"Gavin!" Nines' voice was hoarse from yelling as he dragged himself through the thick, swampy mud. It was a good thing Sixty's cackling was so loud, otherwise he'd be a target himself. Greenish brown smeared his boots and pants as he trudged onwards. It was almost up to his knees as he dragged himself forward, a medical bag slung over one shoulder as he dragged a stretcher with his free hand. The stench of rot was overpowering. Bodies abandoned days, even weeks, before. Low moans sounded from every direction. Men who'd been caught in the shelling. Men who's been shot. Men who needed help. "Gavin!" He ducked and staggered as another explosion sounded somewhere behind. The cracking or gunfire was almost deafening, forcing him to duck and weave his way through the sludge.

He'd been back in the resting camp when the alarm had sounded and word came through. They'd gone over the top and everything had gone to hell. Emergency medics had been rounded up and taken to the front to bring back as many as possible. Nines' chest had tightened at the news. Gavin was on the front. If they'd gone over the top, he'd likely gone with them. Upon reaching the trenches, he'd been relieved to at least find Sixty and Allen still holding the line. That was the only good news to be had. Gavin's unit had gone over in the third wave. Only the fourth group had made it back so far.

Nines had grabbed his bag and a stretcher and all but launched himself over the parapet. With so many men out there, and Gavin being one of them, he didn't have time to wait for a second hand. Allen had yelled after him in reproach as he'd fumbled over the barbed wire. The stretchers were heavy enough on their own. It would be even harder to pull it back alone with a body in tow. He didn't have time to worry about that. Gavin was out there somewhere. It was jarring, being in the smoky swamp. It was a wide open plain of carnage. The shattered remains of a few petrified trees remained. Jagged, broken stumps that didn't even resemble what they'd once been. Shards of wood jutted up everywhere, along with rusted bits of metal from broken shells and old rifles. Broken bodies lay in stinking, sinking heaps. The earth was thick with old rain and blood. A few sandbags had been randomly dumped, leaving small patches of cover close to the barbed wire before opening into an endless sea of open ground and deep craters. A few bodies were piled together further out where men had used fallen comrades as cover before falling themselves. There were deep craters left from shells, where injured men had stopped to hide from enemy fire. Many of them were dead already. Old bodies left over from other raids, too far out to be reached.

Nines flinched at the sound of bullets whizzing overhead and the rumble of random blasts around him. The air was thick with smoke, which was a blessing and a curse. If he couldn't see enemy lines, then they couldn't see him. He also couldn't see where he was going. It was almost impossible to search in the thick smog. He peered through the grey clouds, dodging from cover to cover where he could while yelling Gavin's name. He hopped down inside craters and clawed his way up the other side. Crouched and crept alongside piles of rotting flesh. He kept the stretcher low, dragging it through the stinking sludge. He finally found a brunette figure lying face down in the dirt. He heaved himself over the edge of the crater and threw himself to his knees, ignoring the sinking feeling as he turned the body over.

"Gavin...Gavin! Can you hear me?" He did his best to wipe the thick mud from his filthy face. His dirty green eyes were dim and unfocused, barely fluttering open at his touch. "Gavin!" He slapped him hard across the face as he'd seen Connor do with other victims. Gavin's eyes opened a little wider at the fresh stinging pain. His whole body trembled from shock. He was breathing fast as he started tearing up. Nines' jaw tightened as he noted the way his eyes were darting restlessly from side to side. He was clearly disoriented, and in a great deal of pain. His jaw tightened until he was hissing through his teeth, barely gasping breaths in and out.

"Ni-ca-I-ca-Ni-I-I-" Nines slapped him again as he opened his bag with his free hand to grab a leather strap. He had to stop the bleeding before he could move him. "I-I-can-I-can't-f-feel my-l-leg-I can't-feel my-leg!" Nines' looked grim as he hooked the strap around his thigh and tightened it as much as possible. His trouser leg was dark red beneath the thick layer of mud. Nines knew the injury was below his thigh, but that's all he could tell without stripping him down, and he couldn't do that in the middle of no man's land. He winced at the pathetic whimper that escaped Gavin's lips as he tugged the leather tighter. Gavin's only chance was getting him back to camp and getting that wound cleaned and stitched as quickly as possible.

