The drug had seeped into his bloodstream. The fear in his eyes diminished beneath the warm haze of morphine. The army doctor hovered over him with a metal tray table to his left and a nurse at his right. The doctor worked quickly, extracting the embedded shrapnel with a steady hand and thin tongs. Five shards, ranging in length from a quarter inch to a ghastly five inches, were dropped into the metal bowl the nurse held. The last blood shard had just been extracted when the captain walked in followed by a young, jumpy private.
The doctor set aside his tongs when he saw them.
"Clean the wounds," he instructed.
The nurse took his place as he rolled off his plastic gloves, deposited them in a beat up trashcan, and made his way towards the two men.
"Doctor Watson," Captain Gregory greeted him as he approached. His voice was low and calm, but contained a subtle hint of urgency.
"Private Smith has just returned from patrol. A sniper shot them from the hills. Sergeant Davis sustained a head wound, Private Walker's status is unknown."
Private Smith shifted from foot to foot, before looking up and stretching forward hesitantly.
"Is that all private?" Watson asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Uh. Um.. another man showed up."
Gregory's eyes flared with this added information. The younger soldier frowned deeply as he continued, "After the accident.. He..he was a Colonel. And on our side too."
"And his unit number?" The doctor queried as gently as he could, the annoyance emanating from the captain was infecting his mood too.
"I…I wasn't focused. I didn't get it."
"Private, go get Sergeant Evans."
The soldier nodded obediently, turned, and fled from the hospital tent. The captain withdrew soon after and the doctor set about collecting his kit. Then he went to his locker and pulled his arms though his Mk. 4 Osprey body armour. He tightened the fasteners and fitted the collar protector to the vest, forgoing the arm protector; they would only make him clumsy. Sweat was already soaking through his brown polo as he pocketed his Browning, folded back the tent flap, and stepped into the searing sun.
The patrol truck circled the area three times before it finally approached the broken down vehicle. Smith climbed out first, and Evans followed him, swinging his legs out in front of him as he leapt over the side of the truck. Their rifles clicked simultaneously, as they pressed their backs together and studied the terrain. Gregory stopped beside Smith, tapped his shoulder, and jerked his head in the doctor's direction. Then he took Smith's place as the private joined Watson beside the truck.
Private Walker was slumped in the backseat. One glance told Watson he was dead. Private Davis seemed to be missing. Watson and Smith circled the vehicle once before Watson motioned to the trunk. The doctor drew his handgun and Smith aimed his rifle. With a swift motion, Watson flung the trunk open. Smith yelped and for a brief second Evans was startled. He glanced over his shoulder at the dark black bruises encircling the late Davis' neck.
The sharpshooter seized the mistake. The first bullet tore Evans' hamstring and the man collapsed, the second ripped through Smith's larynx.
The doctor reacted immediately; two hands steadied Smith's head as he pulled the private to the ground and scrambled backwards beneath the truck dragging Smith with him. The soldier's mouth open and closed like a mannequin as Watson tilted his head back for a quick assessment. A Laryngeal fracture falling under the categories of penetrating and high velocity. Diagnosis: lethal. He wanted to ease the man's death, but there was nothing he could do. His kit was lying in the trunk of the patrol car.
Gregory had dragged Evans underneath the other patrol car. Watson could hear the wounded man's breathing; it was already coming in rough gulps. Smith was a lost cause and he wouldn't let another man die if he could help it. He refused to cower from this unseen threat while Evans lost more and more blood.
In a snap decision, he pressed his hand into Smith's paling one.
"Promise me that you'll wear the collar protector next time."
The corners of his lips rose into a smile, but his eyes confessed his despair. He didn't wait for Smith to reply, the young soldier would never utter another word, instead he slid out from under the truck and scanned the area before rushing towards the other patrol car and joining the two soldiers in the area below it.
Gregory nodded a greeting and turned away, peering out into the area for any sign of movement. He tucked his chin to his breast and spoke softly into his radio, reporting their location and the status of their comrades. The doctor set about fixing up his patient. All that mattered was that the bleeding stopped; the bullet could be removed later. He ripped a strip of fabric from his brown polo and tied it firmly around Evans' knee. Evans was hysterical. He began muttering about boots, tightly laced boots, brown boots, army boots, a pair of boots, it all seemed obsessive and incoherent. Finally, the hand whipped forward to clutch the doctor's arm.
"Boots. Coming."
Watson's golden eyebrows dipped in confusion and Gregory glanced over at him. Then the captain saw the hand and the boots of the colonel. The hand closed on the doctor's ankle and the man was yanked backwards. Another hand darted into view, gasping Watson's shoulder and pulling him up. There was a metallic click.
"Come on out Captain, or we'll find out what colour your loyal doctor bleeds."
Gregory knew Evans would die without Watson's aid. This man might kill them all. He had to risk it. With a helpless huff, Gregory crawled into the sunlight.
"There's a good man. Now give me the radio."
Captain Gregory hesitated. So the colonel took action. Without releasing the doctor from his hold, the colonel stomped down on Gregory's foot, immobilizing it before he slammed the soldier in the chest with the butt of his gun. Watson thought he heard the crack as Gregory tumbled down, his left leg bending unnaturally. Most likely a displaced fracture of the tibia. The fracture was closed. Diagnosis: painful, but not deadly.
With a well-aimed blow from his heel, the colonel destroyed the radio. Watson dropped down in this moment of distraction, but the other man was too quick. The Colonel's gun followed him down. The world went bright as the gun made contact with his temple. His head began to fall forward, his surroundings lost their light and dimmed until they ceased to exist.