1920: America's Great War-eARC (25 page)

She also looked haunted and that puzzled Joe. She was eating and had a good life with Olson, so why wasn’t she happy? He made eye contact through the barbed wire and she smiled sadly at him. He mentioned it to Captain Rice who was senior among the prisoners and was told, sure, go ahead and try to make further contact.

One of Joe’s skills was Morse code. He’d been a radio operator during the fighting. He wrote out a message along with the code on a piece of paper with an innovation on his part. Left hand was dots, while right was dashes. The uncoded message was simple—Will you help us? He tied the paper to a rock and waited for her to come by. When she did, some of the guys started a mock fight and everyone rushed to see it, even some of the Mexican guards who were as bored as everyone else. Joe lobbed the rock over the fence and watched it bounce by her. She looked surprised and then stood over the rock, covering it with her long skirt.

Lucky rock, Joe thought. What could it see if it had eyes? A moment later, she casually reached down and put it in her skirt pocket and departed.

An hour later, she returned and smiled at him. With her left and right hands alternating, she spelled out her answer: Yes.

* * *

George Patton loved intrigue as much as the next man, but this was almost too much. His arrival in Seattle had been as secretive as possible. He’d ridden alone in a mail car with some people from the Secret Service. They declined to speak with him other than to confirm that they were indeed on their way to Seattle. What the hell, he thought angrily. He already knew that.

Their arrival was timed for the dead of night. He was whisked away by car to a large warehouse that had its own rail spur. There was an office and a bunk in the corner. It was suggested that he try to get some sleep. He tried but sleep wouldn’t come. Nor could he get access to the rest of the warehouse. All doors were locked and the window was papered over. What the hell was he doing here? General Connor had just told him to go and pack some warm clothing.

He was told he would meet someone and that all would become clear. He waited. About noon, a touring car arrived and a dapper, slightly plump, well-dressed man in his mid-forties got out. Patton thought he looked vaguely familiar but couldn’t place him.

The man introduced himself, speaking with a slight stutter and an upper-class British accent. “My name is Winston Churchill and I am with the Admiralty.”

Patton knew better. Churchill was far more important than the understated “with the Admiralty.” Winston Churchill was Second Sea Lord, and considered to be a first-class snob, which was fine by Patton who considered himself a first-class snob as well. But what the devil was Royal Navy’s Second Sea Lord doing meeting an American cavalry officer?

“Your European cousins have brought you a present,” Churchill continued. “Come, come.”

They went into the vastness of the warehouse. It was empty save for a strange-looking contraption in the corner. Several British soldiers who’d been lounging around snapped to attention and were waved away.

The contraption was a vehicle, but it was on tracks instead of wheels, much like a farm tractor. Obviously armored and ready for war, it had a 20mm cannon in a turret.

Churchill smiled grimly. “This is one of our most closely guarded secrets, the Mark D, which tells you this little wonder had predecessors from which it evolved. The crates they were first shipped in were labeled ‘water tanks’ to guard them from curious eyes, and we’ve taken to calling them by that name, tanks. The Mark D and its predecessors were designed over the last several years to crunch through trench lines and other fortifications. It was still a designer’s fantasy when we surrendered in 1915, but the military never lost track of its significance; thus, this beauty.”

Patton’s mind was whirling as his mind tried to absorb the machine’s potential. “How fast will it go?”

“Up to fifteen miles an hour. It has either a 20mm cannon in its turret or a pair of machine guns. The turret revolves. Earlier versions had a fixed turret, which makes this a vast improvement. It can go over rough terrain or down a road and has a crew of four. It weighs twenty tons and, as I said, can go fifteen miles an hour on flat terrain with a range of one hundred miles. We do not believe the Germans have anything to send against it.”

Patton saw its potential with astonishing and sudden clarity. This was the future of cavalry. For all that he loved horses, he’d seen too many of them chewed to screaming pieces by machine guns and massed rifle fire. The day of the horse, already over, would become the day of the tank. Aristocrats like him would be replaced by mechanics and tinkerers. Damn. He would have to adapt.

“Is this the only one?”

