Early one February morning Captain Ligouzat escorted me to the outskirts of a small Alsatian town northeast of Thann and handed me over to a French tank unit. After a succinct briefing about my next mission, I was assigned to ride inside an armored personnel carrier, une voiture blindée. I’d never suffered from claustrophobia before, but it was dark and close inside, the air stale with sweat and fear and fuel. There were two soldiers—the driver and a gunner—and me. I sat next to the driver in the semidarkness, shifting in my seat. In front of us were two Sherman tanks, and behind us were more
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