Thick, hazy smoke swirled around without relent; the air choked with the smell of sulphur and charred earth.  Fire was raining from the sky, the surrounds littered with shattered bodies.  Fear alone was the only available grip on reality as existence itself warped into a form it should never be allowed to.

I struggled with the last vestiges of my capacity.  The core of my being ached deeply, both from exhaustion and from catching a stray bullet.  Hadn't had time to check where the fuck it was.  So tired...

My arms trembling, I arched my back.  I couldn't move.  Couldn't move!  No, my left side was just numb -- it was sluggishly responding, but the feeling wasn't there.  Fuck.

The flurry of crossfire was still swarming mere spaces above my head, the acrid smell of death even more penetrating than seconds before.  If I didn't move soon, I'd catch another shot, or be at the bottom of a crater.

My neck felt like it had hit concrete at full speed -- I have a padded collar for a reason, but had it done nothing?  Inch by inch, I turned my head to the side.  Couldn't see fucking shit, goggles were caked in mud and blood.  Probably mine, can't tell anymore.

Shrapnel panged again, so close my ear must have a hole in it now.  My entire frame spasmed, trying to shrink into nothing, something so small nothing could hit it.  Not in reality.

I dared to drag my right arm towards my head, through all the sodden filth beneath me.  Arm works, hand here, haven't lost them yet.  Where the fuck is my rifle?  A short jerk lifted my eyewear -- not the smartest move, but I needed to see.

Not much of an improvement.  More darkness speckled with the fiery hot glow of munitions, explosions, chaos.  Otherworldly visuals that nobody should be asked to endure.  It's like the threshold of hell opened up in front of two thousand people, tempting them all straight into it.

Squinting to smudge the grime out, my neck turned itself left again.  Neck not happy with something, not paralysed though.  Yet.

My closest chance of living.  I sighted the butt of my rifle, three meters out and to the left.  It was lying strewn along the remains of a -- something.  Whatever it used to be was mangled to shit and back.  If I could reach it...

Pain. PAIN, my eyes began searing.  Had they realized the abyss they'd seen?  Was it a biological attack?  Tired, want to leave all this behind.  Can't.

Coiling, I started to drag my throbbing everything slowly to the side.  The sky lit up far above, a phosphoric spectre along an otherwise anthracite void.  Flare?  No time to think.

Ever closer now, the separated lifeline drawing nearer.  Need to live.  My left ear is ringing so intensely, convinced it's gone deaf.

A ridge to the immediate left casts a shadow, a figure appears -- surely the reaper come to relinquish my mortality.  Blinding flash of light, piercing roar.  One second feels like an eternity as I feel the muscles in my heart stop forever.

After flinching, I realize it was an illusion.  Hallucinating, seeing things.  There was someone there.

Crane neck as far as it will go to the left again.  Almost within arm's reach of my rifle.  Please, please...

Another commotion, may as well have flayed the fur directly off me.  Something airborne grazed overhead, was it a jet?  Fucking FUCK!

It takes all I can muster to rotate onto my hip.  Regret looking down, saw where I was shot.  Vest took the brunt, but there's blood.  Lots of fucking blood.  Feel lightheaded and ready to fucking die for a moment.  Look away, look the fuck away.

Trauma kit.  In my bag, side pouch B2.  Fuck this.  Need cover, freakishly easy target.

Returning my focus to the rifle, my vision blurs for a moment.  See another phantom to the right, looming near an outcrop.  Resisted the urge to scream;  not sure if it was at it, or just because of the fucking pain.

Had to rest.  No, the gun's right there.  Stretched my arm out, thought something was going to snap.  Managed to curl my fingers around the strap.  Only a brief tug away from perdition's end...

The verge the rifle was sitting upon was a blast crater, possibly a shell from the first volleys.  Heaving the muscles along my middle, I forced a roll along the rain-slick field.  Somehow enough to slide over the rim, affording several centimetres of cover.  Land with a sickening smack.

With all the pandemonium, the short fringe of wet sand was like a fresh flak jacket -- logic be damned.  Could think for a second longer, my life extended by several more.

Had two options: check my rifle or stymie a haemorrhage.  Given the loss of sensation, blood loss takes precedence.  Set my rifle lengthwise nearby, held my hands in front.  Strained to squeeze them into fists, so cold.  The ache emanating from them was severe.

No matter, still attached.  Reached around to my rucksack, betraying a grating groan by mistake.  Pack still intact though soaked.  Medical gear still present, might survive this.

Exert an unnecessary amount to bring my arm back.  Managed to fumble out the extravasatic bandage.  Would be dead already if not for these.

I can't hold back another exclamation, though this one is louder.  Sounds like a whisper amongst this cataclysm.