bridgemen held the bridgehead, fighting desperately against the Parshendi who were trying to force them back. It was the most amazing, most glorious thing Dalinar had ever seen. Adolin let out a whoop, breaking through the Parshendi to Dalinar’s left. The younger man’s armor was scratched, cracked, and scored, and his helm had shattered, leaving his head dangerously exposed. But his face was exultant. “Go, go,” Dalinar bellowed, pointing. “Give them support, storm it! If those bridgemen fall, we’re all dead!”
