Black and Green (Part 6)

 Green

  "What's it going to take to end this war?" the colonel asked.
   Risen blinked slowly. The doctor had given him something for the pain. It had worked, but it made it hard for his eyes to focus in the same direction which was a definite downside. "Just wait through next winter," Risen said. He pulled at his left wrist, attached to the bed rail. "Those who ain't starved won't be strong enough to fight anymore."
   The colonel looked at him sharply. "What's wrong with your crops?"
   "You burned them," Risen said, "and a blight took the rest." He blinked again, thinking that he shouldn't be talking, though he couldn't remember exactly why not. He ran his right hand down his left side and found the thick layer of a bandage.
   "How'd you get that?" the colonel asked.
   "Sarks," Risen said. "We didn't know they were dangerous. One caught me. My team shot it, but the paralysis set in...they thought I was dead."
   "They left you behind."
   "Wasn't their fault. They're good men."
   "And what were you doing out in the hollowland in the first place?"
   "Looking for a way around the mountains--" Risen stopped himself then. "I'm not supposed to tell you." He clenched his hand against his wounded side, pressing his fingers into the bandage. Pain spiraled through his head and cleared away some of the fog.
   The colonel caught his hand. "You'll tear it open again."
   "I know," Risen said, pulling away clumsily.
   "So you think the war will be over in a year?"
   "I think everyone'll be dead in a year and ain't goin' to matter either way," Risen said.
   "You think maybe there's a chance for a truce?"
   "No. I'm sure they'd die first."
   The colonel got to his feet. "Do you know why?" he asked. "Do you know what started all of this?"
   Risen closed his eyes and recited by rote, "A minor clash at the border resulted in the death of Commander Peterra's only son, sparking the first stages of the War. Most of the major cities fell in the first years of the war, as the enemy targeted hospitals and schools. Children were evacuated to the outskirts of the country. Those who were left alive found they had little enough left to fight for beyond their honor and their lives." He drew a slow breath. "Does your side say the same?"
   "Nearly," the colonel admitted. "I suppose we'll none of us ever know the truth of it." He clasped his hands behind his back, his normal stance, and said, "You said something to me out there, when I asked you why you would want me alive."
   Risen said nothing.
   "You said I was just a man," the colonel paused. "Do you really believe that?"
   Risen tried to see past the uniform with its silver piping and colored medals, and the hardened face to the man that owned it. It was difficult, especially with the cuff holding his left hand to the bed rail. "Yes," he said quietly.
   "I don't think my men would believe you," the colonel said with a brief smile that Risen didn't share. He let his eyes wander the tent before settling again on Risen. Then he reached across the bed and cut the cuff that held Risen's hand to the rail. "I'll see you have clean clothes and a way back to the lines."
   "Sir," Risen said as he sat up, slowly. "You're letting me go?"
   "Don't read into it. I owe you my life, so I'm giving you yours. It's not going to change anything. It won't stop this damn war." The colonel shook his head and walked toward the exit.
   "I'll tell them," Risen said. "I'll tell my people. Maybe someday something will change."
   "Maybe," the colonel said with one last look at him. "But I won't start packing up my gear just yet."


The End

Black and Green (Part 5)

This is the second to last installment of the series. Thanks to those of you who've been following along!