“It’s one of fifty. The rest remain crated and hidden. This too will return to its box and all will be trundled down to San Francisco, again in secret. They must be a complete surprise to the Germans.”

Patton could visualize scores of these metal monsters rumbling towards German soldiers who were either fleeing or being crushed under their treads. Yes, the secrecy must be maintained at all costs. He grinned devilishly. “A horrible surprise, I hope. Pity the poor Krauts. If I didn’t hate them so much, I could almost feel sorry for them.”

A delighted Churchill almost clapped his hands in childish glee that someone appreciated his tanks, and it occurred to Patton that this Churchill creature wasn’t very mature. “I can see why Generals Liggett and Connor selected you to command these tanks. There was concern that you might be too tied to horse cavalry to see this kind of iron beast’s potential.”

“Time passes and everything changes. If it works, and you wouldn’t have brought it all this way if it didn’t, the horse will be seen only in Fourth of July parades.”

Churchill continued with a smile, “Tragic thing, the Fourth of July.” Both men laughed at his little joke. Churchill was half American and proud of it. “Regardless, the generals and I all see the same thing: Waves of infantry accompanied by dozens of tanks moving in tandem and overwhelming the German infantry, crushing them to bloody pulps. Isn’t that a beautiful picture?”

Patton’s mind was racing so quickly he thought he might grow faint. “Actually, Mister Churchill, I believe I might have an even better idea how these weapons should be deployed.”

* * *

Luke always felt a little awkward standing in front of others and using a pointer for emphasis. It reminded him of the grade schools he’d attended during his shortened formal education. This time, the chart of emphasis was a reworking of the German table of organization. Crown Prince Wilhelm remained at the top, but the presence of what appeared to be an independent, or quasi-independent, command was the subject of discussion.

Luke commenced. “The replacement of General von Seekt was not surprising. He was, and is, an excellent staff officer and we believe he was given a field command as a means of completing his military education. When the German Army broke off into two unequal parts, his was by far the smaller of the two and assigned responsibility for moving up the coast with the mountains to his right and the ocean to his left. While he was doing that, of course, the bulk of the German Army was and is moving up the Central Valley.”

Liggett nodded. “And this von Seekt character screwed up and has been sent packing. Correct, Captain?”

“To a point, sir. The Germans are always planning ahead and I don’t think they are terribly concerned that Seekt didn’t perform satisfactorily. I would not be surprised if he became Ludendorff’s chief of staff during an invasion of Bolshevik Russia and performs brilliantly.”

“Curious reasoning,” muttered Liggett.

“Not necessarily,” said Admiral Sims. “Kindly recall that one of the world’s great naval theoreticians, our Admiral Alfred Thayer Mahan, was absolutely miserable as a captain of a ship.”

Liggett smiled, “Point taken. Continue, Captain.”

“Yes sir. The Germans replaced Seekt with General Oskar von Hutier, age sixty-three. He is actually older than Seekt, but is far more aggressive and has a reputation for being innovative. Thus, if the coastal command is a military backwater, then it is no place for a man of Hutier’s drive and skills. In short, sirs, they are up to something.”

It was enough talking for a captain. General Nolan took over the pointer. “We believe that the main thrust of the Germans will be up the Central Valley. However, von Hutier has two—maybe three—divisions and an attack by his force at the other end of our lines could be very dangerous. We simply don’t have enough skilled men to be everywhere and the Germans know that.”

Sims interrupted. “Thanks to the efforts of your General Marshall, we now have telegraph service between here and the rest of the United States. I have just been informed by the Office of Naval Intelligence, that two of the three divisions being held in reserve by the Germans at Haiphong are now en route to California. Might one or both be intended to reinforce this von Hutier?”

Liggett was dismayed but not surprised. Two additional divisions? Just what he didn’t need. “How good is your information, Admiral?”

“Very good. The ONI reports that the Germans are behaving in a beastly manner towards the occupied French and Indo-Chinese and those groups are happily giving us information. The two divisions have indeed sailed.”

“And where will they land?” Liggett asked the room. “If not with Hutier, then where? Might they land to our north?”

