1901 (46 page)

The arrival of the American announcement had been a devastating surprise. Funny how no one doubted it, Holstein thought. Somehow they all knew that the Americans were telling the truth. Corroboration from other sources would follow, but it was not needed. The Imperial German Navy had been defeated utterly and totally, and the frantically gathered convoy was destroyed. There would be no relief for the army from that quarter.

The kaiser continued to scream. “Even my namesake ship, the
Kaiser Wilhelm II,
was in that relief force!” He continued to read the names of the missing warships and paused only to wipe spittle from his mouth with his good hand. The kaiser was in a dangerous mood.

Bulow too, looked chastened. “All Highest, will you now permit the remainder of the High Seas Fleet to reinforce Diedrichs?”

“So that incompetent can lose the rest of our navy? Don’t be a fool.” Bulow recoiled from the vehemence of the rebuke. Holstein recalled that the orders to divide the fleet had come from Tirpitz and the kaiser, but prudently said nothing about that. Diedrichs was as good as dead.

Instead, Holstein said, “The move by the Americans on Staten Island has rendered our position in New York highly unstable as well, has it not, General von Schlieffen?”

Schlieffen was in a high state of agitation. Normally composed to the point of arrogance, his eyes were wide and there was a twitch in his cheek. “The fact that the Americans have begun bombarding the Narrows and other portions of the harbor with their long-range guns is a more immediate problem to the navy than to the army. Should von Waldersee wish, we could land a division or two and drive them off. Of course,” he added, “that is doubtless what the Yanks want—for us to waste our now-limited resources responding to pinpricks like their highly inaccurate cannonades. Let the navy run again if it wishes.”

“Unfair,” Tirpitz hissed, his voice a hoarse whisper. “We have done our best.”

“And failed,” snarled Schlieffen.

For the kaiser, the argument was the last straw, and he lunged, screaming at Tirpitz. “Get out! Get out of my sight. Get out of Berlin and get out of my navy. Goddamn you, you destroyed my navy!”

Tirpitz lurched to his feet and shuffled in a half run out of the room. With his departure, there was a sudden and not unwelcome silence. Well, Holstein thought, who will be next to feel the Imperial wrath and the Imperial need for someone to take the blame?

Kaiser Wilhelm had passed that point. He seated himself at the head of the table and wrapped his cape about himself as if in mourning. “What to do now, gentlemen, what to do?”

Schlieffen jumped to his feet, his face reddened with scarcely repressed anger. “All Highest, what we will now do is what we should have done all along. Depend on your army, not your navy. The army has always been successful and can still be successful now. We waited too long in our forts for the Yanks to see reason, and we are paying for our delay. Now we must fulfill the original plan as best we can: first by attacking, defeating, and destroying their army, and then by taking Hartford and Boston while we still have the resources. The alternative, All Highest, is to surrender.”

The kaiser was stunned by the outburst from the normally tightly controlled Schlieffen. He was also appalled at the thought of losing an army; he would be shamed before the world. “You can retrieve success from this fiasco?”

“Yes, All Highest.”

“When?”

“The moment you give the word. We have planned and prepared for this contingency from the moment we landed. With regrets, sire, we did not fully share von Tirpitz’s confidence that he could control matters so vital to us. We have sufficient resources for at least one toss of the dice. It will be enough for us to win. And, I must hasten to add, we must do so while we are confronted by only one American army. The others that are being trained, some as near as Boston, must not be permitted to develop to the point where they can do damage to our cause. We must strike now and with everything we have in our North American arsenal!”

The kaiser nodded. It would be now.

Blake Morris and Willy Talmadge eyed the large farmhouse and made an unavoidable decision. Despite the presence of Germans in the vicinity and the likelihood that the house had been spared for use by the Germans, they would enter it and take refuge. It was getting just too damned cold out. Blake had no idea where the remaining few others in his group were, or if they were even alive. Now it was just he and Willy and a sack of dynamite. What a helluva note.

