It messes with me more with mercy… but yes. It’s why I went to school for my BSRN/PreMed later. It INFURIATES me when someone dies because I don’t know what to do. We had a navy medic on crew, swimmers just jump in, hook up, & winch for the most part… and then do what we’re told. (Stick your finger in this hole, your hand in that one, grab this, pinch that. Restore the breathing, stop the bleeding, check for wounds, and haul ass? Is reeeeeally basic. I could handle sucking chest wounds, and crunch tourniquets, and drilling IVs (we didn’t bother with finding a vein, we just drilled into the bone), but that was pretty much the extent on what I was trained on. BASIC keep someone alive long enough to get them to someone who knew how to save them. More of a hundred million dollar taxi service. And quit f*cking bleeding on my deck, motherf*cker.
Cha. I was on 53e’s & 46s (phrogs). That’s something people who watch TV don’t get about the whole “did you kill someone?” thing… with the whole knowing the names & seeing the faces of everyone they’d ever killed kind of paradigm so romanticised in movies. Um. The first person (hundreds of people?) I killed? I was hundreds of feet away. Using a 30 or 50, belt fed. Praying to GOD I wasn’t hitting anyone I knew, just watching the tracers like fireflies all pretty and shit. ((Friendly fire? Isn’t. Air support? Reeeeeally doesn’t discriminate. Do NOT be where those guns directed. They can zipper a vehicle or a building (which is actually kind of fun) but target ID? Not a thing. That’s something snipers do. And grunts clearing structures. Air wing? Annihilates.))
The purple crayons taste best.
The red one should, but they just don’t.
It’s sad.