] Eighteen wounded men lay side by
side in a roofless hut. Their faces, drawn by pain and anxiety, looked
ghastly in the pale light of the early morning. Two officers, one with
his left hand smashed, the other shot through both legs, were patiently
waiting for the moment when the improvised tourniquets could be removed
and some relief afforded to their sufferings. The brigadier, his khaki
coat stained with the blood from a wound on his head, was talking to his
only staff-officer, whose helmet displayed a bullet-hole. The most
ardent lover of realism would have been satisfied. Food, doolies, and
doctors soon arrived. The wounded were brought to the field hospitals to
be attended to. The unwounded hurried back to camp to get breakfast and
a bath. In half an hour, the ill-omened spot was occupied only by the
few sowars engaged in shooting the wounded mules, and by the vultures
who watched the proceedings with an expectant interest.
Gradually we learnt the story of the night. The battery, about thirty
sappers and half the 35th Sikhs, were returning to camp.
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