                                                                                  ~~~

Green:
   Risen sat in the bottom of a wooden box roughly the size of a coffin stood on end. There was just enough room, if his knees were tucked against his chest, for him to sit. It was hard to breathe in that position. The twisting knife of pain in his side didn't help either.
   He could hear the patter of rain against the wooden walls. Chill water crept in along the floor to wet the seat of his pants. He shivered and pressed his bound hands tighter against his stomach. His heart stuttered in his chest when the lock on the door clattered. The door swung open. A woman stood there, her blonde hair close cut beneath her cap. She wore a gun.
   "Get up," she said.
   His legs were cramp, numb when he stretched them out in front of him.
   "You heard her, greenie," a man said, stepping up beside the woman. "On your feet."
   "I've got this, Beck," the woman said.
   Beck ignored her and reached for Risen's wrists. He jerked Risen forward and to his feet. Risen gasped, falling promptly to his knees. Beck cuffed him across the side of the head. Risen felt as though his skull had shattered. A blaze as bright as lightning lit up the inside of his head, gradually fading to hot red. For several minutes, he couldn't see or hear anything beyond that hot red behind his eyes and the roar of his pulse in his ears. Blood trickled down the back of his throat, bringing with it the taste of iron.
   By the time he got his head clear, he had been dropped into a metal chair in a gray tent with a single light shining into his eyes. He squinted, but that caused too much pain. He closed his left eye completely, which helped. He could just make out the colonel in front of him, freshly shaved and wearing a crisp, black uniform with silver piping along the shoulders and a plethora of small, colorful patches across the left breast. A new bandage had been spread across the side of his face. It was matched to his skin tone so it was almost invisible, but Risen knew where to look.
   "I'll talk to him alone," the colonel said with a brief flick of his fingers toward the others.
   A gust of chill rain against the back of Risen's neck told him that they'd gone. He lowered his eyes to his knees, away from the light. He didn't flinch when the colonel reached forward with a knife and cut the plastic cuffs from his wrists.
   "Have they fed you?" the colonel asked.
   "I got nothing to tell you," Risen said blandly. "I been lost out there for months. I don't know anything you could care to hear." He picked at the grim and blood crusted beneath his fingernails.
   The colonel moved over to the far side of the light and came back after a moment to hold out Risen's tags. Risen hadn't realized they'd been taken. When he stretched his hand out, the colonel drew the tags back.
   "Captain Zedekiah Risen," he said as he ran a thumb over the raised stamping. "I ran your number through the system. I didn't expect to get anything. Your methods of record keeping baffle even our most brilliant men. In any case, I did find something of interest."
   Risen let his hand fall back to his knee.
   "You're on the dead-list from a few months back."
   That news didn't surprise him. He knew they'd thought he was dead, or they wouldn't have left him behind, buried in a hasty cairn. What surprised him was that the black side had access to their dead-list. It made him wonder how far the colonel's intelligence extended.
   "I don't care much for deserters. No matter which side they come from."
   "I'm not a deserter," Risen said with as much heat of indignation as he could muster. Blood rose to color his wan cheeks beneath his unkempt beard.
   "Then what were you doing playing dead in the hollowland?"
   Risen pressed his lips together and tucked his hand beneath his jacket. "I don't got anything to tell you."
   "So you've said before," the colonel replied impatiently.
   "Are you going to kill me?"
   "Not just yet." The colonel clasped his hands behind his back. "I don't believe in wasting any resource. However small it may seem." He paused, then leaned forward. "I believe you know more than you pretend."


Black:
   When Risen had been taken back to what the soldiers had affectionately, if morbidly, named the graveyard, Colonel Marsh returned to his own tent and sat down behind his desk. Everything that had been taken from Risen's person was spread out on top of the desk. He set the tags down with everything else.
   "Lieutenant," he said.
   The other man looked up from his cot where he sat with a book in hand. "Sir?"
   "Tell me, what sort of man uses all but two of his bullets to save a man he doesn't know."
   "Sounds like a daft fool of a man to me," Lieutenant Carver muttered.
   "Perhaps." Marsh shook his head as Risen's words came back to him. You're just a man, aren't you? Could he really believe that though? Was he able to see past the color a man wore? If Risen could do such a thing, Marsh thought, then he was far more skilled than Marsh himself. He leaned back in his chair, feeling the tightness of the bandages across his chest and the dull, painless throb in his healing leg. He might have survived until his men arrived. Then again, he very well may not have.
   "Take him to the medical tent," Marsh said, startling Carver out of his reading once more, "and see he gets something to eat."
   Carver got to his feet at once and shrugged into his jacket. "Anything else?" he asked.
   "No. Let him stay in the med-tent tonight. I'll see to him in the morning."
   "Yes, sir," Carver said and went out into the rain.

 

The Incredible Human Body - ABGs

I'm fairly sure not many of you have taken the time today to realize what your body is doing to keep you alive, but the fact is that your body is constantly working to keep itself in balance, like a tightrope walker over the Grand Canyon.

Today's example of awesomeness comes by way of the arterial blood gases or ABGs. For the sake of brevity and balance, here are the three most important ABGs: pH (acid-base level), paCO2 (level of carbon dioxide, an acid), HCO3 (level of bicarbonate, a base).

Normal blood pH is between 7.35-7.45, which is quite a small range if you think about it. Let's just say that bad things (like coma and death) start to happen when the body gets outside of these limits. In order to maintain pH balance there are two systems that come into play. Your lungs regulate the amount of CO2, while your kidneys produce or reduce HCO3 in the blood.

Here's where it gets fun. Say you take off at a dead run for one block. Now, if you aren't an experienced runner, your muscles are going to produce lactic acid (H3C6O3 - for those who are desperate to know). Lactic acid in the blood stream decreases the pH (making it more acidic). Your lungs compensate for this change by having you breath faster, blowing of CO2 (remember it's an acid), until the pH level returns to normal.

But what if your lungs weren't capable of removing CO2 fast enough? In the case of chronic lung diseases where a person is constantly struggling to remove CO2, the kidneys kick in and produce more HCO3, which brings the pH back into balance. This is a snapshot of the respiratory side of things. There is also the renal side, which deals directly with HCO3, but that is much more complicated. Just think diabetic ketoacidosis and you'll get the idea.

