1920: America's Great War-eARC (39 page)

Curiously, the flow of wounded to the hospital had slowed to less than a trickle. There was a great battle raging to the east, but those wounded were cut off from her hospital facilities because the bay was now controlled by the Germans. There was fighting to the direct south and that concerned her deeply, as it did Elise who was with her. Both Luke and Josh were down to the south, and the fighting was close enough for them to discern the sound of small-arms fire.

But the chaos in San Francisco Bay was beyond belief. Elise had told her what the Fireflies were, and what they were going to attempt to do. Kirsten and thought it a hopeless endeavor and one that would result in many needless deaths.

But now she’d changed her mind. Not only were the damned Hun ships withdrawing, but the little fireflies had caused significant damage. Two German ships were burning furiously and dead in the water. They would never leave the bay.

All of the German ships were hurt and burning to some extent. Fire was the great fear of men on ships and she’d been told that firefighting was practiced constantly. Once out of the bay and out of the range of the fireflies, the flames would be brought under control and the German ships saved.

However, the flames on the largest ship, the
Bayern
, were not yet under control. It looked like the metal stern of the ship was so hot it was glowing, perhaps melting. As she was thinking that, the
Bayern
’s rearmost turret exploded, sending debris high into the air. People in the crowd around her gasped as shock waves shook the battleship like it was a toy.

The German fleet, now down to six battleships, moved out to sea. The handful of cruisers that had also made it into the bay made their own escape, largely ignored by the Fireflies and the few shore batteries.

Splashes suddenly appeared around the German ships. Geysers lifted higher than the superstructures themselves. What was going on? Kirsten and the other spectators had been so transfixed by the German ships that they’d ignored the horizon. Three grey silhouettes were moving and circling slowly and firing their guns. The
Arizona
,
Pennsylvania
, and
Nevada
had arrived.

Elise smiled. She had been privy to the great secret. “Admiral Sims had them hiding only fifty miles north of here. They were already on their way when the Fireflies attacked.”

Sims had taken a great chance. If the Firefly attack had failed, the American ships would have had to run for their lives. Again.

It was difficult to follow, but it seemed like the
Arizona
was focusing on the damaged
Bayern
, while the other two American battleships attacked other foes.

Yes, Kirsten concluded, the
Arizona
and
Bayern
were dueling. The two great ships moved closer to each other until it seemed like they were fighting a battle from the War of 1812. The
Bayern
had lost one turret, but her six remaining fifteen-inch guns were larger than her opponent’s, and she inflicted damage on the
Arizona,
which itself began to burn.

After a while, both ships were torches and Kirsten couldn’t begin to imagine the horrors going on inside them. Then both ships ceased firing and began to move slowly towards the shore.

“What are they doing?”

Admiral Sims appeared beside her. He was filthy and bleeding. She told him she should get him to a hospital, but he waved her off. This, the culmination of all his plans, was something he had to see.

“There are others far worse than me, young lady. As to the ships, they are beaching themselves so they don’t sink. Look, the
Nevada
is attempting the same thing.”

The
Nevada
didn’t make it. A few hundred yards from shore, she rolled over and disappeared. The crowd groaned and Kirsten felt tears on her cheeks. So many brave men, she sobbed. Elise grasped her arm and was also crying.

Two other German battleships beached themselves. Their crews filled lifeboats and rowed out to the surviving German ships. The remaining German ships were damaged, but seemed under control. They would get away. The
Pennsylvania
, dark smoke billowing from her many wounds, was withdrawing slowly and would not, could not, interfere.

“And now there are only three,” Sims said. “The Germans have suffered a huge defeat. Sadly, we’re in no position to celebrate. We’ve got only one ship left and she’s badly damaged. We could bring more from the Atlantic, but so too could the Germans. It’s a stalemate.”

Motion from behind caught her eye. Long lines of men in field gray uniforms had begun moving past. She exulted. They were prisoners. German prisoners. She caught Luke walking alongside a youthful-looking American general. Both were limping and holding each other up.

