1920: America's Great War-eARC (13 page)

“Captain, the man was drunk. Even when sober, which isn’t very often, he’s an idiot. I’d bet you that some of his no good friends or one of his brothers dared him to do it and he was too stupid to realize the seriousness of what he was doing.”

“A shame,” Steiner snapped. He was a short, thin man in his late thirties, and he wore the insignia of the German Army’s quartermaster corps. “However, I will guarantee you that we will also punish his so-called friends and family if we find them.”

A crowd of nearly a hundred, mostly men, had gathered. Olson was virtually certain he knew who the “friends” were. A cluster of four men were staring incredulously at the scene as if finally realizing what terrible trouble they’d gotten their buddy into. Two were Dubbins’ brothers.

A squad of six German soldiers marched out the administration building. Their Mauser rifles were slung ominously over their shoulders. They stopped in front of Dubbins who stared blankly at them. It suddenly dawned on him what was going to happen and he began to scream and cry. His body shook and his bladder and bowels released.

“Coward,” muttered Steiner.

“Captain,” said Olson, “you’ve more than made your point. Can’t you show a little mercy? Throw him in jail for a while, flog him, kick the shit out of him some more, but don’t shoot him for being a drunken fool.”

Steiner shook his head. “This is the way we do things, Olson. And this is the side you’ve chosen. You see those four fellows back in the crowd? I’ll bet you they were in on it with this Dubbins creature. You will find out for me.”

“And if I can’t?”

Steiner glared at him. “I wasn’t offering the comment for discussion. I gave you an order. And as to mercy, I showed it by not executing nine others for his actions. Remember that and explain it to your people. They are now under German control, not American, and they had better adapt. Quite literally, their lives depend on it.”

The firing squad raised their rifles and aimed at Dubbins who, mercifully, had passed out. A sergeant gave the order and the volley crashed. Dubbins’ scrawny body shook from the bullet’s impact and the crowd groaned. Several women screamed and cried out. One of Dubbins’ four buddies was doubled over, vomiting. Olson thought it might have been a brother. The others saw Olson staring at them and they returned it with a look of utter animal hatred. They turned and walked away, mounted their horses and rode off rapidly.

Olson took a deep breath. Those men were now his enemies. So be it. He had his own guards and would track them down. They were free for the moment, but that was all. He’d give them a chance to run and, hopefully, they’d be far away before he organized a posse. Olson didn’t think Steiner really cared if the boys were caught or not. He just wanted stability and obedience.

Steiner was right, however. Everyone was part of Germany now and the sooner resistance ceased, the sooner the world could get to a new state of normality.

* * *

Tim and Wally Randall had been as outraged as all Americans on hearing of the treacherous German attacks on Texas and California, and, since they were young and strong, they decided they had the means to do something about it. They enlisted.

Or they tried to. The army recruiting office in Camden, New Jersey, was flooded with people. Long lines of young men stretched down the street, which made it difficult to believe the rumors that enlistments alone wouldn’t be enough to fill the military’s needs. Even a few Negroes tried to join the line, but they were promptly told their services weren’t needed.

Inside, two enlisted men Wally and Tim thought were corporals handed out forms to everyone they could and then told the remaining multitude that they were out of the necessary documents. Wally and Tim shrugged and went home.

They were not discouraged. They came back a couple of days later and found the corporals a lot less hassled and, yes, they now did have the sacred forms to fill out. Tim and Wally handled the forms with ease, which caused the recruiters eyebrows to rise. When asked, they said they had graduated from high school several years earlier, and were taking evening college courses. They both had plans to be engineers, however long it took. Tim was twenty-five and Wally was a year younger, and both were stocky and powerfully built.

The corporals were elated. Most young men in the area had not graduated from high school and fewer still had gone on to college, particularly in a workingman’s town like Camden. Only rich kids went to college, and Wally and Tim were clearly not rich. Not too many people in southern New Jersey were.

The brothers raised their right hands and took an oath to defend their country, which was why they’d enlisted, and were told to go home. Why, they’d asked?

Corporal Scanlon gave them the bad news. “Boys, there aren’t any training camps, aren’t any uniforms, no weapons, no ammunition, and nobody to train you even if everything else fell into place. So you lucky devils get to go home and wait to be called. Hopefully it won’t be too long. At least you’ll get to kiss your girlfriends goodby a second time.”

