“How… how could this be?”
The middle-aged man, whom the lieutenant addressed as ‘Mr. Lu,’ had been shot in the chest. The bullet had pierced straight through a lung lobe, perhaps even grazing a blood vessel.
A soldier, possessing a rudimentary understanding of first aid, knelt beside him, packing gauze into the wound to staunch the bleeding, yet could do nothing more.
Bloody foam frothed at his lips, his breathing shallow and ragged, accompanied by a tell-tale wheezing—classic symptoms of a pneumothorax.
Indeed, if one’s lung were punctured and they *didn’t* suffer from a pneumothorax, they would be nothing short of a deity.
A person’s lungs, akin to balloons constantly inflating and deflating, have their normal respiratory function compromised the moment their surface ruptures.
Air, which ordinarily should not be present within the thoracic cavity, would abnormally accumulate, severely impeding the lung’s proper operation.
Under the prevailing conditions, immediate surgical correction for the pneumothorax was impossible.
Even if surgery were an option, Lin Yu had yet to delve into the complexities of cardiothoracic surgery.
Nangong might possess the skill, but there was clearly no time to summon her or transport the patient.
“Because medics are only human,” Lin Yu stated, “and what we can achieve is profoundly limited.
This kind of wound cannot be healed.”
She knelt beside the corporal.
Others instinctively made way for her, yet she did not commence treatment.
She merely reached out to the dying officer, gently covering his face.
“Rest in peace,” she murmured.
“May your next life be free from war.”
From her own experience, a wish for a world free of drones would indeed manifest a rebirth without them.
She hoped Mr. Lu would not perish on a battlefield in his next life.
Having learned from her previous encounter, Lin Yu refrained from any religious rituals, offering him a simple farewell instead.
As the cool touch graced his cheek, the agony of his dying moments seemed to dissipate.
His features relaxed, no longer contorted, and his eyes, meeting Lin Yu’s, slowly closed.
Once more, as a medic, Lin Yu witnessed a life ebb away before her very eyes.
Rising from beside the deceased, Lin Yu turned to the living soldiers behind her.
“The commander of this unit has fallen,” she announced.
“To whom should I report now?”
Lieutenant Xia, appearing equally uncertain as to the rightful successor, posed a question to all the soldiers present.
“Who among you holds the highest rank?”
The soldiers exchanged a few hushed whispers before one stepped forward from the throng, stood at attention, and saluted the lieutenant.
“That would be me, Staff Sergeant,” they replied.
“You will temporarily assume command,” Lieutenant Xia ordered.
“And you, and you, come with me.
Carry him to the rear.”
He appointed an interim commander on the spot, then instructed two others to carry Corporal Lu’s remains back to the logistics area for burial.
Only after these arrangements were complete did the lieutenant turn to Lin Yu.
“This is your new field medic, Lin Yu,” he declared.
“Effective immediately, she is assigned to the command of the First Task Force Assault Team.
That is all.”
With barely another word, Lieutenant Xia’s gaze drifted back to the departing stretcher bearing the body.
A look of profound sorrow etched across his face, he followed the two soldiers, leaving the trench behind.
Lin Yu remained, left alone to face a dozen or so privates, privates first class, and corporals, along with the newly appointed interim commander, the Staff Sergeant.
Belatedly, she saluted her superior, then began to introduce herself to everyone.
“Lin Yu, Private Second Class.
I previously served as a medic and have now been transferred as a field medic.
If there are any—”
“No need to explain,” the Staff Sergeant interjected, cutting her off.
“We know who you are.
Find a place to sit; if anyone is wounded, you’ll be informed.”
The expressions they directed at Lin Yu were far from friendly.
‘Was it because we’d just met, and I’d encountered an untreatable injury, that they doubted my professional competence? Or was it—’
The trench passage was relatively narrow, making it impossible to observe everyone from where she stood.
Yet, on the faces of all those within her sight, a discernible aversion to her was present, to varying degrees.
Some had initially worn blank expressions, only for them to shift to dawning aversion after a few whispered words exchanged with those beside them.
‘Had my ill repute already spread throughout the entire front line?’
Navigating through the conspicuously unwelcoming crowd, Lin Yu found an unoccupied wooden crate and began to sort through her personal belongings.
Her rifle rested against the breastwork, her backpack settled on her knees.
One by one, she extracted her various items, piling them beside her.
A small tin of tea leaves, a porcelain teacup, two unfinished books, a few pieces of underwear, and half a freshly cut bar of soap.
Coupled with a few tampons, these comprised all she had brought to the front lines.
As for the medic’s tools and medications, Lin Yu had assumed they would be issued upon her arrival at the front, so she hadn’t packed them.
Moreover, those supplies were allocated to rear medical posts, not her personal property, and she likely had no authority to bring them to the front.
‘If I had brought a complete set of surgical instruments, and enough plasma and blood bags, could he have survived? It’s hard to say.’
Lin Yu was unfamiliar with the standard procedure for pneumothorax correction.