Kirsten ran and took Luke’s arm. “Kirsten, meet General Douglas MacArthur. He just saved our asses with a wild charge through the German Army.”

MacArthur was in pain. “A pleasure,” he grimaced.

Tim Randall took the general’s arm and relieved Luke. MacArthur looked around in confusion. “Where’s my other lucky charm?”

“Wounded, sir, but I think he’ll be okay.” Tim found it difficult to talk. MacArthur was heavy and Tim was exhausted.

Elise screamed and Kirsten and Luke saw her run down the street towards Josh. Elise had informed Kirsten that she would go wherever Josh was sent by the Navy. She hadn’t informed Josh as yet. She threw her arms around him and decided that now was the time. She whispered in his ear. He nodded and hugged her tightly.

Kirsten tore her eyes away from Elise and Josh. “Do you need to go to the hospital, Luke?”

“No.”

“Wonderful,” she said and kissed him on the cheek. “Go do what you have to and I’ll find you at the apartment. We can talk about setting a date to get married. Tomorrow would be nice.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, you ninny. I think I’m pregnant.”

* * *

General Mackensen had spent most of the day and the night trying to round up his shattered army. Panic had ensued and his men had fled from the field of battle in great disarray. It was both shocking and disappointing. He’d thought that the Imperial German Army was made of sterner stuff, but the day’s work had proven his soldiers to be mere mortals.

The Americans had not attacked. Their armored vehicles had withdrawn behind their own lines with nearly half of them damaged, disabled, or simply broken down. American trucks had gone out onto the field and hauled them back where they would be repaired.

Damn them,
Mackensen thought. “How could the Yanks have come up with such a devastating weapon so fast?” he muttered.

“They didn’t,” said the crown prince. “We’ve had word that the British were working on something similar for the last couple of years. We’ve never given it much credence, nor did we think it would be such a devastating weapon.”

“Now what, sir?”

Wilhelm grimaced. “Distasteful as it might be, a withdrawal is the wisest course. We will wait for resupply and reinforcements. Our army must rest and regain its collective courage. I doubt very much if God himself could make our men charge the American defenses again, especially as they are being reinforced as we speak. Who knows,” he laughed harshly, “the emperor might just decide to call off this entire endeavor.”

Mackensen was about to ask just what future plans the prince had when a look of surprise appeared for just an instant on the prince’s face before the front of his skull exploded, sending bone and bloody matter into the air. Some of it landed on Mackensen who, along with others, dropped to the ground.

“Sniper!” someone screamed. Of course it was a sniper, Mackensen thought. He reached for the hand of his prince and moaned. The prince’s skull was a vacant mess. The heir to Kaiser Wilhelm II was well and truly dead.

* * *

A few hundred yards away, Reggie Carville hummed softly as he wrapped his beloved and disassembled rifle in what he hoped was a waterproof tarpaulin and buried it in the ground. He’d already wiped off his fingerprints, not that anybody would think of using that still fairly new crime-fighting technology on a battlefield. With a little bit of luck he’d be able to retrieve it in a few days when the Germans had evacuated the area. The rifle was a German Gehwehr 88, called by some a Mauser but was really more of a Mannlicher. Regardless, it was a German weapon and, if found, would confuse the finders.

Carville had owned it for several years and had it modified into a highly accurate sporting rifle with a telescopic sight. He had brought it, disassembled, in his suitcase.

The German headquarters was a beehive of panicked activity. No one seemed much in control and patrols were going in all directions searching for the sniper.

When he had the chance, he would tell his good friend, Sergeant “Smeeth,” about his good shooting. “Smeeth” would be so jealous.

Reggie stood and brushed the dirt from his clothing. A German major ran up to him, his Luger in his hand. Reggie was unarmed and in civilian clothing. He smiled and held his hands out to show he was harmless.

