The narrow bridge was a bottleneck, and there was always traffic across it. The ravine below provided enough rocks for cover that the squad could, one by one, sneak through. Lensman watched his men flitting from one spot to another. It took great concentration and was only possible because he knew what they were doing. Across from him, Kess had his baby long rifle at the ready and Mov was ready to deploy a stonk. If they were spotted, they would blow the bridge and withdraw into the mountains.
As each man came through, they took up a defensive position. They were spreading out further and further downstream. The last man came through. Lensman followed him. Mov came on a few dozen counts later and Kess after the same delay again.
The river fed into a wider, gentler flow which they would have to ford. Beyond that, the ground was flat- by the standards of a mountain man- and the cover less obvious. They went downstream until they found a crossing of rocks deliberately placed in the river.
Lensman stole a glance at Mov. The veteran appeared worried, unsure of himself outside his natural habitat. As squad leader, Lensman could not acknowledge that he felt the same fear. He had to keep up the confident facade as they headed into this alien landscape. Kess scanned the far bank, nodding when he saw nothing of danger. Lensman sprinted across the rocks, slipping on ones mid stream but staying upright, and dived into a covering position on the far shore.