1920: America's Great War

CHAPTER 12

“Be seated,” said President Lansing, and the other attendees in the Oval Office sat. “May I assume, gentlemen, that the news is a mixed bag?”

“It usually is,” said General March. “However, that is much better than all the news being dolefully bad.”

“Then begin with the bad. What in God’s name happened in the mountains? Have our efforts been undone by one man?”

March sighed, “Pretty much. One German officer, a Captain Wulfram, managed to drop the bridge over the Columbia River into said river. It will take at least two months of concerted effort to repair it once the weather eases. Sadly, we had pretty much cleared the snow out of the passes and were going to commence sending trains through again. Hundreds of men on both sides of the mountains had been shoveling night and day.”

“The man must have been exceptionally brave, or foolish,” the president said. “What is his status?”

“He is very seriously wounded,” March continued. “He is on his way to a hospital in Chicago. Frostbite has claimed both of his feet and he may lose a leg to wounds and infection. And this poses a question, sir. Since he was not in uniform, shall we hang him?”

Lansing paused. He had not been prepared for the question. Nor was he quite prepared to hang someone, in particular someone who was so bravely and obstinately doing his duty. “No, at least not yet. We will hold him as a possible future bargaining chip. Although,” he smiled, “if we should decide to hang him we will do so from a railroad trestle.”

The others laughed grimly. Nothing like a little macabre humor to brighten the day, Lansing thought.

General March interrupted. “The weapons and ammo are beginning to come off the assembly lines in quantity from Detroit and elsewhere. The original plan was to ship them by rail through the northern pass to Washington State and then down to California. With this out of the question for the foreseeable future, can we plan on using Canadian rail lines as a substitute?”

An interesting question, thought Lansing. He turned to his Secretary of State, “Any thoughts, Mr. Hughes?”

“We have spoken with both the governor general and the prime minister of Canada and they are reluctant to have large quantities of supplies shipped directly through Canada. They are afraid of retaliation from the German fleet if they are found out. However, they will allow humanitarian aid, such as food, and will assist us in evacuating civilians and wounded.”

“Better than nothing,” Lansing muttered.

Hughes continued. “I have directed our railroads to try to rent line space from the Canadians in the form of a detour north from the broken line, into Canada, and then south. If it is done as a private venture, without the direct collaboration of the Canadian government, we might get away with it until the bridge is rebuilt.”

“Will that happen?” Lansing asked.

“Not until the Canucks and the Brits are certain we can win and they’re on the right side, and right now they can’t be confident of that.”

Railroads were something always taken for granted. One could take a train from virtually anywhere in the United States to any other place in the large and sprawling nation. And, since the highways and roads were generally quite miserable, going by train was virtually the only viable way to travel any sort of distance. The disruption of the lines between California and the rest of the world had shocked everyone. Someday there would have to be paved highways connecting at least the major cities of the United States. Right now, most roads outside major cities were little more than the same dirt trails pioneers had traveled on in the previous century.

“And I’m sure you’re aware of the success we had in destroying their bomber fleet,” March said proudly. “I am recommending Major Eisenhower and Captain Martel each for a medal. It was exceedingly well done.”

Lansing beamed. “It indeed was.” The name Martel sounded familiar. Then he recalled the young officer who’d been with him that fateful night when he became president.

“And what of the Navy’s foray?” he asked.

“Successful,” said Navy Secretary Daniels. “Shots were exchanged, and the German fleet got stirred up and aggravated. They chased our ships back to the sound while the cruiser squadron slipped out unnoticed. After resupplying our subs at Catalina, the cruisers will sail forth as independent commerce raiders, while the destroyers will work in conjunction with the submarines.”

“Excellent,” said Lansing, “but too slow. We need something to inspire the American people. The delivery of supplies, however critical, is too prosaic. We need something dramatic.”

General March smiled. “Will you take Texas?”

“Sarge, what the hell did that sign say?”

