Fighting With Faith- Twenty-Eighth Entry

Benlian was awoken from a sharp pain tearing its way across his left sheen to his pelvis. He opened his eyes. He stared back at a ruddy tent’s ceiling, its surface rough and uneven, rusted and crusted with all manner of weathered and oxidised materials stuck on it.

Ignoring the agonising pain, Benlian lifted his torso and leaned against the cold and hard wall behind him. He took in what he saw with dread and fear. His left leg was in a massive bandage. It seemed that his left leg was badly injured as it was twice it normal size.

Probably the most organised thing in the vast meditorium hall was the arrangement of beds. Hundreds of it was neatly arranged in rows upon rows, in separate clusters according to their degree of damage.

Benlian looked down his own row, and could see that his was the least of the lot. He saw his own company’s medic, Shralk, with a bandaged leg and right arm wrapped tightly across his chest. For his obvious injuries, Shralk still appeared nonchalance as he used his free hand to read a romance novel. He seemed engrossed.

Further down the hall, Benlian could vaguely hear a constant stream of moaning and groaning from the more unlucky victims of the ambush. Then it hit him.

Ambush.

Medicae officials.

What am I doing here?!

Benlian’s heart rate began to soar. The heart beat monitoring system beside him began to emit shrill whining tone.

“Shralk! SHRALK!” Benlian shouted two beds down towards his medic.

“Ben? Didn’t realise you were here too. How-”

“HUSH! What happened, after the ambush?” Benlian roared back.

Shralk’s face immediately seemed bereaved and dejected. He sighed, “I just heard the reports from one of them nurses. Bel Company had the worst of it. Five dead, all the other fifteen wounded. Two of us seem to be the luckiest.”

Benlian’s eyes, shocked and wide open, darted back and forth across the room, looking for his fellow company mates.

“Don’t bother Ben; remember what I said that we’re the lucky ones. The others are all under critical care, off to the other side of this tent.” Shralk said as he casually leaned forward to stretch out his arm to scratch his back

“You seem pretty damn calm about what happened.” Benlian said, eyes glaring at Shralk.

“Hey, what is there to do? Anyway, us medics were taught not to feel any remorse for fallen comrades, they have done their duty, and we have tried our best.” Shralk retorted back.

“Who are the five?” Benlian asked, clearly desperate for the answer.

Shralk sighed deeply and said, “Emperor guides our lives. Three of them were from Squad B so it wouldn’t matter who they are. But…”

“But what?!” Benlian urged.

“Ben, Zeralton is dead. Shot cleanly in the head by a stray bullet. Starut has…” Shralk let his sentence trail off as he could sense the immediate effect the news had on Benlian. He understood how Benlian felt and just left him to his own mourning. Shralk picked up his romance novel again and began reading.

Benlian did not bother hearing the rest. He couldn’t. His friend, his kith, was dead. What he experienced with Zeralton could never again be experienced, what he did with Zeralton could never be done again. He was dead.

A bed was suddenly carted past him by frantic looking medicae officials. On the bed was a man in agony. He was screaming to himself, half swearing, and half praying. His right leg was blown off from the knee and blood was still gouting freely from the wound. He had numerous other cuts on his body which the nurses were trying very hard to stem the flow.

The screaming soon trailed off as the man was carted further to the other side of the massive tent, leaving the people who briskly witnessed it thanking the Emperor for his blessings.

This is the reality of war. Benlian realised. People die as though they had never lived. Some die as though they had never died, blown apart to atoms and flung to distant places, never able to be recollected and cremated. And some live as though they have died.

They will pay...