1920: America's Great War

CHAPTER 21

A few hours later, Luke stood before Liggett and Sims. The general glowered at him in mock anger. “Just once I’d like you to report to me wearing a clean uniform. Good lord, is that blood?”

“It is sir, but not mine.” He told them about carrying the dying Captain Ward away from the trenches.

“That was well done; however tragic the results, but your adventure was ill-advised. Had you been killed I would have lost a valuable officer. Had you been captured, the Germans would have been given a key member of my intelligence staff. They would have interrogated you, even tortured you, in order to find what you knew. In plain English, your presence in the trenches was an act of consummate stupidity.”

“Yes sir.” Luke declined to comment that he’d realized that the instant the shells began to fall. He also didn’t add that he’d had no plans to be taken alive. However, he did wonder if he had the courage to kill himself.

“You will promise me that you will not go near the front lines again.”

“Promised, sir. I will absolutely stay away from the front lines.”

Liggett’s expression softened while Sims remained impassive. “Unless, of course, the front lines come to you, which could happen if the Krauts breach our third and last line of defenses. If that happens, your being captured and tortured for information will have become moot since the city will have fallen. Also, I’ve heard it that you killed a dozen Germans while covering the retreat. Any truth to that?”

“I killed maybe two and wounded a third.”

Liggett actually smiled. “We’ll let the rumors swirl. We need a hero and if a little exaggeration makes you qualify, we’ll let it happen. Now, get the hell out of here and go clean up.”

He was on his way to the officers’ quarters when Kirsten ran up and grabbed his arm. Her eyes were red from crying.

“You are a fool, a complete idiot,” she said as she first grabbed his arms, then let go and began pounding on his chest. “What on earth were you thinking of, risking your life like that? They gave you rank and responsibility so you could stay safe and use your brain, not your gun.”

“I’m sorry,” he said lamely. A scolding from a three-star general he could endure. Kirsten’s wrath, never.

“You almost made me a widow a second time and we’re not even married yet.”

“Do you want to marry me?”

“Yes, but not until after this is over.”

“And why aren’t you at the hospital?”

“Because they don’t need me right now. There’s been an influx of trained personnel from up north, so now I’m back to being a clerk, cataloging the wounded and trying to notify their families. It’s important, sometimes even heartbreaking, but it can wait a few hours.”

She had taken his arm and was steering him away from the Presidio. “Where are we going?”

“To the apartment. You can clean up, get fed, and I’ll let you play with the dog and cat.”

Luke leaned against her. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. Still, he grinned. “Can I play with their owner?”

The long line of trains from American occupied Monterrey moved slowly through northern Mexico and then into Arizona where they linked up with the rail lines heading to San Diego and Los Angeles. They moved slowly because not all Mexicans agreed with their new government’s decision to allow the American Army access to their trains and railway system. Isolated pockets of Carranza’s men still remained and, allied with small German units, disrupted the American advance by blowing up tracks. Some of the officers and men on the trains referred to the trains as long, slow targets. Others thought of worse names as they waited for the tracks to be repaired by the repairmen they’d brought with them.

Marcus Tovey had originally thought he’d remain in Mexico as part of the shrinking garrison that occupied Monterrey. The city was hostage to Mexican good intentions and, so far, the Obregon government had given every indication that it was going to obey the new rules.

It had been somewhat of a surprise when Lejeune had selected Tovey’s force to accompany the First Marine Division on its journey to southern California. Lejeune had laughingly informed Tovey that he considered the Texas Ranger and his men to be worthwhile additions to his force. “You people are damned good fighters. Almost good enough to be U.S. Marines,” he’d added.

Other caravans of trains were forming and several Army divisions under Pershing were almost ready to move west. It would be a long, slow process, however. Whatever was going to happen to San Francisco would be long over before any substantial American relief force from the south could get near the place.

The train lurched to a halt and the men spilled out, their rifles at the ready. In the distance they could hear the snap of rifle fire and the chatter of machine guns. Someone was taking a stand near where the right of way narrowed as it went though a canyon.

The Texas Brigade was on the fourth train, which meant it was a long ways from the action. A number of horses were in a car a few back. Tovey grabbed one and rode bareback towards the front. It felt good to be mounted. Hell, he was a Texas Ranger and belonged on a horse. He trotted forward past several long trains and hundreds of dismounting men. It was obvious that something serious was happening.

