1901

28

T HEODORE ROOSEVELT SIPPED his tea and looked out at the now-empty Lafayette Park. Was it only a few weeks ago that it had been the scene of riotous celebrations? He watched as a January wind took a whipped piece of newspaper about. He hoped it was from a Hearst publication.

“John, I have made some plans.”

John Hay placed his cup on its saucer with a gentle clink. “I’m not surprised.”

“This is a wonderful opportunity for the United States. I aim to see that we do not waste it. I will ask Congress for a constitutional amendment that will enable me, with their consent, to nominate someone as vice president.”

“Excellent idea.”

“Assuming it passes, I wish that person to be you.”

“Theodore, I am honored, but I am also rather old.”

Roosevelt flashed a toothy grin. “You are too old and I am too young. It averages out. John, let me be realistic. I need your experience and wisdom, and the country knows it. I am the youngest man ever to hold this office, and when I run on my own, many will still consider me too young. John, I need you.”

Hay thought briefly of others, like Root, who openly wished higher office. It would be a problem. But he could deal with it. “I’m honored.”

“Good. That’s settled. Now to the rest of it. What happened last summer may never happen again.”

“Agreed.”

“Therefore, I am going to propose, along with accelerating the navy expansion, that our standing army be set at two hundred and fifty thousand men. That will be nearly a threefold increase over what we have now. We will need more warships, and that means submarines, not just battleships.”

“The Democratic opposition will not like it.”

Roosevelt rose and commenced to pace. “Damnit, John, we are a world power whether we wish to be or not. In the space of three short years we have defeated both Spain and Germany, and now the British wish us to join with them in an alliance of English-speaking peoples that would span the globe.”

“Some are afraid the British will dominate us in any such alliance,” Hay pointed out.

“Let them try. Their empire is on the decline, only they haven’t yet figured it out, whereas ours is ascending. No, we will start out as equals and commence to dominate them. Especially when we dig a canal across the Isthmus of Panama.” He clapped his hands in glee. “We have a navy; we will have an army and, very soon, a canal. We are a power!”

Hay sipped his tea. He would rather have had a whiskey. The idea of a canal was just about at the implementation stage. It would go forward whether the Colombians wanted it or not. He also felt that the American mood would permit Roosevelt ’s military expansions, and would do so for a number of years until some parsimonious future Congress again decided that years of peace meant no future of war. The shock of the attack on New York was far from having worn off. The Germans had been defeated, at least for now, but there were other potential threats. Japan, for instance, and Russia. Or perhaps the Ottomans. America would never again stand alone in this world.

Hay raised his cup. “To the future, Theodore, to the future.”

Holstein ’s new office was in a building a few blocks away from where the construction crews were trying to repair the damage to the chancellery. It was of no import to him. He had always considered the chancellery a singularly ugly building. However, it had been a shame that the kaiser had been unwilling to leave. So many had died because of the man’s stubbornness. Holstein shuddered as he recalled the mobs, interspersed with army reserve units, as they stormed the building, sacked it, and burned it. Imprinted forever too, was the sight of the dead and dying on the street and the lynched victims dangling from the ornate lampposts. That must not happen again.

“Herr Becker, I must offer you my congratulations.” Holstein held out his hand to the other man who had just entered. Becker smiled tightly.

“Thank you, Count von Holstein. I understand I had your support. In the background, of course.”

“It was the only way, dear Becker. The old regime is in such disrepute that any public support of you by anyone with a ‘von’ in front of their name would have been a kiss of death. But now you are the prime minister of a new Germany.”

“A temporary title, I’m afraid. When the new constitution is drawn and ratified, it may only be a memory.”

“Then we must not permit that to happen.” Becker’s face reflected surprise.

“Have you decided what to do with the royal family?” Holstein asked.

“Wilhelm II is banished, of course, and I believe headed for Denmark with his insufferable wife. His first war, I’m afraid, will also be his last. But there is sentiment for the crown prince as a figurehead. He would become, of course, Kaiser Wilhelm III. The boy is only eighteen and seems to be more stable than his father. He could easily be controlled if it came to that. But what did you mean, we must not let my title become a memory?”

