The deuce-and-a-half stopped beside a command post tent in the middle of a field filled with Sherman tanks. Mahoney looked out the back of the truck and saw a flag with the Cross of Lorraine on it flying beside the tent. It was one o’clock in the afternoon and the French tankers were sitting around eating lunch.
Major Denton got out of the cab and walked around to the rear of the truck. “Come down from there, men,” he said. “We’re going in to see General Duloc.”
Followed by his men, Denton walked into the tent and saw a young French lieutenant sitting behind the desk. “Hello there,” Denton said in French. “My name’s Denton and these are my men. I’m here to see General Duloc.”
“He’s busy.”
“I’m sure he is,” Denton said in a friendly diplomatic manner, “but I’m from General Bradley’s headquarters and I have orders to speak with General Duloc forthwith.”
“I said he’s busy,” the lieutenant said. “You’ll have to wait.”
“Wait?” asked Denton. “But I’m supposed to see him right away. I’m from General Bradley’s headquarters—don’t you understand?”
“I said you’ll have to wait.”
Denton’s face turned red with anger. Mahoney also was getting mad. The American Army had equipped and were supplying the French, and Duloc didn’t have time to see some Americans?
Mahoney pushed Denton out of the way and rested his fists on the French lieutenant’s desk. “What’s General Duloc doing that he’s too busy to speak with General Bradley’s representatives?” he asked in a menacing tone.
The lieutenant looked at Mahoney’s sergeant stripes. “How dare you talk to me that way!”
A voice came from the other side of the tent. “What’s the problem, Lieutenant Grévin?”
“Some Americans are here to see you, sir, but I told them you’re busy.”
“I’m never too busy to see Americans.”
The canvas door parted and General Georges Duloc stepped into Lieutenant Grévin’s section of the tent. Duloc was a tall rawboned man in his forties with close-cropped brown hair and a thin mustache. Lieutenant Grévin shot to his feet.
Major Denton saluted. “Major Denton reporting, sir!”
Duloc returned the salute. “Good to see you, Denton. Welcome to the French 12th Armored Division.” His eyes fell on Mahoney, whose face was bruised and left eye was half closed. I wonder what happened to him? Duloc thought.
“We’re the American liaison unit you’ve been expecting sir,” Denton continued. “We’re supposed to travel with your headquarters and draw rations from your mess.”
“I’ve been expecting you,” Duloc replied. “General Bradley told me you were coming. Well, pitch your tents wherever you can find room, and if you need anything, see Lieutenant Grévin here. Is there anything else?”
“When do you think we’ll move out, sir?”
“First thing in the morning.”
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, then Denton saluted and led his men out of the tent.
After they were gone, Lieutenant Grévin said, “I can’t stand Americans.”
Duloc smiled. “You don’t have to like them, Grévin. You only have to get along with them. I’m not too enchanted with Americans myself, but we need them right now, understand?”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Good.” Duloc turned and walked back to his office.