The sniper's aim was true, a direct and fatal shot to the throat. Another infidel brought down for the glory of Allah. His only regret was that the soil of his homeland must be tainted by the blood of the enemy. Ah well.
Murray fumbled for the pulse he knew he would not find. Respectfully he draped his handkerchief over the dead surgeon's face and terrible wound. The torrent of blood had not yet even begun to clot. Having done all he could, Murray retreated with the other Berkshires, water he could not afford to lose pooling in his eyes.