Of course my chapters will be mostly short like always.
Tears wet her weathered skin as she stumbled on her one good leg away from the flying gravel and bullets. Throbbing flashes of agony danced up and down her nervous system centered on her calf. Through the tears burning her dry eyes she could see the salvation of the infirmary tent.
“Private Whitmore! Where do you think you’re going?”
The dirt in her mouth shifted as she grit her teeth and ignored his orders, she was so close to the sweet numbness of morphine. The bullet lodged in her shattered bone moved erratically like the ball belonging to a pinball machine as she rocketed backward. Black fog seemed to gather in her eyes as more tears fell and raw pain became her only thought.
“I asked you a question, Whitmore.”
Gazes, both curious and cruel, landed on her body. She was a woman, the weaker sex, and she was surrounded by men who thought her inferior. Strong fingers still had grip on her shoulder and the owner only tightened their grasp on her body.
“Whitmore-“
“I heard you.”
“Excuse you? You heard me, but you couldn’t answer me?”
Her throat constricted as she could feel the vertigo surfacing. He watched her face for any sign that she would answer him. Her lips turned down in a grimace as she prepared to open her mouth. “I-“
“Grenade!”
Her body was pushed to the ground, her general falling onto her leg. She was beginning to think she’d never get to the infirmary tent. General Trask stood and looked over his troop as they stood, “Whitmore, get up!”
Green eyes looked at the black sky, filled with smoke and ash, she could not get up. She heard the crunch of Trask’s boots as they grew close to her swimming head. As he held his hand out for her to take, they both noticed the blood. His eyes inspected her body, which remained on the ground.
“Where?”
“Right calf, one bullet, I think.”
Randall Trask knelt next to her good for nothing leg and lifted the pant leg. “Damn, exploding bullet, you haven’t got much flesh left Whitmore.” He stood, searching for men that most likely wouldn’t be needed on the field. “Grayson, Wate, get Whitmore to the infirmary, now.”
The mention of a lack of flesh made the vertigo swell in her stomach. Private Grayson and Wate maneuvered around her to lift her to standing position and began the trek to the infirmary.
“You should’ve just told him, he would’ve understood. Would have saved you blood, too.” Grayson mumbled, but Margaret Whitmore was utterly unaware.
