1901 (25 page)

“Don’t worry, Patrick,” said Smith. “Longstreet will do all right and so will we. We’ll talk about your command tomorrow. If you like challenges, you’ll love this one.”

Wheeler jabbed the air with his hand. “We’re getting Longstreet and a million men.” He dropped his hand and looked confused. “What the hell will we do with a million men?”

Instead of going directly to bed, Patrick walked a bit to clear his head. If he was to report more formally to Smith the next day, he would prefer to not be suffering from an agonizing hangover, although he might be the only senior officer without one.

After a while and feeling more sober, he went to his tent, stripped to his underclothes, and washed up out of a basin as well as he could. Then he lay down on an uncomfortable cot and looked at the stark top of the tent. It was, he decided, a damned hard way to make a living. Here he was, nearing forty and sleeping on a cot in a tent in the middle of an otherwise civilized and respectable city. Of course the war made certain there were no rooms available, and he might have gotten Smith or Wheeler to find him a place, but that would have been imposing. Worse, some poor soul might have gotten bumped, and he didn’t consider that quite fair. What the hell, at least he’d pulled rank and gotten someone to put up the tent.

How long had he been in the army? Counting time at the academy, twenty years. That was enough, he decided. Twenty years and two wars and how many skirmishes against Indians? Was he eligible for a pension? Did it matter? It was time to leave.

He knew he had found his real calling when writing his German report at West Point and lecturing on it. The contacts he’d been making over the years would pay off with a teaching position at one of several universities if returning to West Point was not feasible. More and more he was starting to think that West Point was not the proper place. That left his other two major possibilities: the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, and the University of Detroit, in the center of the city of that name. There was logic to this, since the area was his home and he and his family knew so many people. It also meant he wouldn’t have to sleep on any more cots. Ever.

Yet what sort of life would he have? He was not poor, so there would be no trouble with money, but he was still single. With whom could he share his life? How would he meet a proper companion at his age?

He ran down the list of women he had known and found it depressingly short. Certainly he’d socialized with women, both before the academy and afterward, and enjoyed it. His nomadic military life had made such acquaintances brief, but some had been intense. There had been a particularly splendid relationship with a major’s daughter during a two-week idyll in Southern California. He had considered proposing, but she had dumped him a few weeks later, leaving him with only memories of naked bodies frolicking in the moonlit surf.

But that was more than ten years ago. The woman was now married to some banker and had two children. Probably got fat too. The thought depressed him.

The only woman he knew at all now was Katrina Schuyler, and despite what he had told her, she did frighten him. No, not because of her mind or her opinions, but because she was so rich and sophisticated that she must think him a barbarian bumpkin. Yes, she was attractive, interesting, and polite, and perhaps they really were friends, but how could it ever go farther than that?

He willed himself not to fantasize about life on a college campus with Katrina. She could likely buy her own college if she so wished.

Well, at least Heinz and Molly had hit it off. A short note from Trina had informed him, with equal degrees of shock and amusement, that the two young people had fallen in love. Her words also implied that they were sleeping together.

That, of course, partially explained why his young aide was not in Hartford and why he, as a brigadier general, had to sleep in a tent. Patrick vowed insincerely to teach the young pup a lesson when he finally did show up. What the hell, let them have their joy while they can. Only God knew what might happen to them tomorrow.

Patrick sat up in the cot. Of course. What the hell was he being such a fool for? If such an unlikely pair as Heinz and Molly could find themselves, why couldn’t he and Katrina? The worst that could happen was that she would reject him, and he would be no worse off than he was right now.

Did he love her? He didn’t know. He knew that he enjoyed her company and liked to see her smile, and loved to hear her talk. And hadn’t she kissed him and urged him to return? Once again he could see her face and feel her slender body against his, even if it had been for only the briefest of moments. What had Admiral Nelson said about a good commander being able to do no wrong if he laid his ship alongside that of an enemy? He laughed. Katrina Schuyler was not his enemy, but he certainly wouldn’t mind lying alongside her.

