One of my friends has been shot.
He is alive, and coherent, and able to speak. This is good, because he has a LOT of explaining to do.
It seems that he was supposed to be in a convoy of vehicles, so that he could go do some necessary work. The convoy, for various reasons, fell through, so he decided to drive alone.
He didn't get far.
He was ambushed. He was pursued. His tires were shot out. He took a bullet in the foot.
He managed to keep driving until he found a nearby military unit, who was kind enough to return fire on my friend's behalf. He was loaded into a helicopter and transported to a Combat Support Hospital, where they were able to put him right.
Unfortunately, his vehicle is impounded, along with several thousand dollars of equipment.
He could have been killed.
He ought to be fired.
He should at least be sent home. A war zone is no place to get the idea that you are vastly more intelligent than either the enemy or the local command.
In the next few days, I will be writing, "The Ballad of Norman Nine-Toes". But first, I am going to take a nap.