Chapter 10: My First Critical Patient (1)

My eyes couldn't possibly track the sharp flight of a bullet traveling in a fraction of a second. I didn't need to bother trying, anyway. As long as I trusted Raylan’s marksmanship, all I had to do was turn my head to see exactly where the lead landed.

​Under the moonlight, which acted like a stage spotlight, one of the Dretonian soldiers standing closest to the girl was hit. A silhouette of blood sprayed from his neck. His hands scrambled to cover the source of the spray, desperately trying to plug the torrent escaping his veins.

Of course, his efforts do nothing. He collapsed shortly after, falling right onto the girl as his life leaked away.

It happened in a matter of seconds for the other side. The remaining two Dretonian soldiers could only freeze as they watched their comrade collapse in a pool of blood.

​"ᛋᚴᛅ!"

​They shouted something, but it was already too late. They were locked in the sights of Raylan’s sharp eyes, which were now operating like a precise killing machine.

​One of them tried to turn around to find cover, but his effort was cut short. Before he could even take a step, another piece of lead hit his body like a rocket. From where we lay, we could even hear the impact. It sounded like a heavy sack being struck with force.

​The last soldier wasn't as foolish as he looked. He sprinted with every bit of energy he had left to survive. I could only imagine the surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

One unit doesn't truly rely on Raylan’s marksmanship alone, of course. Scarface and two others from the other battalion given order from Letnan Bulgers to advanced slowly at the front. That way, if Raylan happened to miss, the three of them would be there to catch the last one and handled it for good.

​The problem was that he was running toward an area where the light faded into shadows. None of us watching would have blamed Raylan if he missed or even let the soldier escape into the darkness, as a moving target is notoriously difficult to hit.

​But that wasn't enough for Raylan. There was no sign of him lowering his K1 Hesley. Instead, he slowly tracked the desperate enemy's movements with his muzzle, like a hawk preparing to pounce on its prey.

​"Just let it go, man," Caspian urged. "Let those three take the rest."

Raylan did not flinch. He ignored Caspian's whisper as if it were nothing more than a passing breeze. Under the pale remnants of the moonlight, his finger squeezed the trigger one last time, shattering the expectations of everyone who thought the prey had escaped.

​Clang!

​Exactly one second before the soldier's silhouette was swallowed by the thick wall of darkness, a sharp metallic ring echoed from the distance.

​It was the sound of a bullet striking a steel helmet head-on, likely ending the soldier's flight in an instant. The metallic echo seemed to mark the final point of this brief hunt, leaving behind a silence far heavier in the middle of the wheat field, which had once again frozen still.

"It's over, Lieutenant," Raylan whispered. His voice was soft again, returning to the humble man who had been praying.

"Damn, triple home run!" Praise Caspian enthusiastically

​Lowering his weapon and returning to his usual friendly expression, Raylan waved his hand dismissively. "Haha, it was nothing."

​Just as I expected, while the other soldiers offered him handshakes, Raylan repeatedly brushed off our praise. He spoke as if what he had just done could be practiced by the average soldier on the face of the planet.

​"Well, that was truly amazing. But I took down quite a few back there too, you know?"

​Ignoring Ashton, who turned to me to mutter something useless, I watched Raylan acting shy. What he did was pure skill without any supernatural interference. Shooting from sixty meters might be debatable as a non-extreme range for a K1 Hesley rifle, but hitting three targets accurately in a row, with one being a moving target in the dark of night relying only on moonlight, was undoubtedly a gift.

​It was no wonder those of us who had known him for a long time often called him Cat-Eye, because of his ability to see clearly in any darkness.

In the end, the three personnel led by Scarface didn't really do anything much. All they had to do was ensure the site of the slaughter was truly secure, anticipating the possibility that more units from the enemy trio might appear.

​However, since no other enemies emerged to investigate, it was safe to assume those three Dretonian soldiers were either stragglers or had intentionally separated themselves from their own unit.

​Unlike the rest of us who remained submerged in the wheat field, the three men from our side quickly exited the crops and nimbly vaulted over a stone fence. Their silhouettes moved back and forth to sweep the location
completely. Most importantly, they aimed their muzzles at the three figures whose lives had just been extinguished, checking for any remaining signs of life.

​From a distance, we could see the three shadows raising their hands as high as possible. They signaled that everyone, including the enemy who had nearly escaped, had been neutralized. With that, they confirmed the location was secure.

​Observing this, Lieutenant Bulgers wasted no time. He gave the hand signal to advance, and we obeyed in unison, heading toward the site where the slaughter had just taken place.

It didn't take long before we were standing right in front of the stone fence. As usual, the smell of blood began to drift toward us, this time mingling with the scent of crushed grass to create an scent that was difficult to describe.

​I followed the others, climbing the stone wall that stood nearly half as high as my body. Refusing an offer of help from Ashton, I finally managed to scramble over, though it was a struggle with full gear hanging off my frame.
​I tried not to overthink it at first. Everything before me was now vividly clear. It was no longer a shadow play or a silhouette
performance. These were real human figures lay on the grass field.

​"Hey, idiot," Scarface called out to one of the two men who had followed him, as he rejoined our unit. "Look at this. You skipped over this fool."

