Ruins of a farmhouse appeared, and Clay dropped to a squat. Jagged stone walls with broken windows, a collapsed roof, and shrubbery that could conceal the enemy.

American voices called in the distance. Three Rangers ran past the farmhouse unmolested. They must have already cleared the buildings.

“Come on, men.” Clay ran in a zigzag path, his gaze sweeping the bushes and walls and windows.

On the far side of the house, he jumped into a trench, but it ended soon. Open field stretched ahead. Half a dozen Rangers ran across alone or in pairs, taking different paths, as they’d been trained.

Miller from the other company tilted his head to the left, and Clay nodded. He’d go to the right and he’d go first.

Up out of the trench, and his feet pounded over the grass. Fewer craters this far south to slow him down—or to hide in.

A machine gun rattled to his right—but far away. Small arms fire cracked to the left, and closer.

Someone lay splayed on the ground. Clay didn’t dare stop to help, but one glance told him it was too late. It was Ernie McKillop. And he was dead.

“Oh, Lord.” Clay groaned and ran harder. He was supposed to die today, so McKillop and Gene and Holman and Ruby could live.

He slid into the trench on the far side. According to his mental map, it would lead to the second objective, the coastal highway between Grandcamp-les-Bains and Vierville-sur-Mer.

American voices soothed his ears as he drew closer. He climbed out of the trench about twenty feet from the highway and yelled out the call sign so he wouldn’t get shot by his buddies.

“Paxton.” Lieutenant Taylor gave him a nod. “What’s the word?”

Clay scanned the group—Holman, Ruby, Brady, the other two men from the BAR squad, about a dozen others. Where was Gene? He fought off a sick feeling. “Holman and Brady probably told you. No gun in our emplacement, only a telephone pole.”

“Same at the other five positions.” Taylor gestured with his Tommy gun across the road. “Patrols are searching for them. Len Lomell saw tracks down there.”

“Good. I saw tracks heading south from our emplacement.”

“The highway’s secure. We’re expecting the 116th Infantry Regiment and the Rangers from Omaha around noon.” Taylor gestured east, toward Vierville, and then to the west. “We expect German reinforcements from the south and the west, so that’s where we’ll set up defenses. We need one more patrol down this lane.”

“I’ll do that, sir. Holman, Ruby, you’re with me.” Clay led them across the paved highway and down the dirt lane, flanked by tall hedgerows. Twenty feet down the lane, Clay found a gap in the hedgerow—an empty field lay on the other side.

“Anyone seen G. M.?” The question caught on his throat.