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Written by Jesse Catalano
Edited by Edward H. Bart IV
Author’s note: The 47th
Medical Regiment was a group of elite doctors who had great knowledge of field medicine,
but they are not often trained in neurosurgery or other specialties. As the war
with the Dominion had gotten worse, professional doctors were transferred to serve
on combat starships and on battlefields. They are known as medics...
Dr.
Sheri Cho, the Chief Medical Officer aboard the Hope class hospital ship, U.S.S. Comfort, NCC 50111, was looking around her sickbay. The sickbay was nearly at maximum
capacity, treating the wounded from Starfleet’s most recently mounted
offensive. It was the largest military operation undertaken to date in the
Dominion War, a massive attempt to retake Deep Space Nine from Dominion forces. It had succeeded. Word had
filtered to Dr. Cho that Starfleet Command had dubbed it “Operation: Return.”
Standing in the midst of the busy sickbay, she thought the name ironic. So many
of the crews that participated in the operation would never return to their homes.
It had been over a week now since
that battle and wounded are still somehow flowing into the sickbay. The Comfort and the rest of the 47th medical fleet had
been ordered to scan for survivors in trapped ships that still had pockets of life
support functioning. When Cho heard the orders she had some doubts that they
will find any survivors, but when the Comfort arrived to the battlefield, she was overwhelmed with
emotions when she saw many starships floating lifelessly. She looked away from
her window, tears showing on her cheeks. She was a survivor from the Battle at Wolf
359. She was serving her first posting aboard the U.S.S. Valdemar, when the Borg attacked. Her ship was the lucky ship
to be able to escape when all else had failed.
Her thoughts was interrupted when
one of the soldiers moaned in pain. She walked over this young man, no older
than 23 years of age. His handsome face was twisted in pain. Cho picked up the
hypospray and injected him some medicine to help him sleep. The young man’s
moaning stopped and he fell deep asleep. Cho then looked at his arm which she
had to amputate earlier on. It was beyond saving and the infection was so great
she had no choice but to reach for the laser scalpel and cut it off. She
remembered him pleading and begging not to cut his arm off, but nevertheless
she went ahead and did what she had to do. It saddens her greatly, but she knew
that sometimes being a doctor meant some harsh decisions had to be made. After
looking at the bandage of the amputee’s arm she was satisfied with the results
and left the man to sleep. She walked over to her assistant Chief Medical
Officer, Dr. Schlock, a Vulcan male.
The Vulcan was older than Cho by 60
years, but relatively, Schlock was only entering middle age. He had neatly
trimmed brown hair. Before his transfer onto the Comfort, the Vulcan had a small private practice on one of
the older Vulcan colony worlds. When the call came out from the Vulcan Science
Academy for qualified doctors to enlist in Starfleet, Schlock determined that
it was the logical thing for him to do.
Dr. Cho assessed Schlock’s time
aboard the Comfort. The transition from
private practice to combat medicine was a smooth one for him. The only drawback
was that upon increased contact with humans, he found that his name sometimes
elicited amusement. It seemed that his name sounded virtually like one of the
older Earth-based words for ‘junk.’ Naturally, being a Vulcan, he did not find
it amusing nor annoying. It was simply nonessential trivia to him. His human
colleagues soon came to forget the double meaning. He carried out his duties
with clinical precision. The only thing Dr. Cho would have preferred was that
his bedside manner was a little better. Then again, she was used to Vulcan
doctors. One of her old schoolmates had been a Vulcan. Her experience with
Selar helped her get acclimated with Schlock.
Schlock nodded to her. “Is
everything alright?”
Cho wasn’t sure how answer that,
but as far as she was concerned, everything was fine. “For the time being, I
hope so.” She looked at the main monitor. “Casualty reports already in?” She
asked, not wanting to know.
“Yes,” he stated.
“Any changes?” she asked.
“ Yes, since we were able to rescue
some of the survivors from the Hood and the
Majestic. 140 dead and 500 wounded
to varying degrees.”