They made it to the house unnoticed and climbed through a basement window into the packed-earth cellar. It was still colder than Blake would have liked, but it was fairly dry and the walls of the house blocked the wind. The cellar was a honeycomb of small rooms for storage and work, and there was no problem finding a place to be comfortable. They dug a hole for latrine purposes and prepared to spend the next few days in relative comfort until they could decide their next move. Perhaps, Blake thought, it was time to go back through the American lines. He had a feeling that his effectiveness here was about over and he should call it quits. Then the images of his wife and daughter appeared and scolded him. No, dearest loves, he told them, I will not let you down. I will find a way.

Concentrating on their own needs, they did not sense or feel the presence of Johnny Two Dogs in another portion of the cellar. He, however, was well aware of them, smelled them, heard them. He did not have any idea what to do about their presence and was beginning to doubt his choice of a shelter from the early winter cold. It was getting just too damned crowded.

“Ludwig.”

“Yes, Captain,” Corporal Weber responded and snapped to attention. Captain Walter looked saddened.

“Draft an order to all my platoons. I want the men fed immediately and then they are to load as much ammunition and food as they can carry. Blankets and water as well. They are to be ready to move out in two hours.”

Ludwig paled. “It’s time, then.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, Ludwig, it is. As a result of that damnable defeat of our navy, we must win the war by ourselves, and do it right now if we are not to starve and freeze here this winter. We are going to move out early tonight when there is still a hint of light and attack them in the morning. I’m afraid we will not have an easy time of it.”

Ludwig remembered the American dead piled up in front of his trench last summer. Now the shoe would be on the other foot. The captain read his thoughts. “No, we will not do it like the Americans. There will be a tremendous artillery barrage to soften them up, and then we will attack in great strength. Our generals have planned well. Not,” he laughed sharply, “like the fools who led our navy to defeat.”

Ludwig saluted and departed to carry out his orders. The captain had confirmed the rumor that was running rampant through the 4th Rifles. The navy had lost badly. Now the army could be stranded here in this strange land and be forced into captivity. He had mixed emotions. Although part of him did indeed want to stay, another part didn’t find the thought of becoming a prisoner very attractive. All he really wanted to do was find those nice people who wrote the pamphlet and who would give him sanctuary. Instead, he was going to have to fight the Yanks again and probably kill some more of them. It wasn’t fair. All he had ever wanted to do was teach school.

T
HEODORE
R
OOSEVELT LOOKED
anxiously at the report and the handful of men who were his key advisers. “You believe we are now going to reap the whirlwind?” Longstreet and the army men nodded. “You are certain the actions of the Germans in the no-man’s-land presage a general assault?”

“Confident,” Longstreet corrected, “but not totally certain. Their patrols have become larger and much more aggressive. It is as if they wanted us out of that area to mask their actions.”

“And our balloons and airships?”

“Those same patrols have brought down several with machine guns and small cannon. The airships are stationary targets and prone to either collapse or blow up when hit. We are not totally blind, but the Germans are seriously impeding our efforts at determining their true intentions.”

“I see. And you think they will now attack?”

“Yes,” said Longstreet. “There really isn’t much else they can do. I believe it will be an all-out assault to push us off the river line and destroy us out in the open field.”

“Can we stop them?”

“We can only try. We have six divisions and they have seven. Our divisions are slightly larger than theirs, so the numbers, unless they bring in additional soldiers by stripping other areas, will be approximately equal. If we can stay on the defensive, we may wear them down. On the other hand, if we are forced into a battle of significant maneuver, we may be crushed. I have no idea just how the untried men in our army will react in a battle as major as the Germans are likely to attempt.”

“And our navy? It can do nothing?”

Secretary of the Navy Long answered. “While we could force our way into Long Island Sound and bombard the German lines, I think the German assault will take place well away from the shore and out of range of the navy’s guns. Dewey will do what he can, but the navy will not be a major factor in this battle.” Long looked at Longstreet, who agreed. “Even though we won a great victory, we did suffer grave losses in men, ships, and equipment, and the greater portion of our navy is now undergoing emergency refits and resupply. Some ships can steam now, but the remainder of the navy won’t be ready for a week to ten days.”

