1901 (49 page)

Wood glanced about to see who else could hear. “Theodore,” he said, taking in private the liberty of using his first name. “I would a hundred times rather be actually doing something than waiting, waiting, waiting. You mention Lincoln, but what about McKinley while you and I were tramping through the Cuban swamps?”

Roosevelt laughed. “Damn, those were good days.” His face clouded quickly. “But waiting for news of the battle is driving me crazy. The newspapers are pillorying me because the Germans are driving us back, and they predict an awful defeat that will end the war on very unsatisfactory terms. They blame me for the failure of the country to be ready. In a way, I guess they’re right. After all, I was the vice president. Mr. Bryan and his friends are calling this the culmination of a policy of failure. In the Spanish war, Bryan had the decency to put on a uniform, but not this time.”

“Well, at least the fleet has sailed,” commented Wood.

“But to what avail? The German army will be well out of range, and the German navy can stay safely where it is. Oh, I suppose Dewey had to do something. Perhaps he can force his way into Long Island Sound and prevent the Germans from bombarding our perimeter.”

Wood was no longer listening. He had gone to a window and was looking out at Lafayette Park. “Theodore, come here.”

The president came and peered over his shoulder. “Goodness, what do they want?” Outside, in the park, were thousands of men, women, and children. They were staring at the White House in almost total silence. Even from a distance he could see the grim, sad looks on their faces.

“Sir,” said Wood, formality returning. “I believe they want to see you.”

Roosevelt looked again at the somber faces. “I should go speak to them. No,” he said, smiling slightly, “I will go and ask them to pray with me.”

The journey north had been a hard one for a man as old as James Longstreet, and he felt it in every bone in his body. Yet could he be elsewhere? He allowed his aide to help him down from his carriage and walked the few steps to where MacArthur and Schofield waited. Schofield looked a little more rested than Longstreet, but he had arrived a day earlier. Longstreet returned their salutes. “How is it within the perimeter?”

MacArthur answered. “Still holding. We have just about reached the water on our eastward swing and are digging in like mad. So are the Germans.”

Longstreet nodded. He did not ask how long they could hold out. “With you up here, Mac, what’s the command structure?”

“I’m still in overall command, of course, and keeping in touch via wireless and telegraph. We buried a number of lines between here, Bridgeport, and New Haven, and the Krauts haven’t thought to dig them up yet. Baldy Smith is in tactical command within the perimeter and Joe Wheeler has taken over his corps. Chaffee commands the second corps. Division commanders are Funston, Pershing, Lee, Kent, Merritt, and Scott. Bates commands north along the Hudson, and Ludlow commands the Jersey shore. Both might as well be on the moon for all the good they’ll do us in this fight.”

Longstreet realized that these were the cream of the American army command. If they were lost, then the army was effectively beheaded as a fighting force. What had he done? By answering his country’s call, James Longstreet had put himself in position to preside over the greatest defeat in the young nation’s history. Hell, a man in his eighties should be home watching his favorite hound sleep. But here he was, ancient and hard of hearing, trying for one last battle. He must be a fool.

The distant sound of a train whistle brought him out of his reverie. He took his watch from his pocket and checked the time. “Schofield, is it true the trains run on time in Germany?”

Schofield kept a straight face. “Everything runs on time in Germany. Everything is done precisely and to the numbers, and that includes the pious act of copulation for the betterment of the fatherland.”

Longstreet was about to ask him what a man of his age recalled of the pious act of copulation when the train whistle sounded again, this time closer. Longstreet looked at the others and saw the expectant expressions on their faces. Working with Stonewall had taught him something about trains, and a stint as commissioner of railroads, a largely ceremonial position, had taught him even more. Yes, the German trains always ran on time; by comparison, exact scheduling in the United States was often a joke. But sometimes, just sometimes, they got it right.

The kaiser looked at his map and watched as staffers again moved the pins denoting a further surge eastward by his army. “Von Schlieffen, I am still concerned about that mob they have up north in their training camp. Although it might not be much, there is little to stop it from bursting into our rear and doing a great deal of mischief.”