My point is, that this is only one tiny, brilliantly working, self-correcting system out of hundreds of thousands in the body. Once again, the human body is incredible!

Black and Green (Part 4)

Green:
   Risen searched through the med-kit in the wan light of the rising sun and came up with a bottle of FreSkin. He tried it on his own arm to be sure it sprayed. It came out clear with the sting of antiseptic and gradually grew opaque as it congealed into a thick gel. Risen sprayed it over the worst of the colonel's wounds. The sarks had abraded most of the skin from the colonel's chest, leaving raw red muscle open to the air in bloody patches. There was the bite to be dealt with as well. Risen had little medical knowledge and not much desire to learn, but he used the spray on the colonel, then lifted his own tattered shirt and sprayed the gel across his own wounded side. He held his breath against the sting, which wasn't as bad as he'd expected.
   The colonel watched him. At least, his eyes were open. Risen had his doubts about the colonel's level of consciousness, but he leaned closer, studying the rough splint around the colonel's leg.
   The colonel sat up, shaking in every limb, and looked at him. "What do you want?" he asked.
   Risen folded his fingers around the map and tapped it against his leg as he looked at the dead sarks. Eight of them. The gun on his hip had two bullets left.
   Leave him, said the voice of survival in the back of his mind. And do what? he returned. He'd no way home and only two bullets left. He was behind enemy lines. Sooner or later, he was going to have to try to get across to his own side. He might as well try it with a colonel whose life he'd saved. It wasn't likely a better chance would come along. Shoving the map into his coat pocket, he slung the pack with the med-kit over his shoulder and held out his hand.
   "Are you coming then?" Risen asked, his voice harsh as ever.
   The colonel ignored the offered hand and struggled to his feet. Risen watched a moment impassively, then stalked into the trees. He found a branch the right size and brought it back.
   "Here then," he said, holding the branch out to the colonel. "You won't get far hobbling."
   "Why do you want me alive so badly?" the colonel asked without moving.
   Risen thought again of his father's words. "You're just a man, aren't you?" He held the stick out until the colonel took it, using it to take the weight from his broken leg.
   They climbed out of the hollow, the colonel huffing and sweating and shaking. Risen was glad enough of the slow pace as his own breath came short and his head throbbed.
   He should have heard the transport, but didn't until it was above them. Five men dropped down around them, trailing ropes. They wore black. Risen reached for his gun. A hard, heavy hand clamped over his, pinning it to his side. A boot snapped into the back of his knees, and he collapsed.
   Well, he thought, I gave it a try, didn't I, Dad?


Black:
   Colonel Marsh woke up beneath the harsh white light of the medical tent.
   "There we are," said a voice he recognized as the regiment's doctor. "Good thing we logged your beacon when we did. You look like you had quite a time of it out there."
   Marsh blinked against the glare. "I thought it shorted," he said.
   The doctor put a finger to the black design tattooed on Marsh's left shoulder. "I noticed that. I reinforced it with the new series, so it shouldn't happen again."
   "Again," Marsh said with a half-hearted chuckle. The cool slide of analgesic through his veins left a thin mist over his mind that chilled and slowed his thoughts. He didn't much mind the reprieve. It had been ages since he'd been able to stop thinking, even in his sleep, of men lost and battles won, strategies and plots and key locations. It was a war that would not be won, not even in his mind.
   "That's the last of it. Do you want me to have someone take you to your tent?"
   Marsh sat up, flexing the toes of his broken leg. "Can I walk on it?"
   "Yes, but don't try running if you can manage it," the doctor said as he turned to wash his hands.
   "How are things here?" Marsh asked.
   "Already keen to get back out there, are you?" came a voice from the tent entrance.
   Marsh turned to see Lieutenant Carver framed by the cloth. "You managed to survive without me?" he said. "I'm surprised."
   Carver smiled. "Glad to see you're alive, sir. What happened out there?"
   "Another time," Marsh said with a weary shake of his head. "Where's the man they brought in with me?"
   "The greenie?" Carver said. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "He's in the graveyard."

Black and Green (Part 3)

