"Reluctantly, I sent for my platoon and gave the unwelcome order ... to carry the heavy weapons and equipment by hand. It would make the long trek through the wet and the dark even more arduous, but machine guns and mortars were vital and my platoon would be of no use in the attack without them. ... We hoisted the weapons and ammunition to our shoulders. Holding fast to the man ahead, we slowly, painfully made our way to where the rest of the company had assembled. ... Down the narrow trail of a road between towering trees ... we moved. The night seemed to get even blacker ... and the rain came in great wind-driven sheets. ... It was not easy to hold onto the belt of the man in front while slipping and slithering forward and under the weight of a machine gun tripod or a mortar tube. ... The only light to pierce the blackness came from artillery. ... After the sudden, brilliant burst of light, it was hard to adjust your vision again to the darkness. ... Far on the horizon [came] answering reports from the enemy’s big guns. ... The road was full of holes, and the holes were full of water and rocks, and it was almost impossible to keep your feet at times. ... For hours we fought for breath and struggled to maintain the exhausting pace. The knowledge that at the end of the march we faced the ticklish problem of relief in the face of the enemy, then attack, dragged at our feet at first; but as time passed we welcomed even this prospect as a way to end this nightmare walkathon. Suddenly the line halted. ... One man turned his head toward us. "This is as far as we go tonight. Pull off the road and get some sleep. Pass the word along.""