“And a—a section to lead.”

Clay stared down at his section leader. Lombardi wouldn’t be climbing any cliffs today, so Clay nodded. Granted, each man knew his objective, so they didn’t need much leading.

Above him the men of his squad were making their way up, with Holman following McKillop on the toggle line, and Gene following Ruby on the plain line. On the beach, the four men of the BAR squad strafed the cliff edge with their automatic rifles.

A bright orange flash out to sea. A destroyer fired at Pointe du Hoc, but a different ship than earlier.

That might not be Wyatt, but Clay sure appreciated the Navy.

Time to climb. The rope was wet, but Clay started up, familiar muscles tightening and working.

When his feet slipped on the muddy cliff face, his hands held. And when his hands slipped, his feet held.

McKillop scrambled over the top, and shots rang out.

“Come on, y’all. Faster!” Clay pumped his arms and legs, determined to catch up with his buddies.

Ruby went over the top too.

“I can’t do it.” Holman clutched the rope about ten feet from the top and lay flat on a hump on the cliff. He’d suffered from seasickness for over two hours, and he still looked green.

Clay kept climbing. “You have to. Ruby and McKillop need you.”

Holman moaned and resumed his climb. “I can’t.”

“You don’t have a choice. You can’t stay there. And you can’t hold up the line.”

“Move it, Holman!” Brady shouted from below, with Lyons right behind him.

Holman cussed, climbed another foot, then sagged. “I just can’t.”

At the top of the cliff, Gene crawled over the edge.

“G. M.! Wait up. Cover me.” Clay jammed his toes into the mud and hauled himself over the top.

Gene knelt before him, rifle raised. “You’re covered.”

Clay swung around to the other rope, went down on one knee, and leaned over the side. “Come on, Holman! One more step, then I can help you.”

Holman’s hand shook, but he wrapped it around the rope and pulled himself up.

“That’s it.” Clay grabbed both his friend’s forearms, dug in his heel, and pulled. “You’re almost there.”

Another foot higher, and Clay latched onto his collar and heaved the man up onto the cliff top like a dead fish.

Then Clay slung off his rifle and swept his gaze around.

“This way!” Gene jumped into a crater.

Clay scrabbled down inside. He’d never seen a crater so big—it had to be twenty feet across. So that was what a 14-inch shell did.

He flopped on his stomach against the side of the crater and peeked over the edge.

All those rubber maps. All those sand tables. Worthless.