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Description
White notices the 240's rate of fire is way down from the solid bursts Vaughn was cranking out before.  He glances up to the turret.  The machine gun sways, as if hunting a moving target.  It fires one round, then a pause, two rounds, pause, four, pause, one.  Something is wrong.
"Vaughn!"  He charges toward the vehicle, "Vaughn," and looks in through the open door.
Vaughn leans into the shields of the turret ring, his head hanging down.  When he hears his name he jerks his head up, wrestles the gun around and pops off a few slow shots.  His aim wanders.  He lets off the trigger and hangs his head again.
"Vaughn!"
"Shark.  I think I'm hit."  Vaughn's voice is so soft, White has trouble hearing him.
"Shit." White climbs into the Humvee to support Vaughn out of the turret.  But the PFC makes no move to come down.  "Let go.  I got you."
"Two-forty." Vaughn says simply.
"It's okay, Steve.  You did enough.  Let go."
Released from his duty, Vaughn lets go of the 240 and slumps awkwardly to his knees.  White hugs the other Marine against his chest in the cramped interior of the Humvee and struggles out, dragging Vaughn.  "Corpsman!"
Doc Thomas – who has been hovering between the vehicles and the house, in case he is needed either place – hears the call and sprints towards them.
Vaughn is coughing.  White gets him clear of the vehicle and sits right down on the street, supporting Vaughn's shoulders.  "I got you."  He sees the blood on Vaughn's left hand, where it has run down his arm inside his sleeve.  White unstraps the body armor, looking for the wound.  Vaughn's blouse is soaked in red.  "Vaughn?"
Vaughn coughs blood.  Thomas arrives and helps White clear the body armor.  He finds the entry wound, high in Vaughn's chest, and tears the fabric away.  "Vaughn.  Look at me.  You're gonna be okay, but I'm gonna have to hurt you to get in there and stop the bleeding.  Okay?"
Vaughn doesn't respond.  Blood runs from his mouth.  Thomas digs his fingers into the Marine's open wound to get at the bleed.  Vaughn makes a ragged, gutwrenching sound, not really a cry.
"I'm sorry, brother."  Thomas grits his teeth, hating that he has to cause more pain to help, but determined to do everything he can to save Vaughn's life.
"Hang on, Steve," White tells him.
Vaughn dies with Thomas' fingers inside his chest.  He makes a wet, choking sound, and that's all.  "Don't do it, Vaughn," Thomas says.  "Don't you dare quit.  Come on!"  But the young Marine is gone.  "Fuck!"
"Vaughn," White calls.
Thomas shakes his head.  "He's gone."  He carefully extracts his hand from Vaughn's body.
White denies it.  "You told him, you said-"
"I was wrong. I thought he had more time."  The corpsman takes a moment to appreciate the awesome quantity of blood soaking Vaughn's battledress.  "Christ.  When did he get hit?"
"I don't know," White says.  He looks down at the lifeless friend in his arms.  "He didn't call it."  He thinks back, trying to remember exactly when the 240's rate of fire had begun to lag.  "Maybe... five minutes."
"Shit.  Bleedin' like that."
"He wanted to stay on the two-forty."  White's voice catches.  He swallows hard, his eyes stinging.
"He's a hero," Thomas says.
And then their serious reality precludes any further mourning.  "Corpsman!" comes the call from the house.  Thomas claps White on the shoulder as he departs.  White can't stay either, he has the rest of the fireteam to lead.  The corporal lays Vaughn down on the deck and gets to his feet.    He swallows the ache in his throat, but hangs on to the righteous fury.  He reseats his M-16, checks the load, and pretends not to notice Vaughn's blood staining his uniform.

Description
White notices the 240's rate of fire is way down from the solid bursts Vaughn was cranking out before.  He glances up to the turret.  The machine gun sways, as if hunting a moving target.  It fires one round, then a pause, two rounds, pause, four, pause, one.  Something is wrong.
"Vaughn!"  He charges toward the vehicle, "Vaughn," and looks in through the open door.
Vaughn leans into the shields of the turret ring, his head hanging down.  When he hears his name he jerks his head up, wrestles the gun around and pops off a few slow shots.  His aim wanders.  He lets off the trigger and hangs his head again.
"Vaughn!"
"Shark.  I think I'm hit."  Vaughn's voice is so soft, White has trouble hearing him.
"Shit." White climbs into the Humvee to support Vaughn out of the turret.  But the PFC makes no move to come down.  "Let go.  I got you."
"Two-forty." Vaughn says simply.
"It's okay, Steve.  You did enough.  Let go."
Released from his duty, Vaughn lets go of the 240 and slumps awkwardly to his knees.  White hugs the other Marine against his chest in the cramped interior of the Humvee and struggles out, dragging Vaughn.  "Corpsman!"
Doc Thomas – who has been hovering between the vehicles and the house, in case he is needed either place – hears the call and sprints towards them.
Vaughn is coughing.  White gets him clear of the vehicle and sits right down on the street, supporting Vaughn's shoulders.  "I got you."  He sees the blood on Vaughn's left hand, where it has run down his arm inside his sleeve.  White unstraps the body armor, looking for the wound.  Vaughn's blouse is soaked in red.  "Vaughn?"
Vaughn coughs blood.  Thomas arrives and helps White clear the body armor.  He finds the entry wound, high in Vaughn's chest, and tears the fabric away.  "Vaughn.  Look at me.  You're gonna be okay, but I'm gonna have to hurt you to get in there and stop the bleeding.  Okay?"
Vaughn doesn't respond.  Blood runs from his mouth.  Thomas digs his fingers into the Marine's open wound to get at the bleed.  Vaughn makes a ragged, gutwrenching sound, not really a cry.
"I'm sorry, brother."  Thomas grits his teeth, hating that he has to cause more pain to help, but determined to do everything he can to save Vaughn's life.
"Hang on, Steve," White tells him.
Vaughn dies with Thomas' fingers inside his chest.  He makes a wet, choking sound, and that's all.  "Don't do it, Vaughn," Thomas says.  "Don't you dare quit.  Come on!"  But the young Marine is gone.  "Fuck!"
"Vaughn," White calls.
Thomas shakes his head.  "He's gone."  He carefully extracts his hand from Vaughn's body.
White denies it.  "You told him, you said-"
"I was wrong. I thought he had more time."  The corpsman takes a moment to appreciate the awesome quantity of blood soaking Vaughn's battledress.  "Christ.  When did he get hit?"
"I don't know," White says.  He looks down at the lifeless friend in his arms.  "He didn't call it."  He thinks back, trying to remember exactly when the 240's rate of fire had begun to lag.  "Maybe... five minutes."
"Shit.  Bleedin' like that."
"He wanted to stay on the two-forty."  White's voice catches.  He swallows hard, his eyes stinging.
"He's a hero," Thomas says.
And then their serious reality precludes any further mourning.  "Corpsman!" comes the call from the house.  Thomas claps White on the shoulder as he departs.  White can't stay either, he has the rest of the fireteam to lead.  The corporal lays Vaughn down on the deck and gets to his feet.    He swallows the ache in his throat, but hangs on to the righteous fury.  He reseats his M-16, checks the load, and pretends not to notice Vaughn's blood staining his uniform.