“140 dead...” That seemed like a high
number to Dr. Cho. “That’s not including the dead we found aboard the ships?”
“No, they died on the table. Some
of the wounds were to great to treat,” Schlock said looking at Cho. “There was nothing
we could have done.”
Cho nodded. “You’re right.” She
frowned. “We did all we can. I’ll be in my office The sickbay is yours.” She patted
his shoulder as she walked away. Schlock glanced back at her then returned to
work.
Cho rubbed her forehead as she
stood next to the replicatior. “Computer—coffee, double sweet and cream
please.” Her mug of steaming office appeared. She took the mug and sipped the
coffee, savoring every moment of it she sat down behind her desk.
“Computer, darken windows to 80
percent.” The windows in her office darkened; she could still see out into the
sickbay, but those in the sickbay couldn’t see into her office. She looked on
her desk and saw that there were many padds that either needed her to sign off
on or they needed to be reviewed. She knew she had to get them done so she grabbed
the first one, which turned out not to be a padd but a holopic of her and two
other of her classmates from medical school. It was a graduation holophotograph.
In the middle was her, flanked on the left by Dr. Hartman and on the right by Dr.
Selar.
Selar was the CMO of the Excalibur, currently posted on a long-term humanitarian
mission outside of Federation space. Cho had been keeping up with the
declassified mission reports with some fascination. It seemed that the Excalibur often became entangled in unusual situations. Cho
pursed her lips. She realized that it had been a while since Starfleet Command
released another mission report. Almost as if the Excalibur had dropped off the grid... She shook her head and
made a mental note to search the database for the ship’s current whereabouts.
Dr. Cho knew where the Pacific was, though. She wondered how Hartman was doing. It
had been awhile since they last talked at Starbase 776 when the Comfort assisted in the repairs on the Pacific. One of the hardest hit areas on the Ambassador class ships was the sickbay. Most of the sickbay
personnel had been killed or wounded, and much of the sickbay needed repairs
and restocking. Dr. Cho was supervising the restocking process when she was
surprised and excited to see her old classmate walk into the sickbay. She was
even more surprised to find out that he had been promoted and was assuming the
Chief Medical Officer’s post for the Pacific.
That was months ago. The Pacific was one of the many derelicts left behind from
Operation: Return. Fortunately, Dr. Hartman was not one of the casualties. She
was glad that he had been able to escape the ship before its destruction.
How is he faring? she wondered. She could imagine how he felt; she had
gone through a similar experience nearly losing the Valdemar. Perhaps she might be able to alleviate the shock he
must be feeling at this time. Cho put down the holopic on the desk and decided
to write a letter to Dr. Hartman.
“Computer... Open a new file name:
Letters to Dr. Hartman,” she said.
“File
created,” the computer stated.
She
dictated a short letter and sent it. In a matter of days, Hartman replied. He
filled her in with the details of the inquest on the loss of the Pacific. She replied to that letter, and then he replied
back. And then one day, it stopped. Cho was not sure who was the one who hadn’t
replied, but as the interruption of the letter exchange continued, the fault
fell on both doctors. Neither one of them had sat down to compose the next
mail. Cho had a feeling that their argument was at the root of it.
One
day, Dr. Cho decided to take the initative and resume the letter exchange. “Begin
composing a personal letter to Dr. Hartman.” Dr. Cho waited for a moment, sipping
at her omnipresent coffee. The crew of the Comfort knew that Dr. Cho would never be seen without a mug
of coffee. In fact, the crew had taken to calling her replicator recipe for
coffee “Cho-ffee.” Gathering her thoughts, she began to speak.
To: Dr. Edward Hartman
Chief Medical Officer
U.S.S. Courageous
NX-81822
“Ed, I hope this letter finds
you well, and somehow makes it across the thousands of light-years between the
Alpha Quadrant and the Borderlands. The latest reports from the Midas Array say
that communications have been successfully established with your ship, but ever
since the war started, I’ve noticed communication hasn’t seemed the same. I
suppose because I’ve stopped taking it for granted and see each communiqué that
reaches my inbox as precious.