General Lejeune spotted Tovey. “Germans are to our front. Goddamned Krauts have taken over from the greasers and are blocking the road. Worse, it looks like a solid regiment. I’ve ordered an immediate attack.”

The rail line ran through a notch bordered by rugged hills. The Germans were at the top. Their trenches were scars on the hillside and they were firing down at probing Marine units. Nothing was going to move down that rail line until the Germans were kicked out.

Tovey watched with growing dismay as lines of Marines moved toward the hastily dug-in Germans. He wanted to remind Lejeune that the Germans were a whole lot different from the Mexicans, but, hell, the general already knew that, didn’t he? And what did Tovey know about fighting Krauts? The only ones he’d seen were along the Rio Grande and at a distance. The Marines really knew only one way to fight—attack. The time spent on the defensive outside San Antonio had irked them. They wanted to bring the fight to the enemy and now they were doing it.

The Americans advanced in orderly waves, but the orderliness didn’t last very long. Bullets ripped through them and machine guns cut them down like wheat. Some men fell in neat rows. Tovey could almost hear sergeants and officers screaming for the men to advance, keep advancing. The only way to safety, they yelled, was to kill the Germans. German light artillery, their 75mm cannon and some light mortars, dropped shells into the Marines causing more carnage.

The Marines stopped advancing and began to dig in, using anything to protect themselves from the scything fury of the German guns. Tovey glanced at Lejeune, who was pale with anger and frustration. He’d made a mistake and his Marines were paying for it.

He turned away. “We’ll reinforce the men at night and attack again at dawn.”

“It’ll be a bloodbath,” Tovey said. He wasn’t afraid of speaking his mind to the Marine general. Hell, when the war was over, he’d go back to being a Texas Ranger, not a soldier. “General, you’ve read your history. It’s like the Spartans at Thermopylae. They can hold us at bay until they run out of ammunition or we run out of men.”

“We outnumber them,” Lejeune said stubbornly.

“But not by that much. If that’s a full regiment, and I think it is, that’s maybe three thousand men and not three hundred like the Spartans had. We’ve got about twelve thousand, and not the half million the Persians had. I’ll bet we lost five hundred men in today’s attack and the Krauts not one tenth of that.”

“How the hell do you know so much about ancient history?”

Tovey grinned. “I may be a dumb-ass Texan but I’m a dumb-ass Texan who knows how to read.”

Several of Lejeune’s aides had moved away, waiting for the general to explode. It didn’t happen. “What do you suggest?” Lejeune asked softly.

“The Persians found a way around the Spartans and slaughtered them. That’s what we have to do. Keep their heads down by shooting at them and pretending to attack and find a way around this mess.”

“All right, Tovey, you’ve got all night to find me a way. But I still attack tomorrow. We can’t stay here until the Krauts decide to let us pass.”

The woman entered Tovey’s tent accompanied by a lieutenant who was waved out. She was light olive-skinned and petite. There was anger in her eyes. He decided she looked more Spanish than Mexican. If it wasn’t for the anger, she might be very pretty.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Martina Flores and I want to help you.”

“Why?”

“To hurt the Germans who caused all this. My husband was killed by Carranza’s men and I was held captive by the Germans and some American collaborators. They first took my husband and then took my pride. They kept me prisoner and their slave until I escaped and helped free some American prisoners. Then I returned here.”

Tovey nodded. American collaborators? Well, he supposed it was inevitable. Someone would always kiss the ass of the new playground bully. When they were caught they would hang, but first they had to be caught. And what did she mean by taking her pride? He thought he knew and decided not to ask. And what about free American prisoners?

She looked at him eagerly. “I grew up around here and know the area. I had family on both sides of the border. I can find you a path around the Germans.”

“And how do I know it isn’t a trap?”

She shrugged. “I will have to go with you to show the path to you. If it’s a trap, you can shoot me.”

“Fair enough,” Tovey said and went off to find Lejeune.

Two hours later, the column of Texans snaked its way south of the now stalled fighting and around the German lines. Dressed in men’s clothing, Martina guided them along a path that was barely fit for goats. Tovey now had no doubts as to the truth of her tale.

