The men were laying around on top of supplies in improvised bunks and hammocks. Each one was filthy looking, smelled of sweat and oil, and appeared to have forgotten what a razor was. They had made some sort of hovel from parking three trucks together in a semi circle and used tarps to fashion a large but rudimentary tent.
Corporal Carter looked around at the men, offended by their lack of decorum and military bearing. “Where is your Commanding Officer? Who’s in charge here?” Carter said, with a raised voice full of repudiation.