1920: America's Great War-eARC (33 page)

At which point, the Americans would pour out of the bunker and into their own trenches, and rain small-arms fire on the attackers. Luke knew all this, but understood that Ward felt a need to talk, to prove that he knew what was happening and that neither he nor his men should be fearful.

A crack appeared in the roof of the bunker and dirt poured onto the floor. For a moment they all thought it was going to collapse, but it didn’t and they began to breathe again. “It’s like an earthquake,” Luke said.

Ward nodded. “The ground, the solidest earth, seems to be turned into mud by the shelling. It has no substance. It must be what an earthquake is like.”

“Wouldn’t know,” Luke said. “And I’d prefer to keep it that way.” Ward laughed and a couple of soldiers within hearing distance nodded appreciatively.

Martel turned and looked at the infantrymen stare at him and Ward. They were the poor bloody bastards who were going to try and stop the Germans who would soon be assaulting from their positions.

If the bunker in which he cowered was any indication, the German artillery had been ineffective. There had been numerous direct hits on the roof of the bunker, but it had withstood them all. Even the new crack above them seemed stable. They understood that German infantry doctrine would have the cannon fire stop well before the actual assault to prevent hitting their own troops. It was a prudent measure, but the brief warning caused by the halt would enable the Americans to take their positions and begin killing Germans.

Luke tried to act relaxed. “Captain Ward, has anyone considered what might happen if a shell blocks our exit?”

“That, sir, is why we have built several exits. If all else fails, I have thirty men who will dig like fools to get ourselves out before we suffocate.”

The firing seemed to diminish. Ward barked an order and two men went to the tunnel that led up to the trench. They opened the door and one of them gingerly went out and up the stairway. The second followed behind him.

Martel heard the crack of an explosion and the last soldier was thrown back into the bunker, engulfed in a cloud of smoke. A long metal splinter from a shell had been driven into his chest. He screamed once and fell silent as blood poured from the wound. Incredibly, the first soldier returned unhurt as the shelling picked up again.

“Not clear yet, sir,” the soldier reported quickly and unnecessarily.

The shelling intensified and reached a new crescendo. “This is the end of it,” Ward said. Luke agreed. It was like a Fourth of July fireworks display with everything fired as the climax and finale.

There was a sudden and ominous silence. Ward took a deep breath and looked at his frightened troops. He was as scared as they, but he would never let them know it. Suddenly, Luke wanted to stay in the bunker for the rest of his life.

Incongruously, the phone rang. The buried phone lines hadn’t been severed by the bombardment. Ward answered it and listened for a second before hanging up.

“Come on,” he said with a calmness that impressed Luke, “let’s kill some Germans.”

Luke waited until the last soldier had left the bunker. They had positions to go to; he did not. As he emerged into the smoke-filled daylight, he choked, then blinked to regain his vision. Automatically, his mind began to assess the damage done by the German artillery. It was surprisingly little.

In some places, a trench had been hit and the walls collapsed, but these were infrequent. Shell craters pocked the land in front of and behind the trenches, but the trench lines themselves were basically intact. So too were the thickets of barbed wire. Some had been tossed about and rearranged, but, like the trenches, they were fundamentally undamaged. Luke made another mental note.

He took a deep breath. In place of the clammy air of the bunker was the scent of cordite and the sickly-sweet stench of burning flesh. It told Martel that the dug-in American Army had not escaped entirely unscathed, although common sense told him that much of the burning flesh was more likely horse than human.

The infantrymen had taken their places on their firing stations and were aiming their rifles down the slight slope. The Americans had one real advantage; they held the high ground. The hill wasn’t much, but it enabled them to look across the valley and down to the German lines. It also meant that their trenches were fairly dry, and not filled with mud and muck.

“Krauts!” Ward hollered.

Martel squinted into the distance. The smoke caused a whitish haze, but he saw wavy rows of dots in the tall, thick grass. He looked through his binoculars and the dots became men trudging towards him. Their rifles were at the ready and they were burdened with packs. They seemed to move slowly, agonizingly slowly, even though he knew they were trotting.

