The pilot said, “Keep a close watch for low-flying bombers. They’re all over the place today, cleaning out isolated German pockets.” Almost at once they were over the marshes. “That’s our road to the sea.” André pointed. The mists broke away sharply over the Channel. André gasped. A staggering panorama had been unveiled. Pigmy files of marching troops, pigmy tanks and trucks crawled up the sea road in an endless procession. Oceanward, beyond the shore bluff and wreck-strewn beach, lay a sight which André could scarcely take in. Hundreds of ships extended as far as he could see across the gray waves. Over the ships, huge balloons lolled and bobbed and tugged at their anchors. Destroyers and landing craft darted between the shore and a line of hundreds of transports. André could make out a fleet of planes heading toward Cherbourg to the north. And from that direction, the dull thud of bombs rolled back on the wet air. “It is grand,” he managed to say breathlessly. “But--” he hesitated, and added slowly, “it is terrible for the French people. So many guns and bombs pointed at us.” Carson glanced down at him. “They are pointed at the Germans,” he corrected André. “Don’t forget that we’re trying not to hurt France more than necessary.” “_Oui_, I know,” André said. “But sir, I did not know there were so many ships and guns in the whole world.” “Well,” said Carson, “take a good look while you’ve got the chance. I’ve got my bearings now.” André studied the beach below. In the shallow water, wrecked landing craft swung uselessly, half-awash. On the sea’s edge lay tanks which had reached shore only to be shelled into wreckage. Savage battles had turned the sands into a disorder of blasted, blackened gun pits and machine-gun nests. [Illustration] Twice, while Carson circled, André saw him fiddling with the radio. Then he spoke into the hand microphone, and listened for a few moments. “Got ’em at last,” he said. “They say we’ve got to hold off awhile longer. Some Luftwaffe guy got through last night and bombed the strip. They’re just finishing repairs. See them down there?” André looked directly down. Tiny men laying strips of steel mesh moved in groups, like ants. Bulldozers swept along one side. And between the airstrip and the sea, supplies were piling up steadily into mountains. Carson grinned. “I’ll bet that’s my general pacing up and down in front of that big tent.” A second later, he said, “As long as we can’t get down right away, how about we take a look at the English and Canadian beachheads?” He swung alongshore and headed eastward. Carson pointed out the little city of Carentan. There was a rattle of machine guns below, and the pilot threw the plane into a series of violent turns. Noises like angry wasps streaked past their ears. André swayed dizzily.