You really hadn't noticed the wound until your stomach started feeling weirdly hot despite the cold wind biting at a fierce 28F. You knew that you'd gotten hit then. The bullet had NOT hit your vest, but how were you supposed to stop the trek to the cabin, stop the mission, to tell Soap that?

You'd deal with it later, you told yourself.

"Hey! Hell are you doin' lagging behind?" Soap barks from ahead, voice rough. His tone is laced with his natural accent, brought forward from his volume.