The boys did not admit that you first had to have a girlfriend in order to get one to kiss you. Tim had been dating a young woman named Kathy Fenton, but it wasn’t serious, at least not to him. Scanlon then gave them a piece of interesting news.

“You’ve been recommended to be trained as noncommissioned officers. Your education and your intelligence qualify you for that high honor.”

Tim and Wally stifled grins. Scanlon was an NCO and seemed far from educated or intelligent. Were they being damned with faint praise?

Scanlon continued. “Of course, it’s unlikely you’ll be selected as real commissioned officers. Rumor has it that officer commissions are being held for actual college graduates and Ivy League graduates in particular. The nabobs in Washington seem to feel that only Ivy Leaguers have the proper leadership skills to lead us peasants. It’s all bullshit if you ask me. You lads may be smarter than any of them pansy boys from Yale and Harvard who spend all day either talking philosophy or buggering each other, but it ain’t gonna matter. They’ll be officers and you won’t.”

“We don’t much care,” Tim said. “We enlisted to fight and we don’t give a hoot just what rank we are. We’d just as soon be privates for all we care.”

Scanlon shook his head. “Yes, you will care. As an NCO you’ll be able to pass out orders and use what’s between your ears. And I ain’t as dumb as you think. I read your minds when I said what I did about NCOs being intelligent. I may look stupid, but I’m not. By the way, as I understand it, since you’re going to become NCO material whether you like it or not, you’ll likely get called up first. That way, when you’re trained, you can help train the enlisted recruits. A helluva lot of the men signing up can’t read or write, or are right off the boat and can barely speak English. They’re real good with Polish or Italian, but not English. You’re gonna have lots of fun.”

Tim and Wally thought that was great news. “Corporal Scanlon, may I ask a favor of you?” Tim asked.

“Go ahead?”

“Would you join us for a beer?”

Scanlon beamed. “Lads, I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

Rain and wind lashed the waters of the entrance to Puget Sound. Only the bravest, hardiest, and most foolish were outside on the shore to watch the approach of the British squadron. Two modern battleships, the
Lion
and the
Queen Elizabeth
, led a covey of cruisers and destroyers. The battleships ignored the stormy seas, bulling through them with quiet dignity while their smaller sisters rolled and shook like wet dogs.

The British, with typical arrogance, simply ignored the German squadron that was trying to blockade the sound. Britannia rules the waves and all that and, even though they’d lost the last war, the Royal Navy was not to be trifled with. The only naval blockades the Royal Navy would respect would be her own, and the Royal Navy certainly had the right to make a courtesy call on her Canadian cousins. And the Royal Navy most certainly had the obligation to ensure that the aggravating German squadron stayed well away from Canadian waters.

On board the battleship
Bayern
, the fifty-two year old Admiral Adolf von Trotha seethed as he watched the British ships steam past. He commanded Hipper’s Northern Squadron of five battleships and he was supremely confident that he could blow the arrogant British back to London.

However and unfortunately, Germany and England were no longer at war. Along with his other brother officers, he felt disappointment that the war of 1914 had ended before the German High Seas Fleet could have sunk the British Home Fleet. They routinely hoisted beer steins to that pleasant but remote possibility.

Trotha was ambitious and confrontational. Not only was he frustrated by the state of peace that existed between England and Germany, but he’d been astonished by the just received report from his engineers telling him not to waste oil. The fleet had used more than anticipated crossing from Indo-China to California and would have to husband its resources until oil could be shipped from southern California, and that could be a while. Thus, unless he wanted his magnificent ships to become little more than large and aimlessly floating children’s toys, he’d watch his Ps and Qs, that is, pints and quarts of oil.

Like everyone, Trotha’s eyes were focused on the British warships. Even though he hated them, he had to admire the stately and confident way they maneuvered around his ships and into the Sound. There was no sight of any American warships; the British were the only show in town.

Sharp eyes would have been needed to see that the British squadron was well inside the invisible boundary that separated the American portion of the Sound from the Canadian. Even on a very clear day, extremely sharp eyes would have been needed to even get a hint of the small gray shapes that were leaving the sound as the British entered, and moving so slowly that they scarcely made a ripple, much less a wave. The waves of the sound and then the ocean that surged over the small vessels made them even less visible then they normally were.