Do you know what I realized the
other day? It has been over... well nine years since we last talked in person at
your house in England. It wasn’t much of a talk–more of... a shouting match
over your resignation from Starfleet. It opened up some wounds and I don’t
think they ever really closed. For what it’s worth, I apologize for the things
I said that day, and I hope one day you’ll forgive me.
Now with that said and done... How
is life aboard the Courageous? I
hope it is treating you well out there in the frontier. It must be nice to get
away from the frontline for awhile. I am not saying that there are no dangers
where you and the Courageous are,
but it must be nice not worrying about getting into a firefight every time the
ship drops out of warp. You may not know it but war here is getting worse.
Starfleet is predicting that if we don’t have an edge soon, the Dominion will
win this war by default and just between you and me, I will not be a slave to
anyone, least of all to the Dominion.
I suppose after this ten-year
hiatus, a recap should be in order. I’m still the CMO of the Comfort, attached to the 47th
Medical Regiment Fleet. The 47th has changed a lot in this past
decade, going from a small regiment to a full-fledged fleet of ships. I tell
you Ed, these men and women are nothing short then amazing. A lot of doctors
were transferred from different parts of the Federation to the 47th,
many of them giving up their jobs to be combat medics. It’s a rough learning
curve. I’ve been on some missions where I learned different surgical techniques
without a functioning medical tricorder or any medical equipment in the combat
area. I learned that time is very short and quickness is the key in combat
areas and even in the danger zone. And so have the other doctors in this
regiment.”
Cho drained more of her coffee and
continued dictating the letter. Finally she concluded the message.
“I must confess to you that I
was envious of you–handpicked to be the CMO of the Courageous. I heard that your ship is an
awesome sight to behold; I would love to see her in person one day. And I must
stop writing this letter, I have to go in a few minutes. I hope you decide to
reply to this letter. I would love to read about your adventures on the
Courageous; but most of all, it will do me a lot of good just hearing from you.”
Dr. Sheri Cho, Chief Medical Officer
U.S.S. Comfort, NCC 50111
“Computer, send letter to Dr. Hartman, C.M.O. U.S.S.
Courageous,” she said as she picked up her
mug for a refill.
“There
you go, Lieutenant,” Hartman said as he was running a dermal regenerator over
the knife cut Dawson received when he was fighting the High Lord. “Good as new.
How do you feel?” the doctor asked, turning off the regenerator.
Dawson rubbed his right arm,
feeling no pain, he felt good. “Better,” he said.
“Good, I think that all I can do
for you. Off you go.” Hartman smiled.
“Thanks Doc.” Dawson smiled as he
left the sickbay. Hartman turned to the nearest nurse. “If anyone needs me, I
will be in my office.” Then he walked away.
As he walked into his office, he
asked “Computer, any messages?” as he stepped over to the replicator.
“One personal message.” The
computer replied.
“Ah, hot tea mint, light sweet.”
The mug of steaming tea emerged from replicator, and Hartman took it and sipped
it. He closed his eyes. “Computer, origin of the message.” He sipped as he
waited for the answer.
“Dr.
Sheri Cho, Chief Medical Officer U.S.S. Comfort, NCC 50111.”
Hartman raised his eyebrow. I
haven’t heard from her in like forever, he
thought to himself. He immediately remembered the nasty argument they had at
his home. There were words that he wished he never said to her. The friendship
was never the same after that and over the years, as the war dragged on life
went on as each had dropped out of the other’s life... until now. Hartman sat
down and turned his monitor towards him.
His hands shook and Hartman clenched his hands into fists. He
was tired from all the excitement the X’Lothians threw at the Courageous. He
opened his bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of murky grey liquid and poured
some in his tea, then put the bottle back in the drawer. He sipped his tea and
was happy. Well, it’s not Southern Comfort but it’ll do... “Computer, display Dr. Cho’s letter.” The computer
did and Hartman read the letter, and raising his eyebrows again but in
amusement.
“Yes, come in, come in!” Favor
said as Hartman burst into Ambassador Favor’s quarters, holding a padd in his
hand.
