Part VII.
VII
"We've got a live one here!"
"All men to me!"
"Lift! Put your back into it!!"
Steel groaned under the weight of seven people, straining for several long seconds before they realized they wouldn't be able to flip the sheet over. Sweat poured down each soldier's face as they knelt in the smoldering dirt, lifting the cockpit bare inches off the ground with the extra burden from their smallest as he duck under to recover the body-- the childlike frame that was lucky for getting him out, but won't be doing any favors with how much blood he was losing.
Oishi had the stretcher ready before they ever cleared his feet, the plane kicking up a storm of dust as it sank to the ground, strained backs and complains of exertion all around, cut short by other calls for help all around the battlefield. He took one look at the shock of red hair under his care, but tore his eyes away so his partner and he could make the run back to base, as quickly as possible, the medical team already deployed and should be waiting for them halfway through.
"It'll be okay," he spoke between breaths as he ran, unsure if his patient could even hear him but making sure to speak as soothingly as possible just in case he could. "You'll be all right," he recited, eyes pointed strictly ahead, because he knew the moment he looked down he would start crying, and it there was ever a time to dishearten, this was definitely not it. He didn't think he would ever get used to this, not after all the years he worked in Trauma. No matter how many people whose lives were saved thanks to his efforts and the efforts of his support staff and the rest of the team, there were too many that he had lost, too many that he had broken, for him to ever be all right. But the thought of losing so many more if he hadn't been able to help, that was what kept him going, even if it meant not sleeping nights.
The first response team was located at the perimeters when they arrived. They were the first to go in the case of an attack, but when immediate help was crucial there was no time to spare for the core hospital. "Stop the bleeding," Oishi instructed the moment they were secure, tearing apart a roll of gauze for the orderly to wrap around the wounded's head, so he did not have to look at that face. "Siphon. Clamp. Needle." The redhead's breathing was shallow but the first thing they had to make sure was that they stopped the blood so that being unconscious was the least of their worries. The equipment was sterile, but he couldn't help but cringe as the delicate skin covering the brow broke beneath his fingers. "Sorry," Oishi apologized to the unconscious patient, threading the stitches quickly and evenly, "We don't have access to painkillers at the moment." Or antibiotics. Or proper sanitation. Sometimes, his patients were safer inside his hospital than if they were discharged, but it had started to crowd and the war effort still needed all the men that could be spared. He brushed the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing red into his brow line and the strands of hair that fell loose. He worked as quickly as he could. The bodies started piling.
Several hours later, Oishi found himself sitting outside, staring off at the setting sun from above laced fingers. He had done all he could to save the man, and now it was in the Core's hands. He wasn't in the immediate danger of dying anymore, so if he survived the night, then they would operate the next day to make sure everything was all right; it wasn't that they could be so choosy with which lives to save, but if one took a step back, they'd see there was no point wasting resources on somebody who wouldn't live tomorrow, when they could be used to save somebody who would definitely pull through. He had lost a lot of blood and even the civilian numbers have been dwindling that there weren't enough donations sometimes to support the troops who needed care.
"Oishi~!"
"Ah--" He looked up, and found himself with a faceful of red hair, wondering if he had spent too much time in the operation room that he was seeing... But then Eiji pulled back, smile bright like the sun hanging low behind him, dimming accordingly when he saw the look on Oishi's face. "Welcome back, Eiij," Oishi forced a smile on his face and it stayed up, natural. "Long day?"
"Mn!" Eiji agreed, settling back beside Oishi once he saw he was all right. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the bread ration he was given when the troops dispersed for the time being, breaking it in half and handing one to Oishi before shoving the rest in his mouth. Oishi always waited for his return before getting his own meal ration, so this was okay for now. "Thrrr le' pee'l bu--" He took the bottled water handed to him and took only a sip enough to wet his mouth to swallow. "--we drove them out today too. Maybe they're too afraid of the great Kikumaru-sama to come back!"
Oishi smiled as he listened to Eiji go on about his day, breaking his bread into bite-sized pieces before popping them in his mouth, holding them until they softened and started breaking down sweet. His day, while it felt long, could never compare to what Eiji woke up every morning to. He was a fighter pilot, one of the only ones Rikkai employed because they couldn't get the planes any other way unless one came down in their territory, like it did earlier that day. He could still remember that face.
"Right?"
Oishi looked up, startled out of his thoughts. "Sorry... what?" he asked apologetically.
Eiji just tilted his head and gave him this look before tutting with a mothering look that, coming from him, made Oishi almost laugh. "Looks like somebody's tired~" he teased, hopping off the steps. "Let's head back," he said, extending a hand which the other took gratefully. "You've had a long day too, hey?"
