“Where do you think we are?” Slade O’Brien shouted into George’s ear as they crouched together in the gorse at the top of the cliff.
“I don’t know.”
“Those navy sonsabitches! They not only got us on the wrong beach, I bet they got us on the wrong God-damn’ continent.”
“I think those are the Royals down there! I got a look at some of them on the way up. They’re not our guys and they’re not the South Sasks. They must be either the Royals or the Hamiltons.”
“Christ! If it’s the Royals we’re four miles from where we should be.”
“Did the rest of our guys make it from the boat?”
“I don’t think so. When I came up I only saw one other of our guys besides you. It was Cookie Wallace. He was floating and I made a grab for him but he was gone. When I saw you running up the path I went after you.
