“Yes, it would have.” Something in the physician’s tone told Clay dying was still an option.

He leaned back against the rough concrete. Why had he twisted away from that bullet? If he’d let it hit square in the heart, he’d already be with Jesus. No pain ever again. The half made whole.

Instead, he’d let love pull him toward life—more likely, to a painful, protracted death.

But Leah. His tingling lips bent upward. His muse. This pain, this delay in his home-going was worth it for the joy she’d brought him.

Clay bumped, and pain reverberated in his chest.

“Careful!” Gene barked.

Clay opened his eyes to a partly cloudy sky.

“First you say, ‘Faster,’ and now you say, ‘Careful.’ Can’t have it both ways, pal.” A voice Clay didn’t recognize.

A plywood wall to his right. A rising and falling sensation. Was he in a landing craft?

Seated to his left, Gene shielded his eyes. “I want him to get to the battleship, but I want him to get there alive.”

“Battleship?”

Gene grinned at him. “There you are.”

Clay nodded, but the movement pulled on his chest wall and made him wince. His body felt like lead. He couldn’t even move his arms. Oh, he was strapped in a basket litter under a brown blanket. “Doc Block wouldn’t give up, would he?”

Gene’s face clouded. “It—it’s been touch and go with you all day.”

“All day?” Clay only remembered a haze of pain.

“Yeah. We’ve been calling for reinforcements and evacuation all day, but these two LCVPs were the first boats to make it to the point. It’s 1500.”

“The Rangers?” His chest felt tight, his breathing compressed and rapid.

“We’re holding on. We took the observation post at the tip of the point, and the LCVPs brought in sixty Rangers from Omaha. That’ll help a lot.” Gene grimaced at his leg. “I wanted to stay, but Doc put me on this boat. Guess I’m not much good for fighting with this leg.”

“You did all right by me. More than all right.” Each word cost.

Gene waved him off. “You were the hero. Rudder says you’ll get a medal for it.”

He wanted to shrug, but it wasn’t worth the pain.

The landing craft engine noises changed, and the boat turned. Sailors in dungarees and life vests and helmets moved about and called out orders—something about heaving to.

“This man first.” A sailor grabbed the end of Clay’s litter. “Doc says he needs surgery.”

Metallic clanks around him, and ropes swished into and out of his line of vision.

Gene leaned over. “See you on board, buddy.”

Clay smiled although he wouldn’t see Gene again. His symptoms indicated he was in shock and had a lot of blood in his lungs.