1901 (2 page)

Holstein stifled a yawn as the kaiser recited a litany of perceived slights by the United States, culminating in the failure of the quiet and unofficial negotiations to purchase the Philippines along with Puerto Rico and other lands. Good lord, Holstein thought, suddenly chilled, what was the kaiser planning to do?

The kaiser paused dramatically and rose to his feet for effect. When the men started to rise with him, he waved them down with his good right hand. The withered left one he kept permanently resting on a sword handle or in a convenient pocket. It was the only flaw in his physique, and he had spent a lifetime hiding it. It was particularly difficult for him to ride a horse, since his weak hand somehow affected his sense of balance. Daily he cursed the fool doctors who had hurt him with carelessly applied forceps at his birth.

“Gentlemen, let me conclude. Some time ago, the Imperial General Staff was directed to develop plans for war against the United States. It is my wish that those plans be updated immediately and implemented as soon as possible. We will be ready to commence war against the United States in the late spring or early summer of 1901 at the latest.”

Holstein spoke. “We will declare war?”

“No, Holstein, we will present them with an ultimatum. Our fleet will then announce war with its presence off New York and its guns firing. The United States has had enough warnings.”

“All Highest, the United States is huge, larger even than all of Europe. We could never conquer it.”

“Such is not the idea, von Holstein. The plans that were developed so long ago called for attacks at the American jugular. As predators, we are entitled to go for the throat.” Wilhelm smiled at the picture. “We will land near New York City, take it—thus damaging their economy—and move eastward into Connecticut. If the Americans do not see reason and refuse to concede to our demands, our army will continue in that easterly direction and take both Hartford and Boston.”

The kaiser laughed quickly. He pictured his invincible armies overrunning frightened Americans. “We do not feel that it will be necessary to march all the way to Boston, although that is included in the plans. We anticipate a quick and limited war and an early peace. General von Schlieffen’s preliminary estimates call for only three or four corps and other supporting units—all in all, less than two hundred thousand men. Admiral von Tirpitz has assured me that he can land at least one corps of thirty thousand without difficulty as our initial attack force, and both sustain our army and enable it to grow through a continuous stream of reinforcements protected by our fleet. Our ability to transport a major force to China last year proved that beyond a doubt.”

Holstein was persistent. “But I seem to recall that the Americans, at the end of their Civil War, had almost a million men under arms and more than a thousand warships.”

Tirpitz snorted in exasperation. “First of all, von Holstein, it took them almost four years to reach those levels, and even then, those million men were a rabble with rifles. Our army would devastate them. As for the thousand ships, the majority were converted merchant ships, coastal vessels, or small craft designed for going up rivers. No, their navy will not overwhelm us. But they are now building a number of major ships, and many others are authorized to be built in the coming years. When that construction is finished, the United States will no longer be vulnerable.”

Holstein looked at the others in the room. The military minds were intrigued by the possibilities of the first taste of combat in more than a generation. Bulow, of course, was looking at the kaiser in much the same way a spaniel looks at his adored master. Holstein was cornered and would have to acquiesce in his kaiser’s desire for his first war. But one more thought.

“And what about England? As you say, All Highest, she has been the enforcer of the Monroe Doctrine, not the United States. Will England stand by?”

This time it was Bulow who countered him. “The English are preoccupied with wrapping up their war in Africa against the Boers. They will not like it, but they will not interfere.”

The kaiser smiled at Holstein. “My beloved grandmother Victoria is gravely ill and likely dying. When she does pass on, I shall grieve and miss her. But with her passing, the empire will fall to her overweight and corrupt son, Edward, my uncle. No, England will not oppose us. They are too busy elsewhere, and,” he laughed harshly, “my kingly uncle is more interested in parties than in warfare.”

“How long will our war last, All Highest?” Holstein asked.

Kaiser Wilhelm recognized the shift in attitude and smiled. Holstein would not oppose him. “It will be over within three to six months. Along with the lands in question, we will also insist that the United States not build a navy. After all,” he laughed hugely, “without all those islands, why would they need one?”

