1920: America's Great War

CHAPTER 24

Barricades had been thrown up across the streets leading south towards where the Germans had penetrated. The barricades were made up of cars, trucks, and wagons that had been tilted on their sides. Furniture had been added and stuffed in to make a wall maybe ten feet high. Where possible, soldiers had taken up flanking positions. The ad hoc defenses had been skillfully laid. The only problems were the lack of manpower and firepower. The headquarters had been stripped of all army and navy personnel and a number of civilians and retreating soldiers had joined the force. General Liggett estimated that he had perhaps a thousand men.

The main German force was coming up 40th Avenue, a straight road that led directly to the U.S. Military Preserve and the Golden Gate Cemetery. Before that, however, was the Golden Gate Park, and it was at the southern end of the park that the barricades were put up.

Liggett had taken direct command and decided they would try to funnel the German advance down the streets, rather than giving them a chance to fan out in the park and use their firepower and numbers to advantage. So far, it had worked, but because only a relatively few Germans had made it that far. Several Germans had been killed or wounded by the initial burst of fire. The wounded had been picked up by German soldiers under flag of truce. Now all the American defenders could do was wait for the Germans to get organized and launch a real assault.

A forward scout scrambled back from his position a few blocks in advance of the barricades. “They’re forming up, General, and it looks like at least a full regiment, maybe more. They’ll be coming down this street in a few minutes.”

At which point we’ll all be dead or prisoners, Liggett thought, and he saw the same on Admiral Sims’ face. Sims and the other naval personnel looked incongruous in their blue uniforms carrying rifles. Many looked like they’d never seen a rifle before. At least the sailors weren’t wearing white. That would have made them ideal targets.

Liggett nodded and the scout began to return to his position down the street. Suddenly, he wheeled and ran back.

“Oh shit, sir, here they come.”

Waves of soldiers in field gray uniforms were advancing up 40th Avenue, a close-packed mass of humanity in metal helmets. So far they were walking, but they would charge when they got close enough and overwhelm the barricade by sheer weight of numbers. Through his binoculars, Liggett recognized a German general—von Hutier? Well, he thought, the man at least had the courage of his convictions.

“Where do you want my men, General?”

Liggett wheeled and smiled. He’d been so engrossed that he hadn’t noticed the sounds of boots pounding on the pavement behind him, many boots.

“Douglas, it’s so good to see you. Luke, what the devil took you so long?”

Before either could reply, Liggett continued. “General MacArthur, place your men as you see fit, but please do so in a hurry.”

MacArthur looked down the street and gasped. “Fill in everywhere, men, just fill in!” He saw Randall and Taylor. “You two stay with me.”

“Oh Jesus,” Tim muttered, “Just what we need.”

The newly-arrived Americans had no artillery, but they did have machine guns, both BARs and Hotchkiss guns, along with some Browning weapons. Liggett could only stare and smile. What he would have given for those machine guns when the Germans were advancing up the valley.

“Now!”

At MacArthur’s command, hell broke loose from the Americans. Tim ran along behind his men and urged them to keep aiming low, just like they’d been taught. Tim stopped and aimed at a German. He squeezed off a shot just the way he’d done in camp and saw the man fall. He fired a second time and another German grasped his leg and tumbled. Look at that, he thought, the Germans can die just like anybody else. All around him, men were firing and Germans were falling.

It wasn’t one sided. Germans paused and fired their Mausers coolly and steadily and with deadly effect. Lieutenant Taylor screamed and fell back, clutching his shoulder. Tim started to reach for him when MacArthur snarled at him to keep shooting and let the medics care for his friend. As an aside, MacArthur told Tim he was now in charge of Taylor’s company.

The Germans stopped advancing. MacArthur sensed that this was the moment of truth. He leaped to the top of the barricade, firing his pistol at the Germans. Bullets whipped by him but none hit. MacArthur had a coldly maniacal look on his face, as if he knew it was not his destiny to die this day.

“Fix bayonets!” he ordered and thousands of men complied.

Again MacArthur fired his pistol in the direction of the Germans. “Now charge!” he yelled and jumped down to the other side, running forward, confronting the Germans.