“Can you believe it, she apologized
after ten years!” Hartman said excitedly before realizing Captain Johnson was
sitting there drinking an ale.
“Who?” Johnson said. Hartman was
surprised to see Johnson in Favor’s quarters. “Dr. Cho,” Hartman said to the
two.
“CMO of the Comfort, yeah I remember her, fine looking lady, Ed.”
Johnson smiled.
Ambassador Favor was bemused. “Did
you apologize back to her?”
“What do you mean?” Hartman asked.
“As I recall, it takes two to
argue,” Favor said. “Isn’t that what happened between the two of you ten years
ago?”
Hartman frowned. “I suppose so. But
she... she wouldn’t stop. She called me some choice names.”
“And what did you say back to her?”
asked Favor.
“I guess I wasn’t as nice either.”
“Why did you stop writing each
other?” Johnson asked.
“I don’t know,” Hartman shrugged.
“We just... stopped. I can’t even remember who wrote whom the last.”
“Sounds like Dr. Cho wants to patch
things up,” Favor said.
“You’re lucky to have this chance,”
Johnson said. “If I recall correctly, the 47th Medical Regiment is
known for their high casualty rate.”
“Makes sense if they’re always sent
to the front lines,” Favor mused.
Hartman slumped into a chair. “I
feel stupid. Our argument seems so insignificant now with ten years’ hindsight.”
“And yet you come running in here
celebrating that she apologized to you,” Favor raised an eyebrow. “Kind of says
something, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know what that was about,”
Hartman said. “I guess I was just thinking, ‘aha, she was wrong and I was
right!’ I guess I was wrong, too. Yeah. I have to apologize.” He furrowed his
brows in thought.
“What is it, Ed?” Johnson asked.
“What are you doing here?” Hartman
asked. “I haven’t seen you in Nathan’s quarters for... well ever.”
“We kissed and made up,” Favor
smiled.
Johnson rolled his eyes. “Actually,
it’s funny you point that out. We patched things up recently after we worked
together at the Bazaar. Just like you and Dr. Cho, Nathan and I had our
arguments and let it dissolve our friendships. You have a chance to patch
things up here now. You should take it.”
Favor nodded. “Life’s too short.”
“I suppose you guys are right. I’m
glad to see that you two are friends again.” Hartman looked at the mug Favor
was holding. “Any chance I can get an ale?”
“Sure thing,” Favor said. “So what
did Dr. Cho say in her letter?”
To: Dr. Sheri Cho, Chief Medical Officer
U.S.S. Comfort, NCC 50111
I am a bit surprised that you
even sent me a letter at all. I thought after that argument we had destroyed our
friendship forever. For what it is worth, I am also sorry, and I do forgive
you, I just hope you forgive me too. Life aboard the Courageous is pretty good, and to answer
your question, yes it is nice to get away from the frontline but at the same
time there are some guilty feelings among the crew that we are not in the Alpha
Quadrant to help out. Captain Johnson quickly reminds us that we are helping
out with the war efforts, just in a different way. What the difference is, I’m
not sure. Maybe it’ll become clearer the further we go into our mission.
But
being out here doesn’t mean we will not get into combat. A few months ago, we
found the U.S.S. Galaxy in some
strange nebula that was playing hell with our sensors. What we did not know was
a group of aliens who claimed they are from another galaxy wanted to take
control of the U.S.S. Galaxy and
its technology and Captain Johnson refused to let that happen. There was fierce
hand-to-hand combat aboard the Galaxy
and in the end, the captain scuttled the Galaxy,
which nearly cost him his own life. I figured the more we go into the Borderlands
the more hostile it becomes.
To complicate matters more, the Voyager apparently left a bread crumb trail
of pissed off races in her wake... who knows who we will run into. We’ve already
had to deal with the consequences of the former Captain Janeway’s actions.
I
am glad that you’re still CMO of the Comfort,
although I thought by now you’d be on the Enterprise
or another more prestigious ship. As for the Courageous
posting, I owe it to Captain Johnson. It was he who finally convinced me to return
to service and redeem myself. And I am glad I did so.