As before, American artillery opened up and shells hit in and above the advancing ranks. Men dropped or were hurled aside like toys, while other shells ripped flesh to pieces. Martel felt ill at the killing. This was not fighting. It was murder on an assembly-line basis, warfare designed by Henry Ford.

The smoky haze from the artillery served to further obscure the advancing Germans from few American machine-gunners. Luke thought it ironic that the American artillery trying to kill the Germans was helping to save them.

The Germans were close enough for the riflemen to fire at. Methodically working their Springfields, their massed fire wreaked further havoc. As yet there was little return fire from the Germans. The effect was a bloody drill.

Still the Germans came on. German light artillery opened up and Martel was covered by a shower of dirt from a near miss. Someone screamed and an American soldier fell wounded in the trench beside him. Luke fought the urge to run back to the bunker. This was not like any kind of war he’d ever seen. He had an overwhelming urge to piss. For a moment he recalled the three deserters and felt he could empathize with their urge to flee.

Luke put down his binoculars. He no longer needed them to pick out the individual features of the oncoming enemy. Nor did he want to see the contorted facial expressions of men who were about to die. Bullets began to smack into trenches as some of the Germans paused to shoot at their tormentors. More Americans fell. Luke saw a young man he’d spoken to earlier in the day fall back with a bullet in his face. With only their upper bodies exposed, head wounds were common.

The first German soldiers reached the barbed wire. Some paused and tried to find their way through, while others continued to shoot at the Americans. A bullet struck near Martel and he ducked to the bottom of the trench. In some areas, the Germans were stalled by the effects of their own artillery where it had piled up the barbed wire into an impenetrable mass.

The Germans were less than a hundred yards from the American soldiers, who continued to pour fire into them. That so any of the Germans remained alive was a miracle and likely due to the tendency of soldiers to fire wildly in battle.

And then the Germans were in the trenches. Scores of screaming enemy soldiers poured over the American defenses, shooting and stabbing with bayonets and trench knives. Luke had his pistol out and shot a German in the chest. The man fell back, a look of shock on his face. Another German lunged at him with a bayonet and Luke fired quickly, hitting him in the leg.

“Get out, sir!” screamed Ward. He motioned to a communication trench that led to the rear. American soldiers were already running down it.

* * *

Luke picked up a Tommy-gun that someone had discarded. A helluva lot better than a pistol, he thought. He backed his way down the communications trench with Ward squeezed at his side. A pair of Germans tried to follow and Luke fired a burst. One dropped and the other ducked.

Ward gave a gurgling scream and fell. A bullet had blown off his jaw. Luke picked him up and carried him over his shoulder to the secondary trench line, a few hundred yards behind, while other soldiers covered them.

He arrived exhausted and handed over his bloody burden. A medic took Ward and laid him on the ground. “Sorry, sir, but he’s dead.”

Luke was about to reply, when something struck him in the chest and he collapsed to the ground, the breath knocked out of him. The medic checked him quickly. He laughed bitterly and handed Luke a piece of metal.

“Your lucky day, sir. You got hit by a spent bullet. Otherwise you’d be lying there with your buddy.”

Yeah, Luke thought as he put the distorted bullet in his pocket, my lucky day. We just lost the second of three defensive lines and I’ve got a piece of lead for a souvenir.

CHAPTER 21

A few hours later, Luke stood before Liggett and Sims. The general glowered at him in mock anger. “Just once I’d like you to report to me wearing a clean uniform. Good lord, is that blood?”

“It is sir, but not mine.” He told them about carrying the dying Captain Ward away from the trenches.

“That was well done; however tragic the results, but your adventure was ill-advised. Had you been killed I would have lost a valuable officer. Had you been captured, the Germans would have been given a key member of my intelligence staff. They would have interrogated you, even tortured you, in order to find what you knew. In plain English, your presence in the trenches was an act of consummate stupidity.”