“Becker, men like you are the future of Germany. We Junkers have had our day in the German sun and wasted it. The Prussians will be useful in the army but not as a government. I hope that you will draw a constitution that permits the facade of democracy while keeping the real power in the hands of qualified people like yourself and away from the Socialists like August Bebel and those readers of Marx and Engels.”

Becker grinned. “And in your hands as well?”

Holstein lowered his head in mock humility. “If called upon, I feel qualified to serve.”

This time Becker laughed out loud. Power had fallen to him and he was finding it pleasurable. “I remember our earlier conversation. Are you dismayed at what has happened to our army and navy?”

“Not really.” Diedrichs had been court-martialed for cowardice and executed; Schlieffen and Moltke had been permitted to retire in disgrace. As yet there was no head of the smaller navy, while two men, Hindenburg and Mackensen, were jockeying for command of the army. Others, like Kluck, Falkenhayn, and Ludendorff, also awaited their opportunity. Holstein’s money was on Hindenburg, who, despite playing a key role in America, was strangely untouched personally by the disaster. “Becker, do you still believe what you said about opportunities for Germany within Europe?”

“Certainly. The idea of a two-ocean German navy and a colonial empire was absurd in the first place, and the North American disaster proved it. We are unable to project sufficient power against offshore enemies while surrounded by real and potential enemies on European soil. European matters must be settled before any overseas expansion can be undertaken. We are Europeans first, last, and foremost. We should be thinking in terms of first dominating, then absorbing the Austrians before their polyglot empire collapses of its own weight. Then we should take Holland and Denmark, even if the latter includes our departed kaiser.” Becker laughed sharply. “Someday soon, the czar’s Russia will suffer an upheaval from which it will not recover, and that will create further opportunities, perhaps along the Baltic. The Ottomans are on the verge of collapse, and the straits to the Black Sea could easily be ours. The opportunities for Germany ’s growth are endless. We should leave the New World to England and the United States, while we control Europe. We have a destiny to fulfill as a master race over these lower orders that surround us. Holstein, the Second Reich is finished. What we are going to build is a Third Reich.” He laughed again. “And to think I was once afraid I wouldn’t live long enough to see it.”

Holstein beamed. “Wonderful.”

Becker stood. His waistcoat was open. He stuck his thumbs in his suspenders and smiled confidently. It was an act of casual insolence that would have been unthinkable a few weeks earlier. Now it indicated that a shift in power had taken place. “I am almost inclined to forget the kaiser’s rantings about treachery in our midst.”

“Oh?” Holstein thought briefly of the sudden and unlamented death of the Italian cultural attaché who had proven so useful as a conduit to the British. “Almost?”

“Yes. I am inclined to blame the Jews. I see no reason why we cannot continue to accuse them. It will help shift blame for the defeat from the government. Who knows, a few executions might calm the population.”

Becker put his hands on his hips and laughed. “God, I wish I had a drink. I would toast the future.”

Holstein smiled and raised an imaginary glass. “To the future. To the Third Reich.”

Trina finished buttoning her blouse and checked the time. It would be about an hour before the train arrived in downtown Detroit. The privacy of the Pullman sleeping compartment had been a pleasure, enabling them to make love slowly while the swaying of the train did virtually all the work, but it would be good to spend some time on firm ground.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” she asked Patrick, looking out the window at the thin layer of January snow that lay hard on the Michigan ground. “And you should wear your uniform.”

“It really doesn’t make sense. Technically, I am now a civilian.”

“But you are a war hero and there will be a celebration.” She knew he was very proud and was looking forward to having his family see him in his uniform. His mild protest meant nothing.

Patrick put on his blue uniform jacket and looked at the two stars on his shoulders. The promotion to major general had been an unexpected bonus. “A wedding gift,” Roosevelt had chortled. Since Patrick had immediately resigned his commission, the promotion had been largely ceremonial.

“Patrick, have you given any further thought to Roosevelt ’s suggestions?”

“Yes,” he said as he slipped the jacket on. Roosevelt had suggested that he return home, quickly write his history of the war, and then run for Congress in the 1902 elections. Since it was already early 1902, it would mean a lot of hard work. Roosevelt had given him further instructions: “Leave your answer with Governor Bliss when you arrive in Detroit. Aaron’s a good Republican and will let me know. We need people with your knowledge and world experience in Congress to convince others that the United States isn’t a hick farm country anymore. You know the German beast and he will be back. Some faces at the top have changed, but Germany is still the same. Mark my words.”

