It was the peculiar time of day with that unique, warm weather where the sun seems suspended in coloured liquid. A few light clouds covered the sky, and were lit by that same sun as it slowly made its way below the horizon. That light cast darkness and lengthening shadows across the rolling ground, featured with hard-packed dirt roads, small farming complexes, most often a barn, a farmhouse, some fields, generally surrounded by a low stone wall. Thankfully the hedgerows had been left behind.
A knocked out M4A2 Sherman tank, all hatches open and a hole punched into the middle of the hull's flank, sat on the road leading between a small farm and a low, tree-covered hill, fronted by a sporadically brush-filled depression. The farm was missing much of the wall facing the depression, half of the farmhouse had been blown away, the barn was missing an end wall and the doors had long since been knocked off. It looked uninhabited.
Through binoculars held by hands steadied on the hood of the umb