shock.
It was then that I heard an ominous slurping noise in time with his breathing. He had a sucking wound to his chest: air was being sucked inside his chest cavity instead of going through his mouth. It was going to need sorting out quickly because otherwise the fucker was history. But there wasn't enough time to do it here that way we'd all die. We'd have to wait until we reached the FRY Reg 2 heard the noise, too. Grasping Glen's hand, he placed it on his chest.
'Plug it up, mate.' He wasn't that out of it, he understood what he needed to do. With a chest wound we couldn't give him morphine; he was going to have to take the pain.
Two of us got hold of him, one on either side of the stretcher, and started to hobble along with him as quickly as we could, Sarah following at my heels. I didn't look at what was going on behind us, but I heard the rate of covering fire from Reg 1 and 2 step up as we moved off.
We hit the tree line, Glen's moans distorted by the jolting as we ran. We got farther into the grove, and only then moved to the right, under cover.
He was still conscious and breathing noisily as we laid him on his back.
The light from the target area was just enough to see my hands moving as they worked on him. There was no need to worry about clearing his airway, but his hand had fallen from his chest. I put my hand over the wound to form a seal. Hopefully, with his chest now airtight, normal breathing would return. I could see the anguish in his eyes. His throat spluttered as he coughed and fought the pain.
'What's it like? What's it like? Oh, shit.'
He screwed up his face even more as Reg 2 moved him. It was a good sign: he could still feel it, his senses hadn't given way yet.
Reg 2 finished checking him.
'No exit wound.'
First you've got to plug the leaks, then you have to put in fluid to replace what's been lost. I watched as Reg 2 grabbed the field dressings from Glen's belt kit and ripped them open. You always use the casualty's own dressings; you might need yours later. The packaging was Israeli, but they looked the same as ours, like big fat sanitary napkins with a bandage attached. Their job, in any language, is to block up wounds and stop bleeding by the application of direct pressure.
A round from an AK had also ripped through the muscle mass on his thigh, like a butcher's knife slicing open a side of beef. He was losing blood fast. Reg 2 started to cavity-pack the wound.
The downside of Glen still breathing was that we couldn't shut him up.
Over and over he groaned, 'What's it like? What's it like?'
I looked down at him. He was covered in sweat, and the dust had caked onto his face.
'Shut the fuck up,' I said.
'It's nothing, we'll fix it.' You should never let a casualty see you looking concerned.
Sarah was several paces behind me, watching the route we had just taken, weapon out. I half whispered, half shouted, 'Sarah! Come here!'
She moved toward me. I said, 'Put the heel of your hand over this hole when I take mine off, OK?'
He was losing consciousness. Close to his ear, I said, 'It's OK, you can speak to me now.' There was no response.
'Oi, come on, speak to me, you fucker!' I pulled on his sideburns. Nothing.
I pulled up the left sleeve of his coveralls to expose the six-inch band of tubigrip on his forearm. Underneath that was the catheter, already inserted in a vein before we moved on the target. You'd have to be mad not to; a bit of anticoagulant in the catheter to stop the blood from clotting and it will last for a good twenty-four hours. You are a bit sore afterward, but it will save your life. It's hard to get a vein up to insert a catheter once you've lost fluid, especially under fire and in darkness.
Reg 2 had nearly finished packing the thigh wound. It would have been no good just piling bandages on top, because the muscle underneath was still going to bleed. You have to really pack the cavity, keeping direct pressure on the wound, and that, in turn, will stop the bleeding. That done, he now needed fluid.
Glen's breathing was very rapid and shallow, which wasn't a good sign.
I felt the pulse on his neck; same problem there. His heart was working overtime to circulate what fluid was left around his body.
Shots were now being fired at us from about a hundred meters away but all my attention was focused on Glen.
Reg 2 shouted at Sarah.
'Watch him and tell us if his breathing starts to slow down. Got it?' She nodded and started to take notice.
I pulled the plasma expander from his belt kit, a clear-plastic half-liter container shaped like a liquid soap bottle. I ripped it out of its Israeli plastic wrapper and threw that on the ground. I bit off the little cap that kept the neck of the bottle sterile. Fuck hygiene infections could be sorted out in hospital. Let's keep him alive so he can get to one first.
By now I also had his IV set out of its protective plastic coating, and was biting off the cap to the spearhead connector and jabbing it into the self-sealing neck of the bottle. I undid the screw clamp, took off the end cap and watched as the fluid ran through the line. I heard it splash onto Glen's face. He didn't react. Bad sign. Rolling the screw clamp on to stop the flow, I wasn't concerned about air bubbles in the line; a small amount doesn't matter certainly not in these circumstances. Let's just get the fluid in.
There was more gunfire from the target area, too close for comfort, and for the first time since we'd been in the trees our blokes fired back. The Syrians had found us.
Reg 1 was still in command. He was down at the tree line waiting for us to sort Glen out.
'How much longer up there?'
Reg 2 called back.
'Two minutes, mate, two minutes. I need your fluids.'
As he jumped up with his weapon to collect the kit I unscrewed the end cap of the catheter and screwed the IV set into it.
Sarah was still plugging the hole. I could hear her breathing quickly in my ear as she leaned over Glen.
'Nick, listen to me. Let's leave them to it, let's go.'
She was right, of course. The two of us would stand a far better chance on our own.
I ignored her and carried on working on Glen, gently squeezing the bottle to get the fluid into him. She whispered, a bit more urgently, 'Come on, we need to go now, Nick. Remember, this is what they get paid for.
And you are paid to protect me.'
Glen had to be dangerously low on fluids, but he was still conscious just.
'Sarah, pass me your fluid, quick.'
She used her free hand to pull the bergen straps off her back to get to it.
The first bottle was now empty. I turned off the IV with the screw clamp.
Sarah had her fluid in her hand. I said, 'Open it.'
I heard her ripping the plastic with her teeth as I pulled off the empty bottle. She handed it over. The sound of gunfire was still very much in the background.
Reg 2 came back, packs of fluid pushed down the front of his jump suit, panting as he collapsed on the ground next to us. I jabbed the new bottle into the set and opened up the screw cap. Reg 2 was studying Glen.
All of a sudden he shouted, 'Fuck, fuck, fuck!' and leaned over, grabbing Sarah's hand and lifting it.
There was a sound like a rush of air escaping from the valve of a car tire and a fine geyser of blood sprayed in all directions. The round must have pierced his lung, and as he breathed in, the oxygen was escaping from the lung and going into the chest cavity. The pressure had built up so much in his chest that his lungs hadn't been able to expand and his heart couldn't function properly. That was why Sarah had to watch and listen, because the pressure on the heart and lungs would make him breathe much slower than he needed.
Reg 2 went ballistic, still gripping her arm.
'Fucking bitch! Fuck you.
Do it right! What are you trying to do? Kill him?'
