The grisly task of recovering the bodies awaited the rebels in the morning.

Men ate breakfast with little enthusiasm. Anticipating work that would require walking in knee deep snow then risking the thin ice of the pond to sink the bodies in the tainted water. It was the only solution available to prevent the possibility of disease.

The men set to work with full stomachs and no queasiness. All of them, but a few of the former guards, had buried fellow soldiers on many of the battlefields. It was a part of war, handing the dead and working to prevent wholesale disease.

The frozen solid dead made it easier to push against their bodies and free the corpses from the cut wood of the palisade.

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Studying the dead in the day’s light revealed the horrendous toll on the men when they washed into the cave system. Had he known better, Robert might think the corpses bore chew marks, but the damage was too extensive for certainty.

The troops discussed the state of the bodies quietly between themselves out of Robert’s hearing. More and more of the men joined the work detail until all but the few men standing watch over the activity were gathering dead men.

The procession worked their way to the pond and, with solemn dignity, released the dead back into the cold water.

Standing on the thin ice, the soldiers knew their destiny as the same grave.

It was the last piece of Coal Island. The men needed to understand that death now stood at their side like a constant companion.

“How a man dies is unimportant,” Corporal Anders looked at the rest of the men. “We all die. I’ll die as a rebel.”

There was general assent as the men walked back to the stockade and resumed the routine activity of camp life.