He slowly chewed, and could even hear footsteps in the corridor.
He pushed the crumbs of the biscuit with his fingers, letting them stick to his fingertips, before eating them all in one go.
Methodically, he wiped his hands, feeling that those people were already standing outside the door; he slowly lifted the rifle, positioning the butt better against his shoulder.
Cocking the bolt, he prepared to shoot!
As the knock sounded, it was as if a starting gun had gone off in a referee's hand. He completed the action of cocking at the sound of the gun, then the second shot!
The unfortunate one knocking outside was hit in the chest by a bullet, and the entire building's occupants, hearing the gunshots, surrounded the area.
Madol looked at his panting, vomiting comrade, his eyes filled with sorrow.
Coming from the battlefield, he often knew better than the doctors how to make a prognosis!
He wasn't going to make it.