During a brief lull in arriving casualties, Sarah had moved her operation from the wounded officer’s quarters to one of the ship’s inactive secondary infirmaries which thankfully had not been too far away. She was lucky one of the NCOs had told her about it and been able to unlock the security door. As a new arrival, the medic had not yet memorized the layout of the ship. She regretted the lapse and would be sure to rectify it if she survived this.<br/><br/>The young soldier thankfully had previous experience with triage, having dealt with a few large scale accidents back home. Those with comparatively minor injuries had to wait as she dealt with the more severely wounded. As for those beyond help, she had to pass them by with nothing more than a quick shot of painkiller and instructions to her stable patients to stay with them and talk—no one would die alone here if she could help it. Other patients with first aid training were also assisting her as well as they were able with their injuries. Perhaps mercifully given the grim circumstances she had only lost three patients so far, including Selwood in the platoon’s barrack. Though one other had been DOA, having bled out before even being brought into the room.<br/><br/>Sarah caught sight of the approaching lieutenant as she finished stitching up her latest patient—back at Mass General she would have been using an epidermal regeneration device, which injected micro-machines and artificial stem cells into a wound and healed it up without even leaving a scar behind. Unfortunately, what supplies she had available made her feel like a damn sawbones from the American Civil War.<br/><br/>The medic was grateful for the officer’s reassuring words, although at the moment she was too intensely focused on her work for her emotions to be much of a factor. Remaining detached in the face of such gore and brutal disfigurements as she had seen here was difficult, but ultimately to Sarah even her emotional control was only one skill among many she had forced herself to master.<br/><br/>There were many things Sarah might have jokingly wished for—her old team of doctors and nurses, equipment not seemingly all from the 20th century, the chance to use the officials at her former prison as unwilling organ donors—but instead her reply to Warren was all business. “I could use one of the ship’s nurses to assist me, Sir, assuming the primary infirmary can spare one and you can get him here in one piece.<br/><br/>“I also have one very pressing issue I was about to contact you for. Private Smith over there,” she nodded to the young woman lying on one of the beds, “she’s in critical but stable condition and I’ve done all I can for her here. She needs an experienced trauma surgeon—which unfortunately can’t be me on account of the good people at the PES.” Sarah was not allowed to even enter an OR as anything other than a patient, or she would be sent back to prison. And while Sarah would have gladly gone back to prison to save her patient, she was fairly sure she would be dragged out of the room by security before she could even finish the operation. “I need to talk to the ship’s chief surgeon and make sure he understands the severity of the case and what he needs to do. Assuming we can even get her to him in time.”