"It wasn't so bad," Oishi replied as he was hauled to his feet, steps heavy in protest to leaving the first rest he's had all day. "Only seven today," he disliked reducing his patients to simply a number, but he was not going to generalize and lump them all together as one either, "and they're all fighters." He did all he could to help them, and Eiji took the hint and didn't ask. He would know, anyways, when one of his troop doesn't show up the next day, or when his jumper is replaced, or when the numbers have to be shuffled around again because one section of the Defense got the brunt of the blow over another.
The entire way back to the commons, Oishi didn't speak. He couldn't stand it sometimes. What would it be like to live in a world without war, without all this suffering and death... that gave him purpose and kept him fed. He snuck glances over at Eiji from time to time, who kept himself preoccupied with a large stone he had found outside, kicking it along as they walked so that bits and pieces broke off in the hallway, black and reflective underneath the dusty grey shell. Eiji always had that certain strength that he lacked, of being able to live in the present so he did not get bogged down by the past. Coming straight off the battlefield, he always reserved a smile for Oishi, and the other one, they shared. Bright eyes, a face too young to be a soldier, and the only way he could get through the day without breaking down was to pretend it was all a game. He had never seen Eiji cry.
Eiji knew he stared. He could feel those eyes on him as he walked, as they ate and changed and headed back to the barracks at the end of the day. Oishi was the strong one. He was the amazing one. The one who made a difference and was needed by everyone and every time Eiji felt like crying he would look over and see somebody who he did not want to worry any more than he already was, and so he does not cry. So he keeps a smile on his face, for Oishi's sake. Because if he didn't, he'd start crying and he wouldn't be able to stop.
"...If you had a choice, would you still fight?" Oishi asked, not exactly suddenly but not as if he had been mulling over it for weeks now either. He looked over again at Eiji, who was scratching at the plaster on his jaw line. Oishi's brow furrowed. The wound had never quite healed right.
"Yes," Eiji looked over, his hand dropping to his side. "As many times as I need to. Because how else am I going to protect you? The Perimeter is my territory-- none shall get by its defenses or risk the wrath of Kikumaru-sama!" He forced a grin on his face and struck a pose, fist bent on his hips and chest pushed out that would have been more impressive if he hadn't already changed from the uniform.
Oishi smiled, and laughed.
Part VIII.
"We've got a live one here!"
"All men to me!"
"Lift! Put your back into it!!"
Steel groaned under the weight of seven people, straining for several long seconds before they realized they wouldn't be able to flip the sheet over. Sweat poured down each soldier's face as they knelt in the smoldering dirt, lifting the cockpit bare inches off the ground with the extra burden from their smallest as he duck under to recover the body-- the childlike frame that was lucky for getting him out, but won't be doing any favors with how much blood he was losing.
Oishi had the stretcher ready before they ever cleared his feet, the plane kicking up a storm of dust as it sank to the ground, strained backs and complains of exertion all around, cut short by other calls for help all around the battlefield. He took one look at the shock of red hair under his care, but tore his eyes away so his partner and he could make the run back to base, as quickly as possible, the medical team already deployed and should be waiting for them halfway through.
"It'll be okay," he spoke between breaths as he ran, unsure if his patient could even hear him but making sure to speak as soothingly as possible just in case he could. "You'll be all right," he recited, eyes pointed strictly ahead, because he knew the moment he looked down he would start crying, and it there was ever a time to dishearten, this was definitely not it. He didn't think he would ever get used to this, not after all the years he worked in Trauma. No matter how many people whose lives were saved thanks to his efforts and the efforts of his support staff and the rest of the team, there were too many that he had lost, too many that he had broken, for him to ever be all right. But the thought of losing so many more if he hadn't been able to help, that was what kept him going, even if it meant not sleeping nights.
The first response team was located at the perimeters when they arrived. They were the first to go in the case of an attack, but when immediate help was crucial there was no time to spare for the core hospital. "Stop the bleeding," Oishi instructed the moment they were secure, tearing apart a roll of gauze for the orderly to wrap around the wounded's head, so he did not have to look at that face. "Siphon. Clamp. Needle." The redhead's breathing was shallow but the first thing they had to make sure was that they stopped the blood so that being unconscious was the least of their worries. The equipment was sterile, but he couldn't help but cringe as the delicate skin covering the brow broke beneath his fingers. "Sorry," Oishi apologized to the unconscious patient, threading the stitches quickly and evenly, "We don't have access to painkillers at the moment." Or antibiotics. Or proper sanitation. Sometimes, his patients were safer inside his hospital than if they were discharged, but it had started to crowd and the war effort still needed all the men that could be spared. He brushed the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing red into his brow line and the strands of hair that fell loose. He worked as quickly as he could. The bodies started piling.