Aw shit! Tim thought as he landed beside MacArthur and began to move forward.

Admiral Hipper was disconcerted and confused. The garbled radio message from the prince seemed to say that he should depart the bay, which was what he’d already decided. A fleet should never be landlocked any longer than necessary. The German Navy had proven its mettle by crashing through into San Francisco Bay. The American defenses had been destroyed and there was no reason to remain. A few barges or ferries carrying troops had managed to cross the bay, but others had been destroyed with great loss of life. Bodies of dead Americans floated everywhere. It was a great victory.

The loss of the Nassau and Posen would prove that a blood price had been paid and that German naval courage could not ever be doubted.

The survivors from the two battleships had been picked up and the wounded were being cared for. In a short while it would indeed be prudent to seek the open ocean, but what was the rush? From the sounds of it, there was fighting in San Francisco proper and it was inconceivable that the main attack had failed. Yet, that was what the miserable and static-filled radio communication seemed to indicate. Technology was so wonderful except when it didn’t work.

He’d launched a floatplane to fly over the battlefield but some fool on one side or the other had shot it down.

Twilight was coming and he didn’t want to rush through unfamiliar waters in darkness. It was either leave now or wait until morning.

A confirmation was radioed in. Something had gone horribly wrong with the main attack and Mackensen’s army was pulling back, presumably to try again tomorrow, Hipper thought. Leaving now, therefore, was the right thing to do. If they remained, they would be at the mercy of American field artillery which, while more annoying than anything else, might still present a danger to his precious ships. As to what was happening in San Francisco, it was clearly not any of his immediate concern.

He gave the order to Canaris, who began to relay the proper commands to the other ships. Eight great capital ships were at anchor and it would take a few minutes haul them up and begin their way out. No matter. With the Yank shore batteries silenced, the German fleet could return tomorrow if needed. If not, then honor had been satisfied.

“What the devil?”

A burst of fire erupted from the deck of the battleship Kaiserin and billowed skyward. In the light of the flames, he could see dots, like moths, flitting about. They were planes, he realized with horror, American planes.

Amelia Earhart flew low, extremely low, over the ground and then over the blue water of San Francisco Bay. A German cruiser was in front of her and she had to gain altitude to clear it. As it was, she saw shocked faces beneath her. She thought about waving.

Scores of other little airplanes had commenced departing their secret airfield. The total number of Fireflies would be close to two hundred. She was to drop her load and return to the airfield for another and, God willing, another and another.

Today’s cargo consisted of one female pilot and a number of containers rigged to drop from the plane when she pulled the appropriate handle. The containers were filled with gasoline and had a crude detonator for each. Even though the gasoline made takeoffs extremely dangerous, she had convinced a couple of mechanics to go along with her plans. Without a second person in the plane, it meant she could carry that much more gasoline.

Something exploded to her right and she saw a ship on fire. Good, the Germans were beginning to pay. Oops, bad. Now they would be alert. As she thought that, glowing fingers of tracer bullets leaped from the German ships but didn’t touch her.

“Look at that,” she said to herself.

A truly massive ship was coming up fast. She gauged the distance and pulled a switch. Two of the containers dropped. She banked the plane to see and yelled with delight as the ship’s rearmost turret began to burn. Gas was thinner than water. The gasoline would find cracks and crevices that would stop the thicker liquid. The gas didn’t even have to ignite immediately. Sooner or later, it would likely come in contact with something hot or burning and flare up. She visualized gallons of flaming gasoline going down hatches and into the interior of the huge ship, coming in contact with red hot shells.

Her plane shuddered. Oh, Christ, she thought. Her left wing was damaged and the rudder wasn’t responding. Nor were her legs, she realized. Blood was running down them and into he boots. She’d been shot and didn’t know when.

The plane began to cartwheel and Amelia Earhart knew she was going to die. She whimpered as the sea drew closer. Her last thought as the plane struck the water and exploded was the fervent hope that at least some of her body would be found so her parents could give her a proper funeral.

