Guardsman Millar was numb. The pain in his stomach had eased enough for him to being to drop in and out of consciousness. It had been three hours since the Chinese Loyalist medic had dragged him from the battlefield, four and a half hours since the 7.62 round had pinged from the tree-line and smacked into his stomach.... It had gone down-hill from there, and he'd watched as they'd been overrun by the enemy, their infantry and tanks rolling past, not even noticing the scores of wounded. The medic had come when night fell, quietly from the hedge, calling to the men, seeing who was still alive, and it had taken all his remaining strength to cry-out, and the medic had dragged him into the landrover.
OOC: guys, post stories of wounded or dead.
