Song Fiction ~ Human

“Bloody hell, Gibson.”

Coen pressed the Ace bandage back over the soldier’s gut, pushing as hard as he could to stanch the heavy flow of blood. Not that it would do any good. The severity of the man’s wound…

He looked up at his buddy. “Have you seen what’s underneath this? Do you know what that is seeping through?”

“Yeah, mate. The man’s intestines. Which is why you’re here.”

“I’m here because I’m the only doctor crazy enough to follow a unit this deep into the damn hot zone.”

“You mean, the only one brave enough.”

“This isn’t courage. Trust me. Sheer stupidity.” He waved at Gib. “Hold this. Tight.” He shook his head when Gibson took his place. “Harder. All your weight. More if you can manage it.”

Coen rummaged through his supplies. He’d brought as much as he could carry and still move and yet, it likely wouldn’t be enough.

It never seemed to be enough.

He grabbed a handful of supplies—practically the whole damn bag—then moved back over. He checked the soldier’s vitals, cursing the insanely low blood pressure. The sluggish movement of the guy’s pupils. The man was a breath away from death.

Coen worked quickly—intubation. A bag. IVs—saline and plasma. Drugs. Every freaking resource he had. Then, he changed places with Gibson, again. “Keep bagging him.”

Gibson nodded. Knowing the count without being told. He’d been Coen’s only help on more fucked-up missions than Coen could count.

He re-examined the wound—took stock. “This is crazy. Even if I somehow manage to save this sergeant’s life, he might very well brain be dead. I can’t begin to fully describe the severity of his wounds. There’s fucking shrapnel everywhere. He’s pretty much bleeding out. And I don’t have any blood. That…” He pointed to one of the bags. “That’s the only bag of plasma I could bring. It won’t be close to enough.”

“I’m O neg. You can do a direct transfusion.”

“And lose the only guy left standing? Are you nuts? We’re not safe. I can’t defend everyone and keep our asses in one piece, medically speaking.”

Gibson snorted. “Please. If I can fight better completely smashed than most guys sober, I think I can watch your six minus a few pints.” He held Coen’s stare. “I won’t let you down, mate.”

“You’re not the one I’m worried about failing.”

“Please. You’re the best damn field doctor I’ve ever worked with. And I’ve seen a lot.”

“Stitching wounds. Setting bones. Digging out a couple of bullets is nothing compared to this. In a surgical room with actual instruments? Sure. Not a problem. But here, under these conditions?”

“You’ve got this.”

“Gibson…”

“Damn it, Coen, you know he saved my arse. Three times, now. Took a bullet and got a fucking slash across his face all to keep me alive. I owe him.”

“I know he’s like a damn brother to you, but fuck, Gib… The world doesn’t work that way. Fate doesn’t give a shit if it’s fair or if you have debts you can’t hope to ever repay. She plays by her own damn rules, the bitch. I should know. She screws me over every chance she gets.”

“Not. Today.” Gibson shook his head. “No. We’re not losing this one.”

Coen sighed. “I know I act like an arrogant ass most of the time, but damn, buddy. I’m only human. I can’t actually work miracles, as much as I want to. Get it in my head I can break the rules. Hell, make my own. I’m just a man.”

Gibson’s hand lightly brushed against his arm, drawing his attention for one brief moment. “Maybe out there, in the rest of the world, you’re just a man. But in here—with a fucking scalpel in your hand…” Gibson cleared his throat, his voice thick. “In here, Coen, you’re the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a god. I know you’ll save him. Today, we break those rules. Tell Fate she can kiss my arse. Yours, too.”

Coen grunted, tying off bleeders—cauterizing any he could. “I really hate you at times, you know that? Giant pain in my ass.”

Gibson gave him a small grin. “Thanks, mate. I owe ya. And I’ll see we both live long enough for me to pay it back.”

“How about you just focus on living. That would be a hell of a start.”