Several hours later, Oishi found himself sitting outside, staring off at the setting sun from above laced fingers. He had done all he could to save the man, and now it was in the Core's hands. He wasn't in the immediate danger of dying anymore, so if he survived the night, then they would operate the next day to make sure everything was all right; it wasn't that they could be so choosy with which lives to save, but if one took a step back, they'd see there was no point wasting resources on somebody who wouldn't live tomorrow, when they could be used to save somebody who would definitely pull through. He had lost a lot of blood and even the civilian numbers have been dwindling that there weren't enough donations sometimes to support the troops who needed care.
"Oishi~!"
"Ah--" He looked up, and found himself with a faceful of red hair, wondering if he had spent too much time in the operation room that he was seeing... But then Eiji pulled back, smile bright like the sun hanging low behind him, dimming accordingly when he saw the look on Oishi's face. "Welcome back, Eiij," Oishi forced a smile on his face and it stayed up, natural. "Long day?"
"Mn!" Eiji agreed, settling back beside Oishi once he saw he was all right. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the bread ration he was given when the troops dispersed for the time being, breaking it in half and handing one to Oishi before shoving the rest in his mouth. Oishi always waited for his return before getting his own meal ration, so this was okay for now. "Thrrr le' pee'l bu--" He took the bottled water handed to him and took only a sip enough to wet his mouth to swallow. "--we drove them out today too. Maybe they're too afraid of the great Kikumaru-sama to come back!"
Oishi smiled as he listened to Eiji go on about his day, breaking his bread into bite-sized pieces before popping them in his mouth, holding them until they softened and started breaking down sweet. His day, while it felt long, could never compare to what Eiji woke up every morning to. He was a fighter pilot, one of the only ones Rikkai employed because they couldn't get the planes any other way unless one came down in their territory, like it did earlier that day. He could still remember that face.
"Right?"
Oishi looked up, startled out of his thoughts. "Sorry... what?" he asked apologetically.
Eiji just tilted his head and gave him this look before tutting with a mothering look that, coming from him, made Oishi almost laugh. "Looks like somebody's tired~" he teased, hopping off the steps. "Let's head back," he said, extending a hand which the other took gratefully. "You've had a long day too, hey?"
"It wasn't so bad," Oishi replied as he was hauled to his feet, steps heavy in protest to leaving the first rest he's had all day. "Only seven today," he disliked reducing his patients to simply a number, but he was not going to generalize and lump them all together as one either, "and they're all fighters." He did all he could to help them, and Eiji took the hint and didn't ask. He would know, anyways, when one of his troop doesn't show up the next day, or when his jumper is replaced, or when the numbers have to be shuffled around again because one section of the Defense got the brunt of the blow over another.
The entire way back to the commons, Oishi didn't speak. He couldn't stand it sometimes. What would it be like to live in a world without war, without all this suffering and death... that gave him purpose and kept him fed. He snuck glances over at Eiji from time to time, who kept himself preoccupied with a large stone he had found outside, kicking it along as they walked so that bits and pieces broke off in the hallway, black and reflective underneath the dusty grey shell. Eiji always had that certain strength that he lacked, of being able to live in the present so he did not get bogged down by the past. Coming straight off the battlefield, he always reserved a smile for Oishi, and the other one, they shared. Bright eyes, a face too young to be a soldier, and the only way he could get through the day without breaking down was to pretend it was all a game. He had never seen Eiji cry.
Eiji knew he stared. He could feel those eyes on him as he walked, as they ate and changed and headed back to the barracks at the end of the day. Oishi was the strong one. He was the amazing one. The one who made a difference and was needed by everyone and every time Eiji felt like crying he would look over and see somebody who he did not want to worry any more than he already was, and so he does not cry. So he keeps a smile on his face, for Oishi's sake. Because if he didn't, he'd start crying and he wouldn't be able to stop.
"...If you had a choice, would you still fight?" Oishi asked, not exactly suddenly but not as if he had been mulling over it for weeks now either. He looked over again at Eiji, who was scratching at the plaster on his jaw line. Oishi's brow furrowed. The wound had never quite healed right.
"Yes," Eiji looked over, his hand dropping to his side. "As many times as I need to. Because how else am I going to protect you? The Perimeter is my territory-- none shall get by its defenses or risk the wrath of Kikumaru-sama!" He forced a grin on his face and struck a pose, fist bent on his hips and chest pushed out that would have been more impressive if he hadn't already changed from the uniform.
Oishi smiled, and laughed.
Part VIII.