Regulations state that every burial gets a bugler.
The problem is, the enemy took out Rogers and Menendez – the only two guys who play the bugle.
“Who knows anything about playing music?” shouts the company commander.
Washington stood up. “I scratched a bit in clubs.”
“Sit down!” shouts the commander. “Anybody else?”
I nudged Washington. “Think we can rig something up?”
He nodded.
And I stood up.
Washington and I rigged up a bugle to play a track out from a speaker in the bell.
And it worked great
Until it rained, and the damn thing shorted out the camp.