MacArthur’s detractors in the small American Army, Luke included, might have considered him arrogant or pompous, but he wasn’t a coward. His actions at Vera Cruz a few years earlier had proven that. Yelling and screaming, he charged into the Germans. Luke fired into the chest of a German only a few feet away, wheeled and stuck another in the gut with his bayonet. He tried to pull it out and it stuck. The German howled and tried to grab the rifle.

Luke fired, killing the Kraut and freeing the bayonet. He slid in a fresh clip and continued firing. More Americans had joined what was now a brawl. Suddenly, the rifle was knocked from his hands. He pulled his pistol and looked for someone to shoot.

A middle-aged man was staggering in front of him. The man looked confused and disoriented. He also looked important. Luke grabbed him by the lapel and jabbed the pistol under his chin. “Surrender or I’ll blow your fucking head off,” he said and then repeated it in German.

The man looked startled. His eyes were glazed. He raised his hands. “Bitte, bitte,” he said, please, please. As he did, other Germans began to do the same thing.

A younger German officer approached tentatively, his hands open. “My name is von Richter. It’s over. Let me help my general.”

Luke’s mind whirled. General? What the hell had he just gone and done? “Great, but who is this guy?”

Von Richter smiled wanly as the sounds of battle faded into unnatural silence. “Please let me present General Oskar von Hutier.”

Hipper was outraged and frustrated. A tiny plane had dropped something on the Bayern’s rearmost turret and now the damn thing was burning furiously. Damage-control parties were working hard to contain the blaze lest the flames reach the ammunition in the turret or, God forbid, an ammunition magazine and cause a catastrophic explosion. His beautiful ship, the Bayern, was damaged and one quarter of her weapons were out of action.

Little planes, like little bugs, swarmed around the ships, sometimes flying so low they couldn’t be seen and sometimes flying between ships so guns couldn’t be fired for fear of hitting another German ship.

The little planes, gnats he thought, were wreaking havoc. If it wasn’t so tragic, it would be funny. Everyone knew that planes couldn’t bomb warships and do much damage, but everyone had assumed the bombs would be explosive, not flammable. How wrong could they have been?

Many of the little gnats had been blown from the sky, swatted like the bugs they were. Perhaps dozens had fallen, but there were still so many that the ships’ guns couldn’t kill them all. In a corner of his mind, Hipper made the mental note that future warships would have to have many, many more antiaircraft guns as everyone would soon know of this despicable trick pulled by the Americans. Also, seals around turrets and hatches would have to be tighter. He wondered if he would live long enough to transmit this information.

Two other of his battleships, the Koenig and the Thuringen, were burning badly. As he watched, the front turret of the Koenig exploded, sending wreckage into the air. The turret itself lifted off the ship and fell into the ocean with a mighty splash. The Thuringen ceased moving and men began throwing themselves off the burning wreck and into the relative safety of the bay. Some of the German sailors were themselves on fire and Hipper allowed himself a moment of pity before he realized what he had to do.

“Sortie!” Hipper screamed. “All ships sortie!”

To hell with formation and to hell with dignity, he thought. He had to get the remainder of his fleet out of this death trap. He’d entered with ten battleships and was now down to six, and the remainder all damaged to some extent. The Koenig and the Thuringen might not even make it to sea. The German Navy had won its honor but had just been defeated by a most unlikely and improbable enemy.

“Full speed,” he ordered. The Bayern raced through the channel and out into the ocean.

His great ship shuddered. Something was erupting in the stern where the fire raged. He was afraid to look. The ship shook again and a shock wave passed over and through the Bayern. D-turret had exploded.

Kirsten ran to where she could see what was happening in the bay. Earlier, she’d watched in dismay as the mighty German fleet hammered its way in. She wondered if this was the end of it. Would San Francisco fall to Germany despite all their efforts to defend it?

Curiously, the flow of wounded to the hospital had slowed to less than a trickle. There was a great battle raging to the east, but those wounded were cut off from her hospital facilities because the bay was now controlled by the Germans. There was fighting to the direct south and that concerned her deeply, as it did Elise who was with her. Both Luke and Josh were down to the south, and the fighting was close enough for them to discern the sound of small-arms fire.

