"Brigade commander, the engineers say the bridge is blown."
He nodded.
"Wade across."
The adjutant was stunned.
"Wade? But—"
"Wade across," Ben Abraham repeated, "Armored vehicles can't get across, but people can. Once you reach the other side, establish a bridgehead."
He turned to look at the soldiers.
So young. Most were in their early twenties, still sporting stubble that hadn't been fully shaved. Some hands trembled, some lips were pale, but none retreated.
"Follow my command—enter the water."
When the first soldier stepped into the river, machine gun fire sounded from the other side.
Bullets hit the water's surface, splashing columns of water. Someone fell and was swept away by the river. Others continued to charge forward, firing towards the opposite bank.
Ben Abraham also entered the water.
The water was cold, reaching up to his thighs. Holding his gun, he advanced step by step. Soldiers beside him fell one by one, each replaced by another stepping forward.