Tim Randall yawned. He’d been sleeping soundly, something that hadn’t been happening all that much lately. The rocking of the train, however, was calming and helped him forget his personal agonies.

“What the hell do you think it said?” he answered grumpily. He had to teach these children who thought they were soldiers that you just don’t go around waking up sleeping sergeants. “You can read, can’t you?”

“Actually, he can’t read all that well, Sarge,” said one of the other men. “He’s from Poland. But the sign did say we’d just entered Texas, and that’s where we’ll be fighting, right?”

“It is,” Tim said, “but don’t get your knickers twisted. For those of you who’ve never seen a map, Texas is larger than most countries.”

“Jeez, Sarge, does that mean it’s larger than Camden?”

Tim stifled a grin. Every group had at least one smartass, and it looked like he had several. “Your sergeant requires sleep, so you do whatever you want. Just stay out of trouble, Private Asshole.”

Tim still couldn’t believe he was on a train, one of scores of them, rolling south through Texas. He had a squad of men and he was part of the Twelfth Infantry Division, which consisted of two Marine Corps regiments and two infantry regiments that had been cobbled together out of units from Pennsylvania and New Jersey. The regiments were all understrength as a result of the flu. A normal American division consisted of twenty thousand men. He’d heard that the Twelfth had fewer than fifteen thousand, all lightly trained and still lacking heavy weapons.

The flu. God, he wished he could forget about it. He’d stopped off in Camden to visit his family. He found his parents mourning the loss of their youngest son and leaving Tim with the vague feeling that they held him responsible for his brother’s death. On a whim and a need to get out of a house filled with despair and blame, he’d gone to visit Kathy Fenton. She had written him a couple of times while he was in training. She’d apologized to him for being so presumptuous their last night together and blamed it on the drink. He’d written back, apologizing for getting so stinking drunk and pawing her like a pig, although he’d phrased it a good deal more tactfully.

Kathy was in mourning too. Like Tim, she’d survived a touch of the flu, although it had been late in the season and fairly mild. However, she’d lost her sister and a cousin to the disease. She had lost a lot of weight, and was pale and grey. Her eyes looked haunted. He’d sat on her couch with her head on his shoulder while she cried. Then she’d looked in his eyes, seen his pain, and put his head on her shoulder, holding him tightly, like a baby, while he wept bitterly. Later, they parted. They’d kissed each other on the cheek and hugged. Yes, they said, they would continue to write. Tim wondered just where this would ever go.

He now commanded ten men on their way to kill other people. He knew he was inexperienced but what was truly frightening was the fact that his men were even rawer than he was. Some had only fired their rifles a couple of times. He wondered if the men in charge of the Army and the country had any idea what they were getting their men into. He’d read enough about the Civil War to know that inexperienced generals often get their men slaughtered. Pershing commanded the entire Texas Front army, while some Marine named Lejeune commanded the division. That too was funny. What the hell was a Marine doing in charge of an Army division?

“Sarge, any idea where the hell we’re going in this godawful big state?” Private Asshole asked.

“No,” he said, “but I’ll bet there’ll be Mexicans around.”

D.W. Griffith worked the projector. He barely glanced at Elise who smiled at being ignored. She was history. Griffith was in his element. The screen on the wall showed the German crossing of the Salinas River at San Luis Obispo.

Patton’s defensive positions were well sited, but he had too few men to seriously hinder the German onslaught, and the Salinas wasn’t all that much of a barrier, even with water rushing down from the nearby mountains. It was more of a nuisance than a moat. With more men and guns, the rugged terrain would have heavily favored the defense, but Patton was short of both.

Still, the Germans had paused to consolidate and bombard Patton’s defenses, which gave the defenders of San Francisco a little more time to prepare.

There were muted gasps from the dozen or so in the conference room as scores of small boats pushed off from the southern shore. Each carried a dozen German soldiers.

“I think they could have waded,” muttered Nolan.

“The second group did,” answered Griffith. “Patton said it was terrible intelligence work on the Germans’ part. Their commander’s some guy named von Seekt, and I am not impressed.”

