As time wore on and the enemy fire grew hotter, a Roman Catholic chaplain
reached the side of the sergeant. "Sergeant, I want to go over to the aid
of those wounded men."
"No, sir, my orders are absolutely strict. I am to let no one go across, no
matter what his rank."
The chaplain considered a moment, but he did not move from where he stood
beside the sergeant.
A minute passed and a chaplain of the Presbyterian faith came up.
"Sergeant, I want to go across to those men. They are in a bad way."
"I know, sir. Sorry, sir. Strict orders that no one must be allowed to
pass."
"Who are your orders from?"
"High authority, sir."
"Ah!" The padre looked at the sergeant....
"Sorry, Sergeant, but I have orders from a Higher Authority," and the
Presbyterian minister rushed across the bullet-swept area. He fell dead
before he reached his objective.
"I, too, have orders from a Higher Authority," said the Roman Catholic
priest, and he dashed out into the roadway. He fell, dead, close by the
body of his Protestant brother. They had not reached the wounded, but
Heaven is witness that their death was the death of men.
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