His officers lay about the cabin, their hands tied.

An officer, a human male, lay on the stone floor, either dead or unconscious.

A dead French officer lay in the centre of the street, his mouth open and crawling with flies.

His best move was to shove Duke along the street, up to the doorway where the officer lay.

A dead French officer lay at his feet, killed by Smith's sword.

The officer recoiled from the impact, hit the console again and lay still.

These officers laid the groundwork for a department that would grow to 600 members strong.

The young officer lay still, but his breathing seemed less ragged and harsh.

Other officers lay sprawled across the pavement, some in pools of blood.

Another officer lay where he had fallen halfway out the back door.