Nor was anyone else, it turned out. The overcautious Germans had missed an opportunity to overwhelm the American defenders.

As they watched, American riflemen on the north shore began to shoot up the boats and the handful of Hotchkiss machine guns and Browning Automatic Rifles the Americans possessed chewed them as well. Bodies tumbled into the bottom of the boats or into the river. In one instance a boat capsized, bewildered survivors standing up to their waists in water.

Nolan nudged Martel. “If people weren’t dying that would’ve been funny.”

All humor vanished when German machine guns on the south shore began to kill Americans. Griffith shook his head sadly. “Patton said they had fifty machine guns for each one we had. With respect, General Liggett, when the devil are we going to get our own?”

Luke recalled hearing that Griffith had been pro-German before the war. Apparently his views had changed. Well, so had a lot of people’s.

“We’re working on it, Mr. Griffith,” Liggett said quietly.

The film ended. “That’s it, folks,” Griffith said in a most unmilitary manner. “And with your permission, General, I would like to arrange for a copy of it to get to Washington.”

Liggett yawned. He was exhausted and the heat in the closed room had nearly put him to sleep. A telegram from Brigadier General George Marshall had exhorted him to keep the rail line to the east open despite the fact that the bridge over the Columbia tributary had been destroyed. What the hell was Marshall up to now? Regardless, he’d given the orders and the construction battalion that had been withdrawn from the pass was returned.

“By all means make a copy and we’ll arrange to have it sent via Canada as diplomatic mail. Let those people out east see what we’re up against.”

Lieutenant Ron Carter, captain of the sub O-7, was one of the few men who thought Catalina Island was beautiful. It had a rugged and dramatic quality that appealed to him.

He was halfway up a hillside and looking down into the harbor where the five submarines were anchored. It was time to take on supplies and stores, that is, as soon as they came. Since sinking those two transports, Carter’s sub had sent three more German ships to the bottom and one had a full cargo of oil. It had burned furiously. He would have exulted except he had seen a lifeboat from the transport overtaken by a wall of flames and the men inside turned into human torches. He thought he could hear them scream. He couldn’t, of course, but it was the stuff of nightmares.

In the course of his cruises, he’d used all his torpedoes and most of his three-inch shells; thus, his sub was virtually helpless. He was also almost out of fuel. So too were the others. Supply ships were allegedly en route, but, until they arrived, there really wasn’t much to do. Chief Ryan was on the sub with a half dozen crewmen while the rest, like Carter, relaxed.

A trumpet blared from up the hill behind him. What the hell, he thought sleepily, that damn thing was only to be blown if the Germans were sighted.

Oh shit.

Carter jumped to his feet and squinted seaward. A pair of sleek grey shapes was approaching fast. They’d been hidden by the morning mist. More alarms sounded and men began to run around, some aimlessly as they realized they would never get to their subs in time. He began to run down to the little cove they were using, but he saw that Chief Ryan had already cast off the lines and was heading out to sea. Good man, Carter thought. It would have been at least fifteen minutes before he made it to the sub and it was imperative that the boat get to deep water and dive.

The Germans were at extreme range, but they commenced firing anyhow. Seconds later, shells splashed around the other four subs, which were also frantically trying to get away.

A sub was hit. Crewmen began to abandon her immediately. Seconds later, an explosion ripped through a second boat. More German shells landed around the stricken vessels while the remaining American subs found water deep enough to dive in. So too had the O-7, Carter thought gratefully as she disappeared beneath the waves. He thought her hull might be scraping the bottom, but that was better than being shelled.

Deprived of their primary targets, the Germans contented themselves with bombarding any buildings and any people they saw. Carter hid himself in a fold of earth as dirt and debris fell all around him. Nimitz crawled up beside him. “I don’t know about you, Carter, but we’d all better pray the bastards don’t land troops. We have nothing to fight with unless you’re good at throwing stones.” Neither man even had a sidearm, however futile a .45 automatic might be against a destroyer.