Slowly and carefully, they marched through the night. A couple of men were injured falling down the almost mountainous terrain. Martina was exhausted but didn’t complain. Once, she stumbled and he grabbed her arm to steady her and she ripped it from his grasp.

She glared at him and then softened. “I’m sorry. You meant well. It’s just that I’m not used to kindness yet.”

Dawn found them approaching a compound of several dozen tents. It was a supply depot for the troops defending the hill. Wagons and trucks were parked nearby and there were some more of their damned cannon. The men in the compound were facing the hills and didn’t notice the Texans approaching from the wrong direction.

On the other side of the hill, American and German artillery were dueling and they could hear rifle fire. Lejeune said he’d attack at dawn whether Tovey made it or not. Son of a bitch, Tovey thought, it was time to get moving. He noticed that Martina’s eyes glowed with a near-maniacal fury.

Tovey ordered his men forward at a steady run. The Germans continued looking ahead and not behind. They didn’t turn and see them until the Texans were almost on them. Screaming and howling, the Texans tore through the camp, shooting and killing as they went. Scores of Germans surrendered, while others ran in all direction.

“Up the hill,” Tovey ordered. Now they would take the main German lines in the rear.

They didn’t have to. Within minutes, German soldiers began to withdraw from their trenches and pour over the crest. They’d heard the fighting behind them and could see that their camp had fallen. The American Army was both in front and behind them and it was time to get the hell out of this place.

The Texans took up firing positions and now it was the Germans’ turn to die. Out in the open, Tovey’s men cut them down by the scores and then by the hundreds. Advancing Marines appeared over the crest line and joined in the slaughter. German soldiers began throwing down their weapons and holding their arms up high.

Tovey walked over and looked at the vaunted German soldiers. It was the first he’d seen them up close. Their field gray uniforms looked like they were good camouflage and their coal scuttle helmets looked like good protection. They appeared to be good soldiers, but not superhuman like people said they were. They bled and died like ordinary men. The ones who were trying to surrender looked terrified and some were crying, although a number looked furious. Their generals had betrayed them.

Lejeune found him. “Well done, Marcus. This is one Kraut regiment that won’t pester us again.” Then he shook his head sadly. “I just wish it hadn’t cost us six hundred men to do it.”

He found Martina staring at the carnage. The fury was gone from her eyes, now replaced by deep sadness. At first she’d wanted to accompany him on the attack and he’d threatened to use force to stop her. She’d relented and stayed behind, just not too far behind. He wanted to comfort her, but remembered how she’d recoiled from his inadvertent touch before.

“Enough killing,” she said softly. She turned and put her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and held her as she shuddered. “Where are you going now?” she asked.

“On to southern California. We’ll visit San Diego and maybe Los Angeles.”

“Then I will go with you, at least part of the way. I need to see some people and make sure they’re okay.”

Lejeune said, “We’ll be heading that way, but we’ll be walking.”

Tovey looked down the line. The tracks had been ripped up as far as he could see.

Was there anything more majestic than a German battleship? thought the crown prince. Given his birthright as the Kaiser’s heir, he’d been on a number of them, but this was his first trip to a glorious monster like the Bayern, the flagship of the mighty German Pacific Fleet.

The Bayern was truly imposing. She displaced thirty-two thousand tons and her main armament was eight fifteen-inch guns in four turrets. They were larger than anything the Americans had and only equaled by the Royal Navy’s Queen Elizabeth class battleships.

Her secondary battery consisted of sixteen 5.9-inch guns and a multitude of smaller guns and a handful of torpedo turrets. She could steam eight thousand nautical miles without refueling and do so at twenty-two knots. Many cars, he thought, could not achieve that speed. She and her three sister ships, the Baden, Sachsen, and Wurttemberg, were the mightiest ships in the German Navy. Only the Bayern was off California. The others remained in Germany.

The prince carefully climbed the stairway to the deck. A stumble would not do for the imperial dignity and, despite calm seas, the massive ship was moving slightly. He was greeted by Admiral Hipper and Admiral Trotha. The ubiquitous Captain Canaris stood behind Hipper. The prince reviewed the immaculately uniformed crew and then the men retreated to Hipper’s quarters for lunch, brandy, and cigars. The prince found himself wistfully thinking that it would be wonderful to have such a movable fort on land. He mentioned it to the two admirals who chuckled.