“Yes sir.” Luke declined to comment that he’d realized that the instant the shells began to fall. He also didn’t add that he’d had no plans to be taken alive. However, he did wonder if he had the courage to kill himself.

“You will promise me that you will not go near the front lines again.”

“Promised, sir. I will absolutely stay away from the front lines.”

Liggett’s expression softened while Sims remained impassive. “Unless, of course, the front lines come to you, which could happen if the Krauts breach our third and last line of defenses. If that happens, your being captured and tortured for information will have become moot since the city will have fallen. Also, I’ve heard it that you killed a dozen Germans while covering the retreat. Any truth to that?”

“I killed maybe two and wounded a third.”

Liggett actually smiled. “We’ll let the rumors swirl. We need a hero and if a little exaggeration makes you qualify, we’ll let it happen. Now, get the hell out of here and go clean up.”

He was on his way to the officers’ quarters when Kirsten ran up and grabbed his arm. Her eyes were red from crying.

“You are a fool, a complete idiot,” she said as she first grabbed his arms, then let go and began pounding on his chest. “What on earth were you thinking of, risking your life like that? They gave you rank and responsibility so you could stay safe and use your brain, not your gun.”

“I’m sorry,” he said lamely. A scolding from a three-star general he could endure. Kirsten’s wrath, never.

“You almost made me a widow a second time and we’re not even married yet.”

“Do you want to marry me?”

“Yes, but not until after this is over.”

“And why aren’t you at the hospital?”

“Because they don’t need me right now. There’s been an influx of trained personnel from up north, so now I’m back to being a clerk, cataloging the wounded and trying to notify their families. It’s important, sometimes even heartbreaking, but it can wait a few hours.”

She had taken his arm and was steering him away from the Presidio. “Where are we going?”

“To the apartment. You can clean up, get fed, and I’ll let you play with the dog and cat.”

Luke leaned against her. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. Still, he grinned. “Can I play with their owner?”

* * *

The long line of trains from American occupied Monterrey moved slowly through northern Mexico and then into Arizona where they linked up with the rail lines heading to San Diego and Los Angeles. They moved slowly because not all Mexicans agreed with their new government’s decision to allow the American Army access to their trains and railway system. Isolated pockets of Carranza’s men still remained and, allied with small German units, disrupted the American advance by blowing up tracks. Some of the officers and men on the trains referred to the trains as long, slow targets. Others thought of worse names as they waited for the tracks to be repaired by the repairmen they’d brought with them.

Marcus Tovey had originally thought he’d remain in Mexico as part of the shrinking garrison that occupied Monterrey. The city was hostage to Mexican good intentions and, so far, the Obregon government had given every indication that it was going to obey the new rules.

It had been somewhat of a surprise when Lejeune had selected Tovey’s force to accompany the First Marine Division on its journey to southern California. Lejeune had laughingly informed Tovey that he considered the Texas Ranger and his men to be worthwhile additions to his force. “You people are damned good fighters. Almost good enough to be U.S. Marines,” he’d added.

Other caravans of trains were forming and several Army divisions under Pershing were almost ready to move west. It would be a long, slow process, however. Whatever was going to happen to San Francisco would be long over before any substantial American relief force from the south could get near the place.

The train lurched to a halt and the men spilled out, their rifles at the ready. In the distance they could hear the snap of rifle fire and the chatter of machine guns. Someone was taking a stand near where the right of way narrowed as it went though a canyon.

The Texas Brigade was on the fourth train, which meant it was a long ways from the action. A number of horses were in a car a few back. Tovey grabbed one and rode bareback towards the front. It felt good to be mounted. Hell, he was a Texas Ranger and belonged on a horse. He trotted forward past several long trains and hundreds of dismounting men. It was obvious that something serious was happening.

General Lejeune spotted Tovey. “Germans are to our front. Goddamned Krauts have taken over from the greasers and are blocking the road. Worse, it looks like a solid regiment. I’ve ordered an immediate attack.”