I gotta go, mission briefing is in ten minutes.
Dr. Edward Hartman
Chief Medical Officer
U.S.S. Courageous
NX-81822
A week later, Dr. Cho was reading
her latest letter from Hartman; her spirit was in good form as she read it. It
was nice to hear something different for once. At least it was not some
frontline report, which she hated. She looked up at the sun, which hung behind
some clouds. The weather was warm and the wind was fair, making it a good time to
pick out herbs and plants to make homemade medicine. Her friends Doctors Roe
and Wayne were also with her. She put her padd away as she heard someone
screaming in the distance. Then a loud explosion rumbled. She guessed the
trench where the 21st Infantry was stationed at was now under attack.
The doctors ran back through the trees to make their way back to the trenches
to help out whoever was screaming for them.
“Medic... Medic!!!” Artillery shells
were exploding all around them. Cho and the other doctors ran through the
battlefields with their phasers drawn. Cho’s med kit bounced off her hip,
swinging from her shoulder strap. They kept running as trees native to the
planet Alpha Pi Five exploded in orange splinters. The smoke from the exploding
shells was burning Cho’s eyes but she had to keep on running or risk being hit
by artillery. More and more shells exploded around her as she ran and dodged as
much debris as she could, then she fell to the ground when she lost her footing.
Dirt and mud was splashed all over her face; she got up wiping the dirt out of
her eyes and nose. She grabbed her med kit to halt its swinging and kept on
running towards the forward lines where the 21st Infantry was dug in.
As she neared the treeline, she saw
what she dreaded the most. A wave of Jem’Hadar soldiers was pouring into the
front-most trenches, attacking the Federation soldiers there. Flashes of red
and blue lit up the battlefield haze, weapons fire from the combatants.
Cho saw it all as she keep running,
then she saw Doc Roe and Dr. Wayne were in a foxhole, yelling at her. “Come on,
get your ass in here, get in here.” What happened next Cho could not even
fathom. The shell struck the foxhole where Roe and Wayne were in was gone... dead.
Cho fell on the ground. She could not believe it–her friends were gone. With
whatever strength she had left, she got up and kept on running.
The treeline was exploding all
around her; she jumped into the trench. A soldier quickly turned around and was
about to fire at her, stopping only when he recognized her blue uniform.
“About time, get to the aid
station, MOVE!” Cho didn’t need to be told twice, as she started running to the
aid station. The sound of weapons fire echoed through the trenches that wended
through the dark violet soil. The trench to the aid station curved away from
the frontline and once Cho reached the low-set shelter, she saw hell. She saw
dead bodies everywhere.
“My God,” she said to herself.
A lieutenant, made old by war, grabbed
her. “Come on, we gotta evacuate the wounded to a runabout, the Ohio. We’re losing the trenches here.” Cho nodded went on
to help move the wounded to the runabout resting on dirt landing pad a few
meters behind the aid station. It was a wonder that the runabout hadn’t been
damaged in the shelling. The faint smell of ozone told her that the runabout’s
shields were doing their job well.
She tapped her combadge. “Cho to Comfort, can you read me?” She hoped that the ship was still
in comm range.
A crackling voice came through. “This
is Comfort, what going on?” her captain
asked.
“I can’t hear you well, but the
situation is bad, wounded are being taking to a runabout.”
Her captain replied quickly but it
was badly garble, “Do not atte...m... to... co..up... Jem... atta...” then the channel went
dead.
Cho tapped her combadge, trying to
open another channel. “Comfort... Comfort... can you read me?” She ran out of the runabout and
looked up the sky.
“Break orbit now!” the captain
yelled. “Get us out of here!” The Comfort
lurched and shuddered hard. On the bridge’s main viewscreen, the crew could see
the two Jem’Hadar attack ships firing at them. The small, insect-like crafts
had already scored several devastating shots. The Jem’Hadar ships quickly
looped around hard to put the final kill shot onto the Comfort’s engine. They fired their final volleys and the
hospital ship’s engine was destroyed.