And nobody on the mighty German warships noticed those small gray shapes. Later, it would be agreed that the entire maneuver was extremely well planned and marvelously well choreographed.

CHAPTER 7

Kirsten was livid. How could the Dubbins brothers have run to her hideout after their brother was hanged and after they’d later gotten drunk and beaten up a German soldier? She’d always known the Dubbins brothers weren’t very bright, but this was beyond absurd. What were they thinking of, endangering her and the others like they’d done?

“Well, where else were we supposed to go?” lamented the older brother, Lew. “We worked for you and you said you were our friend.”

“Lew, if I look towards the south I can see a little wisp of dust in the air and that means someone’s coming. My bet is that it’s either a German patrol or Roy Olson has organized a posse and they’ve come to haul you in.”

“You’ll defend us, won’t you?” Lew pleaded.

“With what? Two other women and me are all that’s here, and Ella’s hurt. The other men and their families have all gone north. There is no way on earth I am going to get in a gunfight on your side against what’s coming here. However, I will let you take what you need of our food. I’ve got a feeling, thanks to you fools, that we’re not going to be up here much longer. When you’ve gone we’ll tell Olson or the Germans that you forced it from us and hope to God they believe us. Now take it and get out.” She shuddered. If her tale wasn’t believed, would she suffer like Ella had? Or, dear God, would Ella suffer again?

The two Dubbins brothers quickly grabbed some supplies and rode off. Kirsten anxiously watched as the dust cloud grew larger and became a group of five horsemen. As they drew still closer, she easily recognized the bulk of Roy Olson in the lead. She was relieved to see no Germans in the group. Ella seemed to be improving, however slightly, but God only knew how she’d take seeing people in field gray uniforms.

Roy and the others pulled up and dismounted. Kirsten noticed with perverse satisfaction that they were tired and flushed. And Roy, a large man, was taking it the worst. He was caked with dirt and sweat and his face was almost beet red.

He plunked himself down in the shade and took some deep swallows of water, “God, that felt good. Now, where the devil are the idiot Dubbins brothers?”

“They came, they robbed me, and they rode off. Now what did they do this time?”

Olson blinked. “They robbed you? But you’ve got weapons.”

“And I’ve known them for years and didn’t expect trouble. I also decided that it wasn’t worth resisting if they wanted some food. So what did they do?”

“One brother was executed for cutting a telegraph line, and the others are wanted for beating up a German soldier. I finally have witnesses to that little shindig, and Captain Steiner wants the matter settled. When I bring them in, they’ll hang too.”

“Since when did beating somebody become a hanging offense?”

Olson laughed harshly, “Since the Germans came to town. How long ago did the boys leave?”

“Maybe two hours, maybe three. You really think you can catch them? Your horses look dead.”

He looked around. The others were listening. “Come with me,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Olson took her by the arm and led her about a hundred yards away and behind some rocks. He pushed her against the rocks and stood in front of her, towering over her.

“You’re right, Kirsten, I can’t catch them. But I can bring in second prize, and that’s you and the other two women, and I’m going to throw all of you in jail.”

Kirsten was shocked at his barely controlled rage. “Why? What for?”

Olson wiped his sweaty brow with a once-white handkerchief. “Because you aided and abetted fugitives in fleeing from justice. You claim they robbed you and, if the Germans are satisfied with your story, you’ll be allowed to go free. Of course you’ll have to live in a camp in Raleigh along with everybody else.”

“A concentration camp?”

She nearly spat out the phrase. The British had used such camps to imprison Boer civilians in the Boer war and the Spanish had invented the term to try to put down the rebellion in Cuba. In each case the camps were filled with innocent civilians who had died by the hundreds, perhaps thousands, as the result of neglect, bad food and water, disease, and generally unsanitary conditions.

“You cannot imprison me for no good reason,” she said angrily. “If, as you say, I am found innocent, then I must be able to go and live when and where I wish.”

