Hunted.

[seejay2]

-=[Closed due to Inactivity]=-


Quick breathing filled the dark air of the small room. The rumble of a truck caught the attention of the man hiding in a dark corner, as the truck passed by its lights shone through the windows, casting shadows up the walls and illuminating the red cross on the mans helmet. He held his breath. A second truck passed, its lights flowing over his Australian Uniform, the third lighting up The name stitched into his color. M. Flint.
The Medic had been retreating out of the city when one of the soldier fell behind with a bullet in his leg. Marcus did what he was famous for, turning around and charging back into the Frey, dodging his way around ruined cars and smoking debris, bullets falling like hail around him as he tried to reach the solder. He could see the images in his mind, watching as the Germans pushed forward, the soldier firring his pistol in an attempt to slow the advance of Grey uniforms, Marcus was so close to him. He was about to dart from the car he was hiding behind to get the soldier when a hail of bullets forced him back and ripped into the soldier. Marcus watched as The soldier fell backward, his head bouncing off the road, eyes open and staring straight at Marcus. Those eyes are what haunted him now. As life drained from the Soldiers body his eyes cried out for help, but Marcus couldn't do anything.

It wasn't the first time Marcus didn't make it to a downed man, it wasn't the first time he'd looked into a mans eyes as they died. But it was the first time Marcus had been so close to a solder, close enough to almost grab him, and he had been forced back. He had never felt so useless. He had run into front lines before, he had charged toward a line of Germans trying to kill him and survived. He had risked his own life so many times he had lost count. But that time, the very first time, he had been forced back. He didn't make it to the soldier because he was cowered from the bullets. He had tried to make it back to the unit he had been attached to, but the advancing Germans overtook him. He had almost been captured, pinned against a fence when the paling gave way, he tumbled down the steep slope and made his escape, bullets following him until he got out of sight.

Now he hid. The small office had given him a place to hide, the door was barricaded with the desk and a filing cabinet, the window wasn't a worry because he was on the fourth floor of the Building. Slowly he crept toward the window, raising himself slowly to peek over the window-sill. In the street below him sat four trucks, troop carriers. Three of the trucks started up again and rumbled on, one staid behind. Marcus guessed that they would start a search of the building, he was wrong. He had been concentrating on the back of the truck where the soldiers would jump out, when he heard the sound of the Hood slamming shut he looked forward, the driver had been fixing the motor. two minutes later the street was empty, the trunks having moved on.

Marcus sighed in relief. The first bit of good luck he'd had all night. He had to get out of the city, make it back to friendly troops, The Germans knew he was still in the City, they would most likely start a real hunt in the morning. He had nothing on him to defend himself should he fall under attack again, No weapon, not even a Medical kit, nothing other then a Uniform and his helmet. He was in trouble.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

A noise!? A real loud one at that, bellowed down the loomed corridor, as a wooden door thumped against the wall, bouncing from off it’s hinges almost, before clunking back against the doorframe - the lock mechanism making the initial Clang! as the two cold pieces of metal entwined into one another again. Then, footsteps… Hard thick clunks against the floor, followed by what seemed to be a soft moaning, breaths of air being sucked in through the teeth with every step, before eventually, the noise failed to exist anymore? Just, silence.

The noises had been coming from downstairs, presumably the first (ground) floor. Ironically, it wasn’t a German presence either, but that of a British Lieutenant. Liam’s body slumped against the hard wall in the narrow corridor, his body slowly slipping down, whilst his left hand gripped into his side, the initial and obvious crimson red overtaking his ‘karki’ brown British uniform, his rifle clunking against the ground as his bottom fell against it, unable to hold up the cumbersome hunk of wood anymore - the Lee Enfield rifle.

He was tired, weak… He was a commando, one of the finest, but even he hadn’t anticipated the German assault, advancements. A bullet had zipped right through his side in the process of fighting, the Lieutenant could distinctly tell it was a flesh wound, but a big one at that, as Liam gritted his teeth from the pain, clutching his side in sheer agony. It was a blessing he was still alive, but the Lieutenant began to doubt for much longer. He was behind enemy lines, he’d watched the convoy trucks just leave, before daring to collapse into the building and now, he was alone, tired, very tired. He knew not to close his eyes, but just couldn’t help himself, as his eyes slowly began to fall shut, before he fought back and awoke himself abruptly, a cough erupting from his throat. No, he couldn’t sleep.