Black:
   Colonel Marsh had always believed he was stronger than the circumstances around him. It was due to that way of thinking that he'd been able to last through the years of war and loss that had torn through his country, destroyed his family, and left him with nothing more than his position and the will to fight. He did not see himself as weak or a coward, even so when he opened his eyes again and heard the cries of the monsters surrounding him, he wished he would die. He wished it with such terrible desperation that if he'd had a knife to hand, and if he could have moved his hands, he wouldn't have hesitated to slash his own throat.
   Pain had became a solid force in his body, so heavy that it crushed the air from his lungs. He could taste pain in his mouth, a bitter metal like rusted iron. He knew there was no escape from it except death. Even unconsciousness could only last so long--as he was already well aware--and it was not long enough.
   He couldn't move himself. When they had first taken him, one of them had bitten him and filled him with paralytic, leaving him only enough power to breathe and open his eyes. One of the creatures came closer. Its foul breath spilled over his face as it crawled onto his bloodied chest. Four feet sank sharp points sank into his flesh, digging into bone and reaching for his heart. A rough tongue scoured the side of his face like steel wool.
   He tried not to scream, but he didn't have the strength to hold it back for long. The sound only seemed to drive them into a frenzy. Another came, fixing itself to his arm. One latched onto his broken leg.
   A shot crashed through the air. It took Marsh a moment to recognize the sound through the pain. The creature on his chest disappeared. Several more shots rang out. He lost count as his head filled with the thunder of gunfire. Then silence.
   He heard footsteps moving closer through the blanket of dead leaves, branches and refuse. The man who appeared at the corner of his vision wore tattered green, so weathered and worn it appeared mostly brown. He waited for the last bullet, the one that would end his misery, but it didn't come. Instead, the younger man leaned closer. Blood darkened the left side of his face and stiffened his hair. Chill fingers probed at his throat and felt at the ragged edges of the bite in his shoulder. Then touched the torn lapel of his jacket.
   "Colonel," the hoarse voice said, thoughtfully. "I should leave you here." The young man shook his head and shifted his gaze to something Marsh couldn't see. After a moment, he went back to his study of Marsh, searching through the colonel's pockets until he came up with the waterproof map marked for troop placements. Marsh almost groaned. If the man realized what he was looking at, the entire operation would be in danger, and if the operation failed, they would be on the cusp of losing the war as well.

Black and Green (Part 2)

So, apparently, this is going to turn into a serial. It's my tricky way of making sure you all keep reading. If anyone has an opinion on the ending, send me a comment, and I'll see what I can do. Thanks for reading!





The Black and The Green (Part 2)
 
Green:
    He woke into silence. His mind went at once to the last time he had woken alone and bleeding, left for dead by his fleeing unit, but he pushed the memory back before it could swallow him. The fire lay dead in a heap of gray ash and charcoal. It was still dark, but he could sense dawn coming. A blade of pain stabbed and twisted in his left eye as he sat up. He thought he would be sick, but his stomach twisted on nothing. He sat there for a long time with his hands steadying him against the ground. When he was sure his head wouldn’t explode if he moved again, he felt cautiously along the ground for his gun. That was when he smelled them, a thick, sweet stench like rotting fruit.
    He had never even heard of them before he’d entered the forest. They were thin and dark with knobbed limbs like tree branches, and they oozed stench like mucous. He called them sarks for the sound they made before they attacked. Ssss-ark! Sss-ark! Even the thought of them made him shiver. They appeared frail, harmless even, but they were strong and bloodthirsty. They liked their meat fresh and screaming, which was probably why they’d left him.
    He found his gun, half-hidden beneath the roots of a tree. Moving slowly, to avoid jolting his aching head, he cleared the jam and pushed the gun back into his holster. He got to his feet and staggered over a cloth pack. Searching through the pack by touch, he found several packs of sealed MRE’s and a canteen as well as a med kit. He drank greedily and ate in the dark, not wanting to risk a fire with sarks anywhere nearby. He burned his fingers on the heating packet as he pulled it out of the bottom of the MRE and pushed it into his breast pocket.
    A scream started in the distance, echoing eerily through the jagged ravines and early morning mists. Risen’s stomach tightened around the meal he’d just eaten while the muscles in his shoulders pulled tight. He touched the tender lump above his left ear to remind himself why he shouldn’t care.
    He was green, and the other was black. So whatever happened to the other man was nothing to do with him. But the screaming kept on. It was agonized and human, and it drilled into Risen’s head, cutting along the raw nerves so it felt like it was jabbing into his eye as well.
    He thought of his father, who had disowned him when he’d said he was going to fight. It didn’t matter to his father that the choices he’d had were confined to battle or prison.
    “They’re just men, Zed,” his father had said. “Good, bad and otherwise, they’re men and boys like you.”
    Risen winced as the screams started again. He’d nearly fallen in the sarks’ nest himself a few weeks before, so he knew where the man was. It would have been easy to walk the opposite direction until he could no longer hear the screams–but he had nowhere to go. He’d been lost for weeks himself, stuck behind and beyond enemy lines. And, he thought grimly, as far as everyone else was concerned I'm already dead. He checked his gun, took up the pack, and started through the hills as the first light of the sun broke through the sky.
    His head throbbed every time he put his foot down, but the food had done him good. After a while, the screaming stopped. He paused for breath, wondering if he had any reason to keep going. The violent cries of the sarks smashed through the silence. Sss-ark! Sss-ark! Another cry fled before them, not a scream, but a whimper.
    Risen crossed the last ridge cautiously and drew his gun. He loosened his knife in its sheath and peered down into the nest.