XXIII

When the night draws close, the sun having fallen and darkness having taking over the sky, the infirmary tent’s flaps swing open, letting in a flurry of raindrops. The cold wind whips at Yongsun’s tear-stained face, she turns her head away, not turning back until she is brave enough to withstand the harsh slashes from the wind and rain.

She sees the sergeant standing in the opening of the tent holding a wounded soldier covered in blood. Moonbyul places the soldier onto an empty operating table, the nurses rush to her side, Yongsun joins them, the blonde doctor right behind. The infirmary erupts into maddening chaos, the nurses yell in an effort to be heard, the blonde doctor barks orders, Yongsun obediently obeys.

The soldier’s right arm is missing, Yongsun sees the bone poking out through the torn flesh and the sticky blood that drips onto the table. Yongsun’s stomach lurches, she holds her breath and covers with her hand. Moonbyul steps away from the soldier, looking at her own hands, she turns them over and discovers that they are matted with blood which has sunk into the dry lines of her hands and seeped underneath her fingernails. 

The blonde doctor shouts for an arm of steel. Yongsun grabs one from a crate of unused prosthetics, reaches across the soldier on the table, handing it to the doctor. She looks down, catching the soldier’s face, and nearly drops the steel arm as her heart clenches at the sight.