The happy life of the Doctor and Amiya

After a few months here, it has become common to go out to fight.

I stood on a high mound of earth and looked out at the battlefield not far away.

"Texas, you guard the entrance near that side, there should only be a few miscellaneous soldiers.

"Yes. "

Angel of Energy, you use that pile of rubble as a cover for support. "

Just leave it to me~~ Watch me blow them to slag in three or two. "

There was a roar of propellers in the distance, it was probably an exploding drone...

"Gravel... You go to the B3 position and stand by. "

Okay~"

It's about the same every time, they do whatever I say.

At the end of the battle, Angel and Texas walked out of the rubble side by side, talking and laughing along the way, and the loud voice of Angel could be heard wondering where to go to party for a while, they were only slightly injured, and they looked alive.

In the middle of the desert in the distance, a little girl fell silently to the ground, her long pink hair was messy, her clothes were blown to tatters, and blood stains writhed on her skin like countless earthworms, and she lay motionless on the ground like a corpse.

The daggers and coats were covered in a layer of ash and scattered haphazardly on the ground beside them, emitting a faint smell of blood.

"Are you still alive?"

Reluctantly—" She heard my voice, struggled to lift her gritty face, and answered me in a hoarse voice.

"Turn around.

She propped up the ground with her wrists, but she didn't move as if she couldn't use her strength, and even though she finally gathered the strength to hold it up, the supporting wrist slipped away and her whole face fell to the ground again.

She had to rub her body against the rough ground, and the stones on the road cut a few more bloody cuts on her skin, and she slowly squirmed, and finally turned over half of her body, and lay on her back on the ground with a thud, and kicked up a puff of fine dust.

I took water and poured it on her.

She coughed violently, her long eyelash-adorned sockets furrowed slightly, and I remembered that before the war she had gleefully shown me her delicate manicure, and that proud little expression made me happy, and now her palms were bloody and fleshy, her nails were broken from the roots, and several fingers seemed to be broken.

She stuck out her tongue, and her saliva pulled out a long silver thread to her mouth, staring blankly at the kettle in my hand, but she couldn't make a sound.

I picked up her head and fed her water, and she sucked greedily, her blank pupils finally focused.

The next thing is to bandage her.

My strength always seems to be too heavy, and she often gently pats the ground around me while I am not paying attention, and fiddles with her body slightly, which probably hurts...

Then I put her on the ground, and I took the little dagger and was going to do the daily battlefield cleanup.

A boy who looked about my age had been knocked half of his body off, his pale lips letting out a thin gasp like a mosquito, as if he didn't understand what was happening to him, both of his arms had been blown off, and he was shivering in the corner, refusing to breathe.

I plunged the dagger down his throat, turned it around, and he closed his eyes without saying a word.

It's a battlefield after all... Everyone was killed, and I stood up from a middle-aged man and tried to piece his broken body together.

Mending the knife and identifying and photographing the body are also part of my job.