Miller yet again was first to run up the beach. The sound of Smith's rifle was still the loudest sound ringing in his ears, next to the unbearable silence after an artillery round or mine went off nearby. Malarkey and Johansen's BARs were not as loud as before. In fact, it sounded as though only one was firing. When Miller reached the shingle, he turned back and looked at their position, and he was right, only one BAR was shooting.
Malarkey lay doubled over one of the arms of the tank trap he was using as cover, his gun lying at his side. A trail of blood was going from his mid-section all the way back to the ocean. Johansen was moving and shooting at the same time, trying to make it over to his friend's body. Smith wasn't letting up, for now most of the covering fire was in his hands. But he couldn't handle it alone, especially not with one sniper rifle. The MG-42s came back to life. There was a loud series of clangs and pings and sand flying up in the air around Smith's firing spot. When the dust settled, Smith was laying face down, his rifle split in two. Johansen realized too late. He stopped at Malarkey's body and raised his gun, desperately trying to regain control of the situation. But with a loud whistle and a deafening boom, all that was left of Johansen was a smoldering crater left by a German artillery battery.
The rest of 3rd Squad leapt down onto the shingle, with Doc following shortly after. Even under the circumstances they had managed to only lose two others, both riflemen. Miller couldn't worry about that now. He had to get through the shingle. The sand was extremely thick, so digging was out of the question, and the barbed wire was too far back to be cut; you'd be shot before you finished. They would need those bangalores.
"Ramsey! DeFort! Gellar! Bring up the bangalores!" Miller shouted down the line. The three privates scrambled to their feat and brought the explosive-packed tubes over to Miller, who started passing them down the line. One by one the tubes were lowered over the shingle.
"Bangalores in place, sir!" Sergeant Powell yelled from the other side of the line.
"Alright, then. Fire in the hole!" Miller barked, lit his fuse, and ducked down behind the shingle.
"Fire in the hole!" Powell shouted soon after, lighting and ducking, too.
In a few seconds, a series of resounding booms filled the men's ears. When it settled, Miller looked over the wall. Perfect, he thought.
"Alright men! Defilade, other side of the hole! Move!" Miller said to his men as he leapt clambered over the top of what was left of the shingle.