As Croft yanked Gatling up to his feet, McCoy groaned upon impact, getting picking up his beloved SAW that was beside him, mentally kicking himself thinking it was his grenade launcher. He turned to Croft, clutching tightly to his squad automatic weapon, looking it over as he ordered, his tone strained as he continued fighting through the pain, "Let's take a rest for a second, I need to check to see what happened." When Croft set him down, he grunted out his thanks before turning his attention to the malfunctioned weapon. Upon close inspection McCoy could see the problem, immediately setting to work on it as he grumbled slightly under his breathe about needing morphine. 

He could feel Croft's stare on him, most likely wondering how the hell he's still up with all those burns burning in his side as McCoy told him bluntly as possible, having taken out the clip to jam the cock of the gun back in place, "I come from Reach, born from the sack of a drill sergeant who on the day of his death killed a Guta with a bowie knife after having serviced two tours against the Innies, and when straight out the pussy of a medic who was known to even perform shots, dig out bullets, and doctor up herself. Trust me," He continues explaining vulgarly, knowing full well his language was vulgar as hell, but hey, cussing helps lessen the pain, "I'm [b]not[/b] going to die just because some covie got lucky." He slapped his clip back in, cocking his gun ready as he slowly stood up while groaning heavily, growling out as he limped toward Croft, "Now get me some goddam morphine or pain killers."