Lt. Schrader was defrosting peacefully in a nearby gurney, submerged in the deep slumber of exhaustion, while Nurse Yahbo examined her pseudo-human patient, ANDA. She was pleased
to see his biorhythms returning to a more steady pattern and, though his enhanced physiology differed somewhat from most biological entities, she took this as a good sign.
She heard advancing footsteps and turned in time to see Sgt. Stauch and another enlisted man dragging ANDA's replica into the medical department. They were followed by another commando carrying a human sized
burden over one shoulder and calling out a thickly accented cadence.
"Hop, tyoo, thuree, fah", he called. "Comp'nee, hawalt!!" His heels came together solidly, jostling his burden who, in his
unconscious state, didn't seem to mind. Stauch and Randaway
dropped DANA onto the ground unceremoniously, gasping for breath.
"This one", the sergeant indicated, pointing at the damaged android, "can wait. He's a walking injury factory." He pointed to where Powell stood, Marx laying limply over his shoulder.
"That guy needs some immediate attention, though."
"Mental health problems are a little out of my league", the nurse informed him, "but I could call Dr. Billoway."
Stauch regarded her with some confusion before grasping her meaning. "No, not Corporal Powell", he corrected, "the guy he's carrying."
"Oh, I see. In that case, bring him over here." She moved down the hallway, and into an examination room. "Set him on the bed", she instructed, pulling a medical cart closer.
Powell did as told, laying the retired Sergeant gingerly upon the mattress. "Y'all reckon he goan be ah raht?"
Nurse Yahbo stared at the vernacularly challenged corporal for several seconds before she was able translate his question into English. "Yes", she replied, "he should be fine."
"Well, thassa load offa mah mahn, ma'am."
Doubting her ability to interpret his most recent statement, Nurse Yahbo began to herd all three of them toward the door. "I have work to do, gentlemen", she advised. "You may as well get
back to your stations."
"Thank you, ma'am", Stauch replied. "We'll do that."
Meanwhile, Corporal Broski was repeatedly smacking the overly large head of an enlisted man against the metal framework of his bunk.
"Say it again", Broski instructed, pushing his canteen cup toward the man's face.
The large private sobbed loudly as he tried to regain some small amount of composure. "I'm s-s-sorry", he stammered at the metallic beverage container, tears leaking freely from his eyes.
Broski tilted his head, listening for the reply only he could hear. He shook his head. "Not good enough", the corporal advised him ominously. He set the cup on its embroidered pillow and
grasped the private's head with both hands, preparing to continue the larger man's lesson in abject humility.
The door slid silently open behind him as Sgt. Stauch stepped into the room, and the chaos within. His expression was icy as he surveyed the scene, and his right hand began to drift toward his belt.
Randaway looked at him questioningly as Stauch removed a grenade and pulled the pin.
"That might not be such a...", he lost his voice as the sergeant lobbed it into the crowd. Numerous commandos instinctively began running for the exits when they saw the compact explosive rolling in
their midst. Broski relinquished his hold on the larger man's head, spinning him around for use as a human shield.
A flash of light and sound announced the concussive ignition of the grenade, sending soldiers diving to the ground in hopes of dodging its destructive force. Randaway slowly opened his eyes and withdrew his
fingers from his ears, noting with some confusion the lack of any real damage to the quarters.
"Flash-bang", Stauch informed him, as he waded into the mass of prone commandos with disgust.
