1920: America's Great War-eARC (27 page)

Nolan took a sip of water and continued. “Several things bother the hell out of me; first, the fact that it then took several hours for us to be notified that as many as four armed Germans were now loose in San Francisco. The fact that the officer leading the shore patrol was killed is an obvious mitigating factor, but someone dropped the ball. It took far too long for us to be informed.”

There were nods all around. The timing issue was inexcusable.

“More important,” Nolan went on, “is the question of why they landed in the first place. Even if they all had made it, eight Germans aren’t going to cause that much harm to the war effort. They could blow up some ammunition, but we don’t have a central depot. Start fires? I just don’t think so. Therefore, we have come to the only remaining conclusion, and that is that the German’s target is us.”

“Makes sense,” Liggett murmured.

Luke looked around and sucked in his breath. In the room were Liggett and Sims, Nolan, and the Army’s two corps commanders, Fox Connor and James Harbord. If successful, an assassination attempt could decapitate the U.S. Army in California.

“How could they know we were all here?” a grim-faced Harbord asked.

“That’s something else to be investigated,” Nolan said. “Maybe they just hoped to get either Liggett or Sims, or both, and the rest would be a bonus.”

“I don’t wish to think of myself as anybody’s bonus,” Connor said to wry chuckles.

Nolan continued. “The problem is we don’t have a clue as to their whereabouts. We called an alert less than an hour ago and they could be anywhere, and that includes on this base. So far, nobody’s seen or heard anything unusual.”

“So what do we do?” asked Sims. “We can’t hide. We all have work to do and a war to run. German patrols are only fifty miles from here and we’re going to need all the time we can get.”

Liggett responded for the harassed Nolan. “For the next day or two, or until we find the Krauts, we have no choice but to stay here in this building under heavy guard. There are no more than four of them and if they are going to try something, it almost has to be soon. Every minute they are out there running around increases their chances of discovery.”

There was a clatter down the hallway and they all jumped. They looked sheepishly at each other as they realized it came from pots and pans clanging together.

“Somebody’s bringing us food,” Liggett said drily, “How wonderful.”

Something clicked in Luke’s mind. A mess hall would be fairly easy to take over by only a handful of people. “Anybody check these people out?” he said as he drew his pistol.

“Damn it to hell,” snarled Nolan. He drew his own pistol and ran into the hallway. The deafening roar of automatic weapons fire greeted him. Nolan fell over, nearly cut in half. A man dressed as a cook stood in the doorway. He had what Luke recognized as an MP18 German submachine gun and began shooting, awkwardly spraying the room. Luke dropped to his knees and shot him in the chest. The impact of the .45 bullet sent him flying backwards. Two more Germans appeared and began wildly firing their own automatic weapons. Now everybody in the room and others outside were shooting. The Germans fell and Liggett yelled cease fire. Then there was silence.

There had been four Germans. Luke had killed one and everybody had shot the two in the doorway, while the fourth had been killed in the hallway, apparently by Ike Eisenhower, who’d come running from his own office with a pistol in his hand. Inside the conference room, a distraught Liggett looked over Nolan’s mangled body. General Connor had taken a bullet in the thigh and the wound was bleeding profusely.

Luke looked around. His smoking pistol was still in his hand. Liggett and Sims were unhurt except for some scratches. Harbord was bleeding from a wound in his arm that didn’t appear serious.

Medics had rushed in and were frantically working to stop the bleeding from General Connor’s leg. The general’s face was ghastly pale. He reached up for something and Luke grabbed his hand. “You’ll be all right, General,” he said, knowing it was a lie. The general was dying. No one could lose that much blood and live.

Connor blinked and seemed to recognize Luke. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. After a couple of minutes more, the medics gave up. The bullet had hit an artery and Fox Connor, a friend and mentor to many young officers, had bled to death.

“Sorry, sir,” the lead medic said to General Liggett, “but his artery was shredded. We couldn’t find a way to stop it.”

Liggett nodded sadly. “You did your best.”

They withdrew to Liggett’s office while the conference room was cleaned up. There were decisions to make and most of them were Liggett’s.

