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By Root 2246 0

didn’t know, could hear short whispers as they passed by guides, spaced every few yards. They were dropping downhill now, a winding trail that seemed to cut deep into the ground, dirt embankments close on either side, the smell of muddy earth and filthy men. He felt the wetness now, looked up, the mist on his face, the smells changing. He knew the feel of fog, cold dampness in his nose, could hear the footsteps turning wetter, soft mud, felt his boots slipping now. There was a ditch, the men dropping down suddenly, another guide, no sounds but the slipping and tumbling of men sliding on their backsides, landing into watery grass. He splashed down, felt water inside his boots now, cursed to himself, was climbing up again, heard a whisper behind him, “Not much of a river.”

There was low laughter farther back, and Temple ignored it, continued to climb, crested the hill, was surprised to step onto railroad tracks. There was another guide, the man moving them to the left, the Marines walking down the center of the tracks. He looked to the right, nothing to see, the darkness and the fog wrapping around all of them. The river, he thought. Fog like this means water. This railroad must run alongside it.

The sounds startled them all, a chattering of a machine gun, coming from the right, from across the river. The men were moving more quickly now on the tracks, more guides, a man every twenty yards or so. The machine gun opened up again, sharp cries in front of him. Now another gun started, the bullets tearing through the fog above his head. Of course. They know where we are. Hell, they’re right across the river. What? Two hundred yards?

The Maxim guns kept up their fire, and he stumbled on a body on the tracks. He stopped, whispered to the man behind him, “Help me! Get him off the tracks!”

More men tumbled down off the tracks, groans, men splashing in the grassy ditch below him. He wanted to shout for a medic, but the voices came now, no whispers, no secrets, the guides calling out, “Move! Get to the bridge! No stopping!”

He left the fallen man, could see shadows of men moving down off the tracks to the right, another guide, the man frantic. “This way! Feel for the rope! The bridge is just ahead! Go!”

There were splashes up ahead of him, the Maxim fire filling every space around him, the air erupting, a short scream, then the hard splash of the artillery shell. More guns punched the darkness, the river peppered with mortar shells, plumes of water rising up, soaking him. The guides were still shouting, “Grab the rope! Go!”

He felt himself shaking, the water soaking him, his boots on wood now, bouncing beneath him. He waved his hand out to one side, felt a thin rope, gripped it with his hand, tried to steady himself. The Maxims had not stopped, and he stared ahead, a man in front of him, frozen. He pushed into the man’s back, said, “Move!”

The man seemed fixed, immobile, a high shout, “I can’t! I can’t!”

Temple felt men pushing up behind him, more panic rising, the guides still shouting, “Go! No stopping!”

Temple had his hand on the man’s back, said, “Damn you! Move!”

The man seemed to jump, his body punched by a dull smack of lead. He fell back against him, and Temple pushed hard, the man rolling off to the side, a dull splash. Temple stepped past him, the boards bouncing, sinking, his feet in the water, the rope in his hand again. There were more splashes, shells and men, and he drove himself forward, nothing in front of him, black wet darkness, the river filling his boots. There was another guide, shouts in front of him, and Temple tried to see, his feet suddenly kicking into a man. He stumbled, fell right over the man, hit hard, his whole body in the water. He gasped, tried to breathe, swallowed a mouthful of water, choked, forced his head up out of the water. He gasped again, more voices, couldn’t reach the bridge. He started to move his arms, frantic, trying to keep his head up, the water around him churning, shell fire, more men falling from the bridge. His arms were rubber, and he felt himself sinking, held his