Captain Dearden was dead; his mouth open in a soundless scream to protest at the agony of the Russian bayonet that protruded obscenely from his belly. Corporal O"Hara lay across his body, writhing as he stared at the gaping holes in his chest and the blood that pumped from the ragged stump of his left arm. Beside him, Aitken crouched, choking on the blood that filled his mouth and ran in dark rivulets down his chin and chest. Half a score Russian infantrymen lay among them, shot or bayoneted, unheeded in death as the world had neglected them in life.
Captain Dearden was dead; his mouth open in a soundless scream to protest at the agony of the Russian bayonet that protruded obscenely from his belly. Corporal O"Hara lay across his body, writhing as he stared at the gaping holes in his chest
