Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Eyes Cold As Death ❯ Twenty-four ( Chapter 24 )

Eyes Cold As Death

Chapter Twenty-four--Dissolution

They fell. Hundreds of mobile dolls rendered useless by the severed signal that had been feeding them information and instruction. Hundreds of dolls that now tore huge rifts into the soil, scars upon the Earth that would last for hundreds of years--a monument to the war against the past. Two full waves fell--the first wave of dolls continued to fight, having established targets within their internal systems, but they were now dissociated from the hive, acting on their own, nothing more than overgrown machines. Their brains were gone--broken when the signal died, and now they functioned purely on instinct.

The Preventers were still outnumbered, fighting valiantly against their oppressors, their fatigue evident to the observer. But they continued to fight, never giving up, never laying down for anyone. They fought for each other, for the innocents running from the city they were fighting over. They fought for themselves, for their loved ones…

They fought for those that had fallen.

And slowly, they began to push back those few dolls that still remained, buzzing around the battlefield like flies. Slowly, the numbers began to even out. Slowly, not without hardship or injury, they began to win…

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"Duo! Look out!" Heero screamed. His throat ragged from the force, he screamed as Duo's Gundam toppled over; a direct hit exploding in the dying light. Deathscythe slammed against the ground, dust and ash billowing into the air--a sheer curtain floating on a breeze.

His sensors screamed at him, blaring in the suddenly claustrophobic cockpit. Heero barely spared them an automatic glance just in time to receive the blunt of a missile attack from behind. He swung his Gundam around, using the momentum of the explosion, and swiped at the offending doll. His sabre sliced through the enemy suit, severing its torso, the two halves gently slipping apart. Alarms blared in the cockpit, emergency lights switching on, bathing the cockpit in a dull red. Steam hissed from nearby and the cockpit gradually filled with fog. Heero's fingers danced across the displays trying to find the damage, isolate it and solve it. He shut off the hydraulic fluid to the shoulder hydraulics. The gas flooding his cockpit stopped.

He peered through the haze into his displays. He had lost the use of one arm--one weapon. He had to now choose between his sabre and his beam cannon. He glanced at his batteries. Empty, or close enough to it to make the decision for him. He dropped the beam cannon. The thud that drifted into his cockpit from the cannon's landing sounded too final for Heero's tastes. He gritted his teeth, jaw protesting.

He turned toward where Duo had fallen, acute relief soaking his entire body and mind. Deathscythe was getting up, rage radiating from the Gundam. Heero's body felt like wet clay as he watched Duo stand and swing his scythe in great arcs. Finish the battle, then melt into goo on the floor of your Gundam, he admonished himself. Finish this, then you can crush Duo to you and hold on for dear life. Finish this.

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Duo sluggishly regained his footing, barely pushing his Gundam upright. He was thankful that his Gundam's controls were super sensitive, because he didn't think that he had enough energy to adequately control his scythe normally. He flicked his wrist, exhaustion pulling his lips into a grimace. His scythe swung around, the green glow emanating from it leaving a trail in the gathering darkness. His head throbbed with old and new pain. He had hit his head again when Deathscythe had gone down and the TV snow insisted on remaining locked in a never-ending snowstorm in middle of his vision. It was occasionally accentuated with flashing novas.

His left side was numb, and he was bleeding from his right shoulder. He didn't know where his shoulder wound had come from, but it was there, and bothering him to no end. The fingers of his right hand were cold and tingling as they attempted to stay awake.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting its last feeble rays on the battle and Duo thought with a rising sense of panic, that the battle had ended with the day. Firelight flickered at the edge of his vision, reflecting off of the cold metal of his cockpit. He knew that the fires were still raging over the remains of the oil fields, as well as in isolated spots where suits had gone down in a flare. Dull embers dotted the battlefield, glowing proudly in the failing light.

Duo turned to attack another group of mobile dolls. There were none. He searched the battlefield for any remaining enemies. There were only a few. Heero dispatched with one and turned onto another. Wufei had four surrounding him…no, now only two. That was it. There were no more. They were gone--all dead and gone, dead husks to be forgotten.

He leaned back in his seat, finally giving into the exhaustion that had stained his movements since he had patched Quatre up in the empty hanger beside the ragged corpse of Jezebel. They were done. His sensors agreed--they had won. He took in a deep breath, holding it momentarily before letting it out shakily.

"Duo?" Heero's shaky voice came from the Comm. Duo tiredly activated his Comm to reply.

"I'm fine, Heero. You?"

"Thank God." There was a pause, Duo imagined Heero fighting with tears. Duo took in another deep breath and promptly burst into tears. He had been so afraid; his hope had been running away from him eventhough he had tried to hold it close to him. Adrenaline retreated from his system, and fatigue hit him like a sucker punch. Tears of sorrow, fatigue, frustration, fear, relief and grief flooded him, flowing forth, leaving him drained and empty. "Wufei? What is your status?"

"Functional. Noin?" Wufei answered, exhaustion evident in his normally refined voice. Now it was raw and wavering.

"I'll live." Came Noin's terse reply.

"Quatre?" Wufei asked. There was only static, but Duo imagined that he could hear a faint groan.

"We need to get him back to base. We all need to get back to base." Heero stated. Duo could see Heero stooping to gather Sandrock in his Gundam's arms.

