The blood was endless, leaking through the spaces between his dirty fingers and staining his skin, mingling with the muck and rainwater beneath the young man's body as he bore down on the shrapnel wound with the heels of his hands. "Stay with me, Sledge. Corpsman!--Leyden, get his legs up--"
This isn't working. It's not enough. He's losing blood too fast; he's not going to stay conscious much longer. And who knows where the fuck the corpsman is--
"Peck, gimme your shirt." The private peeled it off with a few thrashing movements and held out the balled up garment for a few seconds before he apparently realized that Mac's hands were occupied with keeping Sledge from bleeding out, then settled for tossing the dirty shirt in his general direction.
Fucking idiot. Mackenzie snatched it with a glistening hand and pressed the sweat-soaked fabric to as much of the visible entrance wound as he could, watching it turn from olive green to reddish-brown under his hands with a sickening sense of foreboding.
"You're gonna be okay," he half-lied, mud sliding beneath his boots as he shifted his weight to add to the pressure. "They're gettin' a corpsman. Just hold on, Sledge."

[ idk where the injury is so feel free to go with whatever
also sorry this is so late yiiiIIIIiiiIIIIiikes
i also don't know where tf snaf is other than 'not there' ]