“How’d they find out about us, sir?”

“Guess it wasn’t that big a secret. That and the fact that we had to be someplace might have led them to a logical conclusion. Do you recall if they sent over any planes to spy on us?”

Carter didn’t recall seeing any, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t done it. He thought it possible that one of the handful of fishermen living on the island might have betrayed them. These were poor people and perhaps somebody had been bribed.

“Maybe we’re just too damned close to the mainland, sir,” Carter said. He regretted the comment immediately. The brass in San Francisco had chosen the place and Nimitz had concurred.

There was a strained silence that was finally broken by Nimitz. “I’m afraid you’re right, Carter. We’re only about twenty miles from Los Angeles and I realize now that we are way, way too close. When we get ourselves organized, we’ll pull out of this mess and locate elsewhere.”

“Any specific thoughts?”

Nimitz shook his head, “At the moment, no.”

The guns grew silent and Carter worked up the courage to peer over the dirt that was hiding him. The German destroyers were departing. One American sub had sunk in the shallow water while a second was still afloat, but burning. A couple of launches were smashed to kindling. Of the other three subs, including Carter’s, there was no sign, which was good. Hopefully, probably, they’d gotten away.

Several bodies lay on the ground, American sailors who would never again attack German shipping. Nimitz stood up and shook the sand from his uniform.

“Lieutenant, I suggest we find out whose alive and who needs help. Then we get to figure out what resources we have. Y’know, if the relief ships don’t show up, we could get very hungry in a very short while.”

Texas General Marcus Tovey was hungry, tired, and dirty, just like the rest of his dwindling command. He hadn’t changed his clothes in a week and his beard was filthy and tangled.

They’d mauled the Mexicans and still held onto much of San Antonio, including the desecrated ruins of the Alamo which were now only a hundred yards behind him, but they couldn’t hold off the much larger Mexican force much longer. It was the middle of the night and maybe they wouldn’t come this morning, but who could tell. He’d beaten back another attack, leaving scores of dead and wounded Mexicans in front of him, and they didn’t usually attack two days in a row. They needed time to reorganize, eat and sleep, too.

He still had fifteen hundred men, but they weren’t the same fifteen hundred he’d begun the siege with. Most were replacements and, as before, a whole lot weren’t even from Texas. There was some gratification in the fact that men from other states were willing to come and defend Texas. Or maybe they were defending the U.S. and not Texas, he thought, and decided it didn’t much matter.

So many had been killed or wounded that he’d lost track. Against him were two Mexican divisions, maybe twelve thousand men, and they were totally pissed. They’d hoped to be in and through San Antonio a couple of weeks ago and his defense of the city had gutted those plans. If they overran his position he doubted they’d be in any mood to take prisoners. Well, fuck’em, he thought. He didn’t much feel like surrendering and becoming a prisoner. His defenses were deep and good and protected by miles of barbed wire. If the Mexicans did make it through, maybe there wouldn’t be all that many of them left…Sure. There’d be plenty of them left. What made his situation worse was that his men were spread too thin.

Of course he wasn’t the only Texan general fighting the Mexicans. It just seemed that way since almost all their attacks were at the area he commanded. He lit another of his dwindling supply of Lucky Strikes and took a deep breath. The tobacco smoke served to hide the stench of the battlefield. Both sides had stopped removing the dead and the wounded, and the ground before him was littered with bodies that had bloated and begun to rot. He never believed anything could smell that bad. One of his boys had laughed and said the stench was so bad because of all the spicy food the Mexicans ate. At least the wounded had stopped their moaning and screaming. If the Mexicans had asked for a truce to remove them he would have denied it. Niceties were down the toilet. This was a war to the death.

A rumbling noise behind him said that the trains were still running, which was good. That meant more replacements, even if they were poorly armed and barely trained farm boys or clerks from the cities. As a result, too many new guys died in the first skirmish.

