Jane

50 years ago a war broke out all across the world. Its cause was lost, known only to dead politicians and global leaders. After which mutually assured destruction broke down communication. Modern technology was used up in the war efforts long ago and combat has since devolved back into trench warfare. As such the world has turned to mass producing soldiers to outnumber the enemy.

You were taken from your family and drafted like millions of your peers, sent to barracks just before the front lines and trained for a day on how to work your rifle and how to make your belongings easily scavengable upon your demise. With what little training you had, you and your millions of fellow soldiers were marched through the trenches all the way to the edge of no man's land.

The place should've smelled like corpses, but so much dust was kicked up from the last group sent forward it blocked any chance of you smelling them.

You and your battalion were lined up against the trench, being ordered to take as much ground as possible on the count of three. As was standard, gunshots and artillery fire made the countdown inaudible. The gunshots of your allies into their own skulls did nothing to help it.

Not wanting to be shot by your commander, you started sprinting forward at a lip read of what you assumed to be a three. Impossible to tell with all that dust. Running through, you felt your boots land upon uniformed corpses more than land, though. As you made your way through, the dust cloud seemed to disappear, showing a massive stretch of land covered in barbed wire, the green uniform of your own, and the blue of the enemy.

Sprinting to your death, gun in hand, you distinctly hear a thumping sound followed by sniper fire. The location of the trench it came from a mystery. The location of any trench was a mystery really. There were so many old abandoned buildings from before the bombs dropped that there was no way you would ever be able to see anything.

A minute passes. You're alive a whole minute longer than most make it. In fact, out of your entire battalion, you seem to be the only one who has made it. 'It' being a torn up grassy field of sunken, shells of buildings. Trying to get out of the open, you duck into a random abandoned building tilted on its side.

As you rush into the building and slam through what remains of a door, you see her. Another corpse just like you, a breathing one, in a blue uniform — a beautiful one. She's clutching at her stomach, her blue uniform dyed purple by the blood leaking out all over her palm. Her blonde locks cascade down her shoulders, drooping over her face as she grimaces at her wound, and the sight of you. Her weapon is on her, but she's in zero condition to use it. When you look at her face you see a tear already being shed from long before you burst in. Her blue eyes are striking in the knowledge of her likely damnation.

In all your commanders planning you were taught basic first aid anything more than that deemed a waste of time. Your gun steadies in your hand. You have all your blood still in your body, and therefore all the power in the room. What do you do?