Oosterscheldekering Dam Base
Hangar Bay
Emilie Girard
“Artem?!” Exclaimed Emilie, not having paid enough to the names of the soldiers being sent on the mission to notice that the Czech had been on it. The man thrust his damaged chest plate towards her before heading back into the craft to drag out another of his comrades. Emilie didn’t react for a moment, trying to wrap her head around being handed the contorted piece of metal. As Artem finished lowering Anthony into his stretcher, Emilie stormed up to him, forcefully grabbing his shoulder and spinning him to face her. Immune to any exclamation of pain that the action may have evoked, she shone a bright flashlight quickly into both of the man’s eyes. She sighed audibly before gesturing for another stretcher to be brought.
“Definitely a concussion at least – I’m guessing the same thing that managed this.” Emilie waved the mangled armour to accentuate her point. “Mon dieu, the hell are you doing walking around like this?” By this point two of the hands had arrived with the stretcher and practically forced Artem onto it – which in his current state wouldn’t have been too difficult. With a curt nod from Emilie, they started wheeling him down to the medbay. She exchanged the ruined metal for her now cold soup, recognising that it would probably be the only dinner she’d get that night, before quickly following the stretcher down the hall.
Oosterscheldekering Dam Base
Medical Bay
Emilie Girard
“You’re going to need an X-ray for sure – who knows how messed up your insides are.” Emilie had put on a pair of gloves and had stuffed another piece of baguette into her mouth, loose crumbs falling on the tiled floor. “Although I don’t see any major flesh wounds, so you won’t be dying of external bleeding any time soon.” She said with feigned optimism. “Internally? Partly why you need the X-ray.” Artem was lying down on the bed, having been moved from the stretcher by the two hands before they’d gone off to attend to their other duties. With a practiced ease, Emilie undid the buttons of the man’s shirt. She winced at the purple splodge that was spread out over his torso.
“Actually, scratch that. Definitely some internal bleeding.” She ran her gloved hands along Artem’s sides, applying pressure periodically and noting when he cursed, swore or otherwise indicated that it was painful to do so. Emilie finished up quickly, being used to speed and rapidity more than patient comfort. “Plus, I’d put money on the x-ray showing up with a couple of broken ribs – this is going to end up hurting a lot more once the adrenaline gets flushed from your system.” Next, the medic placed her hands on Artem’s shoulder, looking at him seriously. “You’ve also got a dislocated shoulder, which is pretty minor compared to the rest of this so I may as well fix it up now.” She hesitated for a moment, feeling the bones behind the Czech’s shirt.
“Look, you’ve done this before right so we can just skip the usual drill? The part when I go ‘Une, deux, trois’ and actually push it in on ‘une’ so you’re not expecting it?” At that moment, before Artem had a chance to respond, Emilie pressed on his arm until she felt and heard a satisfying click as his shoulder locked back into place. “So what hit you? I’d say explosive, but you’re insides would definitely have been scrambled by the shock wave in that case.”