The rail line ran through a notch bordered by rugged hills. The Germans were at the top. Their trenches were scars on the hillside and they were firing down at probing Marine units. Nothing was going to move down that rail line until the Germans were kicked out.

Tovey watched with growing dismay as lines of Marines moved toward the hastily dug-in Germans. He wanted to remind Lejeune that the Germans were a whole lot different from the Mexicans, but, hell, the general already knew that, didn’t he? And what did Tovey know about fighting Krauts? The only ones he’d seen were along the Rio Grande and at a distance. The Marines really knew only one way to fight—attack. The time spent on the defensive outside San Antonio had irked them. They wanted to bring the fight to the enemy and now they were doing it.

The Americans advanced in orderly waves, but the orderliness didn’t last very long. Bullets ripped through them and machine guns cut them down like wheat. Some men fell in neat rows. Tovey could almost hear sergeants and officers screaming for the men to advance, keep advancing. The only way to safety, they yelled, was to kill the Germans. German light artillery, their 75mm cannon and some light mortars, dropped shells into the Marines causing more carnage.

The Marines stopped advancing and began to dig in, using anything to protect themselves from the scything fury of the German guns. Tovey glanced at Lejeune, who was pale with anger and frustration. He’d made a mistake and his Marines were paying for it.

He turned away. “We’ll reinforce the men at night and attack again at dawn.”

“It’ll be a bloodbath,” Tovey said. He wasn’t afraid of speaking his mind to the Marine general. Hell, when the war was over, he’d go back to being a Texas Ranger, not a soldier. “General, you’ve read your history. It’s like the Spartans at Thermopylae. They can hold us at bay until they run out of ammunition or we run out of men.”

“We outnumber them,” Lejeune said stubbornly.

“But not by that much. If that’s a full regiment, and I think it is, that’s maybe three thousand men and not three hundred like the Spartans had. We’ve got about twelve thousand, and not the half million the Persians had. I’ll bet we lost five hundred men in today’s attack and the Krauts not one tenth of that.”

“How the hell do you know so much about ancient history?”

Tovey grinned. “I may be a dumb-ass Texan but I’m a dumb-ass Texan who knows how to read.”

Several of Lejeune’s aides had moved away, waiting for the general to explode. It didn’t happen. “What do you suggest?” Lejeune asked softly.

“The Persians found a way around the Spartans and slaughtered them. That’s what we have to do. Keep their heads down by shooting at them and pretending to attack and find a way around this mess.”

“All right, Tovey, you’ve got all night to find me a way. But I still attack tomorrow. We can’t stay here until the Krauts decide to let us pass.”

* * *

The woman entered Tovey’s tent accompanied by a lieutenant who was waved out. She was light olive-skinned and petite. There was anger in her eyes. He decided she looked more Spanish than Mexican. If it wasn’t for the anger, she might be very pretty.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Martina Flores and I want to help you.”

“Why?”

“To hurt the Germans who caused all this. My husband was killed by Carranza’s men and I was held captive by the Germans and some American collaborators. They first took my husband and then took my pride. They kept me prisoner and their slave until I escaped and helped free some American prisoners. Then I returned here.”

Tovey nodded. American collaborators? Well, he supposed it was inevitable. Someone would always kiss the ass of the new playground bully. When they were caught they would hang, but first they had to be caught. And what did she mean by taking her pride? He thought he knew and decided not to ask. And what about free American prisoners?

She looked at him eagerly. “I grew up around here and know the area. I had family on both sides of the border. I can find you a path around the Germans.”

“And how do I know it isn’t a trap?”

She shrugged. “I will have to go with you to show the path to you. If it’s a trap, you can shoot me.”

“Fair enough,” Tovey said and went off to find Lejeune.

Two hours later, the column of Texans snaked its way south of the now stalled fighting and around the German lines. Dressed in men’s clothing, Martina guided them along a path that was barely fit for goats. Tovey now had no doubts as to the truth of her tale.

