Cacophony

Marjanna-410 was screaming, the air filled with smoke and ash, and the wails of the wounded dying, but never once had she thought she’d join them in the rancorous choir of suffering. But she was not hurt, not physically. No Covenant cruiser hung overhead, no enemy army flooded the city streets, there was just a blackened crater where he’d been before, kneeling down to greet the child.
She fell to her knees beside him, beside what was left of him. She pulled Aboubacar-437 into her lap, and gingerly her armored fingertips tried to pull away the helmet from his face. It began to slip loose, then caught. She felt it tug against skin, the helmet anchored in place by the shard of shrapnel that was embedded in the visor. It was embedded everywhere. 
She looked over he shoulder and Yulianna was just standing there, amidst the dust and haze, looking down on the carnage blankly. She wasn’t doing anything. Why wasn’t she doing anything?
Marjanna wanted to scream, but no words came. She shook his body, softly at first, then with more force. They didn’t die, not them, not to things like this. Spartans didn’t get killed by children with bomb vests. It didn’t happen, she wouldn’t accept it.
“Goddamnit Abou get up.” She hissed, formulating words for the first time in what felt like an eternity. She shook him again, harder, but he did not move, and the light next to his vitals remained a bright red. Unchanging, unfeeling, how could it be?
“Marjanna,” Hayato, now he wanted to speak, now he wanted to be of use for the first time in his life. Her thoughts burned with rage as she turned her head, eyes staring out across the expanse between where she kneeled and the rooftop where he was perched. Did he have some remark to make? One last arrogant slight at Aboubacar’s expense? Hayato had been jealous of him, and they all knew it.
“Marjanna he’s flatlined. I’ve got a bird with a cryotube en route, that’s his best chance. Can you move him?” Hayato’s voice was calm and firm, and the initiative he’d displayed made her wary. He did not think for himself, he was always content to simply ride along on their successes. Was she imagining things? Was she hit?
Her eyes flicked over her own vitals and found that there was nothing to suggest audio hallucinations were possible. She nodded, before remembering that his eyes were likely glued to a scope, looking for a second attack that would not come amongst the sea of panicking civilians.
This wasn’t supposed to happen to them. They were the best of the best, they could stand shoulder to shoulder with the Master Chief himself and call themselves Spartan. They did not die to children in suicide vests. They just didn’t, it wasn’t fair.
“Marjanna, answer me, can you move him?”
The world spun slowly, but she found her voice, hoarse and tired as it was. 
“Yes.”