and started climbing.
“So’s this one.” Ruby worked his way up a plain line.
Clay stood with his back to the cliff, waiting his turn, catching his breath.
Nine gray-blue LCAs sat just offshore, and Rangers flowed out, over the beach, skirting giant craters. Ropes dangled over the cliff, and men worked their way up.
That machine gun kept up its racket far to his right, and bullets skittered over the beach.
“Medic!”
Clay’s breath caught. Several men lay on the beach, and his feet edged their direction.
No. Not today. “There’s ‘a time to every purpose under the heaven.’ This isn’t my healing time.”
In front of his LCA, a man lay at water’s edge, clutching his leg and crying out.
Sergeant Lombardi!
Clay looped his rifle strap over his shoulder and ran to him.
Lombardi’s left knee was stained bright red, and his lower leg sat at an awkward angle. He spotted Clay and grimaced. “Get up that cliff, Pax!”
Clay hooked his hands under the man’s armpits. “In a minute.”
“What’ve I always told you? Leave the wounded for the medics.”
Clay dragged him across the beach, his heels digging into the loose stones. “If I leave you here, there won’t be anything left for the medics.”
A thumping sound, and Lombardi screamed. Red bloomed on his right ankle—hit again!
“Medic! Medic!” Clay pulled harder, right up to the cliff face, and he shoved Lombardi into a depression.
“Should’ve—made you—a medic,” Lombardi said through gritted teeth.
“Can’t hear you, Sarge. Got a cliff to climb, a gun to disable, and a road to block.” He wrapped his hands around the plain rope.
“And a—a section to lead.”
Clay stared down at his section leader. Lombardi wouldn’t be climbing any cliffs today, so Clay nodded. Granted, each man knew his objective, so they didn’t need much leading.
Above him the men of his squad were making their way up, with Holman following McKillop on the toggle line, and Gene following Ruby on the plain line. On the beach, the four men of the BAR squad strafed the cliff edge with their automatic rifles.
A bright orange flash out to sea. A destroyer fired at Pointe du Hoc, but a different ship than earlier.
That might not be Wyatt, but Clay sure appreciated the Navy.
Time to climb. The rope was wet, but Clay started up, familiar muscles tightening and working.
When his feet slipped on the muddy cliff face, his hands held. And when his hands slipped, his feet held.
McKillop scrambled over the top, and shots rang out.
“Come on, y’all. Faster!” Clay pumped his arms and legs, determined to catch up with his buddies.
Ruby went over the top too.
“I can’t do it.” Holman clutched the rope about ten feet from the top and lay flat on a hump on the cliff. He’d suffered from seasickness for over two hours, and he still looked green.
Clay kept climbing. “You have to. Ruby and McKillop need you.”
Holman moaned and resumed his climb. “I can’t.”
“You don’t have a choice. You can’t stay there. And you can’t hold up the line.”
“Move it, Holman!” Brady shouted from below, with Lyons right behind him.
Holman cussed, climbed another foot, then sagged. “I just can’t.”
At the top of the cliff, Gene crawled over the edge.
“G. M.! Wait up. Cover me.” Clay jammed his toes into the mud and hauled himself over the top.
Gene knelt before him, rifle raised. “You’re covered.”
Clay swung around to the other rope, went down on one knee, and leaned over the side. “Come on, Holman! One more step, then I can help you.”
Holman’s hand shook, but he wrapped it around the rope and pulled himself up.
“That’s it.” Clay grabbed both his friend’s forearms, dug in his heel, and pulled. “You’re almost there.”
Another foot higher, and Clay latched onto his collar and heaved the man up onto the cliff top like a dead fish.
Then Clay slung off his rifle and swept his gaze around.
“This way!” Gene jumped into a crater.
Clay scrabbled down inside. He’d never seen a crater so big—it had to be twenty feet across. So that was what a 14-inch shell did.
He flopped on his stomach against the side of the crater and peeked over the edge.
All those rubber maps. All those sand tables. Worthless.
The land before him bore no resemblance to any map, to any land he’d ever seen. Pocked by giant craters, swirling with wispy smoke, all landmarks obliterated.
“What now?” Holman slithered into the crater, with Brady and Lyons behind him.
Clay knifed his hand westward. “Let’s find that gun.”
CHICAGO
Today might turn out to be the saddest in Leah’s life, and yet sweet, joyful peace swirled