Atlas Reloaded - Book Five of the Damned of the 2/19th

Bloody Work

"Smoke's out," Carol said.

"Yeah," I muttered. I held back a cough by relaxing my diaphragm, ordering it to do what I wanted it to do, not what reflexes ordered me to do. The lizard controlled my autonomic reflexes and systems and I ordered the lizard what to  do.

I was breathing slowly, from my belly, as best as I could, letting my mind float. The lizard was tracking time, keeping my heartbeat low, keeping my breathing slow but my blood oxygenated, keeping my blood stream full of chemicals.

"Wind's too hard to get any height on it, it thinned too quick," Carol said.

"Not your fault," I said. I seized control of my body and refused to cough. I stared at my thigh. My uniform was soaked and it was starting to drip onto the floor. "Carol."

"What, Franky?" she asked me, squeezing my hand.

"I need a tourniquet on my thigh," I told her.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"I'm sure. I'm bleeding out," I told her. I licked my lips, ignoring the tightness in my chest and the urge to start panting. "I'm getting dehydrated from blood loss. Getting dizzy. Too much blood in my pantleg."

"What do I do?" She asked me softly.

I swallowed thickly, a wad of blood almost gagging me. "OK, gimme a minute to think," I sighed, my brain running thickly. Slowly. The lizard kicked my adrenals and the fog lifted. "All right, you wearing a bra?"

"Yeah," she said.

"Size?" I asked.

She made a huffing sound.

"I've tongued out your swampy field gash, I get off on the fact you're chubby, just tell me your damn bra size," I said, coughing toward the end. She reached down and rubbed my back, waiting until the coughing was done to finally speak.

"I'm a fatass, all right," She said. "Five six, one sixty, body fat of thirty-three percent. A third of me is nothing but fat."

"Yeah, and I like your fat ass, Helga" I said.

She snickered. "Fine. I wear a 38DD," she said. "I got big fat girl titties."

"Well, looks like I'm gonna get to see 'em," I told her.

She sighed. "Way to ruin my fantasy, Franky," she unbuckled her LBE and tore open her Kevlar vest.

"Fantasy?" I gasped, couldn't catch it, choked, gagged on blood, then spit it out before I gasped again and groaned. A band tightened around my chest. "Shit, you might have to do something really ugly if this gets worse in my chest."

"What?" She asked.

"You don't want to know. So, fantasy?" I asked. "Keep me talking, I'm light headed."

"Just, well, things between my husband and I haven't been good for a couple of years, Franky," she told me. I heard cloth rustle. "You wanna look?"

"Can I?" I asked. "Take my mind off this?"

"Yeah, Franky, you can look," She told me, reaching down and rubbing my leg.

I turned my head, my neck burning with pain, gasping slightly at the sudden release of pressure deep in the left side of my chest.

Carol was chubby, right on the max-body fat line. But the military version of fat and the civilian definition were two different things. She was solidly built, with a bit of a belly, but I stared at her while she looked at me, reaching behind her to fumble at her bra clasp.