He raised his head and looked around, numbly aware of pain in almost every part of his body. He was on the bank of a small stream, and to his shock, the water was red with the blood of the fallen bodies around him. He was unsure of his wounds and was aware his life was in serious jeopardy, but was powerless to do anything to save himself. He was aware of pain, of despair, and of the light rain falling on him.
He and his fellow soldiers had come to the stream to drink and refill canteens, and to wash the grime of weeks on the march away. Instead they had met the enemy and a short, violent firefight had broken out and now his fellow soldiers were dead and he was on the way. The bodies of dozens of the enemy were mixed in with his fellow soldiers and he felt sadness alongside his despair.
He closed his eyes and began to doze, wondering before he fell asleep if he would wake again. When he awoke again it was dark and an overwhelming thirst consumed his senses. He reached for and found his light and shined it at the water. The flow had cleared the water of blood, and he managed to claw his way across the damp earth, dragging his legs behind as he plunged his head in the shallow water. He drank deeply, then flopped down to rest before drinking again. He listened, hoping to hear the sounds of humanity, but all he could hear were the sounds of the night.
The pain in his legs let him know he was not paralyzed, and with a steel will against the pain, he moved each. With more effort, he sat up and almost fainted from the effort. He ran the light over his body and assessed the damage. He had wounds on each thigh, a gash on his right hip, and a flesh wound across his left shoulder. The wounds were not bleeding badly, and he knew if he could clean himself, he might have a chance to live. He fell back, wanting to sleep once again.
When he awoke, the sun was shining and his body was warm. The pain had lessened and he just felt stiff. This time he managed to stand, and despite feeling light-headed, he stayed upright. He peeled his uniform off, peeling the fabric from his wounds and opening them in the process. He walked stiffly down the bank, wanting to get away from the bodies strewn along the bank. It took him over an hour to walk a quarter of a mile, but he did so clutching his clothes and his rucksack.
He slipped into the water and let the coolness soothe his wounds. He scrubbed himself with a bar of soap out if his ruck and sat back on the bank to assess himself with his head clear. The wound in his right thigh was the only serious one. The bullet had gone in the outer meat and came out below his buttocks. The wound on his left thigh was a furrow, but was not deep enough to cause too much concern.
The wound on his right hip was shallow as well, and was already clotted. His shoulder had bled a little, but was more of a burn than a wound. All in all, he had escaped relatively unscathed. He dressed each wound from his field pack and laid back against the bank to rest. He had washed out his uniform and it was drying in the sun. He dozed for a bit, and woke when he heard a rustling in the grass to the west of the stream. He looked for cover, but didn't have many options. He quietly slipped into the stream and pushed under an overhang which was sheltered by overhanging grass from the bank. He found a hole he could settle in and peered out as the noise grew closer. He had no idea if the person or people approaching were friends or enemies, but he wanted to be hidden until he could figure it out.
A minute later, he watched as a person came closer and knelt at the water's edge. It was a woman, and she was filling two large jugs with water from the stream. She was wearing a simple dress, and had her dark hair tied back with a strip of colorful fabric. He could see her legs, which were long and beautiful. Despite his soreness and the cool water, he felt himself growing hard.
She finished filling the jugs and washed her face and arms in the stream. She looked around and he got his first look at her face. She was beautiful, with high cheekbones, wide, dark eyes, and a lush, full mouth. She suddenly spotted his uniform and walked closer, inspecting his clothing. She looked puzzled as she spotted his rucksack. She poked through his pack and looked around again. He could not afford to lose the few supplies he had, so he tried to think of a way to reveal himself without scaring her completely.
Having no other option, he slid out from the overhang and stood in the shallow pool. It was deep enough to hide his nude lower body, but exposed him from the stomach up.
"Excuse me, miss, I mean you no harm," he said, putting his hands up in a placating gesture.
She gasped and spun around, her eyes locking on him and calculating the risks. She could see the dressing on his shoulder but no more, so he probably looked more threatening than he was capable of being.
She didn't move and didn't speak, so he gestured for his clothes. He pantomimed her throwing them to him. She shook her head, but did throw his boxers to the edge of the stream. He motioned for her to turn around and he waded to the edge and slipped them on.
"You can turn around now," he said.
She looked over her shoulder and saw he was covered before turning around. She saw the dressings on his other wounds and her eyes widened. The worst wound on his thigh was soaked with blood as was the one on his hip. He limped forward a step and held up his hands again.
"I have no idea if you speak or understand English, but I mean you no harm. I am alone and hurt and just want to find some friendly soldiers to take me back to my base."
She shook her head, obviously not understanding. He grabbed his pack and dug through, looking for anything she might find valuable. He laid out his meager supplies and motioned to the pile. He made the motion for food and indicated the supplies.
