1920: America's Great War

CHAPTER 16

Dwight Eisenhower had always been a quick study, but he found himself overwhelmed by the scope of the job he’d been handed. Through hard work and a sleepless night, however, he felt he had begun to get a handle on the basics.

Ike rubbed his eyes and took a sip of coffee. He winced. It had gotten cold and he couldn’t stand cold coffee. Luke got him another one. “Luke, tell me some things I don’t know.”

Luke grinned. The two of them were alone in Ike’s office, the one that had been Nolan’s. That man’s personal possessions had been taken down and a handful of Ike’s put up. A photo of Mamie Eisenhower smiled proudly at Ike from across his desk, and why shouldn’t she be proud? Her husband had just been promoted to the temporary rank of brigadier general.

“General, there isn’t much to tell. Since the Germans are the ones doing the advancing, we haven’t gotten many prisoners, and those we did capture are as ignorant of their superiors’ intentions as we are, except for the obvious. They want San Francisco. There are no rumors saying they’re going all the way to Canada, or anyplace else. German soldiers do not communicate with officers like ours do. Their job is to execute not to discuss strategy. It’s a very totalitarian army.”

Ike sipped some of his fresh coffee. “Now, this is more like it. Good, solid army coffee. How many old socks went into its preparation?”

“Just a few, General, they’re being rationed.”

Ike laughed. “You know, I’m really going to miss those sessions with you and Patton in Connor’s office. Damn the Krauts for killing him, and, no, I haven’t forgotten I’m a Kraut too.” He sighed. “Everybody’s got opinions, so let’s hear yours, Luke. What will the Germans do when they appear on our doorstep and quit calling me ‘general’ when it’s just the two of us. We have too much history for that.”

Luke wasn’t certain about that, but he went along. “Ike, I think they will continue in the meticulous manner that they’ve shown all throughout their advance. I think they will reach us, dig in extensively, and prepare for overwhelming assaults on selected portions of our defenses. Their trenches won’t be as extensive or as deep as ours because they will be intended to keep us in, while ours are intended to keep them out. Still, I think they will take time to mass and prepare.”

“But not too much time,” Ike said. “They have to know that a goodly number of our men made it across the Columbia and brought a lot of equipment with them. Not enough to face them man to man and, of course, our people aren’t half as well trained or as well armed as theirs, but enough to help hold our defenses.”

“Which is why they will pick a point or two in our lines and attempt to overwhelm us,” Luke added.

“And Hutier’s shock force will be one of them, won’t it?”

“Has to be, Ike. Even if it’s not their main thrust, they have to know that we’d be concerned. We can’t be everywhere and they will play off that simple mathematical fact.”

They turned to the map of California. Arrows and pins showed the Germans approaching Monterey on the coast and to the west of Fresno.

“Ike, I keep hearing rumors of secret weapons. Anything to them?”

“I hear the same rumors, Luke. Sims and Billy Mitchell have something called Operation Firefly and I have no idea what it is. Mitchell is half crazy and half a genius, so if Sims sees something in it, it might be interesting. Then there’s the question of what Patton is up to in the north. I asked and was told it had nothing to do with my gathering intelligence about the Germans.”

Luke shook his head. “So we may have secrets?”

“I put no faith in secret weapons. If they were so good, why wouldn’t we already have them? No, give me some well-trained men, some Lewis machine guns, some Browning Automatic Rifles and, oh yes, lots of artillery. No secrets there, just some good weapons to put in the hands of good men.”

Captain Adolf Steiner looked up from his desk and smiled tightly. “Olson, you look worried. Why is that?”

“Captain, I am always worried. Show me a man without a care in the world and I’ll show you a fool. So, yes, I am worried.”

Steiner sat back in his chair. It used to be Olson’s. “About what?”

“Rumors are swirling that the Mexicans got themselves defeated at San Antonio and are retreating towards the Rio Grande. Our Mexican allies, in particular the men I’m using as guards, are very concerned, and that makes me worry about their loyalty.”

Steiner sighed. He’d known this moment would come. “Your stalwart Mexican guards have a right to be concerned. Not only was their army in Texas defeated, it was virtually destroyed. And the American Army under someone named Pershing is not headed towards the Rio Grande; it has already crossed the Rio Grande and might be on its way to Monterrey. If that has occurred, Carranza may be on his way to becoming a footnote to history.”

Olson paled. “Then Mexico is out of the war?”