​Scarface stood near the man who had been Raylan’s second target. He pressed his boot into the back of the Dretonian soldier, who, surprisingly, was still clinging to life despite being in a critical state.

​"Eh? He's still alive?"

​Simply shaking his head at the young soldier's negligence, Scarface drew a dagger from its sheath. He immediately drove it straight into the man's head. From the look of it, the blade crushed through the skull and pierced the brain, killing him instantly.

​Even though it was already too late, I tried to avert my gaze from that gruesome scene.

​Now I could feel every member of the squad spreading out, taking their respective positions to form a perimeter around the girl. She remained collapsed on the ground, cradling the man who clearly shared a deep bond with her as he lay limp in her arms.

What caught my attention was the man, who appeared to be around Scarface's age. He was still showing signs of life based on visual cues alone. His chest, though not moving like a normal person's, rose and fell as he struggled to catch as much oxygen as possible.

​I couldn't confirm his condition from a distance earlier, but now everything was clear. This middle-aged man needed immediate help. The lower right side of his abdomen was leaking red fluid, soaking through his tattered clothes.

​I glanced at Lieutenant Bulgers, who happened to be standing near the desperate girl. When our eyes met, he gave a slight nod. It wasn't a signal to stay back, but quite the opposite.

​Since I had been given permission to act, I moved like lightning, sliding down to kneel beside the dying man. The girl finally lifted her gaze to mine. Her face, previously flooded with despair, quickly shifted to hope upon seeing me. She seemed to have guessed my role from the Red Cross armband on my sleeve.

​"ᚦᚢᛚᚴᛅᚱ, ᚼᛖᛚᛒᛅ ᚼᚢᚾᚢᛗ! ᚴᛖᚱᚦᚢ ᚦᛅᚦ ᚠᛁᚱᛁᚱ ᛘᛁᚴ!" The girl spoke rapidly, almost uncontrollably, in a language I didn't understand while clutching my hand. Even so, I could feel the gratitude in her tone.

​"Alright, alright. Give me some room, miss," I responded gently.

The girl finally managed to regain some control over herself, giving me the space I needed to act. For the first time, I began performing emergency medical treatment right on a battlefield.

​"Stay with us, sir" I whispered, offering what encouragement I could.

​I started applying pressure to the old man's gunshot wound. In response, he let out a groan of pain. It was a good sign. It meant he was still conscious and with us, even though we had let him wait long enough to lose a significant amount of blood.

​"Th-this is a lot of blood..." I spontaneously stated the obvious.

​"Well, of course. What did you expect? Sweet chocolate syrup, Miss?" Caspian interjected, which was quite annoying.

​I ignored his bullshit and kept my focus on applying pressure to the wound. I couldn't help it. I mean, this was my first time treating a critically injured human. In our training, we had only practiced on animals like cattle.

​"Stay calm. You’re getting twitchy," a gentle voice said, trying to dampen my anxiety. It was Lieutenant Bulgers. "Roughly how long do you need to fix him?"

​"Uh-uhmh, em..." Against my own will, I stammered as I checked my patient's back. "The-the bullet is still lodged in-inside, and I-I need to perform the extraction magic. Fortunately, there are no signs of organ damage, so-so-so just give me at least fifteen minutes, Lieutenant!"

​"Fine," Lieutenant Bulgers checked his watch. "We still have two hours until our friends at sea begin the beach landings. Elise, ask the girl for a sheltered place to perform the treatment. It's too exposed out here."

​"Eh? Wh-what? I can't—"

​"I'll do it."

​Before I could finish my sentence, Caspian took over. He spoke fluently in what sounded like the Lonfre language. The girl in front of us understood every word he said. Behind that indifferent attitude of his, he seemed to be a capable translator.

"She said there's a village not far from here, and her house is among them, sir," Caspian reported after speaking with the Lonfre girl.

​"That will do," Lieutenant Bulgers turned, addressing the mortar team guarding the perimeter. "Freddy, Pisger, and Horgan, you three carry the man."

​"Yes, sir," the three of them answered in unison as they moved to follow orders. They quickly but carefully positioned the wounded man to be carried. I adjusted my movements along with them so my hands could continue to maintain pressure on the wound while he was being transported.

​"Is this really necessary, Lieutenant?" Scarface asked, standing by his side. There was a clear note of disapproval in his voice. "I'm just reminding you, in case you forgot, that we have a mission here."

​"And what mission is that, Sergeant? I'd also like to remind you that we have a mandate to liberate the Lonfre people from a ten-year Imperial occupation. This is part of it," Lieutenant Bulgers replied firmly, standing his ground.

​"Whatever you say, Skipper," the Sergeant muttered, thankfully not pushing the argument further. "I'll lead the others to guard the perimeter while the kid plays doctor."

With that, the Sergeant began pointing to the others, including Raylan and Pat, to follow him as they finally split off from us. Meanwhile, those of us remaining hurried to carry my first critical patient. The sticky red fluid seeped between my fingers, feeling warm against the chill of the night wind.

We moved quickly in a tight formation, cutting through the remaining sea of wheat toward the nearest point of cover. Our hurried footsteps were the only sounds breaking the silence of the field.