Schlieffen responded confidently. “We will not permit that to happen, sire. First, it will take the Americans several days to organize and move that force to the battle area. When they do that, our blocking force will intercept and delay them until reinforcements arrive.” He pointed to another spot on the map. “We have generated enough additional troops to form a reserve corps of two divisions under General von Trotha. He is simply awaiting orders as to which direction to send his troops—south against the perimeter or north against any relief force.”

The kaiser was impressed. “And where did you find this reserve army?”

“Sire, we stripped forces away from Manhattan, the northern flank of the salient, and, of course, from the defensive fortifications along the river. We decided, and rather logically, that the battle was being fought here”—Schlieffen pointed at the American perimeter—“and that any troops retained elsewhere were useless. It was all planned some time ago,” he added smugly.

“But what about the risk?”

Schlieffen shrugged. “In all things there is an element of risk. In this case it is minimal. The Hudson protects Manhattan, and numerous other water barriers protect the northern flank. As to the fortifications, well, if we keep pushing the Yanks back, the forts will be so far in the rear as to be moot. Besides, the moves were completely secret.”

Johnny Two Dogs arrived back at the farmhouse from a pleasant day of cutting wires and throats to find the place crawling with German soldiers. He didn’t know how the Germans designated rank, but he did know the American system, and his experience with the latter told him that some very important people were now in that building.

So too, he realized, were Blake and Willy. He laughed and wondered if they were hiding in that huge and labyrinthine basement. If they were, at least they were dry and out of the wind. There was no safe way they could emerge with so many guards and sentries, who would immediately stop any strange-looking line repairmen coming out of the basement. They would have to endure until the Germans left. Well, he didn’t. He decided if he was going to be cold and uncomfortable, then others would pay for it. He had already killed once today—a messenger who had dismounted because his horse was going lame—and he would look for other opportunities. Then he would return to see what Blake and Willy thought of their new neighbors. And he decided it might be time to let them know he was around.

Patrick Mahan pored over the piece of paper on his field desk and didn’t look up when Ian Gordon and Lieutenant Colonel Harris entered.

“You called, beloved general?” Ian asked.

“I did. Look at this.” Patrick handed them the paper. “Just about the strangest orders I have yet received. According to what I read, I am to pull in my troops from their extended screening formation and stay within new brigade boundaries. The boundaries are very small and I am supposed to be ready to attack the Germans from the confines of those strange boundaries. All of this is to be accomplished within one hour.”

Gordon handed back the paper. “That is indeed what it says.”

“Gentlemen, does it make sense?”

“Not really,” said Harris. “If we attacked the local Germans in a tight formation, I’m confident we could easily punch a hole in their lines. However, they could hurt our flanks and rear while we were pushing on to hit the main German force.”

Ian added, “Even if we were then to make contact with that main force, it would outnumber us perhaps ten to one overall and would chew up our little brigade and spit out the pieces without much difficulty. I think I agree with you, Patrick—an attack would be suicidal. Our brigade is much too small to cause any significant damage. So, what are you going to do?”

Patrick shook his head sadly. “I am going to obey orders. The concentration of force is already under way, and we will indeed be ready to move out within an hour. But I do not think of myself as suicidal. I will attack if I must, but if it looks as though we are going to be overwhelmed, I will order a retreat as quickly as I can and the hell with what the history books might say.” Getting home to Trina was another motivation. He didn’t like the thought of her in widow’s weeds after such a short marriage.

Ian agreed. “Good plan. I always did want to live to a ripe old age.”

Patrick was about to remind Ian that he really didn’t have to be there in the first place when a sentry opened the tent flap and stuck his head in. “Sir, General Schofield is arriving.”

Patrick reached for his hat. “Shit. What the hell is the old man doing here?”

Ian Gordon sighed. “Probably wants to make sure you obey your orders.”

When Schofield arrived he went directly into Patrick’s command tent. He plucked the orders from where Patrick had laid them. “What do you think?”

