“Holy shit, brother,” McBride said. “Where the hell were you?” He began conducting a medical assessment, looking for wounds. The process was always the same. Check for massive hemorrhaging, a clear airway, normal respiration and circulation, any head injuries, and hypothermia. The acronym MARCH was easy to remember and addressed the sequence through which to render lifesaving treatment to maximize the chances of survival in a combat situation.
Price jerked a thumb behind him. “Tower,” he coughed. He had been in the tower by the main gate. Wilde glanced past him and couldn’t make out anything that remotely resembled a tower.
“It’s a miracle you’re still alive!” he said.
“It’s more than that,” McBride added in disbelief. “There’s not a fucking scratch on him!”
“Born lucky,” Price said through gritted teeth, obviously rocked by the explosion.
“Better lucky than smart,” McBride joked. Price stuck up his middle finger in response.
“Deltas One and Two up,” the message came delayed from the medics. “We have our hands full in the med shed.”
Wilde waited. Echoes One and Two should have been the last to report in, but once again there was silence. He turned to Ahmed, who was returning fire with his H&K G3 rifle.
“Do you think you could take him to the med shed?” Wilde nodded toward Price, concerned that he could have internal injuries that weren’t visible.
Ahmed stopped firing. “Of course, my friend. It would be my pleasure.” He moved behind a concrete Jersey barrier toward his charge.
“Let me hang and provide cover,” Price argued. “I’m good for it. Still in the fight.”
Wilde looked him over, then nodded. “Fair enough.”
Price ejected the magazine from his rifle and checked to ensure it was full before returning it to the magazine well and then making sure a round was loaded in the chamber. He looked up and nodded, signaling that he was ready to lay down cover fire.
Wilde yelled over to McBride, “Tim, you ready to do this?”
He didn’t have to explain that they were going to bound to cover while pressing directly into the direction of contact to end the attack by gaining the initiative while simultaneously searching for their teammates. The two men had worked together long enough. This was not their first rodeo, nor was it their first mass-casualty event together.
“Fuck yeah, man,” Tim responded. “Let’s go get our boys.”
Wilde nodded and yelled to Price. “We’re going in. Cover us!”
Price nodded, sighted in the closest enemy position, and started laying down suppressive fire.
McBride fired off a few shots before jumping up and sprinting several meters to a new position of cover. “Set!” he yelled as he began engaging the enemy. Wilde got to his feet and sprinted, bounding past McBride’s position to a spot where he could appropriately cover his friend.
“Good to go!” he shouted, and McBride moved up. The two continued the maneuver for several iterations, closing the distance with the enemy while at the same time reducing their numbers. Finally, they made it to a recognizable casualty.
Bobby Long, the junior engineer sergeant, lay on the ground behindcover. His kit and helmet were still on, and his rifle was slung across his chest. The neatness of his gear was in strange contrast to his right leg, which was missing below the knee, and his left leg, which had a visible gash from a thigh wound. His left arm was attached, but somewhat mangled, as if it had been momentarily caught in a woodchipper. His right arm was perfectly intact, his still-working hand tightly clutching his pistol to his chest. To his credit, Long had managed to apply a tourniquet to both legs but not his arm.
Wilde keyed his mic and shouted, “We need a medic up here now! I have Charlie Two in need of immediate medical assistance!” McBride sprinted over to them.
“Hey, Bobby,” McBride said. “You’re doing great, man. You’re a hard motherfucker!” He slapped Long’s side and posted up laying down covering fire. He was composed, but Wilde could see the tears brimming in his eyes. Tears of sadness and rage.
Seeing the youngest member of the team in this state pulled at Wilde’s heart as well. Long was like a little brother that he had always felt protective over. Young and strong, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a baby face that struggled to grow a scrappy blond beard, he had the looks of a model. But despite this he was never self-centered, instead being kindhearted and earnest. He was a good kid who didn’t deserve this, and Wilde was determined not to let him die.
He pulled a tourniquet out of his own IFAK, or individual first aid kit, and applied it to Long’s damaged arm, then checked the two on the legs to ensure they were sufficiently tight. Wilde kept a DPx Gear HEST/F Urban folding knife on his kit, and he yanked it off and used it to cut open Long’s pant legs at the groin to check for bleeders that were higher than the tourniquets he had already applied. There were none, but the young sergeant was still in bad shape. Wilde didn’t want to move the injured man but might have no choice.
In answer to his dilemma, a tall, lanky form ran up behind them and slid into position next to the casualty, narrowly avoiding several rounds that sailed over his head.
“Right, then,” Wally said, unslinging his medical bag and pulling out supplies. “Your boys are elbow deep in it over at the med shed. I told them I’d come.” Wally did a quick assessment of his own, rechecked tourniquets, and then began prepping an IV as AK rounds slammed into their concrete barrier. He looked briefly up at Wilde. “I’ve got this, then. I’ll take good care of your mate, if you want to piss off and stop these cunts from shooting at us.”
Wilde grabbed his shoulder. “Thank you, Wally.” He leaned down and put a gloved hand on Long’s cheek. “You’re gonna be alright, buddy. Hang in there.” Long nodded through gritted teeth and forced a smile. Wilde smiled back, then turned his attention to the situation at hand, his face morphing into a mask of cold, calculated rage.
He turned to McBride, who had been observing the enemy and the terrain over the last several minutes. “On you,” he said. McBride turned and looked one last time at the injured Long, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard. He nodded and then took off while Wilde provided covering fire.
They bounded through the smoking ruins of the gate and out into the area beyond. There was very little cover outside the camp, but they managed to find two cement barriers ten meters apart that had been pushed out of place by the blast but were somehow still erect. This is where they would make their stand.
