Aidilein — Roleplayer Guild

Elisa struggled not to panic. In the brief pause from running, she managed to care for those who she could see were hurt around her before the trepidation set in. First was a soldier she ran with, some younger kid from the infantry who was shot in the back of the thigh as they sprinted through the bush. He fell a few feet in front of her, and she stumbled forward to grab and yank him up, not knowing for sure how seriously he was injured.
"Get UP!!" She roared into his ear as the bullets whizzed by.
"Get UP! You need to run, you're fine just fine just run!" She screamed this time, propping his left side on her right and moving forward. There was no way in hell she could run while carrying, or even supporting most of a grown man, but she figured that maybe she could take at least some of the weight off of his left leg, allowing him to run or hop ahead.

Screams echoed all around as they hobbled ahead, him groaning and hyperventilating, and her cursing his stupid leg. She saw others get shot, blown yards away, blood and flesh flying all around, and she couldn't think of how to help them quickly enough. Grimly, she realized that she wasn't the only one who understood the severity of their situation. She could tell that those who didn't instantly get back up and fight through the pain were either dead or impossible to run with. She wanted to scream at the others to help them, they were men-- yell at the burlier ones to pick up and carry the scrawny, child-like injured, but she knew that it was a fantasy. No one would risk their life and drag a most-likely-dead weight. Not to mention that you would have to be a professional weight lifter and sprinter to run with the full 100kg of another man in your arms, the kind of running required to come out alive.

When they finally reached what seemed like a place they could pause, just for a moment, she wasn't relieved but instead terrified. She pushed the guy she helped run, the one who almost cost her her life as they fell behind the others, into the ground where the rest of the unit lay and slapped his hands away when they shakily tried to grab at his ripped-up leg.
"Stop moving, stop it!" She ordered, before taking a quick look around her. She couldn't tell who and who wasn't missing, but as if to answer her prayers, she saw that there were many still okay. The casualties, she figured, couldn't be in double digits. Finally she calmed slightly, and after quickly scanning the others to see if anyone was in a worse state, she looked down at the pale and hysteric man next to her. He stammered something and tried to look around, but she pushed him flat on his back.
"Shh, stop, you're going to be okay. Don't worry, it'll be ok, you don't seem to have burst an artery and-" She stopped upon seeing that her quick, thinking-out-loud diagnosis wasn't making him feel better at all. Instead she looked at it herself, making mental notes.

Bullet injury to the posterior thigh. No signs of artery damage or excessive bleeding. Exit not visible, bullet possibly embedded in the deep tissue or mass. She unstrapped and unzipped her medic pack and peered inside, digging among the vials of precious, clear liquids. Finally, finding what she needed, she took out a syringe and filled up 30ml of the 2mg/ml solution.
"I-Is that morphine?" He stammered, finally calming down upon seeing what was probably going to ease his pain and panic.
Elisa nodded, knowing that it would make him feel better to think so. Instead, she preserved what she knew to be crucial and injected him with the weaker, less dangerous Tramadol. It would not only ease his pain while saving her short supply, but also allow him to remain clear headed and awake if they had to run once more.

Glancing over the bush, as if peering into the mouth of a giant and terrifying monster, she crawled on her knees to asses another injury, hurrying to do what she could before they had to get up and keep going.

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