It seemed endless; the constant pummelling of projectiles coming from the Taliban coming closer and closer to where John knelt in what was left of a building. He was leaning over his patients every couple of seconds to stop opened wounds being covered in the dirt and dust that rained down on them from the ceiling.
By now there were patients; multiple people, ranging from young children to elderly with a few soldiers mixed in just for good measure.
Then just as suddenly as it began the attack stopped.
The lack of explosions didn't fully penetrate John's mind until he'd finished taping off a bandage around one of the less severe injuries. The air around him was completely silent and his eyes darted out the door as the first sounds of something other than the mortar attack came into the building.
He crouched by the doorway, gun held tightly in his hand and eyes darting around, trying to find the source of the voice.
It didn't take long for John to spot him.
The soldier, a young man that John only knew as Ben, had managed to drag himself to a position of relative safety; from there he could wait out the siege.
As John spotted other soldiers, Ben's voice started to break as he called out for help, almost begging.