There is nothing especially disagreeable about marking time for we have seen many other stops for less reasons, but this evening the Boche artillery had information of the arrival of the attacking regiment in the lines and was shelling heavily all possible ways of access.
A single “77” falling into this crowd of men would make a hecatomb.
The commander was marching at the head of the column followed by the intelligence officers of the companies.
He stopped a moment in front of the bridge encircled by the explosions of the shells.
“If a shell would only destroy it!”
But as if for spite, they fell all around and missed it.
“It must be destroyed.”
There was nothing formal about this order, and the task wasn’t easy.
He took off his belts, gave his jacket to a man, and with his chest bare the commander stood up on the bridge, propped himself on the timbers of the floor, and began to tear them up.