Going Home

It is in and out of consciousness that we take the drive back to camp. My leg is hurting like a bitch, and the only thing I can focus my mind on is…not fucking again.

I don't know how badly I am injured; the moment I try to lift my head, I have Harrison pushing me down again. I have Lopez applying pressure on my leg to try and stop the blood from gushing out.

I feel like a mess.

I am losing a lot of blood very quickly, for the dizziness is starting to set in. Then…I am out.

Next time I come to, I am being carried into the nurse's tent where you have a severely understaffed medical team running to save the lives of the badly injured. The ones only in need of a view stitched or a non-serious bullet to be removed are pushed to the side.

If I thought the battlefield was a complete mess, this is complete chaos. Today is a very sad day for every Marine that walks and that used to walk these grounds. Here, in this tent, there will be more li