1920: America's Great War-eARC (9 page)

Luke rolled his eyes. “Christ, George.”

Another shell crashed into the ground in front of them, close enough for them to feel the vibrations. They didn’t think the Germans were shooting at them. Instead, they were firing at places where they thought American units might be hiding. It was time to leave.

CHAPTER 5

Elise Thompson felt she had the best of both worlds. At nineteen, she was two years out of high school and now a trusted assistant to famed movie producer D.W. Griffith. David Wark Griffith was a Kentuckian who was raised to be a loyal son of the lost Confederacy. Thus, he would never have hired Elise had he known she’d been born in Chicago and moved to Los Angeles when she was twelve. He hated Northerners.

Griffith had made several major motion pictures, including
Intolerance
and
Birth of a Nation
. Now he was part of a new company, United Artists, and the future looked good for United Artists and the movie industry, much of which, in the last decade, had moved to the Hollywood section of Los Angeles.

Griffith’s latest epic, and one he hoped would help him recoup that portion of his reputation lost when
Intolerance
turned out to be an expensive bust, was titled
Victory at the Marne.
It was going to be Griffith’s salute to the German victory that had changed the world. To him, the Germans were white people, while the French, along with being incompetent and dirty, also were racial mongrels. He felt it was shame that the Brits had gotten caught up with such Gallic rabble, but such is life.

The fifty-five-year-old Griffith’s logic said the world was a better place because of the German victory. Germany and the United States, which to him meant the Union, were natural rivals and he hoped to portray the Germans as the potential saviors of white civilization. Some had condemned
Birth of a Nation
as racist and he rejected those criticisms. The movie told the truth as he understood it and had been brought up to believe.

To portray the 1914 battle of the Marne with the realism he demanded, trenches had been dug and impressive fortifications built on land fifty miles south and east of Los Angeles. Hundreds of extras wearing German, French, and British uniforms milled around waiting for the climactic battle scenes that were about to be filmed. Dummy cannon and machine guns were everywhere. Elise still wondered just how anyone could believe southern California resembled the interior of France. However, most people were like her and had never seen the interior of France and had nothing with which to compare.

Griffith had heard rumors of fighting between German and American soldiers along the Mexican border, but decided it didn’t concern him at all. Just a border incident, he thought. Whatever was going on was more than a hundred miles away and none of his business.

Elise was exhausted and happy. One other reason she’d gotten a job with Griffith was the fact that she wasn’t an aspiring actress using the clerical job to suck up to him, sometimes literally. She hated the young women who’d spread their legs or open their heavily lipsticked mouths to get a part in a movie. Thank God for real actresses like Mary Pickford and the Gish sisters who didn’t need to do those things. Elise considered herself a good girl, but was not a prude and knew full well where babies came from and what made men happy. She understood it sometimes made women happy, too, but hadn’t yet tried to find out, at least not all that much.

Elise worked hard to not appear pretty. She was short, thin, and not well endowed, which made it fairly easy. Her parents said she was beautiful and she loved them for it, but she knew they were biased. She’d succeeded with Griffith through her intelligence and hard work.

Griffith stood, a megaphone in his hand. “What the devil are those?”

Half a dozen large planes were flying towards them in a rough V-formation, and a score of smaller ones seemed to be escorting the larger ones. Griffith smiled. He knew a golden opportunity when he saw one.

“Get cameras on those magnificent things.” He said and turned to Elise. “Maybe we can use the footage sometime, and, heck, it’s all free.”

The planes flew closer, then they were over the movie-set trenches. Bombs fell and explosions rocked the large movie set, knocking people down and showering them with dirt and debris. Griffith’s jaw dropped as everyone panicked, running in all directions. The smaller planes swooped down and machine guns ripped into the uniformed extras who screamed and fell by the score.

When the cameraman started to bolt, Griffith yelled at him to keep his camera rolling. The man complied for a second and then ran, hurling an obscenity at Griffith. Elise took hold of the camera and aimed it in the general direction of the carnage and began to crank away.

