virtual clerk system then automatically summarized the report and made the information available for the lieutenant and anyone higher up, if they needed it. The summary consisted of name, injuries sustained in combat, and recommendations for duties. The full medical report included all the details from primary survey to treatment given. Normally King would be put on light duties after being glued back together like that. In garrison that would be the case, but out in the field, they needed him on his feet. The more detailed medical report was bounced back to HQ on the next mission update – again handled by the virtual clerk. The medical team would already have the entire platoon and any civilians they dragged with them triaged before they arrived. King would be low priority then. Fleeman's treatment, although barbaric by some standards, would likely heal him.
For the time being though, they still had seven blocks to go.
*
"I've got motion," the voice came across the platoon channel. It was one of the new guys from Three Squad. He was up ahead on the western flank, combing through a train terminal. King and Grier were still on the tail end of a formation that was now spread out over three blocks.
Limping, but ambulatory, King led Grier into the doorway of a residential home – a small apartment complex that only had three stories. There was graffiti on the doors that had nothing to do with the Rhiorc. They were locked with heavy chains and the windows were barred – reinforcements that had been added long after the place had been put up.
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