Heart for the Fight

[Cassie Granger 0]

Heart for the Fight*

 

As far as perks, New Topeka Colony didn’t rate. If you stretched your imagination, on a scale of one to five it might be a two, but just barely. You throw in its BP/FTR training facility, though, and from the military perspective it was over the top: six full stars of straight-up raw down-and-dirty. Coronado Island paled in comparison.

 

There was the colony, there was the base, then there was what they called the backside (all implications intended): one entire hemisphere dedicated to high-security Starfleet Border Patrol First Threat Response training.

 

The land on the backside had always been part of the base, used for camping trips, Sunday hikes, or the occasional secluded rendezvous. But in the same way that U.S. command realized Pearl’s battleship row was not a good idea after 12/7/1941, after Vulcan, Starfleet realized that having all their training bases on one planet was courting disaster.

 

Different century, same principle.

 

Because of its strategic location and its BP/FTR presence, New Topeka was first on the list for development and had quickly been established as the goto place for high-level training. From frozen wasteland to arid desert, putrid swamp to iceberg heaven, broad plain to unforgiving shale peaks, it offered the entire range of training possibilities. Put that with a state-of-the-art medical facility and you had a first class training base.

 

Cass’s medical watchdog kept an easy jogging pace just behind her as they worked the level five obstacle trail through a mountain pass. Over the last few weeks she’d worked the trails from level one to five with medical in tow to monitor her physical and neurological responses and to “keep her on the straight and narrow,” as Doc Pantoja had put it two days after Viper Strike:

 

“How you feeling today, Warrant,” he said, slipping onto a stool next to her bed.

 

“Like kickin’ some Klingon ass, sir. Wondering if that intel I paid for’s gonna give us s’more action.”

 

“Looking for payback, Gunner?”

 

“Damn right, sir.”

 

His eyes never left hers as he leaned forward, elbows resting easily on her bed, slate in hand. “Not going to mince words with you, Marine. Going to tell you straight up, like it is, so you know what we both have to deal with if you decide to go outside the wire* with your recovery.”

 

 

The doc had saved his share of battered bodies during his eleven year career. He’d become somewhat of a legend, but he didn’t seem to recognize it and probably didn’t care. Cass couldn’t fault him for wanting to get everything in order before her release, but he sure didn’t mince words. She figured he didn’t want her to pull an Operation Homecoming: a team-initiated unauthorized pre-release escape that stemmed from the whole warrior ethos thing, the never quit attitude pounded into Marines from day one:

 

I will always place the mission first.

I will never accept defeat.

I will never quit.

I will never leave a fallen comrade.

 

She’d seen half-dead marines pulling their buddies out of harm’s way before collapsing from their own injuries, some even dying in the effort. But they kept on the mission. They were never out of the fight. They never quit. It gave them that edge over the enemy that was needed at the time and gave them the extra push they needed to see the engagement through.

 

It gave them determination, and determination led to courage under fire.

 

Problem was, it spilled over into the recovery process and could hamper it big time. They were more likely to go outside the wire thinking they could handle it all themselves. Operation Homecoming. Ooorah.

 

Cass came to the crest of a hill, scaled a 19’ rock face, then began the descent toward the trailhead, Garuda keeping an even distance, always watching.

 

 

“A’right,” Pantoja began, tapping a stylus on the slate, “see those tiny spots here, here, and here? They’re only a few of the places where surgical needles were inserted into your nerve junctions, like acupuncture with a different objective.” He paused at her shudder; his tone softened. “The needles themselves didn’t do much damage, but the pulses overstimulated your nerves, and that’s where the problem is. According to those readouts up there,” he pointed to an overhead monitor, “your nerves are still firing pretty constantly at odd times of the day and night. Am I right?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she admitted, staring at the sheets. “They’re, uh.... workin’ overtime.”

 

 

Cass rounded a curve, ascended a steep muddy incline, darted around a few stumps and over a log barrier then down again, into a twisting serpentine. Her combat boots were heavily caked with mud, her legs and arms soaked, her hair dripped with questionable material and her face bore that natural look that only swimming through a swamp can give. A quick glance as they negotiated a hairpin in the serpentine showedGaruda close behind, checking her bio-readouts on a mud-spattered arm monitor. It’d been over a week since she’d had a neurological misfire and though she was winded and every muscle ached, her nerves seemed to be working just fine.

 

 

“I’m going to take a wild guess that you’re having nightmares and headaches as well.”

 

She nodded.

 

“The nightmares? That’s what our resident shrink is for. The headaches will pass; they come with the territory when we’re talking about traumatic brain injury - in your case, mild concussion.

“Anyone ever say you had a hard head, Gunner?”

 

Caught off-guard with the question, Cass looked up to a semi-smirk that reminded her of Silver.

 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” he said, bemused, “but I’m not talking bullheaded here, I’m talking about your genes.” He flicked to another screen. “These scans show an amazingly solid cranial structure. Judging from the external soft tissue damage you should have had at least a crack in your skull, but there’s not a sign, so next time someone calls you hard-headed, Gunner, they’re right.

 

“But,” he interjected holding up a finger, “that doesn’t mean there’s no damage. As I said, mild concussion,” his free hand waggled, “maybe some other things we want to watch for a while. Bottom line: I’m sure you’ll get your payback, but not right away. After a few weeks and some psychological counseling for the trauma, we’ll re-evaluate. In the meantime, I’m keeping you here another night or two, then releasing you to our shrink, maybe some light duty, depending on the scans. Got it?”

 

“Got it, sir.”

 

 

That was five weeks ago. Today Doc Pantoja stood at the door of the check-in hut at the trailhead, slate in hand, watching Cass and Garuda cross the line. She had run the 10k level 5 course in good time. Not record, and not even close to her personal best, but they weren’t looking for that. Garuda synched with Pantoja’s slate and they compared notes while Cass walked a cool-down, her hands resting easily on her hips. Their verdict: extended performance without neural misfire, collapsing, muscle spasms, and a few other things in doc speak she didn’t understand. She’d be ready for Creek within the week, and she’d be looking for Klingon payback.

___________________________

*Heart for the Fight - title of a book by Brian Stann, Marine Silver Star recipient and mixed martial arts instructor.

* Dr. Jose Pantoja: Used with utmost respect in honor of the selfless dedication to duty under fire by U.S. Army SGT Jose Pantoja, medic, 3rd Platoon, Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion, 87th Infantry Regiment, 10th Mountain Division while attached to FOB Bermel, Afghanistan.

*Outside the wire: military slang meaning outside the protected perimeter of a facility or encampment.