The Land Beneath Us (Sunrise at Normandy #3) - Sarah Sundin Page 0,10

country is richer for the mixture of her various cultures.”

“That’s Clay, all right.” G. M. slapped him on the back. “All mixed up.”

“Speaking of being mixed up . . .” Clay pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of his khaki shirt. “We’re here to find Elementary Map and Aerial Photograph Reading. Field Manual 21-25.”

Leah pointed to her right. “All our field and technical manuals are in the second aisle in numerical order. Would you like me to show you?”

“We’ll find it. Thanks.” A big grin, and Clay and G. M. left.

Behind the circulation desk, Miss Mayhew cleared her throat and frowned at Leah. Yesterday she’d reprimanded Leah for flirting with the patrons, which had rendered Leah speechless. Was having a friendly conversation considered flirting? My, she had a lot to learn.

Leah mouthed “Sorry,” loaded her cart again, and pushed it to the fourth aisle, away from Clay and G. M. She picked up a pile of books and searched for the correct locations.

“Hear about the party at the USO on Saturday?” G. M.’s voice filtered through the stacks.

“For Independence Day?” Clay said. “I heard.”

“Get a date and join Betty Jo and me.”

Leah held her breath, a book suspended midair.

“No, thanks,” Clay said.

“How about that Leah? She’s pretty cute, and she seems to like you, though I don’t know why.”

Leah scrunched her eyes shut, dreading both the yes and the no.

“I’ve told you, G. M. I’m not interested in dating right now, all right?”

“Still—”

“Not interested. Now here’s the manual, Mr. Busybody.”

Not interested. Leah’s arm drooped, but she gave her head a good shake and slid the book into place.

What would she have done if he’d asked her? She probably would have frozen or declined as she had with the soldiers in the drugstore.

She ought to be thankful she’d learned Clay wasn’t interested in her before she let herself become infatuated.

But it bruised. Even with a divine camel-colored suit and a cute haircut and makeup, she was still odd and foreign.

MONDAY, JULY 5, 1943

“Assume position!” Sergeant Lombardi yelled.

Clay tossed his shirt into a heap with the other men’s. The six Rangers from his tent stepped alongside the twelve-foot log for the morning log drill.

“You take that end, and I’ll take the other,” he said to Gene. This drill was dangerous, and the other four men had hangovers. Since the USO didn’t serve booze at their party, the men had made up for it on the Fourth of July itself.

Clay looked them each in their bloodshot eyes. “Look lively, boys. Y’all can do it.”

“Quit yelling.” Holman cringed and massaged his temples.

Wait till he heard Lombardi. Clay squatted and wrapped his arms around the log, as fat as a telephone pole and just as heavy.

“Ready!” Lombardi shouted. “Exercise.”

With loud grunts, Clay and his buddies hoisted the log waist high and stood. Clay’s thigh muscles strained.

Following Lombardi’s commands, Clay ducked under the log until it rested on his right shoulder. The other men stayed with him, but with more cussing than usual.

Clay pushed to standing and set his feet wide. With his right arm wrapped around the log, he set his left hand on his hip and leaned to the left. His abdominal oblique muscles made their presence known, and perspiration tickled along his hairline.

The men straightened to standing again. The log lurched to the right, and Clay scooted his feet to compensate. McKillop swore—he must have been the one who stumbled.

“Y’all can do it, boys. All together,” Clay said. With both hands he thrust the log overhead. Every muscle in his arms screamed and screamed harder when he lowered the log to his left shoulder. The weight increased—one of the men behind him had messed up.

For the next half hour, they manipulated that log. The drill built both muscle and teamwork, and Clay put his all into it.

At last they set the log down on the dirt, with only a few new scratches on ears and shoulders and hands.

“To the pit,” Lombardi called. “Double time.”

The men jogged off the parade grounds and along the road.

Gene fell in beside Clay. “Hate picking up their slack when they’ve got hangovers.”

“It evens out. Remember, they picked up our slack when we had dysentery.”

“Don’t remind me.” Gene clutched his stomach as they ran. “Glad Rudder’s putting our cooks through cooking school.”

“Me too.” Major Rudder showed no mercy in training the men. But he’d also moved the Rangers out of Tent City and into real wooden barracks with showers and a dayroom and electric lights. He’d started