A second lieutenant jumped up from his desk in the outer office when I walked in. He saluted and I returned an awkward salute. I always felt self-conscious about saluting, because I didn’t deem myself a bona fide Army officer.
“I’m here to see General Pershing,” I said. “I’ve just come from General Funston.”
“Yes, sir, just a moment,” the lieutenant said. He picked up the telephone and dialed one number. Seconds later I heard Pershing’s voice from inside his office.
“Send him in,” he bellowed.
When I walked into Pershing’s office, I saw a lean, six-foot-tall man about my age with a crop of sandy hair and a like-colored moustache that matched the width of his thin, downturned mouth. His face was furrowed and weathered by the sun. This was a hard, disciplined man who did not suffer fools