The bombers departed, their deadly gifts given, but the escorts returned for another and equally murderous strafing run. After what seemed an eternity, they too flew away, leaving an unnatural silence that was quickly filled with screams.

Griffith looked at Elise. She had not stopped cranking the camera, although her face was pale with shock and her actions an automatic response.

Griffith grabbed the camera from her. “Get in the car.”

Elise shook herself. The carnage around her was overwhelming. “We have to help these people.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No, but I do know some first aid. I can help.”

He grabbed her and pushed her into the back seat. “I need you and the film you took more then those people need you putting a bandage on them. Look, they’re already being taken care of.”

Still numb from the horror, Elise agreed. Incredibly enough, there were far more survivors than casualties, and every injured person seemed to have at least one or two persons performing first aid on them.

Griffith dumped the camera and its precious film in the trunk and jumped in the front seat with his driver. “We are going back to Hollywood as fast as we can to get that film developed. Then we’re going to run up to either San Francisco or Sacramento and see what the government thinks of this.”

* * *

Only a couple of days after the invasion, Kirsten became the
de facto
leader of a small but growing group of friends, relatives, and neighbors. Several other ranchers, remembering the decision to gather at her place, had shown up with their families and there was now a small tent village in the hills near Raleigh.

The Germans had swept through the area, taking whatever they wanted. It wasn’t quite looting, since they were generally disciplined enough to take only those things they needed, and high on the list was food. They’d herded away all her cattle, at least all they could find, and emptied storage sites. They’d even left receipts which would doubtless prove worthless.

The disciplined behavior of most of the Germans contrasted sharply with the ones who had burned her home and raped her cousin. The difference was simple: do not resist and you will be left alone. Resist and you will suffer terribly.

Kirsten had come to the realization that the others in her group, both men and women, were looking to her for leadership. Was it because they were on her property, or was it some other reason?

Still, the leadership role was collaborative. They discussed matters well into the night and came to collective decisions. First, they would do nothing to antagonize the Germans. That lesson had been learned. Second, they would gather enough food to keep everyone fed and try not to attract attention. There were seven men, five women, and six children to care for. Several said they would head north as soon as they felt the situation was safe enough. Of course, nobody had any idea just when that might be.

From a position on a hill, Kirsten could make out long lines of soldiers, infantry this time, snaking north and west. Their obvious target was San Diego. San Diego was the largest city in this area of Southern California and possessed a pretty good harbor that would be useful to the Germans if they planned to stay. And it looked very much like they planned on sticking around.

She and several others were angry enough to want to strike back, but how? They wouldn’t stand a chance taking on German regulars, so what were they to do?

First, they had to get the children and the women who wanted to leave to a place of safety. Then the remainder had to realize that the only place they could strike back at the Germans was their supplies. But what would the Germans do if she or anyone in her group tried to destroy supplies or damage roads? In 1914, the papers reported that the Germans had behaved hideously in Belgium and northern France. They’d blown up cities, executed hostages or shipped men off to work camps in reprisal for guerilla attacks, and in some cases, for no good reason at all. They papers had implied mass rapes and even the killing of babies by impaling them on bayonets, and Kirsten now believed it was possible. Would they do the same to Americans? Of course they would. Ella still hadn’t moved or said anything. Maria had managed to get clothes on her, and food and water in her, but her eyes were still blank. She remained in her own dark world.

A deep growling sound alerted her to the fact that several German airplanes were above her. She felt naked and helpless. Where were the American planes? She remained still. Even if the enemy pilots were looking, they were unlikely to notice her if she remained motionless. She’d hunted often enough to know that movement attracted attention and, if she stayed unmoving, she could hide in plain sight.

The planes passed from view, but the columns of German soldiers continued. How many of them were there, she wondered?

And where the hell were our American soldiers?

* * *

The film flickered on the sheet that served as a movie screen. Much of it was of poor quality but all of it was utterly horrible in its content. It showed German planes dropping their deadly load on hundreds of movie extras. It showed the victims being blown to pieces and later being strafed by escorting fighters.

