After about an hour or so, the new kid, Paul, stood up and announced that he had to go, and had to take the magazine with him. After several attempts to get him to leave the magazine, or at least let us look a little longer failed, he carefully slipped the magazine back into its cover and headed down the rope ladder for home. Mark and I sat alone in the treehouse silently for a while, daydreaming to ourselves about the wonders we'd seen. I worried for a while about the boner I had, wondering if Mark would notice, and tried my best to disguise it's persistent aching. Mark finally broke the silence, suggesting that it might be time for us to leave. Thoughts of heading home were enough to subside the swelling (for the both of us) and we headed our separate ways back home.The night passed uneventfully, my mind distracted by the family and being allowed to stay up late to watch television, and that night I fell into a deep and satisfying sleep.In the morning, Mark was at the door bright. We came across a track, and although it was heading in the direction we intended going, Harry led us across it, into undulating ground to the north. As he stepped onto the track he set off a trip flare, and an associated claymore mine.If we had been travelling along the track it would have wiped out the lot of us; as it was only poor old Harry got caught in the blast, shrapnel tearing into his leg. We had all hit the ground when the flare went up, and as the light dimmed I crawled over to see how badly Harry had been wounded. He was losing a fair amount of blood and I reckoned an artery had been damaged. I put a tourniquet around his upper leg, slapped a shell dressing over his wound and gave him a shot of morphine. We had to move from our position, as it was certain the Argies would come to investigate the flare. We picked Harry up and struggled to carry him another 500 metres further north of the track, to a rocky outcrop with some sort of cover.There was no way we would be able to.
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