Sniper, on the hill next to the encampment guns of the enemy. Clear shot through the smoking crater from the last pendulum round. Right into his shoulder, taking most of it with it away from his body and into the wall of the trench.
The scream.
The swearing, the dropped rifle, the scramble to pull a mud soaked blanket off the bunk and around the remains of his shoulder.
The whimper.
The exhalations to survive, the lies that it'll be all fine, the shout for a medic.
The hand gripping the other.
The final words.
The death of a lover.
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