Man at War – Excerpt No. 8

“Holding on,” Murphy whispered. “I’m not sure if that’s by the divine will of our Lord or because Lucifer caught his eye.”

Given the conditions of this blood soaked mud, Murphy guessed the man would lose the leg. If gangrene or infection set in, his death would be slow and excruciating. Had the sniper been a better shot, it might have been more merciful.

“Sergeant—(Do you think it’s time to head back?)” Roy whispered.

A battlefield at night could be quiet as a tomb, doubly so when the wind died down. While there were night time artillery barrages, tonight was mercifully free of action.

a cinematic photo of a British Sergeant wearing a Brodie helmet and traditional Scottish kilt, kneeling beside a wounded soldier with a severe leg wound, the soldier's face contorted in pain, dressed in a muddy and torn British army uniform, in a damp and dark trench with stone and earth walls, the sergeant's facial features strong and concerned, with a gentle hand on the soldier's shoulder, the atmosphere somber and dramatic, with muted earthy colors, the photography style reminiscent of a vintage war documentary, the lighting soft and natural, with a shallow depth of field, blurring the background, the sergeant's eyes filled with compassion and the wounded soldier's eyes closed, wincing in agony.

Disclaimer: This novel is an work in progress and readers may encounter grammatical errors and inconsistencies. Please view this a draft and not a published work.