“Did he get knocked off, too?” Lieutenant Bedford asked. “Naw, he was around here this morning.” “Does anybody know what happened to him? Where’d he go?” No one knew. “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. “Say, wait a minute. Stop that. We’ve got to git his dog-tag off.” Lepere stooped over the body and fumbled at the dirty collar. “Gimme a knife.” He snipped one of the identification disks from the greasy string. Stuffing it in his pocket, he drew back and ordered: “Now go ahead.” The business was continued silently. Bodies were carried to the clearing marked off for the temporary burial-place, rolled in a blanket, and dropped into shallow holes. Before they were dumped into their temporary graves their pockets were searched and the contents placed in little piles on the ground. Some of the bodies were unrecognizable, although the men at work had seen them and talked with them the day before. One or two of the bodies looked as if life had fled them peacefully. The uniforms were unspotted with blood, the faces were calm. But some of the faces were distorted. The lips rose from the teeth and made them look like fangs. One body, on which the skin looked like liver, had been struck lifeless a few days earlier. It stunk terrifically, and when Lepere’s hands sought out the neck for the identification tag, his fingers sank into the flesh. But he went stolidly on about his work. Hicks turned his body and engaged in a paroxysm of gagging. He turned again, his face the color of a piece of paper. The work went on.