With propulsion gone, the Comfort had no means of escaping the gravitational pull of
Alpha Pi Five. The ship already started sinking through the upper layers of
atmosphere.
The Starfleet destroyers U.S.S.
Stark and Mississippi had tried in vain to keep the heat off the Comfort, but the Jem’Hadar attack ships were too quick.
Neither starship captain had expected the Jem’Hadar to go after the hospital
ship with such single-mindedness. The larger Federation ships were able to
finish off the Jem’Hadar, but could only stand helplessly as the Comfort’s hull started burning in the atmosphere. It was too
late to attempt tractor beam locks. The smaller ship’s hull was already
buckling in her death roll towards the surface.
On the planet surface, Cho and many
others watched as a red thundering boom streaked across the sky. The sound grew
louder and louder as it went over the battlefield. Even the Jem’Hadar stopped
and took cover as they watched the burning ship crashing down. Then after a few
minutes of stunned respite, both sides resumed fighting and this time the
Starfleet soldiers started to push back with even more strength.
The Jem’Hadar First noted that the
Starfleet artillery unit had entered the fray. Ranging fire began falling down
around his unit. He and his men ignored the shells and pressed on with their
advance. The First gestured with his thick arm, shouting orders. He was met with
a well-aimed phaser rifle blast to the chest.
Cho watched as her ship finally
crashed into the side of a mountain with a geyser of purple dirt erupting into
the heavens, followed shortly with a thunderous explosion. A moment later, the
ground rolled beneath her feet. She had been at sea once, and the rocking
sensation came back to her as the shockwave of the Comfort’s impact reached the battlefield.
She knew it was her ship because
the Hope class ships are never heavily
shielded or armed. It would make sense for the Comfort to be the one taken down rather than the destroyer
starships. Cho decided to head back to the runabout Ohio, and try to get as many wounded off the planet as
possible and onto the Stark. She hoped
the Stark could take them to the hospital
ship Mercy outside the combat zone.
The sky was darkening. The plume of
dirt had spread out from the impact crater and blocked the sun. Cho turned and
ran towards the aid station.
It exploded as soon as she entered
it. She was thrown across several tables and down onto the hard floor, opening
up a gash on her forehead. She felt her head spinning as she struggled to get
up, then a very painful sensation shot through her body to her brain.
She looked down and saw a short
piece of piping, debris or shrapnel, she couldn’t tell which. What she could
tell was that it was sticking out of her body just where her liver was located.
Blood was gushing from the wound.
She tore a strip of cloth off her
uniform large enough to serve as padding for her wound. She gripped the pipe
gingerly, then firmly. She quickly pulled it out, letting out a yelp. Almost
immediately after, she pressed the padding onto the open wound. The cloth
quickly became soaking wet with blood.
She knew she didn’t have much time...
at the rate she was losing blood, the piping not only hit her liver but also
must have cut a major artery. She pressed the wet padding harder onto her wound
and stood up. The dust had settled from the explosion, and she could see that
the shelter wasn’t a complete loss. The back entrance was still clear, so she
started off in a dead jog, running out of the aid station.
On the rise above the main trench
several dozen meters away from the front line, the commanding officer of the
battalion watched as his left flank and the aid station were destroyed by the
Jem’Hadar’s tortoise-like tanks. Cannons spat out energized artillery shells
across the field, hitting the trenches with deadly effect. General Stefan Okulicki
gritted his teeth.
“Sir, the right flank! The 21st
are pulling out!”
General Okulicki turned and trained
his fieldglasses onto the left flank. “Who gave those orders?” he growled. He
could see the women and men of the 21st scrambling out of the
trenches and running towards the forest for cover. The Jem’Hadar tanks fired and
trees exploded, with body parts flying everywhere. The soldiers scrambled,
hoping to avoid making attractive targets for the Jem’Hadar gunners.
