From over the neighboring corpse, Marcoulf make a sudden sharp wheezing sound. It's alarmingly abrupt - sounds a little like getting stabbed and being surprised about it might -, but already he is straightening, good humor full in his wan face. Some aborted laugh, apparently.

"Here. Try this instead," he says, passing a folded scrap of paper to Clarke. The contents, a rough and unquestionably denigrating drawing of the attachment's very dead commander, are much easier to parse.

Ha ha, we have fun here.