"Samuel, one of your best qualities is your voice. It is well suited to the battlefield. Authoritative and distinctive. I remember it from our days in the trenches. It was, however, less well-suited to duty with your embassy in Paris. Neither of us was meant for the diplomatic service, I think. Forgive the dramatics," he said, gesturing toward the guards standing at attention, "but the times call for caution."

"Caution kept us both alive in the last war, too." Harding said to me. "Colonel Baril and I were lieutenants together during the First World War. He was attached as a liaison to my unit. He showed me the ropes when we first went into the trenches and saved a lot of our boys from getting killed right off."

"Samuel is too modest. He also saved my life, you know," Baril responded. "But let us save reminiscences for another time. We have much to discuss. Come inside."

We sat around a conference table in Colonel Baril's office next to a large window overlooking the bluff and the beaches beyond. The sea was filled with our ships and landing craft. The fort's guns were quiet. Arab servants in white coats served us thick, black coffee in little cups with handles you couldn't fit a finger through. I looked at Harding and somewhat grudgingly admitted to myself that he had really pulled off something spectacular. I was impressed with the fact that I had personally invaded North Africa and now was having coffee with these nice Frenchmen, as opposed to being blown to bits by them. I decided the survival of Billy Boyle deserved comment.

"Nice job, Major," I said to Harding, gesturing at the scene below. No need to go overboard with praise for the boss.

"Pay your compliments to Colonel Baril, Lieutenant Boyle," Harding said rather curtly. "He's the one who has put his head on the block to make sure this fort doesn't oppose our landing."