Clay gripped the bow ramp, and cold saltwater misted over his face. He squinted at the two columns of boats—a British motor launch that would guide Force A to shore, four DUKWs, and twelve LCAs—ten carrying the Rangers and two carrying supplies.

Lt. Col. Jim Rudder rode in the leading LCA. He was supposed to have stayed on the command ship USS Ancon to direct both the 2nd and 5th Battalions. But when the Force A commander had gotten rip-roaring drunk the night before and had punched Doc Block, the commander had been escorted off the transport. Rudder had taken his place.

Clay didn’t mind having the football coach leading his team.

What a team. Clay stood in the bow with Lieutenant Taylor on his left and Gene on his right. Holman, McKillop, and Ruby sat behind them. Clay’s rifle squad would be first off the boat. Behind them sat Sgt. Tommy Lombardi with the Browning Automatic Rifle squad, including Manfred Brady and Frank Lyons. In the rear sat the two squads from the other section.

A wave hit the side of the LCA, and cold water slipped over the side of the boat. Clay fought off a shudder. If Lyons wanted to kill Clay, today would be the day to do it.

Then he chuckled. He wouldn’t die at the hand of Frank Lyons.

A low rumble built overhead, approaching from the north, a deep and persistent drone. Had to be the Lancaster heavy bombers of the Royal Air Force, which were scheduled to dump bombs on the point starting at 0450.

A retching sound behind him. Bob Holman leaned over with a paper bag to his mouth. Then he tossed the bag overboard, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and groaned.

Come to think of it, the ride was pretty rough for any stomach that hadn’t been toughened by Mama’s chili peppers. Clay pulled his bag from inside his field jacket and handed it to Holman.

One less thing for Clay to carry. The Rangers were traveling light. Two bandoliers of ammo crisscrossed Clay’s chest, and his cartridge belt was loaded with ammo, grenades, and one chocolate D ration bar. All the men’s packs and extra ammunition and rations and demolitions would land with the two supply LCAs. As for luxury items, Gene wore Betty Jo’s red-and-blue necktie under his uniform, and Clay carried his serviceman’s Bible with Leah and Helen’s picture tucked inside.

Gene leaned in front of Clay. “Say, Lieutenant? Should we bail?”

An inch or two of water sloshed around Clay’s boots. With the extra layer of armor, the British LCAs rode lower in the water than the American LCVPs.

“We’re fine.” Taylor peered into the darkness and nodded behind him. “But I don’t like the looks of that boat—D Company, I think.”