“Hardly. Mexico is doing yeoman service in tying down the vast majority of the uniformed mob the United States calls its army. Every American moving south towards Monterrey is one who is not moving north and west to reinforce Liggett. In fact, every step Pershing’s army takes places them farther away from doing something useful. Olson, the Mexicans were never meant to win. Their job was to die on our behalf and they are doing an admirable job of it.” He laughed. “Of course, they didn’t realize it at the time, although perhaps it’s dawning on that fool, Carranza.”

“And if the Americans take Vera Cruz and eliminate your base, or there’s another government in Mexico City that is hostile to Germany, what then?”

“We no longer need Vera Cruz as a base, although we might try to hang on to it to tie up the Americans. A few divisions from Germany will stiffen Mexico’s spine. Or we will simply take over whatever the Americans don’t want. Or we will just abandon Mexico to its well-deserved fate at the hands of vengeful and vindictive Americans. Vera Cruz has become redundant thanks to the capture of San Diego and Los Angeles. Why in God’s name would we haul supplies overland when we can send them by ship to those ports? Or haven’t you noted the slackening of material coming from the east?”

Olson flushed. He had but he had put it down to a lessening need for an Atlantic base, not a total lack of a need for one.

“Look, Steiner, there will be desertions when the Mexican guards find out, and we need those people to maintain order. I’m afraid they’ll change their allegiance back to Obregon the minute they sense that Carranza’s done with.”

Steiner glared. Olson was taking liberties. Steiner preferred to be addressed by rank. “Then you stop them, Olson. Kill a few of the guards if you have to, and if too many of our guards run, then do something about the prisoners. We can’t have them rushing us and slicing our throats with the knives they’ve doubtless got hidden everywhere in their camp, now can we?”

Olson had a horrible thought. “What do you mean by doing something about the prisoners?”

He laughed savagely. “Why Olson, if it comes down to it, you will have to kill them.”

Olson’s mind reeled. Kill all the American prisoners? Dear God, had he backed the wrong dog in this fight? He forced himself to be logical. Steiner liked logic.

“I don’t think the Mexicans would do it even if ordered, and I know damn well my own men won’t. They’ll all kill enemies in battle, but they won’t slaughter helpless prisoners.” Well, maybe a couple of them would, he thought.

Steiner smiled tightly. “Then you’d better learn to sleep lightly and with a gun under your pillow.”

The crown prince and the admiral finished a pleasant meal of grilled salmon accompanied by a surprisingly good white wine. They were in a wealthy man’s mansion south of Monterey, California, and seated on a patio overlooking the ocean. The homeowner had departed weeks earlier. The wine came from the owner’s private stock. Like so many people in the area, he’d made his own.

The scenery was beyond fantastic. Great waves crashed among massive, craggy rocks. Both men admitted they could watch the waves for hours if only the war would let them. Only the two German battleships anchored offshore intruded on the area’s natural beauty.

They were told that the homeowner had been a banker before the war; now the man was a refugee. The size of the estate, however, had given them a further understanding of the wealth and potential of California, a land that would soon join the Reich. It was understood that, after the war, many Americans would leave and migrate east of the Rockies, which would be the new boundary. In their place would come good, solid German immigrants to California.

The admiral and the crown prince had their own concerns about the Mexican defeat and how it would affect them. The prince waved away the servants who were hovering near them. They left the patio and gave the two men privacy. The first topic of discussion was the deteriorating situation with Mexico. They were shocked that the Mexican collapse had been so quick and so total. Obviously, Mexico had been a weak reed.

Admiral Hipper laughed. “Since I have no Mexicans among my crews, I must consider myself fortunate. Tell me, Majesty, just how much do you depend on those cretins?”

“Less and less each day. I use them as workers rather than as soldiers. The ones guarding the mountain passes are the exception. Since you were kind enough to deliver those two divisions of German soldiers from Indo-China, I will use one to buttress the Mexicans and even take over from them in the passes should it prove necessary.”

Both men understood that this had not been the plan. The two divisions were intended to reinforce the drive to San Francisco, not function as guards over unruly Mexicans guarding the mountain passes. However, plans always went to hell the minute they were implemented, and one worked with the tools one had.

Wilhelm wiped his mouth with a napkin and took a sip of the homemade wine. Really quite pleasant, he thought, although just a little too sweet. “And how is your fleet? I too have heard rumors that all is not as well as it should be.”

