The Land Beneath Us (Sunrise at Normandy #3) - Sarah Sundin Page 0,92
if we do it right. I’ll sneak up as close as I can. Soon as they spot me, have a couple fellows lay down covering fire. We’ll make a racket over here, make them think we’re attacking from the left. That’ll draw their fire.”
“Not for long.”
“It’ll make them duck, slow them down. Soon as they start moving that machine gun, Perkovich and Ellis make a run for it.”
Taylor rubbed his stubbled chin. “I don’t like it.”
“It’s the only way.”
Taylor’s gray eyes fixed hard on Clay. “You once told me it wasn’t your healing time. You’d better pray it’s your killing time.”
“Yes, sir.” It was also his dying time. But he was ready. He had to be.
Taylor assigned some to the demolitions squad and others to cover Clay with a BAR, rifles, and a whole lot of noise.
The men went to their positions, and Clay rested against the side of the crater.
Furrows cracked the dirt on Gene’s forehead. “Are you sure, Clay? I don’t like it.”
He’d never been so sure of anything in his life, and he smiled. “Just cover me, buddy.”
Clay turned his gaze to the gray clouds, the fragments of blue. How many more breaths did he have? How many heartbeats?
He reached inside his field jacket, pulled his Bible from the breast pocket of his shirt, and opened it to see the picture of Leah and Helen. Good-bye, my loves. A kiss, and he tucked the Bible back in place.
God had given him the dream so he’d have courage and peace at the end. He did, but it was a dark and sad peace.
At the saddle, Taylor exchanged hand signals with the demolitions team, then signaled Clay. Whenever Clay was ready.
He was ready. He was. But his muscles and brain felt like mush. Lord, get me through this. Get me home to you.
This was for a purpose, to take that casemate and protect the Rangers’ position. If the Germans wiped out the 2nd Battalion, they could move more artillery to the point, artillery that would endanger the fleet and the landing beaches.
For his buddies. For his brothers.
One long deep breath, and Clay crawled up to the rim of the crater. The German machine gun was still trained to the Rangers’ right flank. Soft German voices bounced over the battered landscape, light laughter.
Clay pulled out a hand grenade, the ridged cast iron heavy and cold, and it settled into his palm like a baseball.
It was time. Clay climbed over the side, Joseph rising from his pit, rising to what he’d been called to do, created to do.
With his gaze and ears fixed on the casemate, he crept closer, hunched over, his muscles taut and ready to sprint, his heart and lungs pumping in tandem.
A sharp cry from the German side.
Clay yanked out the pin and broke into a full run.
Shouts and gunfire blasted behind him, good old American rifles.
The Maschinengewehr 42 opened fire, ripping into his memories, the sound he’d heard in his dream, on the training field, and now in his final moments.
It arced in his direction.
Now!
Running hard, Clay coiled for his final pitch.
He could see Adler at bat, Wyatt squatting behind him with a baseball glove, egging him on.
Clay would never see them again.
“Ahhhh!” He yelled, lunged forward on his left leg, and let the grenade fly.
The machine gun barrel swept his way, spattering out death.
Clay saw his bullet. Impossible. No one could see a flying bullet, but he did.
And he didn’t want it.
He wanted to see his wife and daughter, the girls he loved. He wanted to hear their laughter. He wanted to hold them tight.
He wanted to live.
The grenade disappeared into the dark mouth of the casemate.
The tracer fire was upon him.
“No!” Clay twisted away, threw himself forward.
Heat seared through his chest, cracking, roasting, tearing through his right side.
He fell to the ground, hands splayed before him.
An explosion rocked the earth, and he lifted his head, his mouth hot and wet.
Smoke poured out of the casemate.
Clay had succeeded. The Germans would be dead, injured, or too stunned to resist. His buddies would take the position.
“Clay! Pax!” Gene cried, high and frantic. “Medic!”
Too late for that, and Clay rested his cheek on the land beneath him.