Disclaimer: I own nothing – it all belongs to George
Characters: Padmé Naberrie
Summary: The "Padmé chose another profession" challenge – Thank you to VAParky for the plot bunny!
Notes: Third Story for this challenge. My challenge: Medicine
Laser fire and chaff exploded around the drop ship as Padmé huddled close to one side, clinging to the safety strap. She adjusted her helmet and adverted her gaze from the scene outside as another drop ship was shot down, exploding into fragments of superheated durasteel.
The battle wasn't going well.
General Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, had been taken hostage on the planet of Geonosis along with his Padawan, Anakin Skywalker. Jedi Master Mace Windu had organized a rescue mission; one that had almost been too late.
As it was, Padmé had been excluded from the arena when the Jedi had attempted to free Obi-Wan and Anakin. She'd been excluded where her skills were likely needed the most. Even now she could hear the casualty reports coming in over the intercom of her helmet and closed her eyes against the pain that followed.
Over half the Jedi in the arena had been killed in the rescue and almost ten times their number in clones had been eliminated as well. Now, with the Jedi in hot pursuit of the traitorous Count Dooku, Padmé and her teams had been brought in to assist in whatever way possible.
Padmé leapt from the transport as they landed, walking purposefully towards the make-shift tenting in the area. Corpses and pieces of them littered the ground, and she forced herself to ignore them. Even from yards away she could hear the groans of the wounded and dying troopers.
She spun on her heel. "Move it, move it, double time we have wounded here people!"
Her snapped orders were follow immediately. Her teams, all six of them, quickly shouldered their packs and dropped from the transport. Her two other specialized surgeons and their nurses went inside immediately. The remaining followed, taking only the time to drop their gear, before those trained in triage began making the rounds to get the worst of the wounded into surgery.
Padmé made sure the rest began the grisly task of disposing of the bodies. Clone troopers had no families, making their cremation easy and painless.
Except that you had to strip them, and staring at the same dead face day after day, was never an easy task.
Hence, as Padmé headed for the Surgery, she was already working on a shift rotation in her mind that would help keep her crews sane.
Padmé was up to her elbows in gore when a frantic call came through the shielded windows.
She ignored it, used to hearing it, knowing she wouldn't help the man she was currently operating on unless she could focus. She was in the middle of sewing closed his abdominal wall; a wound obtained by shrapnel that should have killed him.
The call came again, and she put it out of her mind, focusing instead on tying off her sutures as minutely as possible. She worked as quickly as she could, her nurse ensuring that she had whatever items necessary. The nerve wracking minutes passes and she finished closing the incision in his abdomen. She tied off the last suture and stepped away. "Nurse."
The nurse nodded, completing the clean up work on their patient, and Padmé checked to see who was next.
A trooper burst into the surgery. "Medic! We need a medic, stat!"
Padmé kept her hands clear of her green scrubs. "Everyone needs a Medic, man. This is a hospital!"
"No, you don't understand. More of the Jedi have been wounded, but they're not dead yet. We need a Medic, now!"
Padmé glanced around at her colleagues and made a quick decision. She was the only one out of surgery. If the clones, trained to do basic battle first aid couldn't handle the Jedi injury one of them would have to. She tore off her gloves, tossing them in a nearby disposal unit, and grabbed a nearby field kit. She didn't even pause to change out of her scrubs, simply grabbed her helmet from where it hung by the door. "Take me to them."
The transport landed in a carnage zone. Padmé looked beyond it to where several clone troopers were being administered to by their fellow clones. She jumped to the ground, pointing the clone who'd come to get her at the fresh supplies in the transport. "Get those supplies to your men. From the look of it they're reusing supplies from soldiers that haven't made it. Let's save as many as we can without further complications."
"Yes, ma'am." The clone directed two of the other troopers in the transport to take the indicated supplies to the injured before nodding towards a large hole in the mountain. "This way."
Padmé had to run to keep up with the trooper's quick pace, and wasn't surprised by it when the scene that was their destination greeted her. She didn't need to be told who would be her patients.
Two Jedi, both younger looking, one not much older than she was, the other not much younger, lay to the side. The younger of the two was missing his arm, severed and cauterized, just above the elbow. The older of the two had saber burns and slashes in his clothing and was holding his thigh.
Neither looked like they'd had a good day.
Padmé knelt; opening her kit before she'd even hit the ground. She nodded to the nearest clone trooper. "You, trooper, get me a blanket and fluids. This man is in shock; I need them stat. Get me?"
The trooper nodded. "Understood"
"Padmé turned back to her charges. "I'm Padmé, I'm here to help you. Do you understand me?"
The younger was tossing his head from side to side, but the calm, clear green eyes of his companion, nodded. His softly accented voice, laced with pain even Jedi couldn't suppress, was a welcome sound to her ears. "I understand. Anakin may not though. He's suffered a good deal of shock."
Padmé was already bandaging Anakin's stump as Obi-Wan answered her, wrapping it in thick bacta bandages. She was just finishing when blankets and fluids appeared, one small IV bottle. She quickly attached it to Anakin, checking him for other injuries. His face was swollen, impact damage she assessed, and his ribs were broken in two places. But they were all minor compared to his arm.
She look at the older Jedi. "The rest of his arm?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "I think it was destroyed in the exhaust from Dooku's escape."
"I need an evac for this young man. He needs to be in bacta stat, understood?"
"Loud and clear."
Padmé, knowing she could do little more for Anakin, turned to the older Jedi. "you name, sir?"
"General Kenobi. My friends call me Obi-Wan."
"Well, General Kenobi." Padmé pushed his hand from his thigh as she spoke, tearing the fabric of his pants with a tug and exposing the raw, shallow gash left by Dooku's saber. "It would seem your friend Anakin isn't the only one with injuries. Do you have any others, or do I need to search you to find them?"
"Just the arm."
She nodded, pulling two bacta patches from her kit before carefully cleaning the wound. Anakin's had been almost sealed shut, needing little beyond bandaging. Obi-Wan's still oozed blood and was clouded with junk. She cleaned it quickly and efficiently. "Trooper, where's my transport?"
"Landing now, ma'am."
She placed the bata patch of Obi-Wan's wound. "Get these men to the medical frigate. Anakin will need to be carried."
The Troopers she demanded appeared as if by magic, picking Anakin up under the arms and knees and carrying him carefully towards where the transport was waiting. Obi-Wan moved under his own power, limping but grateful for the cooling feeling on his thigh.
Padmé checked the wound on his arm as they moved, pausing only to slap the other bacta patch on it before stepping away. She saw them loaded onto the transport before turning away and heading back to where the troopers were still tending their wounded and dying.
The Jedi were safe; it was now time to see how many lives she could save. She refused to think of those same lives being thrown away in the next conflict. If she could save even one, the whole battle would have been worth it.