The viewing only took a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. Ensign Josh Cornell leaned on his crutches and wished he’d asked for permission to sit down. Admiral Sims would have permitted it quickly, but the man had to be asked. He had so much on his plate, it was ridiculous to think he’d recall that his newest and very junior aide had just survived the sinking of his ship, and been pulled from the ocean with an injured leg, along with multiple cuts and bruises. He looked as if he’d gone fifteen rounds with Jack Dempsey and lost every one of them.

Fortunately, the leg wasn’t broken. His knee had been dislocated and the doctors said he’d be just fine in a couple of weeks or maybe a couple of months. In the meantime, sea duty was out of the question and Josh had been tapped to serve on the newly arrived Sims’ staff for the simple reason that there wasn’t any other place for him.

The admiral was receiving praise for saving the bulk of the fleet from destruction by the Germans. He’d managed to save the three newer and larger battleships and most of the smaller warships. They were now more or less safely ensconced in Puget Sound, close to Seattle.

The lights were switched on and Josh caught D.W. Griffith’s young female assistant looking at him. He felt like saying “boo” to see if his appearance scared her. He recalled Griffith saying she had actually taken some of the pictures when the regular cameraman quite understandably ran away. She looked quiet and plain, but on second thought, not all that plain and she was certainly intelligent looking. He smiled at her and she blinked and seemed to smile in return. At least he hoped it looked like she’d smiled.

General Liggett and Admiral Sims sized up the moment. Finally, since it was Sims’ office, he spoke first. “Mr. Griffith and Miss Thompson, thank you for bringing this to our attention. We will attempt to send it on to Washington and you will be given the proper recognition for what were obviously heroic efforts. It is ironic in the extreme that the Germans apparently mistook your movie set for a defensive work and bombed it. Although, I somehow don’t believe the dead and wounded think it ironic at all.”

Liggett nodded agreement. “And we’re particularly impressed by Miss Thompson’s bravery in continuing to take pictures.”

Elise flushed. “I think I was too scared to even realize what I was doing.”

“Mr. Griffith,” Liggett continued, “you have a reputation as a businessman, what do you want out of this?”

Griffith nodded and half bowed. “I wish the honor and privilege of continuing to film the war. When the time comes, I will make more than enough money out of those efforts.”

Sims and Liggett looked quickly at each other. Griffith would surely find a way to make some money out of his films, which made his comment a little crass, but did it matter?

Liggett spoke for the two commanders, “Done. However, you must not do anything to endanger American soldiers and sailors and you must never betray anything we say without permission. Everything must be kept secret. Of course, you must also stay out of our way.”

“Agreed.”

Liggett rose. “Unfortunately, the films you took, while dramatic and historical, are of little strategic or tactical value. Still, they will show the world what we’re up against.”

“The film can be edited to look even more dramatic,” Elise found herself saying. “I would especially recommend editing out those extras dressed in German uniforms. It might be difficult to explain them to viewers in New York and elsewhere.”

Both Sims and Liggett chuckled. “Indeed it would, Miss Thompson,” Sims said. “Not only are you brave, but you think clearly, a fairly rare commodity. Perhaps you would consider leaving Mr. Griffith for a similar position with me?”

Griffith laughed. “She would, but she has too much of a future with me.”

Elise glared at him. How dare he speak for her? She was still perturbed at him for not letting her care for the injured. “I’d be honored to work for you, Admiral. When would you wish me to start?”

Sims smiled broadly. He had barely begun to gather a staff for his newly created position and needed all the qualified help he could get. “Yesterday would have been nice.”

“Elise, I thought you worked for me,” Griffith lamented.

“Mr. Griffith, haven’t you noticed there’s a war on? Frankly, I think that’s far more important than taking movies.”

Josh leaned against a wall. Elise? What a lovely name. And she was going to be working for the admiral. How wonderful. And now his leg didn’t hurt quite as much.