Carson lay in the wreckage of the puddle jumper, cautiously moving his appendages and vowing to never, ever go offworld again. His arms and legs were bruised but intact, and there was no pain in his neck or back. When he rolled to his side, a dull pain in his lower abdomen made itself known. He pulled up his shirt and probed the sore spot, hoping it was just a bruise.
"Ow," complained a nearby voice.
Carson rose carefully to his hands and knees, crawling the few feet to Ronan's side. The big Satedan sat up with a groan, cradling his left forearm against his body. Probing the appendage gently, Carson winced in sympathy when Ronan cursed and flinched. "Aye, the radius is broken, but the pulse is good. Are you hurt anywhere else? No? All right, lad, stay put. I need to check on the others, then I'll splint that up for you."
The front of the jumper had taken the brunt of the impact. Fire retardant coated the bent, crushed console and danced in the air. Carson coughed, feeling his side flare, and reached for Sheppard's still form. He was wedged under the pilot's console, bleeding freely from a long, deep laceration that ran diagonally across his forehead. "Colonel," Carson called, peeling back his eyelids. The pupils were equal and, so far as he could tell without a penlight, reacting normally. "John? Wake up now, Colonel." Not getting a response, Carson felt his way down Sheppard's vertebrae, then did the same to his limbs.
Ronan was suddenly beside him, holding out a case with his uninjured arm. "I found your stuff."
"Thank God for small favors," he muttered, pulling out a field dressing and stripping it of its wrapper. "Hold this here," he instructed the Satedan. "Firm pressure. Not that firm, lad, you'll crush his skull like an egg. That's the ticket."
Rodney was sprawled in the copilot's seat, his head turned away. Carson didn't like the angle of his neck. He had to straddle Rodney's lap, careful not to touch his splayed legs, to fit him with a C-collar. The Canadian's face was a mass of first- and second-degree burns, the skin around his eyes swollen, red and beginning to blister. Carson doused the burns liberally with distilled water from his kit and wrapped his eyes in sterile bandages. A further check revealed a fractured collarbone. Carson bound Rodney's right arm to his chest and rechecked his vitals. "You'll do," he pronounced, standing back. "Right, Ronan, let's get that arm splinted."
Once the Satedan's arm had been snuggly strapped, he helped Carson to lay Rodney on the floor next to Sheppard. Sinking down between his patients, the doctor sighed and pressed a hand to his side. "Ronan, lad, what the bloody hell happened?"