“What are you doing here?” the German asked.

“I am a reporter and here are my credentials,” Reggie said firmly. “And kindly note they’ve been signed by the kaiser himself.” And outstanding forgeries they were, he thought. “Has something happened to the crown prince?”

“The late crown prince,” the German said angrily. “A sniper killed him.”

“Good God!”

“So, did you see any suspicious activity? As in someone running away and carrying a rifle?”

“I don’t meant to sound sarcastic, Major, but I’ve seen a great many men running with rifles. Although, I do seem to recall a man in a German uniform running north, rather than south and west along with the rest of the army.”

The major sagged and Reggie could read his mind. Could the murderer have been a German soldier? A communist or anarchist, or just someone who thought the California venture was a bloody waste of lives?

The major departed to continue his fruitless search. Reggie found a comfortable place to sit and wait for the Germans to leave and the Americans to arrive.

Ah, Reggie thought happily, he had indeed crowned the prince.

EPILOG

Robert Lansing, President of the United States, looked over the latest report from California. It had been two months since the surrender of the German Army at the small port of Monterey, on the Pacific coast and south of San Francisco. The Germans had been besieged for three months. They had been left stranded when Admiral von Trotha, replacing the seriously wounded Hipper, decided to withdraw the remains of his fleet to Cam Ranh Bay for refit and repair. This had become necessary when the German Navy realized that Los Angeles facilities had all been damaged and were in danger of falling to fast-moving American columns under General Pershing. A spearhead under Lejeune had moved quickly and taken up position in the hills overlooking Los Angeles.

Trotha had been more than a little spooked by the presence of the British fleet, which trailed him and threatened his few ships with annihilation. The threat was never spoken, but it was understood nonetheless.

San Diego had fallen earlier to Lejeune’s mounted columns. Pershing might have been in overall command of the southern wing, but the American public was cheering the exploits of John Lejeune, pride of the United States Marine Corps. Liggett and Sims were also national heroes.

Mrs. Tuttle knocked and opened the door to the president’s office. She was radiant. She had just found out that her young cousin, Luke Martel, had not only survived the fighting but had been promoted and decorated. He was resigning his commission as an officer and would go into civilian life as a hero. He’d received his second Medal of Honor for capturing von Hutier, and Douglas MacArthur had also been given the same medal for leading the insane charge that had broken the German attack. Luke had gotten married and would soon be a father. Lansing was curious about the timing of all that, but he was far too much of a gentleman to comment. The happy couple would stay in southern California, apparently making babies, growing grapes, and making wine. Mrs. Tuttle was already planning a visit.

“Sir, the British are here and it’s that silly Mr. Churchill.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Tuttle,” Lansing said, fervently hoping that the silly Mr. Churchill hadn’t heard the comment. Apparently he had. He glared at her as she departed.

Lansing sighed. He didn’t much like Churchill either. Just a tad overbearing, even for a Brit.

“I have excellent news, Mr. Lansing. It appears that the Kaiser will abdicate in favor of his second son and will declare for a constitutional monarchy. The defeat in California was too much for the German public to stomach.”

With Crown Prince Wilhelm dead from a sniper’s bullet, the next in line was Prince Eitel Fredrich, age thirty-seven. He was an unknown quantity save for rumors of corruption. Apparently the kaiser-to-be was susceptible to bribes. Lansing wondered if the rumors of a British sniper killing the younger Wilhelm were true. The Brits solemnly denied it.

Kaiser Wilhelm II had been devastated by the loss of his oldest son. Lansing found it hard to find sympathy for the man who had ordered the invasion of the United States and who had participated in the destruction of Belgium and France in 1914.

Churchill continued. “The overall German military position has been seriously compromised. She lost nearly half her main battle fleet at San Francisco, and I understand that your people are taking great advantage of that.”

