“McCosker is down! Medic!” shouted Brian
Dumbo came over to where Mac was laying in the dust, blood gushing from the wound in his neck. I don’t know how he does it, but Dumbo always manages to have a pair of blue sterile gloves in a pocket. We don’t want to give a dying man an infection do we?
Mac is screaming and I am trying to hold the compression bandage to the hole in his neck as Dumbo plunges yet another needle into Macs chest. Mac stops screaming and is silent.
“Dumbo, what’s happening?” I scream above the roar of the firefight and the thump thump of the approaching chopper blades. Being the lance corporal I need to take control. “Jojo, Rog, provide cover. Cheech, Bob, Singer, Ted get the stretcher from the chopper, GO GO GO!”
Brian gave the co-ordinates to the guy o the other end of the radio, and soon we heard bombs whizzing overhead toward the enemy lines. Damn it will be good to get out of these dirty sweaty clothes and under a shower back at base.
Someone else needs a shower too. Young Cheech has crapped his pants again and more than one soldier has released some nervous urine.
We all pack into the chopper, leaving behind the broken twisted bodies of the enemy who were hit by our mortar attack. The dust rises in the wind stirred up by the increased speed of the rotors and we leave hell behind.