Hipper scowled. “Unfortunately, the rumors are correct. The officers are impatient and feel that they are missing out on the glory of the war by performing tedious blockade duty. They want me to storm San Francisco Bay and blow the town to pieces, after which they want to steam north and do likewise to the Americans in Puget Sound. You heard I lost a cruiser because a squadron commander got impatient? Well, I’m afraid there might be more of that if something doesn’t happen soon.

“And the morale among the enlisted sailors is very low. They are living in cramped quarters in ships that were never intended to be at sea for this long. Our ships were built to rule the Baltic and the North Atlantic, returning periodically to warm, comfortable barracks, not to travel around the world like the British ships. I am afraid that illness, like the American flu, might strike. That and the fact that the lower decks are filled with radicals and communists who could cause trouble at the first chance concern me.”

“Can you give your men shore leave?”

“Only at the cost of weakening the blockade, Majesty.”

The prince understood the admiral’s dilemma. His own army was wearing down as well, although that had been expected and even built into their plans.

The German Army was on the doorstep of San Francisco. A couple of weeks and they would be able to attack and overwhelm the Americans.

The crown prince sighed. “Do what you can for your men. I am rotating my own out of the lines as much as I can. Perhaps we shouldn’t be so concerned about the Americans breaking our blockade. Kindly consider some form of shore leave to keep your men fresh. As to your bloodthirsty young officers, tell them they’ll have all the fighting they can handle in a very little while.”

Patton did not like to admit to uncertainty. Indecisiveness and timidity were for fools and incompetents. He now had a vision as to how his precious new tanks should be used and it was at odds with division and corps commanders who greatly outranked him.

Thus, he was now in a Come to Jesus meeting with II Corps Commander, Major General James Harbord, and the army’s overall commander, Lieutenant General Hunter Liggett. Harbord was definitely against Patton’s ideas, while Liggett seemed curious, possibly receptive.

Patton took a deep breath. He wasn’t awed by either man. His family was wealthy and he was descended from at least one general in the American Revolution, Hugh Mercer, and many of his family had served with the Confederacy. Patton had been born in California and deeply felt the agony of the invasion. No man would ever awe him.

Patton was intrigued by the idea of reincarnation and frequently wondered if he had been a great war leader in another life, maybe Hannibal or Caesar. Whether it was true or not, Patton felt he was destined for greatness. Perhaps a future young soldier would wonder if he was a reincarnated Patton. The thought pleased him.

Harbord’s idea was quite simple. The tanks were excellent ideas and would, if accompanied by infantry, be able to penetrate German defenses on a broad front. Patton agreed that it would happen. He simply did not agree that it was the best usage of the new weapon.

“Gentlemen, I see the tank as replacing heavy cavalry of old. The tank is the reincarnation of the medieval knight and neither the knights nor other heavy cavalry were dispersed across a battlefield. No, they were massed and first they destroyed enemy cavalry and then they ran amuck behind the enemy’s infantry, slaughtering those poor fools as they ran in panic for safety. Better, and unlike the knights of old, we do not have to worry about the Germans having tanks of their own.”

Harbord interrupted, “But what about the German armored cars and trucks?”

Patton laughed harshly. “They are toys. They don’t have the guns to damage my tanks and don’t have the armor to protect against the weapons of my tanks.”

“But won’t you be putting all your eggs in one basket if you mass them?” Liggett asked. “What if they’re taken by an artillery barrage? They could all be destroyed.”

“General, that’s all the more reason to keep them together and moving so fast that the artillery can’t range on them. And with all due respects to your infantry, General Harbord, even if accompanied by tanks, they will not be able to do any more than push the Germans back a little ways, if even that. We do not have enough infantry to do any more. We’re still feeling the effects of the damned influenza along with other factors.”

Patton turned to Harbord, who glowered. “General, along with insufficient numbers, your men are simply not well enough trained or experienced to attack what will be formidable German defenses. Also, the Germans will have their own artillery, particularly those damned 75s on line and my tanks cannot stand up to them, particularly since, according to your plan, the tanks will be forced to move as slowly as the infantry. When the Germans arrive in a few days, they will immediately dig in and that will present problems for infantry.”

“But not for armor?” Harbord asked.

“No sir,” Patton responded. “Tanks are tracked vehicles and can go across rugged terrain, and that includes bridging trenches. The Germans will dig theirs narrow to protect against our mortars and that means they can be crossed by tanks. Barbed wire won’t hinder tanks at all, although they would slow down or even stop infantry.”