He heard people moving quietly behind him, or at least they were trying to be quiet. He turned and saw a file of men coming towards him. What looked like an officer in a pie tin helmet detached himself and walked up to Tovey, staying in a crouch. Smart man. The Mexicans had snipers, too.

“You General Tovey?”

“Yeah, who wants to know?”

The officer grinned, and Tovey saw stars on his collar. “Tovey, I’m Major General John Lejeune, U.S. Marine Corps, and now commanding the Twelfth Infantry Division. If you don’t mind, I’ve got an advance party of about four thousand Marines who’d just love to join your little party. The rest of the division, along with some other fine young men, will be along shortly after they complete an assignment I’ve given them.”

Tovey nodded mutely. He was afraid he was going to cry. He watched as long columns of grim-faced Marines filled in the far too many open spaces in his trenches. There was soft and easy banter between his men and the newcomers, especially when the old defenders saw the machine guns and mortars the Marines had brought.

For the first time in a long time, Tovey eagerly awaited the dawn.

“I will not go with the refugees,” Kirsten said firmly. “When there are no more refugees, that’ll mean the battle’s right around the corner and then I will volunteer for hospital work. They will need all the help they can get.”

Luke and Kirsten were walking along the waterfront after taking a cable car ride just for the sheer pleasure of it. It was early evening and the sky was clear, and there was a hint of spring in the otherwise cold air. It was so nice they could even ignore the omnipresent dark spots far out in the ocean that were the blockading German warships.

Luke was perplexed by Kirsten’s reluctance to even consider leaving for safer places. “Have you ever seen the blood in a battlefield hospital? Do you really think you can handle it?” He immediately realized it was the wrong thing to say as she glared at him.

“Have you ever gelded a bull?” she snapped.

“Not recently.”

Kirsten laughed. “I haven’t either, but I’ve seen it done often enough. And no, I’m not giving you a choice, I’m staying. Even if you pick me up and put me on a train, I’ll find a way to get off and come back. As long as you are here, Luke Martel, then I will be too.”

Luke felt a surge of pride and affection. Yeah, he wanted her to stay. He never wanted her to leave. After thinking he’d lost her in the train attack, sending her away was the last thing he wanted to do. Still, he wanted her safe and he was torn by the dilemma. Letting her make the decision wasn’t just the easy way out for him. She had every right to do as she wished, not as he wished. Okay, he thought, she would stay.

“Luke, I was married at eighteen and widowed at twenty-three. I never thought I’d get over the loss. I wasn’t really certain I even wanted to.

“I realize now I was quite content living my life and feeling sorry for myself. Then came the Germans who destroyed my home, my cousins, and every tangible object I had to remember him by, except for the wedding ring, of course. And some money,” she added with a smile.

“He was very prudent and put some money aside in the form of a life-insurance policy. When he died, I collected ten thousand dollars. I used the money to pay off some debts and saved the rest. I’m not rich, but I’ll get by.”

“Don’t worry,” Luke said wryly. “I’m not after your money. I’ve managed to save a little myself.”

“On a soldier’s pay?” she said, incredulously.

“And the ability to play a really good game of poker.”

Kirsten laughed. “Well, I guess there are savings plans and there are savings plans. But can you see why I’m reluctant to commit? Right now, Elise and Josh are making like almost bunnies back in the apartment. I think it’s incredible that she won’t let him go all the way with her when they both want it so much.”

“She trying to make him marry her?”

“Why, of course.”

“I guess that was a silly question. Fortunately, we’re both adults and unless your marriage was a sham, neither one of us is a foolish virgin.”

Kirsten blushed slightly. “We loved each other in every way imaginable.”

Now it was Luke’s turn to blush. “I just hope you can consider me as part of your future.”

She squeezed his hand. “If I didn’t think so, I would be on the next train to Seattle.”

She pulled him to her and kissed him on the lips and the hell with what anybody thought. There was a war out there and living for tomorrow might be living for a fantasy. Luke returned the kiss and pressed her body against his.