Roosevelt thought about the irony. The greatest naval battle in American history had just been fought and won decisively. The United States had lost 2 battleships, the
Texas
and the
Kearsarge
, the monitor
Puritan
, and the cruisers
Boston
and
Minneapolis
, in return for the sinking of 6 German battleships, 3 heavy cruisers, and a host of light cruisers. There had been American losses in gunboats and yachts as well, but these had been offset by the capture of almost 130 transports, which now rested in the harbors of Boston and Norfolk. The balance of power on water had shifted, and America had the decisive advantage. But that success was going to precipitate the largest land battle in American history, the largest ever fought in North America, bigger even than Gettysburg.

“So this will be an army show,” said Longstreet. “But we must think of the terrible weapons of destruction available to both sides. What we were able to do with muzzle-loaders can now be done tenfold by rapid-firing, breech-loading rifles and machine guns, not to mention the artillery.”

“Is this why you sent Schofield up north? To be with MacArthur?” asked Roosevelt. Longstreet said it was. The battle would be fought in Connecticut, not Washington, and Schofield’s years of experience might prove helpful. That he would coordinate events in support of the army was also understood. Roosevelt could not argue the point. Why not have a man of Schofield’s experience where the fighting would occur? “Then it is out of our hands. I think I should like to go someplace quiet and meditate.”

The tension in Mahan’s brigade headquarters could be cut with the proverbial knife. What had been a relatively quiet area would turn into a cauldron of war in a short period of time. The Germans were coming, the Germans were coming. It sounded to Patrick like the story of the sky falling. Only now the sky might actually be falling and there was little they could do to prevent it.

When he’d left Trina in the morning they had held each other even more closely than people usually do on their honeymoon. The idea that they might not see each other for a long time, perhaps forever, was foremost in their minds. It wasn’t fair, he wanted to shout, but who would listen? Trina would, he knew that. He had told her he had six thousand and some men to command and, hopefully, bring back alive through whatever ordeal the future held in store. She said she was proud of him for that responsibility but hated the thought of it. Throughout the United States there were millions of people who were not going into battle, so why, she asked him, did Patrick Mahan and so many people she was fond of have to go to war? For that he had no answer.

“Anything?” Patrick asked Lieutenant Colonel Harris, who slipped quietly into the tent.

“Not a damn thing. Headquarters says there may have been movement into no-man’s-land during the night, but they can’t confirm it yet.” Patrick checked his watch. It was seven-thirty in the morning of November 17, 1901. It was a Monday and he always hated Mondays.

Patrick rose and looked at the situation map on the wall of the tent. His brigade was north and slightly east of the main defensive line on the Housatonic. Why were his men there and not directly behind the defenses along the river where they could be used to plug a gap? Instead, they were almost due north of Waterbury. When he’d asked about it, he’d been politely but firmly reminded that his was a strategic reserve and it would act as a blocking force if the Germans crossed the river to the north. It was not a comforting thought. There was the more nagging feeling that his brigade had been hung out to dry because nobody trusted the Germans and nobody wanted to associate with the Negro regiments. He thought MacArthur and Smith were bigger than that. He also hoped they knew what they were doing.

Patrick caught a noise—a distant, rumbling sound—deep and menacing. He and Harris looked at each other and each saw his own sense of horror reflected in the other’s face.

“That’s not thunder,” Harris whispered.

They stepped outside and looked to the south, toward the river line. They knew there would be nothing to see, but they had to make the effort. As they stood, others emerged from their tents, stopped, and turned in the same direction, until thousands of men were simply staring toward the sound of the distant rumbles that presaged agony instead of rain. The volume of sound increased until it was a steady roar, and they knew they were hearing an artillery barrage of truly epic proportions. God help the men on the river line.