The horrible snapping noise of your ankle when you were hit by the grenade blast made you feel sick.

Your brain chose to fixate on the one noise, that awful noise, rather than the fact you were sent pummelling 3 metres like a ragdoll, spinning and flipping and thudding into the dirt, until you landed in a heap on your front.

Your brain played that noise again, you felt the burn of the bile rise in your throat.

You forced yourself to roll over and look. When you saw bone you immediately looked away again.

Mostly uninjured, Gaz hauled you up, throwing your arm around his shoulders. “Here, lean on me. I can carry you.” He coughed out.