"Gavin, look at me...Look at me! Gavin! Look-at-me! You're going to be fine, do you hear me?" Gavin continued to tremble as silent sobs wracked his body. Nines cupped his cheeks, silvery eyes firm as he gazed down. "I promise, you're going to be alright." Gavin shook his head as helpless tears spilled down his cheeks. He wasn't going to be alright. He'd never felt anything like it. The shell must have come down right beside him. He'd been tossed clean through the air with a searing pain in his leg and side. He'd hit the ground hard, feeling dazed and confused as the world had turned around him. His head had been so fogged he couldn't even work out which way the gunfire was coming from. He'd tried to turn over, but the heavy pack on his back had kept him down. He'd pretty much passed out after that.

"N-Nines! I c-can't feel my leg!" Nines wiped the red smears from his hands as he readied the stretcher. There was nothing more he could do in the open swamp. He had to get him back to Connor. His jaw tightened as he heard more low moans and cries for help. Gavin wasn't the only one who needed attention. Some of the others were likely in better condition. More likely to survive. He should have looked out for survivors along the way, but he'd been completely focused on finding Gavin. He tried to ignore the niggling voice in the back of his head that reminded him that this was why doctors shouldn't get involved with patients. Someone else would die because he'd put Gavin first, and Gavin may not make it either. He tightened his jaw at the thought. He'll make it!

"You'll be fine! Come on, work with me here! Roll! That's it!" He helped Gavin squirm and roll his way onto the stretcher. He tugged the heavy pack from his back as he turned and placed it on his chest once he was safely on. They couldn't afford to lose all those supplies or leave them behind for the enemy to snag, and the pack might be thick enough to stop a stray bullet and keep him safe on the way back. "Hold on!" Nines groaned as he grabbed the handles and pulled, dragging the stretcher to the edge of the crater. Getting up onto flat ground was the most difficult part by himself. He swore Gavin was going to topple off at one point, but he held on like a trooper. Nines gripped both handles once he was up and started dragging, heaving Gavin back towards their own barricade. His arms and chest ached with the effort. The heavy metal stretchers had never been designed for one person to carry.

Allen had already hopped over the top before he arrived, ready to help heft the stretcher over the parapet of stacked sandbags. Both of them strained as they lifted the heavy metal rack, trying to keep Gavin steady. They were lucky that Sixty and Connor were on the fire step, ready to lower him on the other side. They were as gentle as possible as they set him down. Sixty cursed under his breath as he took in all the blood. They'd brought him back alive, but how long he'd stay that way wasn't clear. He was so pale he looked like he could go at any moment.

"Connor! I need another stretcher!" Nines' hand was already waiting. He was gone as soon as he had it. Allen yelled back before for Sixty to take charge going with him. Those were his men out there, and Nines couldn't save them by himself. Gavin was breathing hard, taking short breaths as Connor crouched beside him. His lips tightened as he took in the damage. He shared a look with Sixty and shook his head. It didn't look good. Sixty cursed before grabbing his rifle and hopping up onto the fire step again. He roared loudly as he fired across the lines. It was a chilling, grief-stricken sound. The high-pitched shriek of grief and rage had earned him the nickname The Banshee. The men all swore the other side could hear it, and that they feared it. He sounded like a creature straight from hell.

"N-Nines? Nines!" Gavin's eyes were frantic as he searched the busy trench. It was terrifying, being so low to the ground. Tight walls of dirt and sand rose on either side. Men in uniforms ducked and reloaded around him, stepping up and down on the raised steps. Smoke poured over the top as explosions sounded outside. Nines! He recognised Sixty's unnerving shriek. It was a sound that cut him to the core. He was pretty sure it would scare the enemy, too. It was the sound of nightmares.