As Liam sat motionless against the corridor’s floor a while, he eventually plucked up the strength to drag off his red beret, the commando beret, with the insignia of “30 AU” (30 Assault Unit). He was proud to be a commando, as he clutched the red fabric within his palm tightly, before uttering out another soft moan from the pain in his side, not daring to look at it, but only clutch all the more tightly, feeling his hand succumb to the moistness of blood all the more. He had to make the night.

[seejay2]

As Marcus watched the convoy roll off he dared to relax slightly, turning around and sitting down against the wall he looked back into the room. Something caught his eye, the desk draw was open. He didn't even notice it before. Getting to his feet he walked over to the draw. He couldn't believe his luck, a medics kit! With a smile he grabbed the kit and walked back to the window, he was about to slide down the wall and check on the contents of the kit when movement caught his eye in the street below.

A solder, wearing a red cap and holding his side was making for the front door of the Office block. The man passed from view and a few seconds late the echo of a door being kicked in filtered through the elevator shaft and into the room where Marcus was hiding. The man was obviously not a German, no Germans wore red caps. Slowly and carefully Marcus got to his feet again and crept toward the door, opening it silently and sneaking toward the stares. In the empty building any noise was carried far, and Marcus could hear a soft moaning. The man must be wounded. That single thought alone caused Marcus to through caution to the wind as he started to run down the steps, he went as quietly as he could, but speed and silence never really did go well together.

As he reached the steps that would take him to the first floor he heard a second moan. He slowed as he reached the hallway, peeking his head around the corner and glancing both ways. Sitting slumped against the wall was the solder, clutching his red cap in his hands. Marcus's mind rushed as he tried to remember the words of Challenge and Reply. He finally got it and whispered down the hallway. "Flash?" He hoped the reply would be thunder, then he could safely approach the man and see if he needed assistance.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

Lieutenant Brentwood’s head flopped back a little against the hard plastered wall behind him, the heat of Africa wasn’t to his liking, being a typical Englishman and living in the land of doom and gloom for weather, the sun just happened to his nemesis as much as the Nazis. A bale of sweat had broken out across his forehead, half between the heat and humidity to the current weak and pale situation he’d gotten into. His grip began to loosen ever so slowly upon his wound at his side, his wet tired hand oozing soft droplets of blood onto the floor, he surely wasn’t in the good situation, he could only pray to make it to morning, when or if the local townspeople came to work - would find him.

Thumping!? The abrupt noise of paddling footsteps echoed down the corridor somewhat, seemingly coming from above, causing the Lieutenant to widen his eyes and suddenly grapple for his weapon by his side. His blood stained hands grasped onto the oak like wood his rifle was made from, the grips becoming slippery and his body tightening up to gaze down the iron sight a little - pointing it off towards a nearby door he predicted someone would come through at a moment’s notice…

“Flash!”

A voice, a murmur, a shout!? Lieutenant Brentwood couldn’t tell, as his hearing pricked to sound, suddenly swinging his rifle off towards the stairwell door, knowing the location of the supposed enemy now - until the word Flash rolled over within the cavern of his mind, succumbing to the actual meaning - the challenge. “.. T-Thunder..” Lieutenant Brentwood weakly spat out, as his weak arms began to lower the rifle within his grasp, alleviating a long hauled breath, fuelled by adrenaline within that moment, ready for his last stand.

[seejay2]

As soon as the choked out word reached his ears Marcus was around the corner and dashing toward the Downed Solder. He slit to a stop just in front of him, his hand already in his Medics kit grabbing a Morphine Syrette and checking the Soldiers breathing. He was breathing more then twelve times a second and thus made it safe for Marcus to inject the Morphine into his leg. After the Syrette empty he started talking to the solder to try and keep him conscious. "Hey mate, your OK now, can you tell me your name, rank and what squad you where assigned under?" As Marcus spoke he rolled the man onto his side and ripped open his shirt through the bullet hole. "Your OK mate, it went right though, you've just lost a bit of blood." It was an understatement, the soldier had lost a mass amount of blood and was almost on his death bed. But Marcus was determined to make up for his lack of performance during the day.

