" The shells had landed on the cobblestone road.

"Sonsofbitches," Wiseman muttered.

We looked up and grinned at each other.

"Here they come again!"

Sitting in an inch of water. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, held my breath, and clutched my elbows with my arms around my knees.

Three more shells came in, low and angry, and burst in the orchard.

"They're walking 'em towards us," I whispered.

I felt as if a giant with exploding iron fingers were looking for me, tearing up the ground as he came. I wanted to strike at him, to kill him, to stop him before he ripped into me, but I could do nothing. Sit and take it, sit and take it. The giant raked the orchard and tore up the roads and stumbled toward us in a terrible blind wrath as we sat in our hole with our heads between our legs and curses on our lips. "

― David Kenyon Webster , Parachute Infantry: An American Paratrooper's Memoir of D-Day and the Fall of the Third Reich