June 23. A sniper fired at Christenson, from 600 meters. Chris ducked behind a hedgerow and shouted to Robbins to spray the area from which the bullet came. Robbins fired fifty rounds at the distant trees. “I could hear a nervous grumbling from the men down the line,” Christenson remembered. “Tension always grew when out of complete silence a machine-gun fires that many rounds.” In the far distance, the sound of mortars belched, waump, waump, waump, waump. “This nerve-racking sound confirmed that four mortar bombs were heading in our direction. The suspense of waiting is eerie. Indescribable.
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