It was seven o’clock in the evening. Lieutenant Andrews entered the command post tent and saw the company clerk, Pfc Jerome Carrington, sitting at his desk.
“Where’s Sergeant Jones?” Lieutenant Andrews asked.
“He’s in with the old man.”
“Tell Captain Tugwell I’d like to speak with him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Pfc Carrington got up and went through the tent flags into the area that Captain Tugwell used for his office. Lieutenant Andrews waited in front of the desk, looking down at the orders and rosters and carbon copies of morning reports. The desk was lit by a kerosene lamp, and a light pitter-patter of rain was falling on the tent.
Lieutenant Andrews was from Maine, and he’d spent many nights in tents before he’d joined the Army. He’d gone hunting with his father and Uncle Joe all over Maine and the province of New Brunswick in Canada. The sound of rain on the roof of a tent always had seemed comforting to him somehow, as though he was safe and secure, but he didn’t feel that way now, because Germans weren’t very far away, and indeed the sound of artillery and small arms fire could be heard from the direction of the front lines.
Pfc Carrington returned. “Captain Tugwell says go in.”
Lieutenant Andrews pulled aside the tent flap and walked into Captain Tugwell’s office. Captain Tugwell sat on one side of his desk and Sergeant Jones on the other side. They were playing dominoes, and a bottle of French brandy with two glasses was beside them. Lieutenant Andrews didn’t feel it appropriate to come to attention and salute in such a situation.
“What’s on your mind, Andrews,” Captain Tugwell drawled out the side of his mouth, looking at the array of dominoes before him.
“I want to talk to you about a transfer, sir.”
“Who and where?”
“Two experienced soldiers were transferred into the company today,” Lieutenant Andrews said. “One is in my platoon and the other is in the third platoon. I’d like to bring them both together in my platoon, since people who’ve worked together and fought together in the past know how to function together as a team better than strangers.”
“No,” said Captain Tugwell, placing one of his dominoes on the table.
Lieutenant Andrews waited for an explanation, but after several seconds realized he wouldn’t get one unless he asked. “Why not?”
Captain Tugwell looked up at him. “You’re a new second lieutenant, Andrews. You shouldn’t let wise guys like Mahoney push you around.”
“Nobody’s pushing me around, sir.”
“No? Are you gonna tell me that Mahoney didn’t put you up to this?”
“He suggested the transfer to me, and when he told me his reasoning, I agreed with him.”
“In other words, he bullshit you and you fell for it.”
Sergeant Oakie Jones guffawed, and Lieutenant Andrews’ face turned red. “What’s so funny, Jones?” Andrews demanded.
“Leave my first sergeant alone,” Tugwell said. “Go back to your platoon and stop listening to Mahoney. He’s a wise guy and a bullshit artist and you should be careful with him. Understand?”
“If I’d listened to him, I wouldn’t have come here.”
“What was that?”
“He told me that you wouldn’t do it.”
Tugwell took a puff from his cigarette. The smoke curled up to his right eye and he closed it. “You should have listened to him.”
“You just told me not to listen to him.”
Captain Tugwell sniffed as he looked at Lieutenant Andrews with distaste. Andrews was a college graduate with clear diction and nice manners, and Tugwell didn’t like him. “You should listen to him when he’s right and not pay any attention to him when he’s wrong.”
“I think he’s right about the transfer. He’s got more combat experience than most of us in this company, and I think a lot can be learned from him.”
“I think you’re wrong,” Tugwell retorted. “Mahoney and Cranepool are troublemakers and we have to keep them apart. That’s my final word on your transfer request. You may return to your platoon.”
“What makes you so sure they’re troublemakers?”
“I said you may return to your platoon.”
“Yes sir.”
Lieutenant Andrews turned and walked out of the command post tent.