THE FRONT: PART 6
Scott didn't know how long the battle lasted after the lieutenant rescued him, but eventually the screams, and the dreadful artillery blasts quieted and soon all was quiet except for the occasional moan from the odd wounded anthro left alive by the horrible fight.
Scott uncurled from the fetal position that he had put himself into and looked around. The evidence of the battle was scattered all around, the corpses had been shredded and sliced and shot to pieces, blood pooled in boot prints and shell holes and steam still rose from the barrels of abandoned machine guns. British soldiers picked their way through the corpses, their uniforms covered in mud blood, and cordite.
Then a soldier paused and looked over at Scott, he looked pleasantly surprised, and to Scott's relief he saw that it was Wynter.
"Wynter." Said Scott, his voice trembling, Wynter looked him over, his eyes pausing on the shrapnel wounds in Scott's thigh and side.
"Come on corporal, we need to get you to an aid station, you're hurt." Scott nodded dully, he hadn't noticed the pain once, there had simply been too much adrenaline flowing through his veins. Wynter helped him up and half led, half dragged him through the trench until they entered a low building marked with the symbol of the Red Cross.
"Alright, just tell them your name and rank, and they'll help you, I need to get back and clear the dead from the trench." Wynter said and gently lay Scott down onto a cot. Scott could barely respond, he felt exhausted and just wanted to sleep and leave the trenches, at least temporarily. He looked back at Wynter and managed a faint smile.
"Thanks." He said, and passed out.
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART SEVEN...