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Chapter 9

           "Yes.He’sdead."

           Ashellfellcloseandtheybothdroppedtothegroundanddroppedme."I’msorry,Tenente,"saidManera."Hangontomyneck."

           "Ifyoudropmeagain."

           "Itwasbecausewewerescared."

           "Areyouunwounded?"

           "Wearebothwoundedalittle."

           "CanGordinidrive?"

           "Idon’tthinkso."

           Theydroppedmeoncemorebeforewereachedthepost.

           "Yousonsofbitches,"Isaid.

           "Iamsorry,Tenente,"Manerasaid."Wewon’tdropyouagain."

           Outsidethepostagreatmanyofuslayonthegroundinthedark.Theycarriedwoundedinandbroughtthemout.Icouldseethelightcomeoutfromthedressingstationwhenthecurtainopenedandtheybroughtsomeoneinorout.Thedeadwereofftooneside.Thedoctorswereworkingwiththeirsleevesuptotheirshouldersandwereredasbutchers.Therewerenotenoughstretchers.Someofthewoundedwerenoisybutmostwerequiet.Thewindblewtheleavesintheboweroverthedoorofthedressingstationandthenightwasgettingcold.Stretcher-bearerscameinallthetime,puttheirstretchersdown,unloadedthemandwentaway.

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