the 116th Infantry Regiment and the Rangers from Omaha around noon.” Taylor gestured east, toward Vierville, and then to the west. “We expect German reinforcements from the south and the west, so that’s where we’ll set up defenses. We need one more patrol down this lane.”
“I’ll do that, sir. Holman, Ruby, you’re with me.” Clay led them across the paved highway and down the dirt lane, flanked by tall hedgerows. Twenty feet down the lane, Clay found a gap in the hedgerow—an empty field lay on the other side.
“Anyone seen G. M.?” The question caught on his throat.
“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.
Taylor grinned. “D Company found and disabled five guns, E Company blew up the ammunition dump, F Company cleared Au Guay, the roadblock is set, and we’ve sent runners to Rudder at his headquarters on the point. All before 0900.”
“Great news, sir.” Now they just had to hold off any German counterattacks and wait a few hours for the force from Omaha Beach.
Taylor gathered the men. “All right, boys. We have about fifty men here at the highway. We’ll set up defensive positions down this north-south lane and at the east-west lane bordering the orchard.”
Clay’s squad received an assignment toward the middle of the orchard lane, and they headed east down the highway.
Ahead lay the village of Au Guay. Ancient stone houses and mossy stone walls stood silent and wary.
Clay turned right down a dirt lane. If it weren’t for the rifle in his hand and the sound of gunfire in the distance, it would make a pleasant stroll in the country.
But everything felt crooked. Down these lanes lay no craters to serve as his pit, no pillboxes to storm.
Had he misinterpreted his dream? Had his imagination played tricks on him?
Clay tripped on a root. He hadn’t felt so unbalanced in years.
CHICAGO
Leah burst through Juanita’s front door. “I found them! I found my sisters!”
“You did?” Mama Paxton rose from the chair by the radio. “Are they