THE BRIDGE
BY G. G. REVELLE
His orders were final. And
how could these terrified souls
know their fate was his own?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, August 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Two low flying interceptor jets screamed overhead, climbing for much needed altitude as they headed out to sea. The Captain took off his steel helmet and looked up at the thunderous roar just before he leaped from the still moving jeep. When his feet touched the ground he moved quickly, shouting orders at the olive-drab truck convoy he had been leading. He pointed his finger at the side of the road where he wanted the small stuff. The "duce and a half's" he directed to the opposite side of the road. Then he put his helmet back on.
He watched as the troops quickly dismounted and assembled. He lighted a cigarette while he waited for his three officers. Only then did he look at the Bridge.
The massive steel structure spanning the river was six lanes wide, cantilever style with curved upper and lower cords. The Bridge looked trim and new. It was the Captain's responsibility to see that it stayed that way.
He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and reached inside the rear of the jeep and checked his radio set. It was set on K channel, 29.2. He expected no messages, except in an emergency.