But the chaos in San Francisco Bay was beyond belief. Elise had told her what the Fireflies were, and what they were going to attempt to do. Kirsten and thought it a hopeless endeavor and one that would result in many needless deaths.

But now she’d changed her mind. Not only were the damned Hun ships withdrawing, but the little fireflies had caused significant damage. Two German ships were burning furiously and dead in the water. They would never leave the bay.

All of the German ships were hurt and burning to some extent. Fire was the great fear of men on ships and she’d been told that firefighting was practiced constantly. Once out of the bay and out of the range of the fireflies, the flames would be brought under control and the German ships saved.

However, the flames on the largest ship, the Bayern, were not yet under control. It looked like the metal stern of the ship was so hot it was glowing, perhaps melting. As she was thinking that, the Bayern’s rearmost turret exploded, sending debris high into the air. People in the crowd around her gasped as shock waves shook the battleship like it was a toy.

The German fleet, now down to six battleships, moved out to sea. The handful of cruisers that had also made it into the bay made their own escape, largely ignored by the Fireflies and the few shore batteries.

Splashes suddenly appeared around the German ships. Geysers lifted higher than the superstructures themselves. What was going on? Kirsten and the other spectators had been so transfixed by the German ships that they’d ignored the horizon. Three grey silhouettes were moving and circling slowly and firing their guns. The Arizona, Pennsylvania, and Nevada had arrived.

Elise smiled. She had been privy to the great secret. “Admiral Sims had them hiding only fifty miles north of here. They were already on their way when the Fireflies attacked.”

Sims had taken a great chance. If the Firefly attack had failed, the American ships would have had to run for their lives. Again.

It was difficult to follow, but it seemed like the Arizona was focusing on the damaged Bayern, while the other two American battleships attacked other foes.

Yes, Kirsten concluded, the Arizona and Bayern were dueling. The two great ships moved closer to each other until it seemed like they were fighting a battle from the War of 1812. The Bayern had lost one turret, but her six remaining fifteen-inch guns were larger than her opponent’s, and she inflicted damage on the Arizona, which itself began to burn.

After a while, both ships were torches and Kirsten couldn’t begin to imagine the horrors going on inside them. Then both ships ceased firing and began to move slowly towards the shore.

“What are they doing?”

Admiral Sims appeared beside her. He was filthy and bleeding. She told him she should get him to a hospital, but he waved her off. This, the culmination of all his plans, was something he had to see.

“There are others far worse than me, young lady. As to the ships, they are beaching themselves so they don’t sink. Look, the Nevada is attempting the same thing.”

The Nevada didn’t make it. A few hundred yards from shore, she rolled over and disappeared. The crowd groaned and Kirsten felt tears on her cheeks. So many brave men, she sobbed. Elise grasped her arm and was also crying.

Two other German battleships beached themselves. Their crews filled lifeboats and rowed out to the surviving German ships. The remaining German ships were damaged, but seemed under control. They would get away. The Pennsylvania, dark smoke billowing from her many wounds, was withdrawing slowly and would not, could not, interfere.

“And now there are only three,” Sims said. “The Germans have suffered a huge defeat. Sadly, we’re in no position to celebrate. We’ve got only one ship left and she’s badly damaged. We could bring more from the Atlantic, but so too could the Germans. It’s a stalemate.”

Motion from behind caught her eye. Long lines of men in field gray uniforms had begun moving past. She exulted. They were prisoners. German prisoners. She caught Luke walking alongside a youthful-looking American general. Both were limping and holding each other up.

Kirsten ran and took Luke’s arm. “Kirsten, meet General Douglas MacArthur. He just saved our asses with a wild charge through the German Army.”

MacArthur was in pain. “A pleasure,” he grimaced.

Tim Randall took the general’s arm and relieved Luke. MacArthur looked around in confusion. “Where’s my other lucky charm?”

“Wounded, sir, but I think he’ll be okay.” Tim found it difficult to talk. MacArthur was heavy and Tim was exhausted.

