It was ten o’clock in the evening and the French 12th Armored Division was celebrating its great victory. The men passed around bottles of Calvados, ate American C rations, and sang songs.
At the command post tent, General Duloc sat with his staff officers and discussed the events of the day. A campfire was burning nearby and in its glow the officers studied maps, smoked cigarettes, and told stories of their adventures.
“Now,” General Duloc said triumphantly, puffing his pipe, “Paris lies directly in our path. I doubt whether the Germans will be able to mount much of a resistance against us. I expect that we’ll arrive late tomorrow.”
The officers looked at each other and smiled, for each of them had a relative or friend living in Paris, and many of them were native Parisians. They spoke of the things they’d do once they reached Paris and drank Calvados from tin cups.
Around eleven o’clock, the unmuffled sound of a truck engine could be heard. At first it was far away and nobody paid much attention to it, but after a while it came closer and the French officers couldn’t help noticing that the engine was working fitfully, its gears were grinding, the tappets were tapping, and a couple of the pistons weren’t firing regularly.
General Duloc wrinkled his nose at the horrible sound. “What in the world is that?” he asked.
As if to answer his question, a beat-up deuce-and-a-half truck turned off the road and rumbled over the field toward the campfire. The truck was missing a bumper and fender, it was riddled with bullet and shrapnel holes, and its canopy was torn to shreds. As it approached the campfire, Lieutenant Grévin recognized Major Denton of the U.S. Army sitting in the front seat beside the driver.
“It’s the Americans!” Grévin said.
Duloc shook his head and groaned. “Oh no.”
“I’d wondered what happened to them,” said another officer.
Grévin sighed. “Everything was so nice without them.”
General Duloc threw his cigarette butt into the campfire. “I’d hoped that we’d lost them,” he said.
The truck stopped and the door on the passenger side opened. Major Denton climbed down and figures could be seen jumping from the tailgate. They assembled and walked toward the campfire, and as the light illuminated them, the French officers could see that the Americans were filthy and bedraggled, their uniforms torn and bandages tied around their arms and legs.
Major Denton marched stiffly to General Duloc and saluted. “Good evening, sir. I’d like to get some rations and fresh uniforms for my men, and we’ll also need repairs on our truck. Who shall I see about taking care of these matters?”
Duloc stood and looked at the Americans in amazement. He’d thought they’d been hiding in a safe spot someplace, but now it appeared that they’d been in the thick of the fighting. The master sergeant among them had two German submachine guns slung from his shoulders, two German pistols stuck in his belt, ammunition hanging everywhere, and five gold watches on his wrist.
“Where have you been?” Duloc asked.
“Well sir,” Denton replied, “It’s a long story but to make it short: we got cut off from the rest of you and were behind German lines for a while.”
“Looks like you’ve seen some fighting.”
“Yes sir, we did. And now, if you don’t mind, we’d like to get something to eat and maybe see some medical people.”
“Yes of course,” Duloc replied. He turned to Lieutenant Grévin. “Take them to the mess tent and have some medics take a look at them. Tell the transportation officer to take care of their transportation
“Yes sir.” Grévin looked at the Americans. “Come with me, please.”
The Americans followed Grévin in the direction of the mess tent. Duloc sat down on his camp chair and puffed his pipe. “They look like they’ve had quite a bad time,” he mused.
“Too bad it wasn’t harder,” said another officer.
Duloc puffed his pipe. “The Americans are a strange people,” he said. “They can be exceedingly perplexing at times, but they’re always full of surprises. Sometimes I can’t stand them, and other times I’m very grateful they’re on our side. I’d certainly hate to have them as enemies.”
With a shrug, Duloc removed his pipe from his mouth and reached for his cup of Calvados.