The landing craft’s ramp slammed down onto the cold French sand. British Commandos surged forward, their faces darkened with camouflage cream. Bren gunner Tommy Atkins hugged the dune, providing cover as his mates dashed past. "Go, go, go!" hissed Sergeant Miller, his Thompson gun sweeping the ridge.
Their objective: a suspected German radio post in a stone farmhouse. They moved like ghosts through the hedgerows, each man a tiny brick-built warrior in a very real war. Reaching the wall, Corporal Evans placed the shaped charge. A muffled crump, and they were in, clearing rooms with precisio