"Heero, I'll take him." Nataku gracefully landed by Zero. "I know you're injured." This only served to reactivate Duo's tears and he covered his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Go. Signal for some medical help. Duo lets go. There's nothing more we can do here." Duo gripped his controls, taking deep breaths to calm himself. When his vision had cleared he hesitantly navigated his Gundam toward the hanger, but he couldn't seem to go in a straight line. His Gundam dipped and swerved. He clipped the ground. He stopped, tears flowing to his eyes again. Goddamnit! Why couldn't he stop crying? Because, you have lost too much in this battle.

He closed his eyes, his head throbbing dully. His Gundam jerked suddenly, and he felt forward momentum. He glanced fearfully around until Heero's soothing voice drifted over the Comm.

"You can't fly straight. I'll take you in." Duo nodded and leaned back into his seat. "Are you hurt?"

"Yeah." Their forward momentum increased.

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Sally threw her bloodied surgical gloves across the room as hard as she could, letting all of her frustration out.

"God Fucking Damnit!" She screamed. She was angry. Une had died on her table from internal injuries the paramedics had not seen. Someone had died on her table. She had failed to save a life.

She turned, wrapping her arms around herself, to peer through the window into the surgery room she had just vacated. She watched; despair filling her as a nurse gently pulled the white sheet over Une's face before stepping out of the room. Sally's knees gave out and she sank slowly to the floor, tears stinging her eyes.

She felt hollow--betrayed. She racked her mind, trying to figure out what she had done wrong, what she possibly could have done different to save her patient's life. Not her patient--Lady Une. An unreasonable thought flitted through her head: at least Une can be with Trieze now, she can finally be at peace.

Who was going to head the Preventers now? She buried her face in her hands, sorrow and grief tugging at her throat. She swallowed thickly. She coughed. She fell silent, holding an impromptu vigil over the covered form of Lady Une. One more body in the morgue.

She slowly picked herself up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. She breathed deeply, letting the breath out slowly. She tugged off the facemask she had let pool around her neck and tossed it into the hazardous waste receptacle. She needed to check on Relena. She stopped, bracing herself against the doorjamb with one hand, her other hand moving up to rub at her eyes. Relena would never walk again, of that she could be sure.

She pushed herself off of the doorjamb, forcing herself to move along the stark white corridor. Wash up, check on Relena, wait for news from the warfront, get rest, perform autopsies. She shivered; she hated to do autopsies. She supposed that she could hand the responsibility off to someone else, though it would all depend on who was appointed to the head of the Preventers and what they asked her to do or not to do.

She approached the washroom and pushed the door open with her shoulder. A nurse came up to her immediately and silently began to undo the knots that held her surgical apron on over her scrubs.

"Dr. Po!" A young intern shoved his way through the swinging doors. "Dr. Po!" She turned to face him.

"Yes?" She asked wearily.

"There are several ambulances en route to the hospital. You are requested to perform emergency operations on one of the arrivals." He was breathless, probably from running. Sally ran both hands through her knotted hair.

"What is coming in?" She gestured to one of the nurses. The nurse immediately grabbed a fresh apron and hair cover.

"Several head traumas, a major abdomen wound. Cuts and bruises, a possible concussion. Um…a shoulder wound…the list goes on and on, Doctor. You've been assigned to the abdomen wound and head trauma." Sally sighed and grabbed the hair cover from the nurse while the nurse began to drape the apron over her.

"He has both?"

"Possibly more, the list was so long that I couldn't remember which injuries belonged to which patient."

"What is their ETA?"

"About five minutes. We just received the notice." Sally nodded, pulling the head cover over her messed hair.

"Which room will I be operating in?"

"Surgery Three."

"Get me as much info as you can. I need to get to the prep room. I'll meet you there."

"Yes, Doctor." The intern ran out, sprinting down the hall. Sally tugged on her apron, arranging it after the nurse finished. She trudged out of the room and headed immediately toward the prep room. She had forgotten to ask where the patients came from. She hoped that it wasn't Wufei being brought in. Sharp tangible fear clawed at her stomach at the thought about Wufei. It couldn't be Wufei, could it? He would be fine. He waltzed out of HQ with hardly any injuries; he couldn't have been hurt in the battle!

She knew that she was being irrational, but she cared for Wufei too much to not worry about him. She couldn't help it; she needed Wufei. She loved Wufei.

She pushed through the doors leading into Surgery Three Prep. She washed her hands and arms, allowing another nurse to pull gloves over her dripping hands. She tied a mask over her face, securing it behind her head. The intern entered, more subdued.

"He has extensive abdominal injuries. Head trauma and abrasions. Gunshot wound to the shoulder, broken ankle." He was reading from a list. "Shrapnel embedded in his arm. Surface bruising and a cut above the eye--not connected to the head trauma." Silence spread through the room.

"Is that it?" Sally asked facetiously. The intern nodded uncomfortably.

"The paramedics didn't know how he was still alive."

"Well, he is. We have to make sure he stays that way."

"Yes doctor." An indignant squall rang over their heads.

"Dr. Po to Surgery Three." The intercom blared out.

"Already here." She mumbled turning to enter the surgical room. She pushed open the doors and froze. "Quatre…"