Slowly and carefully, they marched through the night. A couple of men were injured falling down the almost mountainous terrain. Martina was exhausted but didn’t complain. Once, she stumbled and he grabbed her arm to steady her and she ripped it from his grasp.

She glared at him and then softened. “I’m sorry. You meant well. It’s just that I’m not used to kindness yet.”

Dawn found them approaching a compound of several dozen tents. It was a supply depot for the troops defending the hill. Wagons and trucks were parked nearby and there were some more of their damned cannon. The men in the compound were facing the hills and didn’t notice the Texans approaching from the wrong direction.

On the other side of the hill, American and German artillery were dueling and they could hear rifle fire. Lejeune said he’d attack at dawn whether Tovey made it or not. Son of a bitch, Tovey thought, it was time to get moving. He noticed that Martina’s eyes glowed with a near-maniacal fury.

Tovey ordered his men forward at a steady run. The Germans continued looking ahead and not behind. They didn’t turn and see them until the Texans were almost on them. Screaming and howling, the Texans tore through the camp, shooting and killing as they went. Scores of Germans surrendered, while others ran in all direction.

“Up the hill,” Tovey ordered. Now they would take the main German lines in the rear.

They didn’t have to. Within minutes, German soldiers began to withdraw from their trenches and pour over the crest. They’d heard the fighting behind them and could see that their camp had fallen. The American Army was both in front and behind them and it was time to get the hell out of this place.

The Texans took up firing positions and now it was the Germans’ turn to die. Out in the open, Tovey’s men cut them down by the scores and then by the hundreds. Advancing Marines appeared over the crest line and joined in the slaughter. German soldiers began throwing down their weapons and holding their arms up high.

Tovey walked over and looked at the vaunted German soldiers. It was the first he’d seen them up close. Their field gray uniforms looked like they were good camouflage and their coal scuttle helmets looked like good protection. They appeared to be good soldiers, but not superhuman like people said they were. They bled and died like ordinary men. The ones who were trying to surrender looked terrified and some were crying, although a number looked furious. Their generals had betrayed them.

Lejeune found him. “Well done, Marcus. This is one Kraut regiment that won’t pester us again.” Then he shook his head sadly. “I just wish it hadn’t cost us six hundred men to do it.”

He found Martina staring at the carnage. The fury was gone from her eyes, now replaced by deep sadness. At first she’d wanted to accompany him on the attack and he’d threatened to use force to stop her. She’d relented and stayed behind, just not too far behind. He wanted to comfort her, but remembered how she’d recoiled from his inadvertent touch before.

“Enough killing,” she said softly. She turned and put her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and held her as she shuddered. “Where are you going now?” she asked.

“On to southern California. We’ll visit San Diego and maybe Los Angeles.”

“Then I will go with you, at least part of the way. I need to see some people and make sure they’re okay.”

Lejeune said, “We’ll be heading that way, but we’ll be walking.”

Tovey looked down the line. The tracks had been ripped up as far as he could see.

* * *

Was there anything more majestic than a German battleship? thought the crown prince. Given his birthright as the Kaiser’s heir, he’d been on a number of them, but this was his first trip to a glorious monster like the
Bayern
, the flagship of the mighty German Pacific Fleet.

The
Bayern
was truly imposing. She displaced thirty-two thousand tons and her main armament was eight fifteen-inch guns in four turrets. They were larger than anything the Americans had and only equaled by the Royal Navy’s Queen Elizabeth class battleships.

Her secondary battery consisted of sixteen 5.9-inch guns and a multitude of smaller guns and a handful of torpedo turrets. She could steam eight thousand nautical miles without refueling and do so at twenty-two knots. Many cars, he thought, could not achieve that speed. She and her three sister ships, the
Baden
,
Sachsen
, and
Wurttemberg
, were the mightiest ships in the German Navy. Only the
Bayern
was off California. The others remained in Germany.