ground, to lie face downward.

Collins grabbed him by the shoulder. "Here it is. Here's your drink.
Turn over. Turn over, man, for God's sake!"

With Collins hauling at his shoulder, the officer twisted his body and
fell with his face turned toward that region where lived the unspeakable
noises of the swirling missiles. There was the faintest shadow of a
smile on his lips as he looked at Collins. He gave a sigh, a little
primitive breath like that from a child.

Collins tried to hold the bucket steadily, but his shaking hands caused
the water to splash all over the face of the dying man. Then he jerked
it away and ran on.

The regiment gave him a welcoming roar. The grimed faces were wrinkled
in laughter.

His captain waved the bucket away. "Give it to the men!"

The two genial, skylarking young lieutenants were the first to gain
possession of it. They played over it in their fashion.

When one tried to drink the other teasingly knocked his elbow. "Don't,
Billie! You'll make me spill it," said the one. The other laughed.

Suddenly there was an oath, the thud of wood on the ground, and a swift
murmur of astonishment among the ranks. The two lieutenants glared at
each other. The bucket lay on the ground empty.