With his gaze and ears fixed on the casemate, he crept closer, hunched over, his muscles taut and ready to sprint, his heart and lungs pumping in tandem.

A sharp cry from the German side.

Clay yanked out the pin and broke into a full run.

Shouts and gunfire blasted behind him, good old American rifles.

The Maschinengewehr 42 opened fire, ripping into his memories, the sound he’d heard in his dream, on the training field, and now in his final moments.

It arced in his direction.

Now!

Running hard, Clay coiled for his final pitch.

He could see Adler at bat, Wyatt squatting behind him with a baseball glove, egging him on.

Clay would never see them again.

“Ahhhh!” He yelled, lunged forward on his left leg, and let the grenade fly.

The machine gun barrel swept his way, spattering out death.

Clay saw his bullet. Impossible. No one could see a flying bullet, but he did.

And he didn’t want it.

He wanted to see his wife and daughter, the girls he loved. He wanted to hear their laughter. He wanted to hold them tight.

He wanted to live.

The grenade disappeared into the dark mouth of the casemate.

The tracer fire was upon him.

“No!” Clay twisted away, threw himself forward.

Heat seared through his chest, cracking, roasting, tearing through his right side.

He fell to the ground, hands splayed before him.

An explosion rocked the earth, and he lifted his head, his mouth hot and wet.

Smoke poured out of the casemate.

Clay had succeeded. The Germans would be dead, injured, or too stunned to resist. His buddies would take the position.

“Clay! Pax!” Gene cried, high and frantic. “Medic!”

Too late for that, and Clay rested his cheek on the land beneath him.

Now that he wanted to live, he wouldn’t.

CHICAGO

Three muses dance, their hands entwined,

A circle of love, as one.

Thalia laughs, an idyllic song

Of earth and fields and home.

Calliope calls, an epic ballad

Of valor and heroes and might.

Polyhymnia chants, a sacred hymn

Of praise and truth and faith.

Each one unique, each one must part

And lift her voice alone.

Leah pushed the baby carriage down the sidewalk, unseeing. The final stanza. That wasn’t what she’d wanted, what she’d planned.

It was supposed to end with the three muses dancing off together forever. Not like this.

But Callie and Polly’s circle was already complete.

Greenery drew her, a park, and she wound her way down the path.

Hadn’t she always prayed her sisters would be alive and healthy? They were. They had a beautiful home and doting parents. They had each other.

But they didn’t have her, didn’t even know they had another sister. Didn’t need her.

Pain pressed on her chest, and she gulped a breath. She didn’t belong, even with her own sisters.