“We lost good friends today, but we still have to continue. We are not unlike a line outfit that just lost a couple of buddies in a skirmish with the enemy. We will not be permitted the luxury of mourning.

“Therefore, I have determined the following. First, General Nolan will be put in for a medal for his heroism in storming that door. Captain Martel, we will do something for you as well, just don’t ask me what.

“Next, we must have replacements. Eisenhower will replace Nolan. For a number of reasons, not the least that you’re far too junior and inexperienced, I cannot promote you, Captain Martel.”

“Understood, sir.” Luke actually felt relief. He didn’t feel qualified to step in for Nolan.

“Good. And what the devil is that you’re playing with, Luke?”

“Sir, I took it off one of the Germans. It’s a German submachine gun, 9mm, Model MP18. This version came with a thirty-two shot magazine which actually might have saved some lives. The thirty-two shot magazine is considered very awkward to use, unlike ones with a twenty-shot magazine, which is much more stable. We may have been lucky that they used the wrong weapon.”

Luke handed the weapon to Liggett who examined it briefly, muttered something, and gave it back.

“To continue, General Cameron will succeed General Connor as corps commander. Other changes will have to be made, but those can wait at least a little while. I also want Mr. Hearst to send a reporter here to view the carnage and let the world know what barbarians the Germans are, not that the Germans care. I am frankly stunned that the German Navy would stoop to murder and assassination. Yes, I know we are all soldiers and, therefore, prime targets, but it is one thing to be shot on a battlefield and quite another to be killed while gathered around a conference table. I didn’t think Admiral Hipper would stoop to that.”

“Perhaps he didn’t,” Sims said.

“Pardon?” said Liggett.

“Gentlemen,” Sims said, “the Office of Naval Intelligence is getting information that neither the German Army nor the German Navy are in total lockstep with their superior officers. In the German Navy in particular, the ship captains are very frustrated that they have been relegated to boring blockade duties, while the Army gets the glory of fighting us.”

“Some glory,” said Harbord.

“Agreed, but the German Navy is the new and junior service, very insecure, and very testy when it comes to getting a slice of the action. Like that stupid attempt to bombard our batteries that cost the Germans a cruiser, this too may have been an independent action by some overaggressive and overzealous junior commander. Gentlemen, they either want to fight us in a glorious fleet action, or get back to Europe and try to entice the British into fighting them in a high-seas battle. The German Navy has to prove its worth to a country that never really had a navy until relatively recently. It may even be possible to use that insecurity to our advantage if we can get the German Navy to do something truly foolish.

“Gentlemen,” Sims continued, “I will contact Admiral Hipper under flag of truce and tell him what his people did. I would bet money that he will issue an apology of sorts and claim that he didn’t know anything about it, which is possibly the truth.”

Luke left shortly after. A flag of truce to complain about shooting an enemy general? What the devil was the world coming to? Joe Flower would have sliced throats or cut off balls, while Luke would have shot every German officer he could.

Josh Cornell ran up. “Where the hell have you been?” Luke asked.

“Sims sent me out to the country to check on something. Jesus, is it as bad as they say?”

“Define bad, Josh,” Luke said grimly. “Connor and Nolan are dead, but Sims and Liggett are fine. There’s still hope for the world, but damn, it hurts.”

* * *

“Hey, Lieutenant, I hear we got a new division commander. Should I be concerned?”

Lieutenant Taylor yawned hugely and stretched out as far as he could in his seat in the passenger car of the slow moving train. “Normally, Sergeant Randall, I would agree that those of us so far down the ladder would have nothing to worry about, but I’ve heard some intriguing things about this Douglas MacArthur character.”

Tim laughed and continued cleaning his Springfield. “I hear character is the really tactful word for him.”

The Twelfth Division had undergone a major reorganization. Gone were the two Marine regiments and with them went General Lejeune. He now commanded a true Marine division of four regiments and was en route to the Mexican border, if he hadn’t already reached it. Two additional and very inexperienced infantry regiments were added to the 12th and so too was a new division commander, Major General Douglas MacArthur.

The Twelfth had managed to cross the Columbia before the water rose and the pontoon bridges were swept away. A trickle of supplies still made it across on motor-powered barges, but it would be a while before large numbers of troops and supplies could cross again. The Twelfth was not the only unit to make it across, but Tim didn’t know just how many other men were now on trains heading for Seattle and then south to San Francisco.

