(no subject)
Sometimes, in war, even medics get wounded. These men are sometimes the hardest ones to care for, like Gene for example. When the door opens from Holland there is no sign of Eindhoven in the background. The sun is starting to set casting purple, red, and orange hues across the sky as if nothing were wrong in the world. It seems all the dark clouds that had been in the air are painted across the paratrooper medic's face.
"Eugene- get back here! We got to get that leg looked at!"
Raising a hand waving the bandage he holds hoping that detures the other medic from following him. Eugene says nothing, face set in a stonelike mad expression. It wasn't his fault that he got tangled in the barbwire. Well..not really. But it wasn't fair that he was being pulled off the line for some forced R&R because of it.
So with a bleeding leg the half-cajun medic limps into the bar slaming the door behind him. For the first time in his history of Milliways he needs a drink. A strong one.
"Eugene- get back here! We got to get that leg looked at!"
Raising a hand waving the bandage he holds hoping that detures the other medic from following him. Eugene says nothing, face set in a stonelike mad expression. It wasn't his fault that he got tangled in the barbwire. Well..not really. But it wasn't fair that he was being pulled off the line for some forced R&R because of it.
So with a bleeding leg the half-cajun medic limps into the bar slaming the door behind him. For the first time in his history of Milliways he needs a drink. A strong one.