The Bartering of Generals - Part 3

"How deep do you want this hole?" Oliver found himself asking.

The Sergeant saluted at the question. A courtesy that a different Sergeant hadn't spared Firyr later on. He supposed there was a limit even to the daringness of a Sergeant operating on the General's orders.

"Twenty feet deep, Ser, we were told," the Sergeant said.

"Twenty feet, is it? Very well," Oliver said, he nodded with a polite smile, as if he was asking for the price of a particular item at a stall, but inside, his sickness only began to grow. What a mountain of bodies they would be creating. With every stab of his spade, he lent deeper to what would most certainly be a most nightmarish slaughter.

"Damn it, Captain, you're fast with a spade," Firyr said, dragging Oliver's attention back to the world around him. The more troubled his thoughts had grown, the more he'd put what was left of his mind into his spade, and the faster he had begun to go.