Yes, Patrick felt that he knew both Germany and modern warfare, and liked neither. The casualties from the war had been horrendous: more than twenty-five thousand American dead and wounded, and nearly forty thousand German dead. An additional twenty thousand Germans had surrendered that day; the remainder formally negotiated an end to the war a few days later. They might have held out far longer but for the fact that Brooklyn had been recaptured and Pershing had stormed a two-mile length of mighty defenses. Moltke had then given in to the inevitable. Had Pershing not made his assault, the Germans would have dug in behind their forts and used their untapped reserve divisions to sweep the Americans back from New York City and Brooklyn. There had been speculation that the Germans would have withdrawn to Long Island and set up for a long siege. Without supplies and low on ammunition, the German army would have faced certain defeat. It would have been a protracted and bloody affair with many lives needlessly lost on both sides. Patrick shuddered at the potential cost of taking that island. Thank God for Wheeler and Pershing.

“Well?” Katrina kissed him gently on the cheek, interrupting his thoughts.

“Sounds very interesting. Would you mind being a congressman’s wife?”

“I would enjoy it immensely. Imagine what damage I could do on behalf of women while at the seat of power. Besides, Washington would be a fine place to raise a child.”

“What?”

“Not yet, dear general. But soon, perhaps, the way we are going.”

He laughed and told her he wanted to stretch his legs and see if the porter had somehow gotten a current newspaper. He buttoned his uniform jacket and stepped into the narrow passageway. So much had changed in the past few weeks. Ian had returned to England, and Harris to his factory. Heinz and Molly had finally gotten married and were in Cincinnati. Longstreet was back in Gainesville, Georgia, and Schofield and MacArthur were organizing a new army. Dewey and the navy were in their glory and there was talk of additional submarines.

But MacArthur’s boy was crippled, and most of his Apaches had apparently disappeared into thin air, reluctant to return to reservation life. The Negro cavalry had their white officers back, although some of the blacks, like Esau Jones, who was once again a sergeant, had their own medals. No one knew what to do about Blake Morris. His suicide had helped to further decapitate the German command, but no one was certain whether or not he had actually been in the army at the time. Roosevelt said they’d probably name some schools after him.

A glint of metal on Patrick’s chest distracted him. Full uniform meant medals as well. He had been a little embarrassed about being given the Medal of Honor. He didn’t feel he had done anything to deserve it.

“Of course you did.” Roosevelt had been insistent. “I know there were many heroes out there; perhaps, if it will make you feel better, think of it as being for all of them. But damnit, Patrick, you did a splendid job of attacking the Germans and pinching off their retreat. That won the day for us. You’re a hero and you’d better get used to that fact. You won’t be permitted to forget it.”

So be it, Patrick thought. As he walked through the coach car, two thin and pale young men in ill-fitting clothes immediately jumped to their feet on seeing his rank and stood at attention. “Relax, boys,” Patrick said, assuming they had just left the army. They hadn’t. His stars and medals were just too intimidating. “Youwere in the army?” asked Patrick. One, slightly younger and with his arm in a sling, nodded and mumbled an accented yes. “Which unit?” Patrick asked.

They looked at each other, and finally the younger of the two answered. “Imperial 4th Rifles.”

Patrick blinked back his surprise. He had heard that many prisoners had chosen not to return to Germany, much to that country’s chagrin. He told them who he was and that he knew of their unit. After all, his brigade had overrun it.

“General Mahan, was your command a mixed unit of blacks and Germans?”

Patrick laughed. During the rush of battle, many smaller units from the different regiments had gotten mixed up, with interesting sociological results. “Yes, it was.”

The younger man smiled shyly. “Then I think your people made us prisoners. I am Ludwig Weber and this is my ex-captain, Hans Walter. His English is not as good as mine, but he does understand well.”

“So you decided to stay?”

“I decided a long time ago. My captain only recently. We are on our way to Milwaukee, where we both have relatives.”

“Well,” Patrick said, holding out his hand for them to shake. “Welcome to America.”