The possibility of her independently figuring out how to heal such an injury was akin to a monkey typing out a profound aphorism on a typewriter—she refrained from using the complete works of Shakespeare as a comparison because a faint glimmer of hope still lingered.
The reality, however, was that she carried no tools whatsoever, and the trench environment itself was wholly unsuitable for performing cardiothoracic surgery.
She simply could not treat this kind of wound.
‘If my own lung were ever punctured, I would probably have to shoot myself to avoid the torment of suffocation.’
The soldiers tacitly adjusted their positions, creating a several-meter-wide void around Lin Yu, as if proximity to her would inevitably invite misfortune.
‘Would anyone I treated simply die?’
She pulled her helmet down, obscuring most of her face, in an attempt to isolate herself from her surroundings.
‘From the perspective of a medic whose purpose was to heal and save lives, this was truly a vile fortune.’
Silently lamenting her capricious fate, and silently mourning the wounded who had perished under her care, Lin Yu’s breathing gradually slowed.
Cradling her knees, she leaned against the breastwork and slowly drifted into sleep.
****
“Lin Yu…”
“Lin Yu…”
“Wake up.
Why are you sleeping in broad daylight?
Come on, wake up.”
A pair of hands shook her shoulders, then lifted her helmet, pinching her cheek with considerable force.
When this seemed to yield no effect, the owner of the hand shifted to flicking her forehead with a sharp snap.
“Ow! Why are you flicking me again—”
The familiar sensation swiftly roused Lin Yu from her slumber.
Opening her eyes, she saw Liang Yu.
Rubbing the spot where she’d been flicked, Lin Yu grumbled plaintively, “Did Nangong teach you all this, or did you teach Nangong?”
“Let’s put that question aside for now,” Liang Yu replied.
“I’m here to tell you something about your transfer order.”
“…Ah, yes,” Lin Yu responded.
“This morning, a few people suddenly burst into the medical tent, saying they were transferring me here.
Nangong must have informed Commander Yang, right?”
“She’s currently arguing with Commander Yang,” Liang Yu explained, “which is why I’m the one telling you.
There’s good news and bad news.
The bad news is that Commander Yang confirmed with higher-ups: this order truly originated from the General Staff Department, and even they cannot intervene.”
‘A sense of profound loss washed over her.’
‘It seemed her connections weren’t strong enough after all.
If only she had spoken a few more flattering words before the Emperor, perhaps she could have secured an officer’s position directly, and wouldn’t be sent to the front lines now.’
Composing her thoughts, and dismissing the notions of privileges she couldn’t attain, Lin Yu continued to question her senior.
“What exactly am I expected to do here?”
“Aid the wounded in their recovery to the best of your ability, and then— Wait, aren’t you going to ask me what the good news is?”
Her lack of the anticipated response visibly surprised Liang Yu.
“In this situation, you should be pressing me for the good news!”
Lin Yu had no desire to hear the good news.
Shaking her head, she dismissed her senior’s words.
“How good could any good news be right now?
What difference would knowing make?”
Besides, she disliked such dramatic contrivances.
Breaking something that could be stated in a single sentence into two questions did not build anticipation; rather, it made the speaker appear utterly tiresome.
“Alright, fine.
The good news is that the Lanforsians won’t be attacking for the next few days, and we can deliver your meals daily!
We may lack the courage to defy General Staff Department orders, but providing you with some special care under a different pretext—that we can manage.”
‘That hardly counts as good news.’
Just as she was about to utter this thought, Lin Yu recalled the ‘rations’ she had witnessed front-line soldiers consuming.
Suddenly, the prospect of eating meals prepared by her seniors felt nothing short of blissful.
“Didn’t you say it was only ‘possible’ before?
How can you be so certain now that they—”
“We’ve already breached their front line!
Just this morning!
Given the current situation, how could they possibly have the strength to launch a counterattack?”
This revelation concerning the battle situation immediately drew the attention of many nearby soldiers.
They converged, eager to inquire about the latest developments on other fronts.
News that should not have been disseminated by a medic thus spread from the senior’s mouth among soldiers and officers alike.
On the very front where the ‘Emperor’s Offensive’ had first commenced, the fourth major assault had successfully achieved a tactical breakthrough.
Diacla infantry had forcefully carved an opening in the Lanforsians’ iron-clad defenses, and the amassed forces for the offensive were now pouring through the breach in a steady stream.
This was the nascent sign of a victory built upon countless lives.
Overall, the first five Emperor’s assaults had been unmitigated failures.
The current breakthrough was merely a ‘tactical’ one, failing to inflict any substantial impact on the rear defenses.
The Lanforsians had long since constructed layered defenses on the lands beyond the mountains, aiming to halt the advance of the Diacla army and ensure the uninterrupted production of flax and palm oil in their rear.
The defensive lines, woven from barbed wire and trenches, were far from singular.
The tapestry of death, woven by rifle fire and artillery, extended far beyond this point.
No one should rejoice at this, for the fifth assault was imminent.