Tim removed his hands from the wound, it was healed up. He stood, blood soaking most of his body, a few of the nuts were pushing rather hard. Tims' training kicked in. He floored it the neerest downed gun, slid to it on the dew slicked grass. He instantly recognized the fire arm. M4, holographic, foregrip, chambered for 7.62. Nice. He thought, he imediatly sighted one person, squeezed the trigger. The guy dropped, minus his head.