“Not likely,” said Sims. “The only possible spot north of San Francisco might be Point Reyes, but I think it’s too isolated and is surrounded by mountainous terrain. A landing there could easily be contained.”

Sims sighed. “Gentlemen, it’s time to let you in on a major secret. Our ONI is reading much of the German’s mail and has compromised a number of their codes. I do not believe they will land north of San Francisco no matter how tempting that might look on a map. The terrain is too rugged for easy maneuver, and it would leave the German force out on a limb. The Germans do not have significant amphibious capabilities and there are no major ports for them to seize. Indeed, all the ports they need they already have. Gentlemen, I believe the two divisions will reinforce the existing army and I believe it’s likely that Hutier will get at least one of them.”

Liggett turned to Nolan. “You said that Hutier is innovative. How so, Captain Martel?”

“Sir, he’s written papers on infantry tactics and how necessary it is to reach a goal before the defender’s modern firepower shreds the attackers. In a nutshell, he’s said it will be necessary to swarm an enemy’s defenses with elite forces he calls ‘shock troops’ and bypass strong points. They will be left for secondary forces to mop up.”

Liggett awkwardly eased his bulk back in his chair. He’d lost nearly thirty pounds since the war commenced, but even he conceded it was a drop in the bucket.

“And now this so-called innovative and aggressive general commands several divisions on our right flank. Damn, but I do not like that.”

* * *

Night was the best time for a submarine attack. Hidden by darkness, the small boats could sneak up on the surface and be fairly confident that the enemy wouldn’t see them first.

Commander Nimitz’s plan was to use all three of the remaining O-Class subs in a crudely coordinated attack on the expected German convoy. This would not be easy; the German Navy was getting smarter. Scout planes still operating out of Catalina Island said the approaching German convoy was being escorted by a half dozen destroyers and that more were en route from Los Angeles to meet it.

Regardless of the difficulties, the American subs would attack. The prize was too valuable—a dozen tankers loaded with refined oil. It was fuel for the energy-starved German fleet. Sending any or all of that oil to the bottom of the Pacific would put a serious crimp in the German plans.

The scout plane’s pilot had given them the convoy’s time, distance, and direction, and then cheerfully informed them that he’d been spotted. So what would the Germans do now? Continue on their original course? Nimitz thought they would. How else would the convoy rendezvous with the reinforcing warships?

Of course it meant that the Krauts would be doubly edgy and on guard. Carter’s sub had the task of distracting the escorts. He would close, submerge, and fire a torpedo at a destroyer and then scoot like hell. Hopefully, the Germans would chase him and leave a gap in their defenses, enabling the other subs to slip in close enough to make a number of kills. Hopefully, too, Carter and the O-7 would make good their escape.

One torpedo and one tanker, was Nimitz’s plan. The three subs carried a grand total of twenty-four torpedoes and there were a total of eighteen German ships, counting the escorts. Even with a whole lot of luck, that was cutting it close, very close. Firing a torpedo from a sub just wasn’t that accurate. Nor was it a good idea to surface and fire on the ships with the sub’s three-inch cannon. Unless all the escorts were destroyed or otherwise accounted for, the subs would be just too vulnerable to German gunfire.

Carter could see the convoy through his periscope. The ships were running without lights and were dark blobs on the horizon. The smaller blobs were the destroyers and they were running well away from the tankers. They wanted to catch a sub on the surface. Well, that was fine with Carter. He wanted a destroyer.

Christ. There was one and it was only a few hundred yards away. How the hell had it gotten so close? It was the curse of limited visibility while submerged. Range and course were confirmed and a torpedo sped on its way. Suddenly, the German destroyer started to desperately change course. It had seen the torpedo’s wake. Carter ordered down periscope and began evasive action. More precious time went by and no explosion. At nearly point blank range, they had missed and, worse, a thoroughly pissed-off German destroyer was heading towards them, tracking back through what remained of the torpedo’s wake.

They went deep and stayed there, immobile and silent. Overhead, they could hear destroyer’s propellers slicing the water above them. Did the Krauts have depth charges? Most German ships didn’t, he’d been told. He hoped this one wasn’t an exception.