He lay back down and prepared for sleep. Tomorrow would be a long day, what with finding out about the type of unit he would be commanding, but he would try to make arrangements to see Katrina.

And just what did they mean about command being a challenge?

T
HIS WOULD BE
James Longstreet’s first dealing with both his superiors and his immediate subordinates. Theodore Roosevelt sat quietly at one end of the table and was flanked by Elihu Root and John Hay. The only two military men besides Longstreet were Maj. Gen. Leonard Wood and the recently arrived Arthur MacArthur, who had immediately been promoted to the rank of lieutenant general. In some ways, this meeting was as much for MacArthur as it was an inauguration of Longstreet.

MacArthur had arrived from Manila the preceding day after an epic journey that began with a high-speed dash on a British cruiser. When the cruiser finally reached the western Canadian port of Vancouver, MacArthur and his two-man staff had been ensconced on a special, sealed train that sped them to the border at Buffalo. Another special train brought him to Washington, D.C.

Longstreet began with a brief announcement. “General Miles has submitted his resignation.”

There was genuine sympathy in the room for the usually unpopular Nelson Miles. Despite a lifetime of good service, the world would forever remember him for the disaster that had transpired at Danbury.

“General Wood,” prompted Longstreet, “why don’t you begin your presentation?”

Wood recapped briefly. The Germans had not moved from their perimeter, which included Manhattan, part of Long Island, and the area north of Long Island Sound running from the Hudson east to a point just short of the Housatonic, near Danbury, where a virtually solid wall of fortifications ran southward to the sound.

Wood estimated the Germans at eighty thousand, with additional troops arriving almost weekly in heavily guarded convoys. They were deployed throughout the perimeter. A few battalions were stationed on Staten Island to protect the Narrows, where the entrance to the upper harbor was only a mile wide.

In numbers, the Americans had the larger force, with about a hundred and thirty thousand in the field. But this apparent superiority was an illusion, as only about half the Americans had modern weapons and few were well trained by any standards. The only problems fully resolved were those of food and shelter.

MacArthur leaned forward. “But what about fighting, General? Surely we are not being totally inert.”

Wood flushed. “There are patrol actions and minor skirmishes almost daily, but nothing major is occurring. We have, of course, been utilizing spies and saboteurs behind their lines wherever possible. That includes New York City and Long Island as well as Connecticut.”

Longstreet turned to Hay. “Can the Brits send more of their rifles?”

“No. Their explanation is that they cannot strip their own forces in order to arm ours. We are getting about five thousand rifles a week through Canada, and they feel that is enough. Further, they do not want to go too far in offending the Germans.”

Longstreet nodded. MacArthur looked stunned at the scope of the problem.

Wood continued. “We also have serious deficiencies in machine guns and heavy artillery. Our local companies, like Winchester, Remington, and Colt, are expanding military production as quickly as they can, so these problems may be resolved reasonably soon, perhaps in a couple of months. As to the problem of rifles, we had been experimenting with the German Mauser prior to the war and were considering producing it at our Springfield, Massachusetts, facility. We already have the tooling, but we do have a minor hitch.”

“Which is?” asked Longstreet.

Wood looked embarrassed. “General, this is almost beyond ridiculous. I’ve been informed by both our legal staff and our quartermasters that the design of the Mauser is patented and Germany owns the patent. They say it might be illegal for us to use it without their permission.”

Longstreet turned an interesting shade of red. “Get their permission? That is the stupidest piece of shit I’ve ever heard. Inform those people that we are at war with Germany and are not required to say ‘May I?’ before shooting them. Tell anyone who objects to stay out of the way, or else. Jesus.” He laughed. “God save us from our friends.”

“Gentlemen,” said Wood, continuing quickly. “We have also largely solved the problem of uniforms. We have enough mills either turning them out or just about to, so we will have a well-dressed army very shortly. Of course the million-man army the president plans will strain us, but we will solve that problem. We can also make enough shoes and boots.”