Patton lowered his voice to a conciliatory tone. It was difficult since he knew he was right. He so much wanted to shove his version of the truth down their throats. Where the hell was Eisenhower to help him keep his emotions in check?

“I know this is radical and desperate, but these are desperate times calling for desperate measures. We have a chance to shock the hell out of the Krauts and reduce their numerical advantage. Gentlemen, this is not only our best chance, it is our only chance.”

The Germans were a mile or so away and digging in. They weren’t present yet in great numbers, but would soon be. The handful of them shoveling away were the first in a great host that would besiege San Francisco. In the distance Luke saw dust where the German columns were coming down the road.

“Ike, if you have some artillery, now would be a good time to use it.”

Eisenhower just shook his head. “Look at them. All lined up like they were on parade. Yeah, Luke, if we had our own guns we could blow them back to Berlin.”

Other German units were closing in on the American lines. Soon the city of San Francisco would be under siege. In a short while, the Germans would bring up their own heavy artillery. These would not be the truly big siege guns they’d used to smash the fortifications at Liege and Paris in 1914, but they would be large enough at 155mm.

An American artillery piece boomed and, seconds later, a cloud of dirt erupted from in front of a German trench, scattering Germans in their coal-scuttle helmets. Jake idly wondered if they were better then the pie tins some American soldiers wore. Most Americans didn’t have anything more than hat and hair to protect their skulls. Guns and ammunition had priority, not helmets.

German guns quickly responded. They were the smaller caliber ones and did no real damage. Relatively speaking, the siege was opening with a whimper, not a bang.

Luke peered through his binoculars. The Germans were already back at their digging and more men had arrived. Any chance of sortieing out and smacking them before they were dug in was quickly disappearing. Liggett had forbidden it anyhow. He would not squander his troops in a meaningless attack.

“Y’know, Ike, when they get a few miles closer, their guns will be able to hit the bridge from across the bay.”

“I know,” Ike said.

The Dumbarton Railroad Bridge had been completed in 1910, but it crossed the southern end of the bay which would put it in range of German artillery fairly soon unless, by a miracle, the Germans were halted in their tracks. Neither man believed in miracles.

German trucks were now arriving and rolls of barbed wire were thrown on the ground with practiced skill. “They’ve done this before, haven’t they?” Ike asked with grim humor.

More German shells hit near their position. American soldiers cringed in terror. Sergeants had to physically restrain a couple from running in panic for the rear. The men weren’t really cowards, just part of a poorly-trained garrison that hadn’t seen any combat, and weren’t aware that they were safer in their trenches than running around unprotected by dirt walls.

It was time to go. Martel and Eisenhower grabbed their equipment and moved back and away from the front lines. They were painfully aware of angry glares from soldiers who had to stay. Luke heard someone mutter “rear-echelon cowards.” He turned angrily but everyone was looking at the sky.

Ike grabbed his arm. “Let it be, Luke. If I had to stay here while some brass headed for a warm bed, I’d be pissed too.”

Mexican President Venustiano Carranza and his staff had commandeered a large hacienda a few miles north of Monterrey. It was located on a hill and Carranza could see for miles to the north. The Americans were coming in their thousands and he needed help to stop them. But his army, the one that had invaded Texas, no longer existed.

From his hilltop, the Mexican president sent message after message back to Mexico City calling for reinforcements. The gringos under Pershing were only a few miles away. If they took Monterrey, it would be an enormous blow to Mexican pride. Monterrey was one of the largest cities in Mexico, capital of Nueva Leon province, and a center of Mexican industry. Loss of Monterrey would also mean that the German overland supply line running west from Vera Cruz would be threatened.

An aide ran in gasping. “Horsemen coming from the south, your excellency.”

“How many?”

“Perhaps a hundred, sir.”

A hundred, he thought. That’s all? But maybe they were the advance guard of a much larger relief force. Yes, that must be it.

A little while later he heard the clatter of hoofs and the shouts of men. He heard a name and shuddered. Villa. Pancho Villa had arrived. Impossible. Villa was the bandit fool who’d started the 1916 war with the United States by attacking Texas towns and ranches thus causing an American army, again led by Pershing, to invade Mexico. It had taken almost a year to get rid of the Americans and now Pershing was back with an even larger army.