Olson sighed and again wiped his brow. “How many times do I have to tell bloody, stubborn fools like you the world has changed? I am now the civilian law in Raleigh. These men are duly deputized, and you are under arrest. Let’s not make this any more difficult than we have to. What happens to you is going to largely depend on what I say. If I don’t believe your fairy tale about being robbed, then you’re going to spend years in a Mexican prison if the Germans don’t shoot you just for the hell of it.

Roy smiled. “However, it doesn’t have to be that way.” He put his hand on her shoulder and dropped it to her breast. She froze in shock as he turned her back to him and slipped it inside her shirt and under her brassiere. She thought illogically that she’d just gotten the new rubber brassiere in the mail from Sears.

He squeezed her nipple and put his other hand down her jeans. “On the other hand, if you cooperate, things could be really nice for you and your cousin. If not, she’ll get it a lot worse than when the Germans hurt her the first time.”

Kirsten tried to twist away but he was too large and too strong. She never saw the punch. It struck her hard in the stomach, and a second one smashed against her jaw, sending her to the ground.

Olson stood over her. “And this is just a beginning. You don’t want to go to a jail. You don’t want Germans or Mexicans guarding you, watching everything you do, staring every time you piss or shit, and visiting you women in your cell every time they feel like getting fucked. Hell, the Mexicans might just take you and Ella on the ground outside where everyone can see and everyone can have a turn. Don’t you wonder what that’ll do to the rest of Ella’s brain?”

Kirsten staggered to her feet and looked at Roy in disbelief. He was never much of a friend, but he was a neighbor. When did he become an enemy, such a monster? It was hard to catch her breath and she was dizzy from the punch to her head.

“Don’t worry, Kirsten, I’m not going to take you now. Too many people around and I like a little privacy, but you are coming back with me. If I have to use force to do that, people are going to get hurt, and it will be you and Ella and not me.”

He pulled her back to the others. Kirsten looked in dismay at the four louts Roy had brought with him. She recognized them all as being his hired hands and they were laughing at her. They would follow Roy’s orders without compunction. She wanted to cry, but wouldn’t give Roy the satisfaction.

“Ella can’t ride,” Kirsten said softly. She was beaten, both physically and emotionally. She would have to do what he wished. “We’ll have to rig a sled or something.”

“Fair enough,” Roy smiled in triumph. “My men’ll help.”

* * *

When the newspapers drew maps of the German advance in California, along with bold arrows, they drew thick draw dark lines indicating to militarily unsophisticated readers that everything south of the markers was German and anything north still belonged to the United States. The implication was that the lines were absolute and impenetrable walls. Luke Martel knew better. No army would have enough men to cover everything. They simply didn’t have enough men to block the entire state even if they’d wanted to, and the rough geography in some areas would have made such an endeavor difficult if not impossible.

Luke had pressed Colonel Nolan for the opportunity to slip behind the German lines and see just what the heck was happening in the southern part of the state. He knew his results would be a like a Kodak snapshot, but it would be better then what they were currently getting from the south, which was next to nothing.

Nolan agreed and suggested a patrol of at least twenty men. Luke had argued that he should travel alone. It’d be easier, he’d said, for one person to hide and slip around the Germans, while a larger group would just attract too much attention.

They compromised on adding just one other man. Corporal Joe Flowers was a Mescalero Apache, and Luke had known him and served with him in Mexico. Small, dark, and wiry, he looked older than his forty years, and Flowers’ dark eyes hinted that he had a low degree of intelligence and barely controlled violence. Martel knew better. Corporal Flowers was both highly intelligent and cunning, though he could be murderously violent when needed.

Flowers was also a skilled hunter and tracker and those skills kept the two men out of sight of the several German patrols and columns they did spot when they crossed into German-held territory. One thing was clear; the German advance, however slow and ponderous, was a massive endeavor. At one time, they halted and watched what looked like the better part of an infantry division pass within a half mile of them. Along with the size of the German force, its arrogance was also on display. They moved north as if they did not have a care in the world, which, Luke admitted ruefully, was exactly the case.

Another time, they were passed by a column of armored vehicles, trucks with machine guns protected by thin armor plating. “When the hell will we get some of our own,” Luke had muttered. Flowers did not respond. He had a habit of not answering dumb questions, especially from officers, even ones he liked.

Luke might have made the same comment regarding airplanes. The skies might not be filled with them, but everyone they did see was a German.

