A couple more rounds, those crates filled with the holes wishes were in someone's body right now. He doesn't even care who. Just someone. Wash stops, lowers the rifle, breathes.

Either he got York and he's bleeding out somewhere behind there, or he didn't and York's just hiding like some crawling thing. Either way that's- it's fine. Objective achieved. Assuming the objective was royally scaring the crap out of him and whatever backup he's got. The Sim Troopers seem like they're not that easy to scare, all bravado with nothing to back it up with.

His heart is pounding hard enough that his HUD is popping up a concerned little beep. He ignores it and reloads out of habit more than intention right now. It steadies him, drags him back from vicious anger that he can't afford.