Rick pressed his lips together into one thin line, his gaze directed back down to the table again. He shrugged with one shoulder, the one not covered in scar tissue from the blast, and this time gave no false start, no fumbling introduction, just picked up the story right where he left off. "Like I said, we were all trained real well. Pretty well. So we return fire, same as they tell you sitting in the classroom, and we think we're safe for the moment, even though everybody can hear more gunshots around us. But then Derek, he just...groans. He's standing right next to me, I notice it first. Derek took it real bad. Worse than anybody else, and he's sliding down the back of the car, holding his stomach, and I do the best I can, I'm not a medic or a doctor or anything, but I reach over and start trying to stop the bleeding and get him out of the way. I got him a good ways, I thought, but next thing I know there's this huge bang. Right next to us. Something comes flying at my head and knocks me flat out."
Rick coughed again, turning his face to the side into his shoulder. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends, and wrapped the retelling up quickly. "When I came to, they told me a grenade blew off a chunk of the caravan door and it caught me over the head and on my shoulder, that I was done. And they said your fiance, he just...he was really done." It took Rick a minute of silence to remember to add, "'M sorry," mumbled as an end to the story.