I read this passage last night and was brought to tears, truly one of the most heartbreaking accounts of war I have ever come across, paraphrased:
"He put his head up above the protective ridge and placed binoculars to his eyes--just for an instant--to spot a sniper who was harassing the area. In that instant the sniper shot him through the throat. I took my forceps and reached into the wound to try and grasp the severed artery and clinch it off. His blood was spurting. He had no speech but his eyes were on me. He knew I was trying to save his life. I tried everything in the world. I couldn't do it. I tried. The blood was so slippery. I couldn't get the artery. I was trying so hard. And all the while he just looked at me, he looked directly into my face. The last thing he did as the blood spurts became less and less, was to pat me on the arm as if to say, 'Thats all right.' Then he died."