Due to the Japanese blockade policy and the sudden outbreak of war, not only medical personnel, but also ambulance teams were desperately short of any supplies. Not to mention medicines and equipment, as long as everyone is free, they will help clean the used gauze. It turns out that for the cleaning of wounds, gauze is used disposably. However, in the era of severe shortage of medicines, it had to be simplified, cleaned and then sterilized by high-temperature steaming, and then reused.

Today is a high-level sunny day, and as soon as the weather is good, the hands and feet of the big guys are naturally a lot more diligent. Early in the morning, dozens of clothes poles were erected in the courtyard where the ambulance station was located, and nurses and ambulance workers began to wash the replaced gauze after work. The cleaned gauze was neatly dried on the poles, and the smoke rose in the sun, looking like a pink cloud from a distance.

When our imagination takes on the wings of romanticism, everything seems to be so hopeful. But back to reality, the shadow of war shows no signs of receding. While my vision is confused by the sight in front of me, my sense of smell reminds me that the smell of blood lingering on the tip of my nose is a footnote to death.

I was standing in a daze under the sun when I suddenly heard a familiar voice behind me shouting, "Yes." ”

I looked back and instantly understood why a doctor chose an assistant like me. I happily rushed over and hung heavily on his neck: "Uncle Shen, why are you back?" ”

I asked this question without beginning or end, but Shen Zhongping immediately understood the key to the problem, he smiled and asked me, the doctor's duty is to save lives and help the wounded, there are so many compatriots and wounded people here who need to be treated, what reason does he have to be absent?

From that day on, I became his assistant as a matter of course, and those who were unfortunately wounded in the lungs and pierced in the chest had more chances of survival.

My understanding of war matured in the process of dealing with the wounded, and although I did not take half a step on the battlefield, I experienced the great damage caused by the war in the mutilated limbs and desperate eyes of the wounded.

There are some wounded people, their injuries are deep and their internal organs are too deep to be saved by surgery, so they can only wait for death to pick up half their lives from the front line. At first, there were painkillers, so the wounded were asleep most of the time. But then, even medicine became scarce, and these people could only wait for death in agony. I tried to ease their pain by chatting, but what was the use, waiting to die was perhaps the greatest pain and deepest despair in the world.

Others are the so-called "war lucky". I thought what kind of ecstasy and joy it would be to be able to survive the war. But in reality, the survivors I met were not as happy as they imagined they were surviving. They said that the brothers who lived and died together are all dead, and in the end they can't even find their bodies, and their souls are left on the battlefield with them, and they can't be found again, and maybe they won't let go of it in this life. As for the future, there will be no plans and plans, one step at a time, one battle is one battle, maybe one day you will be able to see your comrades under Jiuquan as soon as you close your eyes.

Others are left with lifelong disabilities. In the chaos of the war, these disabled soldiers will inevitably not be taken care of, and they are not willing to delay the war of resistance, and even their livelihood has become a problem after they leave the aid station. I have seen these people in aid stations after the war, and their feats of sacrificing their lives for their country are not at all proportional to the rewards they receive.

I originally thought that as long as I saw life and death, I could develop a hard heart, and from now on, I would not be so prone to heartache. But in fact, not all scars can be healed. The wound on my heart is like being torn repeatedly every day, gradually festering and suppurating, and becoming a wound that will never heal.

In war, when we think that the state we are in is at the peak of our misfortune, something happens that makes us realize that this is just the beginning.

I remember this date vividly, August 13th. History calls today's battle the "August 13 Shanghai War of Resistance", but only those who have experienced this war know that this day is only a prelude, and the truly tragic battle began on the second day.

On 14 August, early in the morning, a large number of wounded soldiers began to arrive one after another. When I saw the emaciated and not tall soldiers, I thought that perhaps many of them were younger than me, or perhaps they were elders from peasant families, and they had left this world before they had time to see the beauty and prosperity of the city. Many of them were breathed by several bullets, and their uniforms were stained with blood. When the blood stain dried, it became a deep purple and swarthy patch, and the dried blood scab was like a hard shell, making the soft military uniform a real battle robe.

I heard Nurse Xu, who was in charge of treating the patients on the side, say that today's battle was really unprecedentedly tragic, and I heard that several companies were sacrificed in their entirety, and in the end they didn't even leave their numbers.

In the afternoon, there was a sudden and violent explosion in the area of the Bazi Bridge. The regiment commander sent several teams of reserve ambulances to the battlefield. At that time, no one would have realized that the months-long Battle of Songhu had begun.

I repeatedly inspected the wounded soldiers who were sent in to check the condition of the wounded, and then judged the order of surgery according to the severity of their injuries. A figure with a wounded leg appeared in front of my eyes. Nurse Xu said while flipping through the admission records: "This girl is only 16 years old this year, and she is an ambulance team member who came to help during the summer vacation of the school. As she was evacuating the wounded, she was hit by a shell that landed nearby, destroying her entire left calf.

I listened to her and somehow had a sense of foreboding. I have a hunch that this kind of thing is really mysterious, and the ancient saying is that the heart has a soul, and later generations are biased towards the transmission of brain waves. As often played in movie shots, this minute Mr. had an accident, and the next second Mrs. missed the glass, although it is an artistic exaggeration, but it also has a realistic basis.

So when my heart sank suddenly, the next minute I stepped forward to observe the face of the wounded. I brushed the blood off the wounded's face with my hand, and the next second it was like being struck by thunder, and the whole person was nailed there as if he had been immobilized.