With Olga in his arms, Creighton made his way forward, gasping, almost dropping from fatigue. His mouth was dry and sweat ran into his eyes. He stumbled repeatedly; with each step he took, he thought he would fall and be unable to get up again. His legs held out long enough to get them to an old trench. At least this is some kind of shelter, he thought.
Meanwhile Olga had come back to her senses. “I can walk on my own,” she said.
Creighton gently set her down on the floor of the trench. They spent a moment there catching their breath, and then they slowly walked on, Creighton leading and Olga behind him. The line of trenches stretched endlessly, often taking sharp turns, as was traditional in the building of such fortifications. The Germans’ bombing raid continued. Wave after wave of pla
