The Wounded

"Disperse, disembark!" The order was quickly relayed.

However, this order was difficult to execute.

The main issue was the ambiguity of the command. Did "disperse" mean the vehicles should disperse, or the soldiers? If it referred to the soldiers, they were still on moving vehicles—how were they supposed to disperse? And if the vehicles didn't stop, how could the soldiers disembark?

In wartime, such ambiguous orders are highly inadvisable as they can leave soldiers unsure of what to do. But it wasn't entirely the officer's fault… the time for reaction was too short, making it difficult for the officer to clearly convey the intent of the order.

Fortunately, the driver of Qin Chuan's vehicle was quick-witted. He sharply turned the steering wheel, taking the vehicle off the road, driving for a short distance into the desert, and then slammed on the brakes to bring the truck to a halt.

The soldiers, understanding what to do, quickly grabbed their weapons and backpacks, disembarking and spreading out as fast as they could.

As it turned out, the driver's decision was correct. British pilots wouldn't focus on just one vehicle; they always aimed to destroy as many targets as possible with the fewest bullets and bombs. They would naturally drop their bombs on clustered vehicles, unlike the blanket shelling of artillery. So, driving the vehicle away from the group was definitely the right choice.

Just as Qin Chuan hit the ground, the unique whistling sound of bombs filled the air, followed by a deafening series of explosions. It was as if the gates of hell had opened, with shrapnel and metal fragments flying everywhere. The smoke and dust made it hard to breathe.

The explosions came one after another, accompanied by the howling of diving aircraft and the "thwack" of machine gun fire. Qin Chuan could even clearly distinguish whether the bullets were hitting their targets… bullets hitting the sand made a distinctive "thud," while hitting metal created a sharp, jarring clash.

At that moment, one needed the utmost self-control, as thoughts of being hit by bullets or bombs would constantly plague the mind, making one want to get up and run to a safe place… but rationality repeatedly told Qin Chuan that there was no safe place here. The only thing to do was to lie flat and leave the rest to fate.

Alfredo couldn't control himself. He suddenly jumped up from his hiding place, screaming hysterically as he raised his pistol and fired into the sky… Alfredo's actions were purely out of fear, as everyone knew that a pistol couldn't hit an airplane, and even if it did, it would only scratch the plane.

Without thinking, Qin Chuan leaped up and tackled Alfredo back to the ground. A bomb exploded nearby with a "boom," sending a "mud rain" crashing down from above. At the same time, a dark object flew over Qin Chuan's head and landed heavily in front of them.

When Qin Chuan took a closer look, he realized it was the still-steaming remains of a fallen comrade.

To be precise, it couldn't be called remains yet because it was still alive, though it had lost all its limbs and was reduced to a bare torso… its arms and legs had been blown off, and its chest, neck, and face were covered in blood and unrecognizable from shrapnel and flying debris. Shockingly, its mouth was unharmed, and it was still moaning, the sound as if coming from another world...

"Save me! Please..." the mangled body groaned in a plea.

Alfredo was terrified by the sight. He frantically started digging into the sand in front of him, trying to bury his face to escape the horror, like an ostrich burying its head in the sand when threatened.

Qin Chuan had to drag Alfredo back out to prevent him from suffocating.

Finally, the bombing stopped, followed by the heart-wrenching cries of the wounded and soldiers who had lost limbs.

When Qin Chuan stood up, the whole world had changed. What was once an orderly convoy was now scattered everywhere: some vehicles were flipped upside down, their bodies twisted and lying in the sand, with wheels still spinning; others were engulfed in flames, the black smoke mixed with the smell of gasoline, burning flesh, and a nauseating odor of roasted meat. The most horrific sight was those vehicles that had been strafed by machine guns. The soldiers inside, including the drivers, had no time to disembark and were now lifeless bodies, hanging in various poses on the vehicles or lying nearby in the sand, the entire truck turned a shocking red.

"Medics! Medics…" someone shouted, but it was clear that the medics, no matter how capable, couldn't keep up with the demands.

Then Qin Chuan saw Colonel Slein, with streaks of blood on his head, though it was unclear whether it was his own or someone else's.

"We can't stop!" Colonel Slein yelled as he dragged a German soldier off the ground. "Regroup and move forward!"

"Colonel!" someone asked, "What about the wounded?"

Colonel Slein hesitated for a moment before replying, "Leave them behind. The medics will take care of them!"

It was a lie, as the British would soon follow, and the wounded would either become prisoners or corpses under British guns...

But there was no other choice. The 1st Infantry Regiment had penetrated deep into British territory. They couldn't carry the wounded with them, nor could they send them to a safe place for treatment.

Over the next few minutes, the medics quickly triaged the wounded into severe, moderate, and minor categories.

The severely wounded were gathered and handed over to the chaplain… who would give them their last rites.

The moderately wounded were left by the roadside, given a grenade or a satchel charge, and told… they could either pull the pin or surrender to the British.

However, most of them wouldn't survive until the British arrived.

The lightly wounded were loaded onto any vehicles that could still move and continued with the unit… meaning they would have to keep fighting.

When Qin Chuan got back into the truck, he found a soldier next to him whose left hand was almost blown off.

The reason it was only "almost" was that his hand was still hanging by a few tendons, like ropes, with blood pouring out as the other soldiers hurriedly bandaged him up…

Qin Chuan wasn't sure if this counted as a "minor" wound. What he did know was that if a soldier didn't want to be left behind to die, they had to pretend their injuries weren't severe and that they could still fight. They even had to think of ways to fool the medics.

The thought sent chills down Qin Chuan's spine… he had tried his best to adapt to this war, but what was happening still pushed the limits of what he could bear time and again.

Just then, explosions echoed from behind the vehicle… Qin Chuan quickly realized that it was the moderately wounded pulling the pins on their grenades and satchel charges.