Time/Date Error (Damned of the 2/19th-Book Six) - Done

Drifting

2/19th Special Weapons Group Area
Secure Area, Alfenwehr
West Germany
30 October, 1987
0330 Hours

The blood was hot on my fingertips as I brought them up where I could see them.

"Yup, he got a piece of you, Ant," Bomber told me.

"Got shot again, Ant," Westlin added, chuckling. "Welcome to the caliber club."

"Eat me," I told them both, undoing my LBE and tearing open the Kevlar vest. Two flattened bullets dropped from the Kevlar's nylon covering and onto the floor. I ignored them while Westlin moved up and knelt down to look at them.

"Forty-five rounds, Ant. You're lucky, they're slow. It's like throwing a rock at someone. If it had been the new 9mm rounds they would have done more damage," Westlin said. "Quarter inch layer of Kevlar probably wouldn't have stopped them."

"Whatever," I grunted, stripping off my BDU top and T-shirt. The hole in my shoulder was steadily leaking blood. The rhythmic steady pumping of a vein, not the squirting pulse of severed artery.

"Pretty bad," Bomber said, staring at my wound.

I sucked in air as I pushed my finger into the wound. Twisting it, probing at it, the pain white hot and making my vision gray out as I kept pushing it.

"Careful, Ant," Bomber told me.

"S'kay, I'm good," I told him, aware that my eyes were crossed from the pain. Felt like my finger was a sharp blade, ripping through skin and muscle.

...there. the bullet...

Now that I knew what it was, I was presented with my next problem. Take each problem one at a time, tackle each part as I could.

Every big thing was made up of a multitude of small things. Take care of every small thing, you eventually solve the big thing.

"Jesus, Ant, really?" Bomber asked me as I fumbled at my belt and pulled the Leatherman free.

Westlin stood up, staring me in the eye. "I'll help you, Ant, walk you through it," she told me softly. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek.

The lizard was trying controls, trying to get me to stop what I was doing, or maybe help, it was hard to tell, but none of his controls were working.

Just the monitors.

He wanted to close the wound, let the pressure buildup stop the bleeding, let it coagulate, let the joint heal itself.

The pain was going to be intense and I knew it. I'd be lucky if I didn't pass out.

I reached into my pocket, taking out the small medkit that Cromwell had taught us to carry on us, just in case. Then I pulled my knife free, set it on the generator, and finally pulled off my belt.

"All right, I'll stand here with you, Ant," John said, moving over and standing next to the generator. He tapped the Leatherman. "Gotta be careful with this, it ain't gonna be easy, brother."

I just nodded, lifting up the belt and putting it into my mouth. I'd need it to bite down on or I'd crack my teeth.

"This is gonna hurt, Ant," Westlin said. "Your fingers are going to be bloody, you'll have the shakes. Prep everything else now."

I nodded, flipping open the plastic container that normally held a sewing kit. I pulled out one of the curved suture needles, then the silk, and threaded it. My hand was starting to shake, and blood was running freely down my arm.

Once that was done I lifted the Leatherman, twisting it so it became a pair of pliers.

"You can't do a full repair job, Ant, and you need to be careful of the hardware that they put in there," Westlin told me. "Don't mistake one of those titanium pins for the bullet or you'll regret it."