They all laughed with their kaiser. The meeting concluded and they departed with their instructions. Holstein walked the dark corridors of the chancellery alone and in thoughtful silence. What if the kaiser’s first war lasted longer than the kaiser anticipated? Was an army that had not fought in so long really up to the endeavor? And how would the kaiser’s shiny new navy fare? Only a little more than a generation past, there was no such thing as a German navy. The army would certainly win battles, but it would be the navy whose success or failure would determine the course of the campaign. Holstein could see a land war in North America as a pit into which the wealth and manhood of the Reich would plummet.

Holstein also knew there was no dissuading the kaiser from this unhealthy scheme; nor would he wish to try. That could be very dangerous indeed. He could be dismissed and banished as abruptly as Bismarck had been. Banishment from the court would be a devastating fate. What to do? Although he had avoided personal contact with the kaiser, a coterie of aides and informants had kept him abreast of events. He felt he had a clear picture of his kaiser: the man was desperate to reinforce his image as a warrior king in the grand manner of his Prussian ancestors. Also, he wanted to show the English, whom he both admired and hated, that he was their equal. His kaiser, Holstein thought ruefully, was insecure and lethal, and he needed to prove his manhood to a world he felt did not take him seriously. As a result, thousands would pay. What to do, what to do?

F
OR
P
ATRICK
M
AHAN,
the first Sunday of June in the year of 1901 would be recalled as a day of many surprises. Some of them were trivial, some were climactic, and others were decidedly unpleasant, but all were surprises nonetheless.

First was the unexpected presence of Doctor Palmer, the aging alcoholic who ministered to the malaria patients. He was actually present in the hospital on a Sunday morning. The good but very shaky doctor looked puzzled and disconcerted, and seemed to be worried about something behind him.

“We’re releasing you today,” he told Patrick. “You are to get packed immediately.”

Patrick was confused. Even though the doctor was nominally a colonel and he was two ranks lower at major, the directions were unusually peremptory.

Already dressed and ready for a morning walk, Patrick looked down at the smaller man. “Why the change? Don’t get me wrong; I’m more than ready to leave this charming place, but wasn’t this supposed to happen on Monday?”

Now the poor doctor looked really concerned. When he hesitated to answer, another man, this one much younger and very fit looking, entered Patrick’s room and motioned Palmer to leave. The doctor scuttled out as if relieved to be going.

“Now, just who might you be?” Mahan asked, trying to take the measure of his visitor. The man appeared to be in his late twenties and was well dressed in a conservative business suit.

“Sorry, Major. My name is Welles, and I’m with the Secret Service.” With that, he displayed his credentials. Impressed, Patrick examined them. The Secret Service was the security arm of the U.S. Treasury and was getting more and more involved in the personal safety of the president.

Patrick forced a smile and beckoned Welles to be seated. Welles declined. “I’ve been directed to inform you that President McKinley would like to see you at two in the afternoon in his office at the White House.”

“And for what reason would that be?” asked Patrick.

“Sorry, sir. I don’t know, and even if I did, I don’t think I’d be allowed to tell you.”

Well, Patrick thought, it didn’t sound as though he was going to be arrested or anything. He’d never met McKinley, although he had more than a passing acquaintance with the vice president, Teddy Roosevelt, from their days in Cuba. That relationship was enhanced by the fact that he, Patrick Mahan, was distantly related to the noted naval theorist Alfred Thayer Mahan, and Roosevelt, as ex-assistant secretary of the navy, had been fascinated by war at sea. Patrick recalled Roosevelt’s initial disappointment that he knew little about naval theories, rarely spoke to his distinguished cousin, and even pronounced his last name differently. Patrick pronounced it “Mann,” whereas his famous relative pronounced it “ma-HANN.” Even so, Patrick and Roosevelt became friendly, although they were not actually close friends.

Welles, it seemed, was not quite through. “Major, it would also be appreciated if you wore civilian clothes.”