"Gavin, it's alright, you're with me. It's Connor...I'm going to get you patched up, alright?" Connor murmured in a comforting tone, resting a hand on his shuddering shoulder as he raised his head to look for help. Most men were busy covering the other medics, but there were a few extra men waiting around for orders. "Get him to the truck! Now!" he yelled further down the line. Two young men were already there to lift the stretcher by the time he pushed to his feet.

"C-Connor? Where's Nines? Ph-phck! I can't feel m-my leg, Connor!" Connor hushed him and gripped his hand as they hurried down the line. There was a small bay for emergency care, but that wasn't enough. Gavin needed to be rushed further back as soon as possible. He'd do what he could to stabilise him on the way, but they needed to go now if he was going to have any chance. His green eyes were already hazy and half lidded as he blinked and looked around with unseeing eyes. Connor could tell he was going. He'd seen too many others do so before not to recognise the signs.

"There were other people who needed help...Don't worry...he'll be back soon. I'm with you, Gavin...You'll be fine." He passed out before they even reached the truck. "Shit! Start the truck!" Connor yelled as the men hefted Gavin's stretcher onto the bed. Connor hopped up and slid him further up. There were already five other men laying there. Two of them were pale and unmoving. The other three were badly wounded. They all needed to get back to the resting camp. Connor set about getting a look at Gavin's wounds. There wasn't much he could do for the leg. Nines had already stopped the bleeding as best he could without tools. Shit-shit-shit! Pulling aside the dirty stained shirt revealed a deep shrapnel wound. He'd bet anything that a piece of shell casing had lodged itself in there. "Drive!" Connor screeched as he tugged off his own shirt and bundled it against the gaping hole.

It seemed the driver understood the urgency of his second desperate cry. The truck lurched to life, almost throwing him off balance as he struggled to keep his weight pressed on Gavin's wound. Come on, Gavin! Don't do this...don't leave us...His skin was so pale he almost looked like a ghost. Connor swallowed as he felt his eyes tearing up. He had to hold on. He had work to do. He couldn't fall apart yet. He bit his lip as he continued to stare at Gavin's sleeping face. The skin beneath his eyes was dark from lack of sleep. He was also quite thin, like a lot of stressed, under fed soldiers. Knowing Gavin, he'd probably been sharing out some of his own rations to perk up the younger troops. You have to stick around! You have to stay so Nines can come back and scold you like he always does! It seemed Gavin wasn't listening as his breath rasped.

"This one first! He's crashing!" Connor yelled as he hopped down. The truck had barely even stopped. Nurses and medics flocked to help. Connor left the others to them as he walked alongside Gavin. "Shell blast. Major damage to his left leg and possible shrapnel in his left side, here," he reported as he hurried alongside the stretcher into the emergency care tent. He lifted the shirt enough to reveal the grim wound before pressing it back. The wadded material was already wet and warm against his hands. Doctor Manfred nodded along, lips tight as he surveyed the damage. It was rare for men like this to come back alive. They usually died on the way. Connor remained, keeping his weight on the wound as Manfred yelled out orders.

"Prep for surgery! We need to get these wounds cleaned! Where's my nurse? North!" Connor couldn't help feeling a flood of reassurance. Doctor Manfred seemed to know what he was doing. He was seasoned. Organised. That was more than a lot of units got on the front. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up to see a pretty blonde nurse smiling at him. She had the sweetest face he'd ever seen, and he certainly would have remembered if he'd seen her before. He felt his heart flutter as she gave him her best smile.

"You've done well...It's alright, I can take him now. You should go and clean up." Her voice was sweet and soothing as she laid her pale hands on top of his and pressed down. Connor swallowed hard, feeling tears welling in his eyes. This was it. There was nothing more he could do. His job was done. He'd brought him back to the camp alive. Keeping him that way was no longer his job. He licked his lips nervously as he slowly eased the pressure. The young woman stepped in right away to press down and keep it there.

"Take care of him...please..." His voice sounded small as he stepped back. The blue clad nurse smiled warmly and nodded her agreement. Connor stumbled back and made his way outside, barely able to see through the tears that clouded his vision. Please don't die-please don't die-please don't die-please...