Then as luck would have it, several
bolts of dark blue pulse phaser fire splashed against the side of the Jem’Hadar
tanks, punching holes through the dark purple armor plating. Okulicki traced
the phaser fire back to Federation battle tanks rolling onto the battlefield
from beyond the edge of the forest. They fired several more volleys,
demolishing the Jem’Hadar tank squadron, aided by some well-placed artillery
fire from Okulicki’s own artillery unit.
The general smiled as he watched
the Federation battle tanks lumber towards his post. “Hello, 501st
Armored.” He laughed, feeling relief. He lowered his field glasses and the
smile faded as he looked at the dark plume in the sky.
“Corporal,” Okulicki called out, “Call
up our SAR units for survivors on the Comfort.” He looked over at the trenches. “Have one of them sweep the trenches
for wounded and check the aid station. See if any poor souls were in it.”
Cho finally made it to the platform
where the runabout Ohio was waiting. She
noticed all the wounded were now inside and ready to leave. The lieutenant who
helped her earlier saw her limping towards the ship. He ran to her with his
medical kit, as did another doctor. Cho was no longer smiling. She was sweating
and her face was getting paler. She saw the lieutenant and the doctor running towards
her. She slumped into the lieutenant’s arms.
He laid her down onto the ground as
the doctor began scanning her with a medical tricorder and sensor. She was
shaking and felt cold. She looked up at the concerned face of the lieutenant
and tried to speak. She managed to rasp out, “What is your name?”
He smiled down at her. “Boris Kurita,
sir.”
She gasped and trembled. The
lieutenant looked up at the other doctor.
The doctor shook his head. “There’s
nothing we can do now. She’s lost too much blood and it’s a serious injury. We
don’t have the equipment or supplies on hand for surgery.” He inserted the
sensor back into his tricorder, closing it. He looked down at Cho. “I’m sorry,
doctor.”
“It’s... it’s okay. I lived a good
life,” Cho replied. Her tremors got worse and she pawed at Lieutenant Kurita’s
arm.
“What is it?”
“In my pocket... there is a message
for a friend. Please see to it that he ge...gets... it...” Her eyes rolled up and she
slumped her head against Kurita’s chest as she died.
Kurita frowned as he put her head
down onto the ground gently, closing her eyes. He patted down her field jacket
and found a thin isolinear chip for a padd. He gripped it and stood up. Loud
cheering sprang up nearby. He looked over there, as did the doctor.
Soldiers had climbed up onto the embankments,
shaking their phasers and rifles in the air. The Jem’Hadar had been driven off.
Kurita smiled briefly but didn’t join in the revelry. Slivers of sunlight poked
through the dust clouds thrown up by the Comfort. The 21st Infantry and the 501st Armored may
have won, but the 47th Medical Regiment had suffered many losses
today.
The U.S.S. Courageous was now entering an uncharted system. Most of the
senior officers were asleep with the exception of Captain Johnson, Ambassador Favor
and Doctor Hartman, who were sitting in the eleven-forward lounge enjoying each
other company. The lounge was never packed at late night because many of the crewmembers
are sleeping. Normally the three men were sleeping at this hour, but once in a while
the three would get together and unwind.
They were near the window of the
lounge watching the stars streaking by as the Courageous cruised along at Warp Five. The three men were
drinking ales, and having some discussions about life over a game of pool.
Favor and Hartman were at the end of a game of 8 Ball. Johnson was getting
refills of dark ale for the guys. Favor was bent over the tan felt-topped pool
table. He lined up his shot and hit the cue ball. It spun and slammed into the
black 8 ball which promptly sank into a corner pocket.
“And that’s the game,” Favor smiled
at Hartman.
“Lucky shot.” Hartman smirked at
Favor. Johnson placed a mug by Hartman. “Ah, ale... my throat is drying up.”
“Maybe you should switch to
something else,” Johnson said as he handed Favor a mug. “We’re not in the
Academy anymore. You can’t drink all night like you used to then.”
“Is that doctor’s orders?” Hartman
chuckled.
Johnson smiled. “Captain’s orders
always trump doctor’s orders.”
