Roll Out the Barrow! Or Not!

Across the battlefield, Nabstrian musketeers survey the damage to their trenches (below).
'Is that a crossword puzzle?' asks one, pointing.
His comrade reaches down. 'Yes, it is: but it's covered in something sticky. Syrup, probably'. He considers the mess. 'Hopefully'.
'How on earth would they think that such a thing would stop the progress of our siege?' asks the other fellow.
'No idea, the fools', replies the other. 'Now, eight down: "Large proboscis on an elephant. Five letters. Begins with "T"'.
'What?'
'Eight down. Elephant. Large proboscis. Begins with "T". And someone has also helpfully filled in an "L" and a "Z". That's nice of them'.
'Oooh, yes', says the other eagerly. 'We'll have this finished in no time'.

(Below) At his headquarters, General Rheinfunkt takes the report on the enemy raid. 'So', he says to his assembled staff. 'So - in summary, almost no losses. A couple of musketeers dead that I probably didn't like anyway. Minor damage to the approach trench; and also a wheelbarrow stolen. And that for an entire enemy company wiped out!' He begins to chuckle merrily. 'Ha ha ha ha! How could they think that a bit of damage and a stolen wheelbarrow would in any way impede the progression of my siege. Ha ha ha ha! As if we would have only one wheel barrow in our army! Ha ha ha ha! Only one wheelbarrow! Ha ha ha ha! Ha, ha ... ha ... ha ...'

His laughter comes to a stop as he looks at the faces of his subordinates. Just then, behind them, the general notices a pioneer who seems to be walking from the direction of the trenches. He is carrying carefully two handfuls of earth.
Colour begins to rise in Rheinfunkt's cheeks. The veins on his temples begin to inflate like boa constrictors that have foolishly decided to snack on some compressed gas. 'No. No. You have to be joking ... You can't tell me ... just ... one ... just one ...barrow'. His eyes protrude dangerously and his fingers clasp and unclasp as if they are kneading some particularly sticky dough; or as if, perhaps, they were wrapped around the necks of some of his headquarters staff.
'So tell me, gentlemen - what now?' the general asks in a dangerously hoarse whisper.
Suddenly, there is a gurgling sigh: one of the staff officers falls to the ground with a thump.
'Why yes!' says Rheinfunkt with sarcasm. 'We could all have a little nap! A lovely little snooze! What a marvellous, marvellous ...'
'No, sir!' says another officer, attending his supine comrade. 'I think, sir, that he might be ill!'
'Actually, I feel a bit peaky', says another, before tumbling to the floor.
'Permission to collapse suddenly and perhaps be bit sick, sir' says yet another, saluting, as he then keels over.
'What the ... ?' says the general, suddenly alarmed ...