Elise screamed and Kirsten and Luke saw her run down the street towards Josh. Elise had informed Kirsten that she would go wherever Josh was sent by the Navy. She hadn’t informed Josh as yet. She threw her arms around him and decided that now was the time. She whispered in his ear. He nodded and hugged her tightly.

Kirsten tore her eyes away from Elise and Josh. “Do you need to go to the hospital, Luke?”

“No.”

“Wonderful,” she said and kissed him on the cheek. “Go do what you have to and I’ll find you at the apartment. We can talk about setting a date to get married. Tomorrow would be nice.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, you ninny. I think I’m pregnant.”

General Mackensen had spent most of the day and the night trying to round up his shattered army. Panic had ensued and his men had fled from the field of battle in great disarray. It was both shocking and disappointing. He’d thought that the Imperial German Army was made of sterner stuff, but the day’s work had proven his soldiers to be mere mortals.

The Americans had not attacked. Their armored vehicles had withdrawn behind their own lines with nearly half of them damaged, disabled, or simply broken down. American trucks had gone out onto the field and hauled them back where they would be repaired.

Damn them, Mackensen thought. “How could the Yanks have come up with such a devastating weapon so fast?” he muttered.

“They didn’t,” said the crown prince. “We’ve had word that the British were working on something similar for the last couple of years. We’ve never given it much credence, nor did we think it would be such a devastating weapon.”

“Now what, sir?”

Wilhelm grimaced. “Distasteful as it might be, a withdrawal is the wisest course. We will wait for resupply and reinforcements. Our army must rest and regain its collective courage. I doubt very much if God himself could make our men charge the American defenses again, especially as they are being reinforced as we speak. Who knows,” he laughed harshly, “the emperor might just decide to call off this entire endeavor.”

Mackensen was about to ask just what future plans the prince had when a look of surprise appeared for just an instant on the prince’s face before the front of his skull exploded, sending bone and bloody matter into the air. Some of it landed on Mackensen who, along with others, dropped to the ground.

“Sniper!” someone screamed. Of course it was a sniper, Mackensen thought. He reached for the hand of his prince and moaned. The prince’s skull was a vacant mess. The heir to Kaiser Wilhelm II was well and truly dead.

A few hundred yards away, Reggie Carville hummed softly as he wrapped his beloved and disassembled rifle in what he hoped was a waterproof tarpaulin and buried it in the ground. He’d already wiped off his fingerprints, not that anybody would think of using that still fairly new crime-fighting technology on a battlefield. With a little bit of luck he’d be able to retrieve it in a few days when the Germans had evacuated the area. The rifle was a German Gehwehr 88, called by some a Mauser but was really more of a Mannlicher. Regardless, it was a German weapon and, if found, would confuse the finders.

Carville had owned it for several years and had it modified into a highly accurate sporting rifle with a telescopic sight. He had brought it, disassembled, in his suitcase.

The German headquarters was a beehive of panicked activity. No one seemed much in control and patrols were going in all directions searching for the sniper.

When he had the chance, he would tell his good friend, Sergeant “Smeeth,” about his good shooting. “Smeeth” would be so jealous.

Reggie stood and brushed the dirt from his clothing. A German major ran up to him, his Luger in his hand. Reggie was unarmed and in civilian clothing. He smiled and held his hands out to show he was harmless.

“What are you doing here?” the German asked.

“I am a reporter and here are my credentials,” Reggie said firmly. “And kindly note they’ve been signed by the kaiser himself.” And outstanding forgeries they were, he thought. “Has something happened to the crown prince?”

“The late crown prince,” the German said angrily. “A sniper killed him.”

“Good God!”

“So, did you see any suspicious activity? As in someone running away and carrying a rifle?”

“I don’t meant to sound sarcastic, Major, but I’ve seen a great many men running with rifles. Although, I do seem to recall a man in a German uniform running north, rather than south and west along with the rest of the army.”

The major sagged and Reggie could read his mind. Could the murderer have been a German soldier? A communist or anarchist, or just someone who thought the California venture was a bloody waste of lives?

The major departed to continue his fruitless search. Reggie found a comfortable place to sit and wait for the Germans to leave and the Americans to arrive.

Ah, Reggie thought happily, he had indeed crowned the prince.