Here is an excerpt from the book Angels in Iron.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
25 May, St. Elmo malta,
Turkish cannon greeted the dawn with such enthusiasm their voices reached Sicily. Birgu and Senglea had little hope St. Elmo would survive the day.
Those at St. Elmo concurred.
The Knights kept low but Turkish shot found them. Cannonballs ricocheted throughout the fort, seeking out defenders and blasting them to bits. Blood was the order of the day and the screams of dying men lifted over Sciberras, a tortured chorus.
Crumbling St. Elmo smoked beneath the scorching sun.
DiCorso lay a dying Knight on the ground. The man had been struck on the forehead by a flying stone.
"DiCorso?" the delirious Frenchman groaned.
"I am here."
"DiCorso?"
Michele took his hand. "Yes, brother?"
"The crucifix about my neck--see it is returned to my family...ours since the Great Crusade."
DiCorso nodded. "If at all possible, I shall return it myself."
The Knight smiled faintly, apparently relieved.
"So speaks the saint."
DiCorso stayed until the Knight died, then transferred the gold chain to his own neck.
"Take him away," he told a soldier then gathered his weapons and returned to the crumbling wall.
Rambaldi had not slept for two days and he felt pleasantly feverish. Knights lay dead all around him.
"Come now, slaves!" he shouted over the wall. "Shall I teach you to aim better?"
The snipers had missed him so many times he felt invulnerable. An arquebus shot zipped by his head.
"Not good enough!" he cried, aimed at a distant figure and pulled the trigger.
A red splash erupted from the Turk's forehead and he fell from sight. Rambaldi laughed and squatted behind the parapet, telling a young Spanish soldier:
"He should have stayed home!"
"My-my lord?" the soldier stammered.
Rambaldi reloaded without looking.
"Stay low, boy," he advised.
At that moment a cannonball crashed through the chapel roof; men streamed from the building. Rambaldi stared at the spectacle, mulling a past misdeed. He was surprised to hear himself whispering a Psalm. Finishing, he crossed himself.
"You'd think God would spare a church," the Spaniard said.
Rambaldi gave a dry chuckle.
"When he didn't spare his own son?"
"It doesn't seem right."
Rambaldi looked into the soldier's wide eyes. "Don't fret, boy. He won't spare us, either."
The Knight stood and fired.