“We could build it,” Hipper said cheerfully, “but how in God’s name would we ever move it?”

Hipper gave an almost invisible signal and Trotha departed, leaving him alone with the prince. “Sir, I am honored that you came.”

“And I am honored by the invitation. Your ship is truly marvelous.”

“Indeed, sir, but neither she nor her sisters have yet accomplished a thing. I know that blockade work is essential, but it is anticlimactic, boring, and does nothing for the reputation of Germany’s newest weapon, her mighty fleet.”

The prince sighed. He had expected this. “I assume you wish to share in the final assault.”

“Sir, our honor demands it. I have brought four minesweepers to clear the channel. All I need from you is the date and time of your attack and my fleet will blast its way into San Francisco Bay. When the Americans realize they are being assaulted by land and sea, they will panic and resistance will crumble.”

“You will lose some of your ships,” Wilhelm said quietly.

“As you will lose men, sir.”

The prince frowned. The German Army had suffered another ten thousand casualties storming the American’s second line. Intelligence said that the Yank third line was the most formidable and was where what machine guns and artillery they had were massed. He was confident he could carry it, but at what price? Anything the Navy could do to make his job less bloody would be welcomed.

There were other factors, political factors, affecting the admiral’s request to be included in the fighting. Germany’s reputation was that of a land power and the proud German Navy was a new and basically untried force. Worse, it hadn’t accomplished much in the 1914 war and very little in this fight. Modern ships were exorbitantly expensive and the money men in Berlin were questioning the new navy’s usefulness in a modern war. Hipper and the other admirals feared that their navy might be relegated to a secondary force, and they had good reason to worry. No new capital ships had been launched in three years. Wait and see was Berlin’s attitude, while the generals sat back and smirked. A joint victory by the German Army and Navy would ensure that more warships joined the navy.

“And what of the American battleships, Admiral? The Nevada is doubtless joining her sisters, thus constituting a serious fleet in being.”

To the German command’s dismay, the Nevada had somehow been refueled and rearmed. It was presumed from smuggled supplies and another useless protest would be lodged with the British.

The Nevada had emerged from the night and bulled her way past the destroyers and light cruisers loosely blockading Puget Sound. One destroyer had been sunk and a cruiser damaged with no apparent harm to the Nevada.

“The Americans have three battleships at sea,” said Hipper, “whilst we have ten. I am not concerned about them. In fact, let them come and do battle instead of attacking convoys. They are wretched cowards,” he sniffed.

Hipper exuded confidence, but he couldn’t quite hide his lingering doubts. Even though the American force would be smaller in numbers, it would still be quite formidable. The Bayern was the only German battleship with fifteen-inch guns. The others had twelve-inch batteries, with the exception of the Nassau and Posen, which only had eleven-inch main guns. The three American battleships all had fourteen-inch weapons. The Bayern could sink any one of them, but what if she was attacked by two or by all three?

Hipper had decided that would keep his battleships together so the smaller American force could be overwhelmed. And why the devil hadn’t the kaiser permitted at least one other of the Bayern’s sisters to accompany her, or even some of the lighter battlecruisers that had cost so much and accomplished so little? The majority of the German High Seas Fleet had stayed at home, left to stare at the Royal Navy.

Prudently, Hipper had ordered all convoys to remain in Cam Ranh Bay until the Americans had been destroyed.

Hipper continued. “As I understand it, sir, your attack will be with a degree of urgency. Haven’t the Americans broken through in the south?”

The prince sighed. “They have, but not in great numbers and they are five hundred miles away. I made a mistake, Admiral. I assigned an inexperienced general and an inexperienced regiment to guard the southern approach as replacements for the duplicitous Mexicans. Their commander was ordered to avoid a full battle. He was told to nibble at them as they had nibbled at us in our advance northward. He was to keep between them and their target, whether it was San Diego or the Central Valley. But no, the fool decided to make a heroic stand against a much larger American force. He lost half his men and, fortunately for him, his life. Thank God the senior surviving officer, a major named Rommel, had the presence of mind to continue destroying the railroad tracks as he and the remnants of the regiment fled north. The Yanks will be delayed for some time.”

