A muscle began to twitch under Kirk's eye. That, too, was something that had never happened before, like the stab of pain with no spear behind it. He licked his lips and repeated hoarsely:
"I don't understand."
The Officer tightened suddenly and made one hand into a fist and beat it slowly on the wall, up and down.
"I didn't want to give the order. God knows I didn't want to! But there was nothing else to do."
A man came up over the top of the ladder. He was carrying a body over his shoulder, and breathing hard.
"Here's Kirk," he said. "Where'll I put him?"
There was a clear space off to the right. Kirk pointed to it. "Over there, Charley. I'll help."
It was hard to move. He'd never been tired like this before. He'd never been afraid like this, either. He didn't know what he was afraid of. Something in the Officer's voice.
He helped to lay his father down. He'd seen bodies before. He'd handled them, fighting on the pillbox walls. But never one he'd known so long, one he'd eaten and slept and wrestled with. The thick arm that hauled him out of bed this morning, the big hands that warmed the baby against the barrel chest. You saw it lying lax and cold, but you didn't believe it.
You saw it. You saw the spear shaft sticking out clean from the heart....