Carranza had another worry. Which side was the bandit on today?

“Excellency!” Villa boomed as he entered the living room where Carranza sat. “I bring wonderful news from Mexico City.”

Carranza forced a smile. He neither liked nor trusted the stocky, filthy, and heavily mustachioed Villa. But if he had good news and reinforcements, he would put up with the barbarian.

“Then don’t keep me waiting, General Villa,” he said with feigned warmth. “Tell me.”

A servant had brought fresh cold water that Villa gulped, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Mexico City is not a happy place, but that would not surprise you. The loss of so many men, even if most were merely captured, is an enormous blow to Mexican pride. They are wondering how you will redeem it.”

Carranza felt himself flushing. How dare this oafish shit talk to him like that? “If the government in Mexico City, my government, will get off their asses and give me a new army, I will not only stop the Americans before they get to Monterrey, but I will destroy them.”

“Brave words,” Villa said and Carranza wanted to strangle him.

“They will be more than brave when I get my army. When will the rest of it arrive? The Americans are almost here. If we lose Monterrey we will be humiliated.”

Villa shrugged several more of his men had entered the room and taken station beside him. “Mexico City feels that the fall of Monterrey is inevitable and that the war with the United States was a huge and tragic mistake, and one that must be rectified.”

“Indeed?” said Carranza. “If that is what Mexico City thinks, then they are wrong. Give me another army and we will win. And once we have won, we will negotiate a treaty from a position of strength. Anything less and I will personally be humiliated.”

“Martyred,” said Villa.

“What?” said Carranza, sudden desperation growing in his voice.

“You will be revered as the President of Mexico who was brave enough to give his life for his country.”

Villa pulled a revolver from inside his shirt and fired three bullets that struck Carranza in the chest. One of his men shot Carranza’s aide. Villa himself administered the coup de grace, a bullet to the back of Carranza’s head and then to the aide’s. He detailed a squad to remain in the hacienda, while the remainder of the men who’d accompanied Carranza ran away from the killings.

Villa’s men still had a job to do.

General Lejeune watched as Tovey’s men approached the white stone hacienda at the top of the hill. Reports said there were Mexicans holed up in it. The building had to be cleared as it commanded the approach to Monterrey.

The Texans fanned out and moved cautiously up the hill. Lejeune had to admit that Tovey was a damned good general and his men fought well. And, somewhat surprisingly, there had been little in the way of discipline problems in Mexico. A few men had gotten drunk and one man was in jail accused of rape, but the drunks had their asses kicked by their sergeants, and the alleged rapist was scared to death. He’d be released later as an investigation showed that the alleged victim was a prostitute. The benefit of the doubt would go to the soldier. Still, Tovey’d decided to let the stupid kid stew in jail for a couple of days, thinking he was going to spend the rest of his miserable life in prison breaking rocks. Hopefully, he’d realize that no piece of ass was worth that much.

Gunfire erupted from the hacienda, only a few scattered shots, but enough to send Tovey’s men to ground. An American machine gun opened up and, after a few long bursts, the fire from the hacienda ceased.

Tovey’s men ran cautiously up to the hacienda and into it. There was no more gunfire. Lejeune swore as he saw General Tovey far too close to the action.

Moments later, Tovey emerged and waved towards Lejeune who swore again. The crazy Texan wanted him to come over and climb up that hill.

Tovey greeted the Marine general outside the hacienda. “I think we got something Washington isn’t going to like.”

Lejeune took a deep breath. He was fifty-three and maybe getting too old to climb mountains, although he’d be double damned if he’d ever admit it.

“Come on in here, General,” Tovey said and Lejuene followed.

Two men lay on the floor. One was a young officer and the other an older man with a full beard. Lejeune recognized him from his photos. Carranza.

“Did we kill him?”

Tovey shrugged. “Not damn likely, but we’ll get the blame. Carranza’ll be a hero for standing up to us and dying for dear old Mexico. There’ll be statues of the fat asshole all over Mexico in a few days and he’ll be a rallying cry for them like the burning of Laredo was for us. No, he was shot and killed well before we got here.”

“How do you know that?”

Tovey laughed. “I was a Texas Ranger, which meant I had to know a little about police work, and even I can tell you those bodies are pretty damn cold for fresh casualties, and, oh yeah, one more thing.”

“What?”

“Along with gunshots to the chest, both those poor sons of bitches were shot in the back of the head.”