One Unit

The doors of the ambulance slam with a sharp urgency as the engine roars to life with a craving to move. The only sound I can really hear though, is the mental ticking of a clock in my mind.
Fifty eight...
Fifty nine...
Sixty...

Five minutes have passed since I lost the feeling of this soldiers pulse; five minutes ago he was alive. Whatever hope I had of life giving him a second chance is gone now. A single tear slips from my eye as it slides its way down the side of my cheek but I make no motion to wipe it away. I want to pull my eyes away from the soldier who just minutes ago died in my arms but I can't, my brain burning the image of his corpse into my mind.

I should have saved him.

Another tear burns its way down my face marking the trail of regret... If I had of acted quicker, stopped the bleeding right away, or seen the head injury sooner... If I had of handled everything better he might still be alive. I watched him suffer as blood poured from his head and chest, I watched his eyes beg me to save him, to stop his pain. I didn't know what to do. Then the gunfire started and I stopped CPR for just a second too long, I lost his pulse. That one mistake cost this soldier his life. I was his only chance at survival and I didn't save him; the pain in his blue eyes said it all. I failed him.

Finally I pull my gaze from his face, his pained expression immortalized in the frozen image of pain and desperation. I let my eyes drift to my blood soaked hands, the blood still wet, dripping onto the floor through my violently shaking hands and running down my arms. As I watch the blood fall I feel my stomach drop as sickness consumes me with the gruesome image of the dying soldier and his blood. Another tear escapes from behind my eyelids as I throw my head side to side in search for something to wipe clean my hands but as though a didactic metaphor there is nothing I can use to get his blood off my hands. He died in my arms and it was my job to save him, but instead I watched him and listened to him while he suffered through shaky desperate breaths until the last of his life escaped my grasp.

Overwhelmed with emotion I allow myself to fall to my knees beside the fallen soldier. Reaching out to him the only way I can any more, I take his cold hand in mine. I sit here letting the tears fall freely at the feel of his cold, motionless hand. I do not try to be the stone cold soldier I am expected to be. I am a human, not a machine; he was a human, not a weapon. I allow the sobs to escape my lips as my chest heaves with the weight of the burden of letting another mans life slip through my fingers after the trust and faith he had given to me to save his life.

I didn't save him.

Another tear escapes as the hand I hold grips me tightly, a sharp intake of breath fills the silence as well as the rapid beeping of the heart monitor. I jump back startled; he can't be alive. Aside from the beeping of the machine there is nothing but silence in the air. If it wasn't for that monitor I would believe that I had imagined it.

'Ah!' The soldiers cry rips through the silence as it shatters my concept of reality but I don't have the time to think about that. Tears that have not yet fallen blind me but I don't care, I have another shot to save this man's life. Springing to my feet I attack the nearest shelf in a desperate hunt for anything and everything I can find to subside this soldiers pain. He cries out again, louder and more pained as his consciousness becomes more apparent. My hands find an emergency medical kit and as I try to still myself by taking a seat I fist my hand hard against the wall separating us from the drivers; If they haven't heard the soldiers cries they should know now that his condition has changed. Another soul crushing yelp escapes from the mouth of the soldier as I rummage desperately through the bags contents, finally my hands grip a familiar whistle like object. Throwing the bag aside I lean over the pained soldier, grabbing his arm to get his attention. I wrap his hand around the whistle.

'Breathe using this, its going to dull the pain until we get you to the hospital.' I instruct and he obeys without hesitation. He brings the whistle to his lips and begins to draw in breaths. I focus my attention on the heart rate monitor, his heart beat is rapid and I fear that if this anaesthesia doesn't start to work soon I might lose him again. Holding my breath I grip his free hand reassuringly, trying to calm him down anyway that I can. The sound of the beeping slows and I let my grip soften.

My legs feel weak and I have to sit down again. I attempt to let go of his hand but he doesn't let me. No doubt he is scared and frankly I am too, I have lost this guy once now I am not ready to lose him again. I run my free hand through my hair suddenly realising the situation. This man is alive, impossibly alive. Confusion interrupts my relief as relieved as I am that he is alive, at least for now, he was dead for too long; he should be dead. I know he should be because I felt his pulse slip away, I tried to fill his lungs with my own air and felt his struggle to hold on to life. I held his limp body in my arms and watched the life drain away from him through bloody pools below us before he was ripped away from me by the medical team.

My own heart begins to accelerate and my breath shortens as I try to suppress the rising panic. I can't go through this again, I can't lose him again and I cant let another life slip away from me; I can't let him die. The beeping machine is slowing down dramatically and dangerously. I choke back on a sob, I can't be losing him again... I don't know what to do. Now that his heart is pumping once again, his blood will be too which means that his head wound is going to be losing more blood and his chest just below his shoulder is going to be even worse. His grip on my hand is loosening. I will not lose him again.

I let go of his hand and push myself to my feet, unbuttoning my shirt and taking it off. I place it over his chest wound in a bundle applying pressure to the gaping wound. He winces under the pressure and arcs his body away from it. I only push the material down harder, he bites his lip fighting the pain I am causing. I look to the head wound and see a too quickly forming pool of blood forming on the pillow. I take hold of the Officers good arm and use its dead weight to apply pressure to the shoulder wound as I start to take off my singlet with the intention of using it to stop the bleeding from his head. His skin is paling dramatically.

'Usually people take me out on a date before they start taking their clothes off for me,' He says slowly and through short breaths.

'I need you to hold this tight okay, don't let go.' Through his pain he smirks at what I instruct but nods his head slowly, 'I need you to talk to me.'

'Now you want me to talk dirty to you?' He scoffs as I begin to gently tighten the make do bandage around his head, 'God at least get my number first,' I tighten a knot around the shirt to hold it in place, returning to applying pressure to the shoulder wound, I look into his eyes and notice that they are struggling to stay open, 'At least my name or-'

His eyes close and his heart rate slows impossibly low, I free one hand and slap it hard against his cheek, leaving a contrasting red hand print against his impossibly white complexion. 'What is your name dammit?!' I shout trying to bring him back into consciousness. The doors open and I snap my head around to see two stunned medics. 'Help him!' I demand, but the two just stand there a moment longer taking in the unexpected image before them. I stand half naked above a recently dead man who is now alive with a red hand print on his cheek as I shout at him for his name; but finally they move quickly, rushing him inside the hospital pausing only for a moment to indicate to me that I follow them.

Notes

Hey all,
Sorry this took me a while to get out to you guys and left you hanging a bit there. I was in the middle of moving countries so I didn't have much time to write. Sorry, its a bit rushed as well so I apologise for that but something is better than nothing. I couldn't let you all think I was going to be so cruel and kill them so quickly; our boys are tougher than that.