Short action without a plot
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"Three minutes to evac!"
His senses dulled by constant gunfire and sporadic explosions, he huddled behind the concrete pillar, his conditioned hands already releasing the magazine release on his rifle. He ignored the third degree burns on his left thigh, the glass shards embedded in his back, and the screams of his fellow marine. Instead, he focused on the discarded bullet casings clattering on the floor, the adrenaline filled heartbeat that pounded in his head and the son of a bitches around the corner of the pillar. He heard the reassuring click of a loaded round in his rifle and smiled. Rolling out of his defensive position, he let his finger tighten around the rifle's trigger, feeling every round expell itself from the barrel, a steady pumelling of his shoulder. He let his vision blurr with the golden roars of his rifle, taking note of the rapidly decreasing numbers on his ammo display. With every bullet, he felt his anger subside, instead concentrating on the flickering of the enemy's shield and soon the sound of lead piercing flesh.
Suddenly, he felt himself being punched in the chest, and found himself on his back, a volcano erupting in his chest. He felt the white hot plasma engulf his chest plate, and its fingers pinch the skin underneath. And suddenly it was all over him, a wave of pain which no training could prepare him for. Tossed like a pebble in a storm, he was flung backwards by the blue, incandescent blast. He lay there, gasping, breathing, alive. He felt for his rifle, but found nothing but ash and glass. Coughing smoke and blood, he rose to his knees, drawing his pistol from its holster letting the cold touch of steel embrace his blistered hands. Three times it barked vengeance, and three times he heard shrieks of pain. The mound of dirt behind which he hid turned white hot and then into glass as he felt his body go into shock. He stared into the blazing sun, letting it gaze upon him with its unbreakable stare. And suddenly it was gone, replaced by the green steel of a marine helmet, the cacophony of battle replaced by blurred voices. And then he was moving, dragged across the hot scorching battlefield and into the cool embrace of a Pelican's belly. It was over. For now. And as he felt a helping hand apply biofoam to his skin, he remembered exactly what he was fighting for.
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Just about the typical marine. And practice at writing action. Comments and constructive criticism wanted! Thanks!