Dave killed the engine, got down from the cab, and they stood staring. A grey shape emerging from the mud like an obscene slug, with a pointed end.
Gary swore, then pulled him away.
The Army guy was unemotional. “We see loads of these. WW2, jettisoned by bombers before a crash landing. Better get your digger out of there.”
Dave started the engine. The obsessive misery of the past few months crystallised into one thought.
He pushed the levers, and watched as the arm lifted the fully loaded bucket high above the bomb, and then dropped.