06-15-2014, 08:22 AM
Two years in operational medicine. Two years stomping from field to field and reporting to hospitals all over the world. Four months to promotion; she was one bronze leaf away from completing residency. She hadn't seen her mom and dad in sixteen months. Still in Mexico, she suddenly wanted nothing more than to sit on a beach and sip mimosas with her mom. Funny how your mind goes all over the place when it was imperative to be your most focused.
She peeled a soaked gauze from a stumped leg. He groaned, but the rest of the man above the knee was irrelevant. The only part of him that mattered at that very moment was right under Torri's face. A fresh hose of blood poured out of the stump.
Her tongue cut a cold order to the Sergeant. She could feel him pressed closeby. The truck was packed. "Give me the last can of quick clot. This wound won't close up and the lacerations go too deep to staple."
She cringed. And I don't have any fucking staples.
She was rewrapping the stump with clean gauze. Quick Clot worked because it caused a chemical reaction between wet blood and the can's foam to form a temporary patch, but this leg had already seen three cans. "I'm going to sandwich the foam with the gauze, hopefully the extra weight hardens the patch enough it'll stop leaking through."
The truck jerked to a stop, but she held on to the intricate wrapping. There. But when she thrust out her hand, her palm remained empty. "Sergeant! QC."
She bellowed. The lack of reaction clutched her with sudden worry.
"Sergeant."
She twisted only to find the medic was staring out the truck exit at a line of men walking toward the defensive line.
He spoke breathy, "Its Commander Vellas. He's..."
but he didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to.
Torri's eyes were saucers. She, and everyone else in range, bore witness to the extraordinary. From his hand thrust blue fire. Projectiles rained like shards of hell out of the sky. Yet somehow an invisible bubble shielded him from all returning fire. Bullets simply clattered and fell away before him. RPG's exploded angry that they ruptured too soon.
Something tore the Sergeant's gaze aside, though. The medic pressed his earpiece snug and suddenly began crying. Torri had to guess he was listening to the order for last stand. Command would be thinking of final push to secure the evacuation about now.
Michael returned to the vehicle, and for a moment, Torri and he shared a look. But the doctor grit her teeth and turned back to her patient. The wound had to be stabilized before the man moved anywhere. "Sergeant. That QC. Now."
She said dryly. This time, he placed the can in her palm without delay.
She peeled a soaked gauze from a stumped leg. He groaned, but the rest of the man above the knee was irrelevant. The only part of him that mattered at that very moment was right under Torri's face. A fresh hose of blood poured out of the stump.
Her tongue cut a cold order to the Sergeant. She could feel him pressed closeby. The truck was packed. "Give me the last can of quick clot. This wound won't close up and the lacerations go too deep to staple."
She cringed. And I don't have any fucking staples.
She was rewrapping the stump with clean gauze. Quick Clot worked because it caused a chemical reaction between wet blood and the can's foam to form a temporary patch, but this leg had already seen three cans. "I'm going to sandwich the foam with the gauze, hopefully the extra weight hardens the patch enough it'll stop leaking through."
The truck jerked to a stop, but she held on to the intricate wrapping. There. But when she thrust out her hand, her palm remained empty. "Sergeant! QC."
She bellowed. The lack of reaction clutched her with sudden worry.
"Sergeant."
She twisted only to find the medic was staring out the truck exit at a line of men walking toward the defensive line.
He spoke breathy, "Its Commander Vellas. He's..."
but he didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to.
Torri's eyes were saucers. She, and everyone else in range, bore witness to the extraordinary. From his hand thrust blue fire. Projectiles rained like shards of hell out of the sky. Yet somehow an invisible bubble shielded him from all returning fire. Bullets simply clattered and fell away before him. RPG's exploded angry that they ruptured too soon.
Something tore the Sergeant's gaze aside, though. The medic pressed his earpiece snug and suddenly began crying. Torri had to guess he was listening to the order for last stand. Command would be thinking of final push to secure the evacuation about now.
Michael returned to the vehicle, and for a moment, Torri and he shared a look. But the doctor grit her teeth and turned back to her patient. The wound had to be stabilized before the man moved anywhere. "Sergeant. That QC. Now."
She said dryly. This time, he placed the can in her palm without delay.