“A shame, but mistakes do happen,” Hipper said. “Trotha is still cursing himself for letting the Americans escape from Puget Sound.”

“War is imperfect,” the prince said. “After we take San Francisco, I will detach a corps and send it south to squash the Americans before they can bring additional troops. Yes, you may join in the attack on the city. It will occur in only a few days and, yes, the idea of your ships rampaging in San Francisco Bay is intoxicating. I almost wish I could be on the bridge of the Bayern when you blast the Americans.”

Hipper laughed. “Consider yourself invited, sir.”

The prince smiled. “But understand that you may be fog bound when we do attack. You must not take unnecessary risks with the fleet.”

“Trust me, sir. I will be brave, but discreet. If we cannot see the Golden Gate, we will not move. I have absolutely no intention of going down in history as the German admiral who rammed his fleet onto the California coast.”

“When and where?” Ike wondered and Luke had no answer. The American lines ran about fifty miles across from just south of Santa Cruz on the Pacific coast to south of Modesto where they veered north and petered out in the foothills. Each side scouted the other to prevent an end around, but the Germans didn’t seem interested in trying such a maneuver and the Americans lacked the capability to pull it off.

The German works paralleled the American’s and were, on average, a mere mile away from them. There was sniping and patrolling all along the lines. Casualties were light, but this was scant comfort to those who were killed and wounded in the skirmishes. Each side was waiting. The Germans were gathering their strength and the waiting would be over very shortly.

A knock on the door to his office and a burly sergeant stuck his head in, “Got a prisoner for you, sir. General Eisenhower thinks you should talk to him.”

Luke smiled and stood up. “What the general wants, the general gets.”

The prisoner was under guard in a converted conference room. A pair of thuggish goons from the provost marshal’s office glared down at him. They had billy-clubs in their hands and twirled them menacingly. The German was in his very early twenties and looked frightened. A slight, wiry youth, scarcely out of his teens, his eyes darted around the room and at the angry Americans who looked like they wanted to kill him, which was the impression that Luke wanted them to give.

Luke sized up the situation and ordered the others out. Now he would be the good-guy interrogator. He offered the young man water and food. The boy brightened considerably.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Hans, sir, Hans Kessler.”

“And where are you from?”

“Sir, I was born and raised in Innsbruck.”

Luke stiffened. Innsbruck was in Austria and, even though the Austrians had declared war on the United States as dutiful allies of Imperial Germany, the act hadn’t meant much. Austria was a long ways away. Or was it? Had the young Austro-Hungarian emperor, Karl I, been talked into a more active role by the belligerent and domineering kaiser?

A roast beef sandwich arrived along with a couple of cookies and a glass of Coca Cola. Kessler proceeded to devour them as if he was starving. Of course, a healthy young man like him could be desperately hungry in a matter of hours.

“What did you do before you joined the army, Hans?”

“I worked on the mountains with my father and brothers. Sometimes we taught tourists how to ski and sometimes we had to rescue the fools when they got hurt or lost.” He grinned. “Sometimes the women were very grateful.”

Luke laughed along with the prisoner and thought that maybe he wasn’t as young or innocent as he first thought. “Along with skiing, did you do any real mountain climbing?”

Kessler rolled his eyes. “A lot, sir, and that’s why I’m here. I got drafted into the Alpine Corps and then my regiment was sent here. They say we volunteered for it, but I don’t remember volunteering for anything.” He shrugged. “Of course, nobody in any army ever volunteers for anything.”

Ike had found the prisoner’s information intriguing enough to ask for an audience with the two senior military commanders.

Luke summarized the prisoner’s testimony. “In short, he’s a member of an elite Austrian Alpine regiment that’s now in California and listed as volunteers. Their job is to probe the hills and mountains around San Francisco and gather information as well as finding weak points in our defenses.”

Liggett leaned forward. “And these so-called volunteers are assigned to General Hutier?”

“Yes sir, at least this man’s regiment is. He didn’t know of any other Austrian units in California and I believe him.”

Sims was puzzled. “Why is his attachment to Hutier of such a concern?”

