“Well, if he’s gone, he’s gone.” Lieutenant Bedford grew decisive. “Lepere, you take charge. You don’t need to bury ’em so deep. They’ll have to be dug up again, anyway.”
Lepere showed surprising signs of life. “All right, men.” His accents became almost crisp. “Hicks, Pugh, Bullis, Hartman, Kruger.” He pointed his finger impressively as he named off eight men.
Sullen, they rose and stood around hesitatingly, asking: “Where are the shovels? Do you expect us to dig holes with our hands?” Bullis was weak and exasperated.
Lepere had become a dynamo. He radiated energy. “You’ll find plenty of shovels right down by where Captain Powers was killed. Follow me.” The men trailed off in a group.
They set to work laboriously. Soon the first hole had reached a depth so that the bodies would not be too near the surface when the dirt was thrown back in place. On a bloody stretcher a mutilated body was carried to the freshly dug hole and rolled over upon a blanket.
“All right there, Pugh. Grab hold.” Lepere was peremptory.
“Lepeah, Ah can’t. I’d throw up my guts. You call me when you’re ready to dig the next hole.” Pugh walked away.
“Come back here, Pugh. I’ll report you for insubordination.”
“Ah doan cah wot yo do. Go to hell.”
While Lepere had been talking the body had been lifted into the hole and the first shovelful of dirt had been thrown over it.