They traveled through gaps in the German advance without incident and without being noticed. Wherever possible, the enemy kept to what roads there were, which meant that Martel and Flowers could move freely off-road. As far as the Germans were concerned, the two khaki-clad soldiers were invisible, as both men preferred.

They had made it most of the way south and were resting and hoped they were out of sight behind a mound of earth. Luke had come to the conclusion that they had learned very little except the obvious—the Germans were coming in great strength—and it was just about time to head back north. The Germans were slowly but inexorably advancing on Los Angeles. He hoped the defense of that town would be strong, but doubted it.

Joe heard something, paused, then crawled to the top of the mound of earth. He gestured for Luke to stay down. “What do you see, Joe?”

Joe answered with a straight face. “Me see heap many horses and men armed with fire sticks. Me see much danger.”

Luke laughed. “Stop the dumb Indian bullshit. What do you see?”

A grin split Joe’s face. Sometimes he could pull that trick on the very young lieutenants, but Martel had been around just a little too long. “Okay, lieutenant, have it your way. I see seven people on horseback and one person being pulled on a sled or travois. And they look American and not German or greaser.”

Joe Flowers hated the Mexicans even more than most Indians hated white Americans. The Mexicans had abused his people more than the gringos, and had driven his people off their lands. It was because of the Mexicans that Joe Flowers had joined the American Army. He’d seen it as a great opportunity to kill them.

Luke gave Joe his binoculars. The Indian had better eyesight and Luke had no problem admitting it. “This is interesting, Lieutenant. There are five men and two women on horseback and it looks like a third woman on the travois. She’s probably sick or hurt. And the other two women are prisoners. Both have their hands bound and tied to their pommels. One woman looks Mexican and the other American. All the men look like gringos.”

“What color are the women’s eyes?”

“Go to hell, Lieutenant.”

Women prisoners was an intriguing thought, even more so if one was indeed an American. What the devil was going on, and was it worth betraying themselves and giving away their presence? If the women actually were prisoners, then whose and why? He looked at Joe, who shrugged.

The group was moving very slowly, so it was no problem for Luke and Joe to circle around them and take up positions in front and to either side. They hid their horses and lay prone in the dirt. When the group was about fifty feet away, Luke and Joe emerged, their rifles aimed on the group.

“Hands up,” Luke ordered in a loud voice and the shocked riders complied. They ordered the men off their horses and quickly disarmed them. Luke might regret such high-handedness at some future time, but he felt it was far better to apologize later then to be sorry. He did not release the women. For all he knew, they were ax murderers like Lizzie Borden.

A heavyset man, obviously the leader from the way the other men looked to him, glared at Luke. His face was red with scarcely controlled rage. “Dear God,” he said angrily. “You’re deserters from the American Army, aren’t you? The real American Army is as extinct as Darwin’s dinosaurs.”

Luke smiled tightly. “Sorry to disappoint you, but we’re part of a column,” Luke lied. “Now, who are you and why are these women tied up?”

The man looked confused. “My name is Roy Olson and I am the law, the sheriff, in this area and these two women are under arrest for a number of crimes.”

Sheriff? And way behind German lines? “And who appointed you sheriff, Mr. Olson?” Luke asked quietly. He had a discomfiting feeling he knew the answer.

The white woman looked up. There was a massive bruise on her face and anger in her eyes. “The Germans gave him the job so he could abuse real Americans. Look what he did to me. And my crime? I gave food and water to people who apparently might have beaten up one of Olson’s precious German soldiers and that’s a hanging crime, according to Mr. Olson.”

“Comment, Mr. Olson?”

Olson glared at the woman and turned to Luke. “Part of it’s true. Of course, the Germans are in charge where we live, and, yes, we have to cooperate with them, and yes, attacking a German soldier is a capital offence. I do not make the laws, ah, Lieutenant, but I do have to obey them and I have been directed to bring these people in.”

The woman sneered. “And did that include beating me and trying to rape me? The Germans burned our home, hurt and abused my cousin and now he wants us to go back with him and live in a concentration camp or, if he decides I’m a criminal, be sent to a prison in Mexico City. Unless, of course, I become his mistress. He beat me up just to make his point.”