Liggett answered. “Hutier is an innovator. He may be a genius or a fool, depending, of course on whether or not he succeeds. He may have read of the Union General Emory Upton in the later stages of our Civil War, since his own theories mimic Upton’s. In short, Hutier believes in brief, intense bombardments followed by sharp, limited attacks at weak points that have been identified by people such as those in an Alpine regiment. Perhaps they will even use poison gas. The attackers swarm through in limited fronts, bypassing strongpoints, leaving them for followup forces to destroy.”

“Then Hutier’s corps is going to carry out the main attack?” Sims asked.

“Not likely,” Liggett answered. “There are too many logistical and geographic problems. Hutier’s corps is separated by bad terrain from the rest of the Germans, which limits the forces that can be used against the city. I am confident that the main German attack will come along the east side of the bay and try to sweep north of a monumentally outnumbered and outgunned American army in San Francisco, which must then either surrender or be pounded to pieces.

“Hutier’s attack, however, could be devastating if he manages to punch through to the city proper. It’s a digression without much cost. We must defend against it. If it succeeds, they will have won an inexpensive victory. In theory, Hutier’s tactics will work for a while, but his troops will sustain heavy casualties and run out of energy when dealing with a defense in depth. Unfortunately, the Germans are already through two of our three levels of fortification; thus, we do not really possess a defense in depth. If we are distracted by a massive assault elsewhere, Hutier may try to punch his way into the city and he may succeed.”

“We need to reinforce the city, sir,” said Ike.

“Easier said than done,” answered Liggett. “We’d have to strip lines where we think the main attack will come. In the meantime, I am creating a floating reserve by stripping badly needed men and guns from our trenches and placing them in a position where they can reinforce the point of attack.”

“Excellent,” said Sims.

“Possibly,” said Liggett. “The Germans will have doubtless anticipated this and will use their aerial superiority to interdict any attempt to reinforce the main army. We will use every plane we have to protect those troops moving up.”

Sims nodded. Not every plane, thought, he thought. “General Eisenhower, do you have a good idea where the attack will come?”

“Yes, Admiral,” He walked to the map and pointed to an area ten miles east of the bay in the middle of General von Mackensen’s army. Like Hutier, Mackensen was an exponent of sharp, limited attacks. Although seventy years old, the general was still a very competent field commander. “Our spies and the few flyovers we’ve managed to make indicate a major buildup in this area.”

Sims was puzzled. “Far be it for me to question army tactics, General, but why not reinforce the threatened area now? Why wait until the attack begins when it is reasonably obvious that’s where it will fall?”

Liggett mulled it over. Part of him hated being told his job by a damned admiral, no matter how close they’d become. But did Sims have a better idea than his? Damn. He remembered the dictum that he who defends everything winds up defending nothing. If he kept his army where it was, it would be too weak to repel a major assault. If he immediately reinforced the likely area of attack, he would strip other areas of what men and weapons they had. But then, they would be defeated anyhow. If he reinforced the area now and didn’t wait for the attack, he wouldn’t have to worry that much about German planes.

“We’ll do it,” he decided. “However, we do have men coming down by train from Seattle. When they arrive, they will immediately be sent to San Francisco. These are the men who made it across the Columbia River. It’s maddening that it’s taking so long for them to get here, but there is only one railroad line and virtually no other roads through the north that are useable this time of year.”

“I pray they will be in time,” said Sims. “But in the name of God, what about poison gas? Could the Germans be barbaric enough to introduce it?”

Poison gas had not been used by either side in the 1914 War, but the Germans had used it in Russia against the Reds. The horrific results had stunned the world and further cast the kaiser in the role of Attila the Hun.

Liggett glared. “When you consider their other atrocities, why not?”

“With respect, sirs,” Luke injected, “I think it’s highly unlikely they’ll introduce gas. The prevailing winds are from the west-northwest, which means they’d likely blow the gas back over the German lines.”

“What a pleasant thought, Luke. Are you a hundred per cent certain of that?” Liggett asked.

“No sir, I’m not. There could always be exceptions. Also, I have no idea how many German casualties the kaiser’s oldest son is willing to accept in order to achieve victory. Having gone this far, however, I think they Germans would be willing to accept enormous casualties to achieve their goals.”