“Ah,” he says.“Please dial 999, I’m begging you.”“Ambulance won’t get up there,” he says. “Need the shovel.”“You can’t bury hi... yet – he might not be dead!”My voice has taken on a hysterical edge even I find annoying.The farmer tuts, lowers his shotgun, and pulls out a mobile. I stay on my knees with my arms up, then I hear the beep of a button being pressed three times. He mutters something into the phone, but does not take his eyes off me. Grunting, he tucks the phone away, cracks the shotgun. “Yes sir,” he responded and reported in again in a more proper but not perfect manner. The Colonel returned his salute, but had more to say to him.“You are not in the field now, Sergeant, and I do not expect to see you or your men in need of a shave an hour from now. You will be expected to shave daily unless you are in the field. Is that clear?” she demanded.“Yes sir, very clear,” he answered, but it was evident that he was not pleased by any of her remarks.“You and your men will be quartered. More

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