Rumors of the new commanding general had emerged only minutes before MacArthur himself had strolled down the train, speaking briefly to the men. Tim admitted he was impressed. MacArthur was taller than average, lean, and had eyes that pierced you. He was young, maybe forty, and had a deep, dramatic, and compelling voice. He wore a rumpled officer’s hat and Tim guessed it was for effect. Others joked that he couldn’t afford a new one.

“MacArthur’s going to be interesting,” said Taylor. “The man’s an unquestioned genius. He broke almost all academic records at West Point and he reorganized the place as its commandant. He’s also a man of unquestioned personal courage. It’s rumored that he personally gunned down some Mexican bandits during the 1914 incursion at Vera Cruz.”

“Nothing wrong with courage, Lieutenant.”

“Not unless it’s my courage he’s playing with, Sergeant. Keep it under your hat, but the dark side of the rumor mill says he’s a glory hound, and that means he could lead us into some reckless messes.”

“Damn,” said Tim.

The lieutenant’s frank assessment was unusual. Most times officers banded together and presented a wall of silence instead of permitting criticism of a brother officer, but Tim and the lieutenant had been through a lot together in a short time, and an easy relationship had formed. Tim looked out the soot-covered window. Despite the dirt covering the glass, he could see massive stands of snow covered pine trees and deep valleys. Every second took them closer to the front and the likelihood that they’d be fighting first-line German soldiers who would be a lot more lethal than the disorganized and poorly-trained Mexicans they’d whipped outside San Antonio.

“Yeah,” said Taylor. “All I want to do is finish this war and then get back to my daddy’s Wall Street law practice where I can get rich squashing ordinary people like you and driving you further into financial ruin.”

“Jeez, you’re all heart, Lieutenant.”

* * *

The Rio Grande. Tovey and his men cheered when the river came into view. Shallow and sandy, it had become a symbol of Texas pride and independence, as had the burned-out hulk that had once been the proud city of Laredo.

Tovey now commanded the First Texas Volunteer Brigade and served alongside the First Marine Division now commanded by General John Lejeune. After the intense fighting at San Antonio, the Marines and the men of the Texas Brigade had formed a bond, one created in blood. Undisciplined though the Texans were, the Marines recognized fighters when they saw them. For their part, the Texans stood in some awe of the thoroughly deadly and totally professional Marines.

As they approached Laredo, they could see the rear of the Mexican Army crossing back to their own country. Rank and file soldiers wondered if the Mexicans had reached sanctuary or if the army would be allowed to pursue. To a man they wanted to chase the Mexicans as far south as they could.

Carefully, soldiers and Marines entered the shattered city of Laredo, looking for booby-traps and snipers. Most buildings were charred hulks and those that hadn’t been burned out were at least badly damaged. The city stank of death. A handful of emaciated dogs emerged from someplace and growled at the approaching Americans. Tovey wondered what they’d been eating. He decided he already knew. The dogs would have to die. A shame. He liked dogs.

Astonishingly, a handful of people remained in Laredo. A few old men and a handful of scraggly women emerged and looked at them with a mixture of relief and uncertainty. The men had hidden in caves and basements, while the women had worked for the Mexicans to pick up a little food by doing their cooking and laundry. Some had doubtless whored for them as well, but Tovey wasn’t in the mood to be judgmental. Let them answer to their God, their neighbors, and maybe the laws of the State of Texas.

Sporadic gunfire kept the men on their toes. Mexican and American snipers sparred with each other from their respective sides of the river. Tovey sprawled behind a ruined wall and took a swallow of brackish water from his canteen. Lejeune dropped down beside him. “Tovey, what do you want to do about the bastards who destroyed this town?”

Tovey grinned wickedly. “Chase the sons of bitches back to the halls of Montezuma, general, and then maybe all the way to the fucking shores of Tripoli.”

Lejuene roared. “Good one. Instead of going that far, why don’t we make a little compromise? Why don’t we just go as far south as Monterrey? That way maybe we can catch that butcher Carranza and cut the German supply route from Vera Cruz to the west.”