An Oath

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There was a slight mixup while I was on the road, and only half of this scene got posted last week. Sorry. It was actually all there, but part of it got buried in the tail. So here is the entire scene, plus the next one. Apologies.

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Illoia stood back, exhausted. She had finally finished the calves of their young patient, and done some work on his thighs. By then the lad working with her had finished the rest of the body and they had turned their patient over. That had led to hundreds of more investments but, now, finally, they were finished. At least she was, and the lad was working on the last one of his, high up under the shoulder blades.

“Mother,” he called, “can you help with this one?”

The Top Ranker's wife came back and between the two of them they pried the shoulder blade up and dislodged the investment.

“Good work, you two,” the Top Ranker's wife said, checking the vital signs. “Get the various tubes in and you can rest. We have enough crew for the rest of them.”

The lad did most of the tubes, including a needle for feeding in the arm and a different tube for feeding down the nose; as well as the various other medical hookups.

“I think he will survive,” he said. “Will you be adopting him, or should I signal his unit to have someone ready?”

“I need to decide now?”

“It would be best. They are going to let the rest of his unit in in a few minutes, as soon as they finish the rest of the patients. Only three died, God be praised. The husbands and mothers and all will be coming in. One or two wives, too, I see.”

Illoia had had almost no time to look around during their work but now that she did she saw that, indeed, most were lasses and children, with only two men. And one of the men was missing his right arm above the elbow.

She turned back to the lad. “You are sure that my Tom would want me to adopt this lad?”

“Absolutely, Ma’am. My mother must have thought so, too, or she would never have suggested it.”

She gulped. Here she had pictured herself popping out twins and triplets… and instead she was reduced to adopting war orphans. Not that anyone, ever, officially looked down on people who did so. But she knew that they almost always had difficult emotional struggles. And to subject such a one to Tom…

But, then, perhaps it would help him. And then she looked at the lad and realized that, to this lad, there was nothing ‘anti-social’ about her husband. He idolized him. Perhaps this war orphan would do so, too.

“What do I need to do?”

He fiddled with his comp for a second, “As senior medical aide for this patient I have released him for adoption. I sent you the request form. When you acknowledge it it will be passed up the chain… to your husband and then to the sub-commander.”

Illoia felt her wrist vibrate and looked down. There it was: Request to adopt. All of the names were already filled in. All she had to do was click and confirm. She looked up and saw the lad staring at her. She looked back down… and clicked.

—

“What do we do now?” she asked.

He looked around and she followed his gaze. At all but one of the tables but one the attendants were standing around talking. At that one, the man with his arm burned off, a lass she took to be a medic was still working up toward the chest. He would be months in rehab, she knew, and probably get medical leave.

“We cover up our patient,” he said, pulling a sheet… an odd sheet with one side all silvery… out of one of the cubbyholes and over the patient, leaving only his head and his arms showing. “They will be letting the others in soon.”

Illoia took the opportunity to drink some of the water that was also in the cubbies, and to rest. To breathe. Her job had not been very complex, indeed toward the end it had been rather boring, but her heart was still beating. Much of that might be because… she glanced over at the lad, sleeping so soundly. Her lad, now, or soon, as soon as her request got accepted.

“When will he wake up?” she asked.

The lad looked back, “Oh, well, it depends. The investments put out a sleepy drug, and an anesthetic, and that takes a while to wear off. Maybe by tomorrow this time? But don’t worry, the med alarm will give you plenty of warning, and you’ll be taken off other duties for a while to wait, and then to take care of him at first. You have lots of brothers and sisters, younger ones?”

Illoia nodded.

“Well, then, you won’t have trouble taking care of him. He’s a good kid, you heard his record. And military brats tend to be pretty good, anyway. If parents don’t train a child well, they hear about it from their dorm mates and, if bad enough, from their leader. But this is a good kid, anyway.”

She hadn’t doubted it. She had just never thought that she would end up adopting a war orphan. They were rare, back on Tarreno, and now she thought she knew why. She looked around… were all of these older children war orphans, adopted by another military family?

She heard a noise at the door and saw a crowd coming in. Except for the patients, and the aides, there hadn’t been any males in the room, but now men and lasses were coming in, most of them heading directly for a table where they exclaimed, and cried, over a patient. The first few tables, with the dead, produced the most noise, altho some of the mothers of the invested children were almost as loud.

“Are you Illoia?” she heard, and turned around to see a lass, a few years older than she was, staring alternately at her and at her patient.

“Yes,” she responded.

“Oh, thank you so much for adopting him. He is such a good lad, and it was so hard for him to lose another set of parents. It will be good for him, since you don’t have any others… yet,” she added after an awkward delay. “He will need the attention. I was so pleased to hear that he had been adopted, and then to find out who had done it.”

“You… you knew?” Illoia asked.

“Yes, oh, you see, I’m the sub-commanders wife. War orphans fall under my jurisdiction for all of the centuries. We don’t have many this time, praise the LORD, but we do have a couple of others, and the centuries affected will have their hands full. It was so generous of you to volunteer. Just think, the lad will be a hero’s own. Not that that will make up for losing his parents but, still, it is something.”

Another lass had come over, and was stroking the lads hair. At Illoia’s look she said, “We were bunkmates. Thank you for taking him. We would have, but I have five, and we are going to be nursing ours back to health for quite a while.”

“Some of yours are here?” Illoia asked, looking around.

“Oh, none of my children!” the lass responded, “But plenty of our bunkmates. Two of our rooms held out, not everyone was taken.”

“Oh,” Illoia said. “But how long will you need to be nursing them?”

“We will need to be nursing them for at least three weeks, and then they will need therapy for at least three months after that. There isn’t that much damage to the muscle at first, but just the investment itself is damaging, and the muscles will need working back into shape.”

“Oh,” said Illoia again, looking back down at her child.

“How is he doing?” she heard from behind her and whirled to see Tomirosh staring down at the patient.

“He is doing as well as can be expected, Sir,” the med aide lad answered. “No particular complications as far as I can see. One investment behind the shoulder blade will probably be painful for a few months as the scar tissue heals.”

“Tom!” Illoia said, not knowing exactly how to react… to congratulate him on their new son? To be nervous as to how he would react?

“Yes, Love. I suppose this was hard for you, your first evac. I followed your progress, and you seemed to do well.”

She waited for his comment on her having adopted, for them, a war orphan, but he didn’t say anything. His humming, a very different rythym than she had ever heard from him before, continued, and he had no smile on his face, as he stared down at the little form on the table.

And then, to her utter shock, he brushed the lad's hair back from his head and bent down to kiss his forehead, muttering a few words in a language she didn’t recognize.

“What… what did you say?” she asked, when he turned back to her.

“Say? Oh. That.” He looked back to the lad, “That was an ancient oath in my home tongue.”

She was still staring at him as he strode off into the room, talking to one soldier after another. An oath?

Article 17

Article 17 is a military science fiction story with aliens and romance. It is set in a future reminiscent of Napoleon era Britain. The war was going very poorly until the military installed a dictator. This story follows one of the dictator’s great men: Cladin Tomirosh, Leader, and thrice decorated hero.

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Thank you for reading Von’s Substack. I would love it if you commented! I love hearing from readers, especially critical comments. I would love to start more letter exchanges, so if there’s a subject you’re interested in, get writing and tag me!Thank you for reading Von’s Substack. I would love it if you commented! I love hearing from readers, especially critical comments. I would love to start more letter exchanges, so if there’s a subject you’re interested in, get writing and tag me!

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Thanks again, God Bless, Soli Deo gloria,

Von