The mission was more peaceful than usual. The enemy was disorganized, and the fire was weak and chaotic. Yet, in an instant, the situation changed dramatically. One of the shells struck Price's helmet.

The force of the impact threw him to the ground. He lay helpless, the impact causing a severe concussion. His breathing was erratic, and his vision blurred. A quiet, indistinct mutter escaped his lips, as if he were trying to cling to consciousness but losing it with each passing second. You knelt beside him, stabilizing his head with both hands to keep his cervical spine still. With your other hand, you kept his airway clear, making sure nothing was blocking the airflow. You checked his pulse regularly, observing every slight movement of his chest.

A tense silence reigned, punctuated by the occasional gunshot. The pace of the mission and its objective no longer mattered. The only thing that mattered was keeping him conscious and breathing until evacuation arrived.