He ripped open a Sulfanilamide Packet and poured the powdery substance onto the entry and exit wound. The Sulfanilamide would kill any Bactria and prevent the wound from getting infected. He quickly swabbed around the wound with Iodine before placing a dressing over the wound and beginning to wrap a bandage around the mans abdomen. "I'm going to have to move you, there is a safe place on the fourth floor. Do you think you'll be able to make it up there?" Marcus questioned the man as he injected him with a small does of adrenaline to keep his heart pumping. He didn't have all the necessary equipment in the bag to properly care for the wounded solder, but he would do his best with what he could.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

The Lieutenant’s eyes widened briefly as he watched a distorted figure suddenly spring into his line of sight, still unsure to whether it was a friendly or not, as his blooded hand gripped onto the butt-end of his rifle, ready to put up a struggle if need be. A voice, spoken well in English (to how Liam knew it), almost assuming the man must’ve been a fellow cockney, Londoner -- that was until his ears pricked to the syllables a little more, distinctively hearing the Australian twang come through. The smile didn’t fade though.

“Crikey… Took your time” Liam said within his dry sense of humour, as he felt the man rip and pull at his uniform, assessing the damage done and doing something about it. Liam was weak, pale, but he was still very lucid and awake. Just tired, his senses dull somewhat, but his ears certainly pricked to the questions the man asked, which had the Lieutenant thinking for a moment, as if he’d briefly forgot. The cold sensation taking over his body for a while, almost like he was going cold turkey.

As Liam vaguely squinted his eyes and shook his head, he began to mutter out “Liam… First Lieutenant, Royal Bloody Commandos… So who’s asking?” he said a little strongly for a weak man, but the Lieutenant was always stubborn minded, even when the Medic injected some helpful morphine and adrenaline into him, the Lieutenant grumbled beneath his breath, hating needles… Even though he was a tough man on the battlefield, one of which had just taken a bullet.

“Fourth floor?… Yeah… Yeah, I can --” he began to say, as he tried pushing off the floor without much help, the ol’ stubbornness shining through again, but was soon cut off from what he was saying as he gave a slight wine in pain, gritting his teeth and sucking in hot air through his gritted teeth. “Bugger!” he grunted out, as he slumped back down again, unable to stand… One of his hands grabbing at his side that just happened to be well bandaged, thanks to the medic, before strongly and willingly to do it by himself, push against the wall to stand again - stumbling onto his heels a little, he held the wall some for support, his rifle perched against the ground like a walking stick on the opposite side, with a small grin appearing on his face from actually being able to stand slowly appearing.

[seejay2]

"Marcus if my name mate, call me Mark if you really want to. I’m an Aussie Medic. The best in the business." Marcus said continuing to reassure the injured soldier. The injured Commando as it where. When he said he could make it to the Fourth floor Marcus got to his feet and closed the front door. It would be better if the Germans didn't see the door open and come to investigate; there was enough blood on the wall and floor to be seen by a passer by. When the Commando Stumbled the first time Marcus made to catch him. But stood back as he pushed himself to his feet once again, noticing the triumphant smile on his lips. "Look mate, you seem like a proud guy, but there's a difference between tough and stupid." As he said it Marcus walked around and grabbed the First Lieutenants arm, draping it over his shoulder and helping to support his weight. "It wasn't that bad of a shot, but you still lost a lot of blood, you need food and sleep, once we get to the Fourth floor you'll be able to get both." As Marcus helped the Commando to the flight of steps. This would be the hard part. It would be slow going to reach the fourth floor.

Once they where in the Office Marcus had found he set the Commando down in the corner and pushed the desk back up against the door before kneeling down next to the Commando and unwrapping the bandage. "Ok, I need to stitch this up, the bleeding has slowed enough for me to do it." Marcus began pulling out his Stitching needle and thread. He looked at the Commando. "Do you want to be awake for this? If not I’ve got some Sulfate Morphine, it will ease the pain a bit more and put you to sleep while I stitch you up." Marcus held up the small vial and a Hypodermic Syringe.


OOC: Sorry for the short post.

