Free Weapons of War by M. R. Forbes

dropping his head over the waste disposal. His stomach gurgled, and then he coughed, choking up small amounts of bile. It was all that was left in his system, ravaged and purged over the last twenty-four hours at his cold stop of the pain meds that had made him weak.
    It was nothing compared to the pain in his legs. Without the chemicals coursing through his bloodstream, the burning and itching sensations had returned with full force, leaving him barely able to prop himself up to vomit. He had never felt physical pain like it before.
    At the same time, he had known mental anguish ten times worse. He could recall it like it was yesterday. The day they reached Ursa Majoris. The first time he had a minute to himself, time to think about his Juliet.
    It was another pain to add to the rest of the stack. Juliet had been captured and cloned. His Juliet, his love, his angel. She was dead, sure as shit. She was gone. But her face would always be there to remind him. To distract him. He accepted that she was with God. That didn't make it hurt less. Everybody had a degree of selfishness in him. That was his.
    There were strategic implications, too. Could he fire on an enemy position when he knew he would be destroying her likeness, enemy or not? Could he do harm to a creature made from her DNA, who might share some of the qualities and quirks that he had loved so much?
    He knew he might have to. He knew he had to be ready for that.
    One thing at a time. The withdrawal was kicking his ass right now. There would be time for the tough choices to do that later.
    He coughed again, his hand slipping on the edge of the sink. He cursed, turning his shoulder so it would hit the shelf, cursing again at another new pain, and falling onto the floor.
    "General, are you okay?" he heard Diallo say. He appreciated the loyalty of the damnable woman, but she made him feel like an infant sometimes.
    "Just dandy, Sergeant," he replied. "Fell on my ass again. At least it makes it harder for it to get kicked."  
    He rolled over and leaned back against the metal cabinet, gritting his teeth. The pain was intense. He wondered if Vivian had felt this way when she delivered Gabriel? He had been there with her. He had watched it happen. She was a trooper. The most loyal friend he had. Only Gabriel was more loyal.
    He reached up, wiping some cold sweat from his forehead. He had refused medical attention, but Diallo said stopping the medication the way he did would leave him this way for forty-eight hours. Two days. He could manage two days. It was a small price to pay for almost killing everyone on board, and ending their side of the war. A small absolution. He had been stupid for taking the pills in the first place.  
    Forty-eight hours. It was making him feel old. Hell, he was old. He had no business still being alive, and he knew it. Stupidity had caused him to crash into that BIS. Arrogance. Maybe there had been a systems failure, but he shouldn't have been out there to begin with. He should have been above such things. Getting older was hard. To lose your reflexes, your eyesight, your legs. Getting older meant more and more loss, either within you, around you, or yourself altogether. He was the Old Gator. He had a responsibility.
    He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. Medication or meditation. That was the only way forward. He couldn't command with the full brunt of the pain, no matter how tough he tried to be. The nerves were damaged, sending constant signals of panic and fury to his brain.  
    Minutes passed. Tears began to roll from his eyes. He couldn't do it. He couldn't conquer this demon. No matter how much he wanted to. Its pull was too strong.  
    He took the bottle of pills from his pocket and looked at it. His lip curled in pathetic sadness, his heart thumping rapidly. Why did things have to be so hard for him? Why did God challenge him this way? He had played it strong for Gabriel. Didn't let him see how hard this really was, and how hard