The Land Beneath Us (Sunrise at Normandy #3) - Sarah Sundin Page 0,91

Poor Bobby doesn’t stand a chance.”

The girls came closer, taller than Leah by several inches, nourished by better food and attention than Leah had received. Thank goodness they’d found a loving home.

The girls spotted her.

“Good morning, ma’am.” Callie pressed a hand to her chest. “Lovely morning for a sonnet, is it not?”

That gratitude raised a smile. “It is.”

Polly shook her head at Leah as they passed on the sidewalk. “Pardon my sister, ma’am. She’s loopy.”

Her eyes—it was like looking in a mirror.

Callie grabbed Polly’s arm and hugged it. “But I’m your loop-de-loop.”

“You are.” Polly laughed.

And the two little muses walked away. Away from Leah.

Certainty crushed her chest, her breath, her hope, her dreams.

They were complete apart from her, happy and healthy and together.

Leah had to let them go.

41

POINTE DU HOC

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7, 1944

Clay opened his eyes. Or was he still dreaming?

Pale morning light filled the giant bowl of the crater. Clay rested with his head about two feet below the rim on the southern side. The dirt, the pebbles, the tuft of burnt grass—everything was just like in his recurring dream.

Clay swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He took his canteen off his belt and took a swig, just like in his dream. Only this time he tasted the metallic water and felt it drop into the emptiness of his stomach.

This was no dream. This was his dream coming to life.

Dizziness swept through him, but he shook it away. Lord, give me strength.

Gene dozed beside him. So much for staying awake while Clay slept. On the far side of the crater Ruby watched over the northern rim, and Taylor stirred awake at Ruby’s feet.

Clay inched higher. Light gray powder dusted the edge of the crater. He found a notch in the rim and peered through.

A pillbox stood about one hundred feet away, where Clay knew it would be, one of the giant reinforced concrete casemates the Germans had been building to house the 155-mm guns. The guns had never been installed.

Murmuring voices came from that direction—and not in English.

Clay sank back into the pit. Help me do this, Lord.

He nudged Gene awake, then crawled to Lieutenant Taylor. “Sir, there’s a casemate over yonder. Germans inside.”

Taylor rubbed bleary eyes. Had anyone—other than Gene—gotten any good sleep? “It was clear last night. Of course, the Krauts have tunnels and trenches connecting everything.”

“Yes, sir.”

Taylor crawled over and looked over the top for a minute, then slipped back inside. “Ruby, go get the fellows in the crater next door.” He tilted his head toward the saddle of ground where two craters intersected.

“We’ve got to take it,” Clay said. That casemate had a line of fire to Rudder’s headquarters and to the observation post on the tip of the point, still occupied by Germans. The Rangers would be trapped at headquarters and wouldn’t be able to take the observation post, and Clay’s detachment would be cut off from HQ.

Worse, the Germans could use that position to cover a counterattack against the weakened American force. Only about ninety Rangers still bore arms, some of them wounded like Gene.

Taylor squatted and drew in the dirt—a C shape for the casemate and circles for the two craters, like an elongated version of a child’s drawing of a face.

Half a dozen Rangers crawled over the saddle into Clay’s crater.

“Here’s the deal.” Taylor drew a line like a cigarette in the face’s mouth. “They have at least one machine gun in there, small arms too, I’m sure. I don’t know how many men—at least two. We can’t make a frontal assault. We’d get slaughtered.”

Yet Clay would indeed make a frontal assault.

“We need to take it from behind.” He nodded to John Perkovich from the other platoon. “You and Ellis still have a satchel charge, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The machine gun is trained to our right, our best line of approach to the rear. To our left, there’s a bunch of rubble that would slow us down. We wouldn’t stand a chance going that way.”

Clay set a finger near the pebbles Taylor was placing to indicate the rubble. “We need a distraction on our left flank to draw fire, so Perkovich and Ellis can circle round and blow the back door.”

Taylor sat on his haunches and sighed. “I’m open to ideas, boys.”

“I can run up here.” Clay drew a line beside the rubble. “I’ve got two grenades. I’ll toss one in, two if needed.”

“No.” Taylor frowned at him. “It’s suicidal.”

Clay shrugged. That was beside the point, but he had to convince the lieutenant. “Not