“Nah.” Ruby checked the other side. “We lost contact with him on the way to the assembly point, same as you and Lyons.”

Clay’s shoulders tensed. “Lyons is gone.”

Ruby groaned. “Oh, man.”

“I saw McKillop go down a few minutes ago.” Holman pointed his rifle down the lane. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

This wasn’t the time to tell Holman his best friend was dead. “I’m sure Gene’s fine too.” If Gene was gone, Clay would find out soon enough, either here or in heaven.

Right now he had to find those six guns. Even if the guns were placed several miles inland, the Germans could do serious damage with 155-mm shells.

Leapfrogging and checking through the hedgerows, the three men proceeded about three hundred yards. At the end of the lane, another ran east to west.

Clay crouched at the corner and poked his rifle and his head around to the right, while Ruby checked to the left. All clear.

Holman darted across and peered through the hedgerow on the far side. “An orchard.”

Clay joined him. Apple trees filled the field, heavy with moss and tiny green apples. If he wanted to hide artillery, an orchard would be a good place to do so.

To the right, the lane ended in about a hundred yards. Clay headed that direction. Every twenty feet or so, he surveyed the orchard while Ruby and Holman covered him.

About thirty yards from the end of the lane, he heard something. He motioned for Ruby and Holman to get down. They dropped, pointing their rifles in opposite directions.

Clay flattened himself to the hedgerow. Sticks and leaves poked him, and he edged up to see through the thinning brush near the top.

To his right, shapes broke up the neat pattern of trees—angled shapes. Five of them.

The guns! Each pointed west, straight toward Utah Beach.

Motion beside the closest gun. Clay ducked a bit, then poked the tip of his rifle through.

A man with the rounded silhouette of an M1 helmet.

Clay sighed in relief. A Ranger.

A soft pop. A fizzing sound.

A thermite grenade—good. The grenades created massive amounts of molten heat and could weld shut the breech or the traversing mechanism of a gun, quietly disabling it.

Clay tapped Ruby’s and Holman’s feet. “One of ours. He found the guns. Let’s cover him.”

Then two Rangers ran north up the lane—including the man with the thermite grenades.

“That’s Sergeant Lomell,” Ruby said. “And Jack Kuhn.”

“Great.” With that branch of the lane clear, Clay motioned in the other direction.

Fifteen minutes later they returned to the highway. No sign of enemy activity, thank goodness, and Clay reported to Lieutenant Taylor.