“General Schofield, I am completely at a loss. If I didn’t respect both you and General MacArthur, I would consider the mission suicidal.”

Schofield smiled. “So you’ve doubtless been planning a way of not quite disobeying them, haven’t you?”

When all else fails, why not tell the truth? Patrick reasoned. “Absolutely, sir. The thought of my brigade attacking all those Germans alone is not a pleasant one. It’s not that any one of us wishes to shirk our duty, but this attack is doomed to fail. My brigade would not be able to do anything much against the Germans. We will attack as ordered, General, but I am planning on being able to beat a hasty and prudent retreat when the time comes.”

Schofield took off his campaign hat and sat in Patrick’s chair, a look of feigned puzzlement on his round face. “Why Patrick, whoever said you’d be alone?”

Trina saw the tracks and heard the train at the same time. It would beat her to the crossing, so she eased up on the reins and let the horses slow to a stop. Racing trains to a crossing was not her idea of a morning’s fun.

“How is everyone? Isn’t this a jolly trip?” she asked. Molly stuck out her tongue and Heinz moaned in mock agony. He was uncomfortable and in some pain but was really bearing up well. Molly, on the other hand, had thrown up her breakfast.

Trina checked and saw the people in other wagons and carriages in her group taking advantage of the enforced break to get out and stretch, and a few walked discreetly into the trees to relieve themselves. Stretching, she thought, was a splendid idea. She nodded and smiled at Mrs. Harris, and the two women walked toward the tracks. About time someone sent a train, she thought, but who was left to evacuate? She watched the thick, low column of smoke as it neared. It was, she realized, a very large train. Intrigued, she walked closer to the tracks.

The train rounded the final bend and came straight at her, moving at a good rate of speed. As it roared past, she realized there were three engines. Why? she wondered. The answer came as the flatcars rolled into view. At first she did not believe her eyes, did not trust herself to think. Then she realized what she was indeed seeing and, equally important, hearing as the sound of additional trains echoed in the distance. Along with talks of love and their future together, Patrick had confided in her and told her everything about the army—its strengths, its weaknesses, and its potential. Thus she understood quickly and totally the significance of the spectacle unfolding before her. Each of the many flatcars was jammed with hard and confident-looking armed men in American uniforms. Unlike the pasty-and flabby-looking recruits she’d seen, these men were tanned and fit, and there were some Asian faces mixed among the white. They had come. The American army was back from the Philippines.

Involuntarily her body convulsed. Uncontrollable tears poured down her cheeks and she clutched her chest as the train rolled by, causing unbearable waves of emotion that overwhelmed her. Annabelle Harris understood as well, and ran up to her. They held each other and sank to the ground. Trina grabbed a chunk of dirt and flung it skyward. Both their faces were wet with tears and they tried to yell over the sound of the rushing train. On board, only a few pairs of eyes noticed the two crazy-looking ladies sitting on the grass and crying hysterically.

A
DMIRAL
D
IEDRICHS SAT
up slowly in his bed. His head ached horribly and he was only beginning to keep food down. He kept his left hand under the covers to hide the fact that it had begun to quiver. He was reminded of how the kaiser pretended his left arm wasn’t withered. Diedrichs was on board his flagship, the battleship
Barbarossa
, in the lower bay of New York harbor. The remainder of the German main battle fleet had been deployed to deny access to the harbor should the Americans foolishly try to force entry.

An aide handed him a message, which he read quickly. “Damn.”

He signaled to his senior staff officers, who entered his stateroom and approached his bed. They looked dispirited, whipped. Diedrichs held up the message. “According to the kaiser’s supposedly infallible intelligence services, the American fleet is believed to have departed Boston Harbor, probably yesterday. Proper emphasis should be placed on the word ‘believed.’”

“What should we do?”

Diedrichs sank back on the pillow. His headache was returning. Perhaps he should have some broth. What he really wanted was an end to this humiliating war.

“Gentlemen,” he answered in a near whisper, “it is only believed that the Americans have sailed. Until we can confirm that, and then confirm their destination, we will do nothing.”