She looked up and saw him laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking we should go back to your apartment and throw those young puppies out.”

The crown prince, the man who someday would be Kaiser Wilhelm III, gestured to a chair. Major General Oskar von Hutier did as directed and sat stiffly in the presence of his commanding officer and future kaiser. He thought he knew why he’d been summoned to the prince’s headquarters, but would not even think of broaching the subject himself. It was far too sensitive.

But the prince smiled warmly and dove right in. “General von Seekt is being promoted to a staff position back in Berlin where I am certain his experiences as a field commander here will enable him to excel. He will leave immediately and you will take over his corps, which, of course, represents the left wing of my army.”

“I am honored,” said Hutier who currently commanded a small corps in Mackenson’s army. Taking over from von Seekt would give him almost an independent command.

Honored but not surprised, Hutier thought. Von Seekt, a solid and professional senior staff officer had requested a field command and been given it. He’d been in charge of the two division corps moving up the California coast and, until a few days ago, had been doing a credible job. However, he had stopped short at the Salinas River and hesitated to cross it until he’d brought up boats and heavy artillery. This delay had taken the better part of a week. The crown prince, on the other side of the mountains, had no reason to doubt the need for the halt until it was pointed out that the river was only about a hundred yards wide and could have been waded. Von Seekt quickly became the butt of numerous jokes from both the Germans and the Americans; thus, his “promotion” to Berlin.

“There are those who think I am too cautious,” the prince said, “and they are at least partly right. I am seriously constrained by the fact that my army must be fed and equipped and that those supplies must come a very great distance. And we all know that a defeat on the field could be catastrophic; hence my desire to progress slowly and cautiously. Although,” he shook his head and laughed, “not quite as cautiously as von Seekt.”

The prince rose and stood before a map. “We are now only a hundred miles from San Francisco and what the Americans are developing into a formidable series of defenses, and those defenses must be taken. General Hutier, you have quite a reputation. It is said you are aggressive and wish to strike, like a panther. Correct?”

Hutier smiled at the compliment. “Indeed, sir.”

“They say you have devised a way of infiltrating enemy lines and bypassing strongpoints, which will enable you to pierce Liggett’s works.”

“I am confident the tactics will succeed.”

The prince was pleased. “I wish to rein in your predatory impulses until the right time, which will be when we attack San Francisco. Until that time I wish you to curb your ambitions and coordinate with the armies moving inland along the Great Valley. When the time comes, your corps may just be reinforced into an army, and become the spearpoint which we will use to kill the Americans. Until then, we must all restrain our impulses to take precipitous actions against Liggett’s army, however tempting some targets may be.”

“How large do you estimate that army, sir?”

“According to our intelligence experts, Liggett has approximately fifty thousand, but most of them are still poorly trained and even more poorly armed. The destruction of the last bridge to Seattle was a devastating blow and one which will cripple them. They will have some advantage by being in defensive positions, which is why you will be needed to rupture those defenses.”

“I’m honored and gratified for your confidence in me, sir,” Hutier said softly. He was barely able to hold back his emotions. “I will not fail you or Germany.”

“Until the happy day that we can bring this campaign to its ultimate conclusion, Hutier, I must be cognizant that we are halfway around the world from Germany. In the last war, if I needed reinforcements, six divisions would be put on trains and be in the lines in a matter of days. Now it would take six or more months to get them to California and then I would be unable to feed and supply them. Therefore, I must constantly remind myself that we must fight with what we have, and not what we wish we had. Some additional forces are en route, but not in great numbers. We have three divisions in Hanoi, but they are to be used to take Hawaii and the Philippines if the Americans do not see reason.”

He declined to add that the German force would not leave Indo-China until the American Navy had at least been contained. There had been too many sinkings by submarines and now by American light cruisers working as surface raiders.

The crown prince stood, and Hutier followed quickly. The meeting was coming to an end. “Good luck, von Hutier. We will need you in the coming weeks.”