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Patch Up on Pittman
Day 17: Field Hospital Bravo
Today marks two weeks and three days since I was deployed to Pittman. The sand here is a permanent fixture on my skin, in my hair, even in the creases of the medical tent where I spend most of my days. Dust clings to every surface, no matter how many times we wipe it down, a gritty reminder of the reality we’re in.
The wounded come in waves, each one more battered and broken than the last. I’ve seen plasma burns that char flesh down to the bone, limbs seared away by alien weapons we still don’t fully understand. We work on rations of sleep and adrenalin, and every time I close my eyes, I see them, the ones we couldn’t save.
Day 18: The Toll
I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve had to tell Marines that they won’t walk again, or that their arm is gone. Some accept it with a blank stare, as if their mind hasn’t caught up to the reality. Others scream, rage, break down in tears. It takes everything in me to stay detached, to keep moving to the next cot, the next patient.
Today, one of the young ones broke down while I was stitching him up. He was maybe nineteen, eyes wide with terror. He grabbed my arm, holding on like I was the last stable thing in his world, and kept repeating, “Why, Doc? Why are they doing this to us?”
I didn’t have an answer. All I could do was promise him that we’d get him back on his feet, even if we both knew that was a lie.
Day 21: Breakthrough in Alien Physiology
Amid the chaos, the science team had a breakthrough today. They had been studying fragments of alien tissue collected from the field, and finally, some pieces are starting to make sense. Their skin is unlike anything we’ve encountered. It is extremely resilient, almost metallic, with an internal cellular structure that seems to act as a natural energy conductor. This may explain the plasma-like bursts we’ve seen in combat; it’s possible they’re using their own physiology to generate or withstand those energy levels.
They promised shortly they will introduce countermeasures and treatments, tailoring some of our weaponized treatments to disrupt their energy-conducting cells. It’s still experimental, but any edge could mean fewer of our own on these tables. This discovery gives me a glimmer of hope, a small comfort amid the brutality we’re drowning in.
Day 23: Field Surgery at Point Delta
A call came in just after midnight. Alpha Squad was hit hard on the ridge by the cliffs at Point Delta. My team and I were dispatched, setting up a makeshift triage right in the combat zone. The air was thick with smoke, and the sounds of weapons fire and explosions filled the air. It’s surreal, performing surgery with bullets and plasma bursts flying overhead, but out here, it’s all routine.
The worst case today was Corporal Jenkins. His chest cavity was blown open by a direct plasma hit. We didn’t have time to evacuate, so I did the best I could, right there in the dirt. My hands shook, but I couldn’t stop; his eyes kept flickering open, locking onto mine, a desperate, pleading look that demanded I try. I worked for what seemed like two hours, with only basic anesthesia, sweat pouring down my face, praying the painkillers would hold.
We lost him. I closed his eyes myself. I told his squad we did everything we could. That’s the lie we tell them. And ourselves.
Day 25: Psychological Fractures
Today, one of my medics snapped. Corporal Jackson, normally unbreakable, lashed out at a nurse, shouting that he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d spent the past three days without sleep, and the sight of the wounded piling in had finally broken something in him. I had to send him back to base for a psych evaluation, which leaves us even shorter staffed.
It’s not just Jackson. We’re all fraying at the edges. The horrors we see day in, day out… there’s no time to process, no time to mourn. I find myself numbing to it, detaching, which scares me more than anything. I don’t want to lose what makes me human, but in this place, survival demands it.
Day 30: A Glimmer of Progress
Today, I finally saw a glimmer of hope. We administered a new treatment to a patient named Private Lee, whose arm had been almost entirely burned away by alien plasma. We tried the synthetic serum based on the alien cell structure the science team has been developing, hoping it would accelerate his body’s ability to heal from the burn. So far, it seems like it works, his tissue began regenerating faster than anything we’ve seen. It may take weeks to assess the success of this procedure.
For the first time in weeks, the team smiled. This small victory, this tiny breakthrough felt like oxygen to all of us. If we can use their biology against them, even in small ways, maybe we can turn the tide.
Day 34: The Price We Pay
Another brutal day. Another string of losses. I worked on a soldier who kept whispering his mother’s name, his hand reaching up like he was trying to hold onto something beyond my grasp. He didn’t make it. I feel these losses more each day, a weight I carry but can’t put down.
I look at my hands, covered in scars and dried blood, and wonder how much more I can take. But then I remember the progress we’ve made, the lives we’ve saved, and the possibility of a future where this war doesn’t claim every last one of us.
This war zone has taken its toll on me, but if I can save even one more life tomorrow, I’ll be here, hands steady, heart heavy, ready to face whatever comes through those doors.
--- End of Log ---
Medical Officer’s Report – Captain. Marcus Hale, Forward Medical Unit, Pittman War Zone