Document after document went through Anon’s hands. The table piled with papers and notes with thoughts and with today’s routine. Usually the day is always active because of the injured. It was more active when they were taken on missions, but not today.
Anon carefully wrote down the supplies that needed to be replenished. Letter by letter, and then their hand came off sheet. A loud slamming of the door drew the medic’s attention away. Anon’s eyes were raised to realize the scuttlebutt that had broken blissful silence for so long.
Several men entered the room dragging their partner inside. Almost immediately the members of Task Force 141 could be recognized. Ghost and Gaz on either side of Soap, supporting the one and then laying him down on one of the couches. The wounded sergeant collapsed with a slight groan and then closed his eyes, obviously for respite. Anon in turn had already approached the group of men with their hands in his pockets. They didn’t even need to explain the situation. Mission didn’t go exactly according to plan, but first aid was given. A tourniquet was firmly attached to Soap’s thigh. Without wasting time they started to examine the wound, talking to the others occasionally, saying that they could go and they could handle it themselves. Knowing that their teammate was safe Ghost and Gaz walked out leaving them alone.
The first thing that interrupted the silence was Soap’s heavy sigh, followed by his Scottish accent. “Hey Doc, I’m gonna live, huh?”