“I want brown,” snapped Longstreet.

“Sir?” said Wood. The others looked surprised.

“Brown. I want brown, not blue. Don’t you Yankees know what splendid targets you made in blue? Hell, you couldn’t hide at all until your boys got all dirty. My boys were dirty to begin with. Look, just like forty years ago, the enemy’s got rifles and guns that can kill from a mile away. Bright colors may have made sense in the days of the crossbow, but not now. The British gave up red and are using khaki in Africa against the Boers and it seems to work. Hell, even the Germans’ dark gray is better than blue! And, yes, I know the French are still wearing red and blue, but it’s their concern if they wish to continue their stupid love affair with Napoleon.”

Wood scribbled a note. “Brown it is.”

“Now, what about officers?”

“General,” answered Wood, “like the navy, we don’t have enough qualified officers to staff the billets we currently have, much less the huge expansion planned by the president. We will also need more officers to train the new men when they arrive. We have stripped many of our regular regiments and sent numbers of their officers to stabilize guard and militia units. Although this has somewhat strengthened the guard and militia, it has also lowered the quality of the regulars.”

True enough, Longstreet thought. “All right, get a list of all the officers who left the service for civilian life in the last ten to fifteen years, and find out how many there are. A lot of good men probably left because of the low pay and the need to feed their families. Telegraph them and offer them a return to at least their last rank for the duration of the war.”

“And if they don’t respond?”

“Then the hell with them. Who needs them? Don’t forget we’ve also got at least two good military schools in addition to the academy: the Virginia Military Institute and The Citadel. They all just graduated classes, didn’t they? Well, make sure their graduates are all commissioned too. Then commission the underclassmen. At this point they’ve all had at least a year of military life under their belts, which puts them well ahead of most other people. We can also promote enlisted men to officer rank—selectively and temporarily, of course.”

While Wood took notes furiously, Longstreet glanced about the room. The others seemed to be in agreement. Good. “Now we are going to do something drastic and find enough officers to staff a complete new division.” There, that got their attention. “We will take the officers, all of them, from the 9th and 10th Cavalry Regiments and form a division around them. In order to keep the 9th and 10th intact, we will commission all their sergeants and corporals as officers.”

Wood was shocked. “You’re joking,” he said softly.

“No.”

“Negro officers? As majors, colonels?”

“Temporary rank. For the duration only.”

“Sir, I don’t know if we can do it.”

“General Wood, I ain’t asking. That’s an order.” Longstreet laughed hugely. “Do you find it as ironic as I do that an old rebel is promoting Negroes?”

There was no opposition. Roosevelt again remembered how colored soldiers had charged up San Juan Hill, or Kettle Hill to be precise, during the last war. The colored troops had gotten mixed up with his own white Rough Riders during the assault, and he’d been impressed by their discipline and bravery. Their blood had stained the hill as well. How could he ever object?

“Now for commands,” said Longstreet. “Lieutenant General MacArthur will command the entire theater of operations, which now consists of parts of New York, Connecticut, and New Jersey. If that changes, so will his area of authority. For the time being, he will have two corps of three divisions each. The first will continue to be commanded by Baldy Smith; the second will be given to Funston. We will replace no divisional commanders at this time. We will, however, keep looking for qualified people. God help us if we have to go to a third corps.”

MacArthur shrugged. “I’d be comfortable giving it to Pershing. By the way, your act of commissioning academy underclassmen makes my son an officer.”

Longstreet smiled. “Was gonna happen sooner or later. Just make sure his mama doesn’t try to come with him.” MacArthur flushed slightly. The entire army was amused at how young Douglas’s mother had moved into a hotel in West Point just to be near her son.

“General Wood, you have a big problem. Your responsibilities will include the arming and supply of the army as well as the training and staffing of the new units the president has requested. You will, in effect, be my chief of staff and be responsible for ensuring that Mac has the tools necessary to do the job.”