[♔ Liam J. Brentwood]

Mark… What an average name? That was the first thought that bellowed through Liam’s mind, which was a fantastic thing - from it’s irony. The Lieutenant wasn’t great at remembering names, predominately because he had other issues on his mind, his lower ranking subordinates (sergeants) usually made swift to dealing with the men, but Mark was a simple and easy name to remember - particularly within his dreary state.

The Commando’s lips soon coiled into a slight grin, as his pasty and pale face lit up for a brief moment on being called, perhaps, stupid. Liam liked people that spoke their mind, it brought a down to Earth sense of feeling to him, espically as they seemed to forget his rank for a moment or two and just spoke to him normally. The Lieutenant lacked friends, mainly because he was on the move continuously, here and there, everywhere! So having someone fill in the gap of a friend, speaking to him normally, did entail a warm feeling with it.

Remaining silent, the Lieutenant focused on climbing the steep staircase, in which poor Mark seemed to be taking most of his weight at some points. Liam’s body was frail from blood loss, tired to say the least, he’d had the wound for hours already and most likely left one crimson bloody track within his footsteps on making his journey to the building. Seeking refuge. “Finally…”[/I] was perhaps the only word he uttered due in the whole while their struggle pushed up the staircase, as his body slumped down against the wall, his breathing laboured and a cold pale of sweat had broken across his forehead - looking more feverish than exerted from the climb.

As Liam drearily looked to the Medic, he broke a weak smile to chirp a slight laugh. “Just do it, the pain will do me good… Keep me awake…” he said firmly, yet still a weak tone to his voice. The Commando was used to pain, he’d gone through a gruelling process to reach the respectable stature as a commando, from ‘Fake’ interrogations, hard training courses and wilderness survival. He needed the wake up call, he knew sleeping could be deadly, anyhow - Liam’s one true motto was, sleep due in the day and move at night. It still seemed to be night, so he wasn’t going to change his stubborn schemes anytime soon.

The Lieutenant draped open the buttons to his shirt, slowly peeling it back from off his body. His frail pale body slumped against the wall, his muscular physic seeming somewhat useless from his weak state. Looking to the bandaging, well, he didn’t peel that off… as he awaited the Medic’s move of action. “When you’re ready, mate” Liam said quietly, taking a hard gulp as a small preparation.

[seejay2]

Marcus gave a small grin, the Commando was tough, He could tell that by the simple fact that he was a commando. But even with his little red hat he was still human. Marcus picked out the equipment he would need from his kit and layed them out on a cloth next to the Commando. He pulled out a small box and opened it, he gave the Commando a small hit of adrenalin to keep his heart beating, there was barley enough blood in his body to keep him functioning the way he was. He then pulled out his C rations, opening them and giving them to the Commando along with his canteen. "You need to get some food and liquids into you, after I've stitched you up and put the bandage on, I want you eat all the food there and drink that canteen."

After the Commando removed his ripped shirt Marcus set about carefully unwrapping the bandage, parts of it where stained from the blood that that seeped through the Cause that was like a soggy pillow. The wound was a clean one. Straight in and out, Judging by the position of the entry and exit wounds the bullet hadn't pierced any vital organs. This was very good, as Marcus didn't have the Equipment to repair wounds of that nature. No major arteries where hit, the only reason the Commando was in as bad a state as he is was because Marcus hadn't been able to get to him for a few hours after the shot, the bleeding had slowed to a dribble, Marcus smiled as a thought passed his mind, the commando would live. The wound wasn't as serious as he had first thought.

With that in mind he started stitching up the exit wound, it only took five stitches to close the wound. "How long have you been a Commando?" Marcus asked as he started to stitch the entry wound. This one would only take three. He was finished in a matter of minutes, so not to prolong the pain to the Commando. "You can eat now, but do it slowly." Marcus said as he started packing up his gear and cleaning the tools. He re-bandaged the now stitched wounds and sat down opposite the commando with a good view out the window.

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:

The following CP has been issued;

Marcus Flint: 10CP
You have been awarded this CP for displaying medical knowledge; would've been awarded more, if combat had've taken place.

Lieutenant Brentwood: 8CP
You have been awarded this CP for showing strength and charactisitcs.

~Danny