He is silent, and then huskily he says: “Is that all?” he gives the order: “Number!”

The morning is grey, it was still summer when we came up, and we were one hundred and fifty strong. Now we freeze, it is autumn, the leaves rustle, the voices flutter out wearily:

“One⁠—two⁠—three⁠—four⁠—” and cease at thirty-two. And there is a long silence before the voice asks: “Anyone else?”⁠—and waits and then says softly: “In squads⁠—” and then breaks off and is only able to finish: “Second Company⁠—” with difficulty: “Second Company⁠—march easy!”

A line, a short line trudges off into the morning.

Thirty-two men.