Six O'Clock

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 asked.  

The Sergeant turned back to the road, “Not yet. He still has 4 minutes.”  

“Sir, our orders are to light this bridge before the enemy can cross.” Simmons replied. “They’ll be on us.” 

“We have 4 minutes; we’re not blowing the bridge a minute sooner while we still have a single truck on the other side.”  

Simmons shouldered his rifle and proceeded back to the rest of the company.  

Daniels looked down at his watch again. His jaw tightened as he lifted his gaze back up. 

A faint thud echoed in the distance as the ground shivered beneath his boots.  

He glanced down, 5:57. 

Daniels ran his calloused hand along the weathered timbers, dry and rough. When they lit it, it would go up fast. 

His unit had already destroyed every other crossing for miles. This was the last bridge, the only path across the river left. The old, covered bridge was just wide enough to carry the last of the convoy, but easy enough to burn down quickly. 

Daniels thought back to putting his friend at the rear of the convoy, counting on Michaels to help get everyone across in time.  

“Headlights!” a soldier yelled, pulling Daniels out of his thoughts. There they were, growing brighter as they grew nearer.  

The truck sped down the dirt road and slammed onto the old bridge as the wood crackled beneath its wheels. It made it across the bridge and pulled off to the side. 

Daniels approached with a smile. As he got closer, that smile faded as he read the tail number. C-5. Not the last one then. 

The door opened, and a soldier emerged. He stood and faced the Sergeant.  

“Where is Michaels and his men?” asked the Sergeant. 

“We blew a tire a way back. Michaels helped us get back up and running. He should be right behind us.” 

“We don’t have any more time.” 

“He said he’d be right behind us, sir,” the soldier replied. 

Daniels stepped back from the truck, looked straight down the bridge across to the other side.  

He glanced at his watch, then back toward the empty road. Every second Michaels had spent helping them was one less that he had to make the crossing. Daniels knew Michaels would never have left another truck stranded. That was why he had trusted him with the rear.

Darkness was the only thing he could make out. 

He watched the truck pull away. Michaels was only behind because he had stopped to help them. Daniels had put him at the rear for that exact reason. He trusted Michaels to make sure no one was left behind. Now that decision had put his oldest friend on the wrong side of the bridge. 

He raised the binoculars again and searched the road. For a moment, a flash appeared between the trees. 

Daniels stiffened. 

Not headlights. 

Another flash lit the horizon, followed seconds later by the dull crack of an explosion. This one sounded closer than the last one. 

Daniels kept the binoculars trained on the road. 

“Come on, Michaels.” 

Daniels dropped his eyes to his watch, 5:59. 

“Simmons!” he yelled. Soon after he heard feet moving quickly towards him. 

“Yes Sergeant?” 

“Get ready to light the bridge on my command, not a moment sooner. Understood?” the Sergeant ordered. 

Simmons nodded and moved off. 

The men approached the bridge, unlit torches in hand. One after another they sparked into flame. 

Daniels raised the binoculars again. He swept them slowly from one side of the road to the other, past every break in the trees for movement. Nothing. 

Behind him, the torches crackled. The smell of burning fuel drifted through the cold air. His men stood ready, waiting for the order none of them wanted to hear. 

Another explosion flashed beyond the tree line. Closer this time. 

Daniels tightened his grip on the binoculars. 

Come on, Michaels. Just a little farther. 

He closed his eyes, you asked him to do this, it’ll be on you if he doesn’t make it. 

Daniels looked down at his watch one last time. The seconds began to tick away as time grew closer.  

6:00.  

He looked up, nothing. 

“Light it up.” 

Two men walked to the middle of the bridge and pressed their torches to the weathered timbers. The flames grabbed hold easily, spreading faster than they had predicted. The pair ran back across while the remaining torches were all touched to a section of dry wood. Soon the whole bridge had become engulfed in a blaze. 

Daniels stood silent as he watched the flames grow higher. Parts of the bridge had begun to fall into the chilling water below.  

As he turned to walk towards his vehicle, the sound of an engine roared in the wind.  

He turned towards the flame once more, as a soldier shouted, “There he is!” 

The Sergeant moved closer, fighting against the heat from the fire. 

There, between the flames, another set of headlights appeared. The grinding gears of the approaching truck echoed across the river. “That has to be Michaels.” 

The truck came to a screeching halt right before the entrance to the bridge.  

C-16, his truck. The men within exited the vehicle. They yelled and pleaded with the others to find a way they could get over, but there was nothing any of them could have done. 

Daniels stood frozen. Michaels had come into view across the way.  

The explosions grew louder. The enemy was closing in. 

“It’s time to move out,” said the Sergeant to his men, as he continued to look towards Michaels and his men. 

Michaels nodded. 

Daniels turned around and walked away from the bridge once more. This time, without looking back across the bridge. 

He climbed into the back of his truck. Closing the door, he gave the driver the order to leave. The Sergeant stared straight ahead as gunfire erupted beyond the burning bridge.