“Except when the doctor’s orders
are for the captain,” Favor said. “I think. That’s always confused me a
little.” He pressed the black console at the end of the pool table, resetting
the game. Pool balls materialized onto the tan felt in a triangle.
Both Hartman and Johnson began
speaking when they were interrupted by the sounds of the lounge doors opening.
The three men looked over to the new arrival.
Lieutenant Commander Kyle walked
into the lounge with a padd in her hand. She made her way to Johnson. “Captain,
I’m sorry to interrupt you.”
Johnson sighed but concealed it
from Kyle. He set his cue stick against the table. “It’s allright, Kyle. What’s
up?”
“We’ve finished parsing the
communications dump from Starfleet Command. Here are the priority messages we’ve
culled from the dump, along with the latest casualty list. Communications
reports that they’ll begin distributing the personal messages within the next
48 hours.”
“Are those the priority messages
for me?” Johnson asked.
“Yes.” Kyle handed the padd to the
captain. She turned to Hartman. “While I’m here, you have a priority message
too.”
“From Starfleet Medical?”
Kyle glanced at the padd. “No, it’s
a personal message. Since you’re a senior crew member, the comm dump team routed
it to you early.”
“Oh. Well, it can wait ’til the
morning. Thank you, commander.”
Kyle nodded and walked out of the
lounge.
Favor sipped at his ale then looked
at Johnson. “It’s your break.”
“Just a minute,” Johnson said,
glancing over the padd. Hartman walked over to his stool and sat on it, looking
out at the stars. “My God.”
Favor looked up from the pool
table. “What?”
Johnson looked over at Hartman. “Ed,
I think you probably should check your message.”
Hartman got off the stool. “Why do
you say that?”
“Casualty list,” Johnson said
flatly. “U.S.S. Comfort went down on
Alpha Pi Five two weeks ago. Nearly all hands lost.”
“Doctor Cho?” Favor asked.
“She wasn’t aboard the ship,”
Johnson said. “She was planet-side, heading up the evac of wounded for the 21st
Infantry. She was killed during a Jem’Hadar offensive onto the 21st’s
position.”
“I think I’ll check my message
now,” Hartman said. “If you’ll excuse me...”
Favor nodded somberly. As Hartman
left, the ambassador walked over to Johnson, looking at the padd.
Moments later, Hartman was seated
in front of the computer terminal in his quarters. “Computer, open file.”
To: Dr. Edward Hartman
Chief Medical Officer
U.S.S. Courageous
NX-81822
Greetings
Dr. Hartman,
I
know you don’t know me so let me introduce myself. I am Lieutenant Boris Kurita,
XO of the 2nd platoon, 21st Infantry, based on Alpha Pi
Five. I promised a friend of yours that you would receive her message
I don’t know if you’ll be able
to get the full story, so I’ll tell you what I know. Dr. Cho was supervising the
transfer of wounded from the field aid station for the 21st
Infantry. We were taking our time evacuating the wounded to the Comfort. We weren’t expecting an attack by
the Jem’Hadar. Instead of taking the first runabout back to the hospital ship,
Dr. Cho decided to stay at the aid station. That’s why when the Jem’Hadar
attacked, she was caught on the frontlines. Apparently she was in the aid
station when it was hit by an enemy shell.
I am sorry to say that Dr. Cho
died in my arms trying to get the wounded off the planet. Her injuries were too
great to be repaired, and before she died she wanted to make sure you received
her letter. She was a fine lady and very headstrong. It was an honor to work
with her. Attached to this message is her letter. Good luck and Godspeed.
Hartman paused, looking at the link
to Cho’s final letter. He wasn’t surprised that she was in the middle of things
on the frontlines. He understood the risks doctors take in order to save other
lives, ignoring the potential dangers to their own selves. A woman like Dr. Cho
would have chosen to be on the planet than up in orbit aboard the ship. Moot
point since the Comfort crashed into the planet, Hartman thought grimly.
He pulled out a bottle of liquor
from his desk drawer. “To absent friends,” he said, unscrewing the top. He took
a swig from the bottle and tapped on the monitor’s screen to read the last
letter.
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