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Weekly Contest #367
Sergeant Daniels stood at the bridge entrance, eyes glued on the road. Nothing moved. The Sergeant lowered his binoculars and looked at his watch. 5:56. His orders were clear. The bridge had to be burned by six. He grasped the railing as a cold gust swept across the bridge. He looked down the road again. The sound of crunching leaves approached from behind the Sergeant. He turned, now standing face to face with Simmons. “Do we light the bridge, sir?” Simmons ask...
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