Patrick nodded. Fortunately, he had one suit, although it was in rather bad shape. Since he hadn’t planned on getting malaria again, he hadn’t brought that much clothing with him. When Patrick mentioned this to Welles, the man’s stern face softened considerably. “Major, from what I understand, no one is going to be concerned that you aren’t dressed like some ambassador or potentate.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This contains your pass into the White House. You are to present it a few minutes before two at the side entrance indicated. It’s probably just as well you aren’t going to be all that gussied up. I think they would like you to look as inconspicuous as possible.”

“I may look like the White House gardener.”

With that, Welles actually laughed. “I’m certain, very certain, that both the president and vice president are well aware of your predicament. Major, if you’d like, I’ll take your bag with me and you can pick it up when you leave the president.”

“That way I won’t look like some uninvited weekend guest, will I?”

Welles again smiled. Taking Patrick’s bag further assured that he would show up, as if there were a doubt. Patrick finished packing and let Welles take the grip. The cloth bag wasn’t very heavy, but, even so, Welles flipped it as if it were no heavier than a feather.

When the agent departed, Patrick sat on his cot and tried to sort out his thoughts. Who was he that McKinley would want to see him. Even in the small American army there were several thousand officers, so why him? He cast through his largely undistinguished military career for a clue. He had graduated from West Point in 1885 with a solid class ranking of fifteen. This was followed by a series of short assignments out west where he was primarily involved in helping track down groups of Apaches who, with great justification, resisted being returned to reservation life and the degradation and starvation that would inevitably follow. Patrick did not remember these years as pleasant.

In order to pass the time—most days were a study in monotony—and to help further his chances for promotion, he read voraciously about military history and the development of the modern army. This led him to an interest in the German military machine that had scourged several of the nations of Europe and now dominated the Continent. He found that the German army both fascinated and repelled him.

A senior officer noticed his interest in the German army and mentioned it to Gen. Arthur MacArthur. By coincidence, MacArthur had just been asked by the War Department if there was anyone who could be spared for an assignment to Germany as an observer of their army. Since Patrick was both interested and without a proper billet on the frontier, he was promoted to captain and instructed to spend the year of 1895 in Europe at the government’s expense.

After a stop in England, he devoted a number of months to observing the German army. He was stunned at first by the size of it—casual maneuvers involved more soldiers than existed in the entire U.S. Army—and by the precise way it was organized. This led to virtually flawless maneuvers by incredibly well-armed and -drilled units. In a way, it made him ashamed of his own army. He knew that the Germans he associated with looked down upon him and other Americans as military bumpkins.

Upon his return to the United States, Patrick was assigned to West Point in order to write about his experiences in Germany and to teach classes on the German army. With his report completed, and doubtless filed in some government archive, he settled down to continue as an instructor for as long as he could. After being shot at by Apaches and awed by the Germans, he enjoyed teaching future officers. He prided himself that his lectures were extremely well received. They were popular because, after the overwhelming German victory over France, the military world was mesmerized by the success and apparent invincibility of the German war machine.

The war with Spain intervened, and Patrick was assigned to General Shafter, directing an administrative support staff. When the battle of Santiago began, Patrick slipped out and attached himself to Roosevelt’s Rough Riders—with Roosevelt’s permission, of course—and joined in the charge up San Juan Hill, which those who participated in knew actually took place on nearby Kettle Hill. During that bitter fight, Patrick had been greatly impressed by the personal courage and leadership of Teddy Roosevelt. The man was among the first up the hill, and he gunned down at least two Spanish soldiers with his service revolver. That heroism had helped endear him to the American public.

In 1900, Patrick was sent to Hong Kong to observe a German expeditionary force that had been sent to China to assist in putting down the Boxer Rebellion and lifting the siege of the European legations in Peking.

In order to give Patrick status with the rank-obsessed Germans, he was promoted to major. Since the promotion was premature, some professional jealousy had manifested itself, and he was confident that his next promotion would not be for a very, very long time, if ever.