Lansing smiled. “Indeed.” It was no secret. The
Bayern
and
Arizona
had been refloated and were being repaired. The
Bayern
would be added to the American Navy, as would at least two other fairly modern but badly damaged German capital ships. Sadly, the
Nevada
had sunk in deep water and would remain there.

“Kaiser Wilhelm wants his army back,” Churchill said with a grin.

Lansing smiled tolerantly. “And he shall have it once he agrees to pay indemnity for all the damage Germany caused. Constitutional monarchy or not, the new German government cannot hold themselves blameless for their kaiser’s actions. The military and the aristocracy, along with the average German, indulged in Wilhelm the Second’s insane desires for a German empire.”

Lansing continued. “In the meantime, the prisoners will work repairing what they have destroyed. We are paying them and they are, allegedly at least, volunteers, so the terms of the Geneva Convention are not being violated. Besides, the victors write the terms, not the losers. Same too with war criminals. We’ve already hanged the man who ran the prison camp near the town of Raleigh, and others will follow.”

Churchill shrugged. The winners always wrote the rules. “Would you care for a cigar? It’s Cuban.”

Lansing accepted and, after the appropriate cutting and sniffing ritual, lit up. “Ecstasy,” he said. Perhaps this Churchill fellow wasn’t such a bad chap after all.

“The Germans are in bad shape in Russia,” Churchill added. “Or perhaps I should call it the Soviet Union. Trotsky’s armies are pushing the German and Austrian armies back by sheer weight of numbers. It’s an incredible bloodbath. Epic proportions, they say. It is rumored that the Germans will sign a treaty with the French, which will enable them to evacuate both the Channel ports and Belgium in return for a nonaggression pact. That would permit them to move troops against Trotsky.”

Lansing offered brandy which Churchill accepted. England would be delighted to have Belgium and the Channel ports out of Germany’s control. It would mean no feasible threat of a cross-channel German invasion.

“And your brief war has turned military thinking on its head,” Churchill added with a knowing smile. After all, the landships, now universally called tanks, had been his idea. Or at least Churchill was taking full credit for it. “Now everyone will want tanks, and everyone also realizes that airplanes are the weapon of the future of naval warfare, and not battleships. I have it on good authority that no warship will go within flying distance of enemy land until this new weapon is figured out.”

“Which won’t take long,” Lansing said. “As you are doubtless aware, my own people are planning both antitank weapons and antiplane weapons along with bigger and stronger tanks and additional capital ships. It appears that war is a series of cycles, and damned expensive ones at that.”

America and Britain were quietly building ships that could launch and recover planes. Carriers, they were called. In the months since the German Army’s surrender, the American Army had been reduced in size from the more than a million it had reached. But Congress had already approved an increase in the standing army to two hundred thousand men and authorized increases in the various states’ National Guard units. Hopefully, there would never be a need for untrained volunteers to defend the United States. Additional budget increases had come to strengthen the Navy and the infant Air Corps.

“Where will it ever end?” Churchill sighed.

Churchill shrugged. “It won’t.”

* * *

The train pulled into the station in Seattle and a young woman got off carrying a threadbare cloth carry-bag. She was young and thin and an observer would logically conclude that the cloth bag contained all her worldly positions.

Trains coming from the east and heading in that direction were no longer a novelty. All of the bridges had either been repaired or temporary replacements had been built, and the same with the other rail lines. California was no longer isolated and transcontinental commerce was beginning anew.

Other passengers swirled around the woman, who scanned the crowd. She was nervous and tired. She’d spent almost a week sitting on a bench since she couldn’t afford Pullman accommodations. She hoped to God the trip had been worth it and that she hadn’t been stranded at a train station. Regardless, she’d needed to escape the emotional hell that her home back east had become.

Tim Randall watched cautiously. She hadn’t spotted him yet. It had taken all his nerve to invite Kathy Fenton to join him. He’d been discharged and had no plans to go back to Camden. There were too many memories and still too much guilt being laid on him by his family.

He’d been shocked and delighted when she’d responded to his telegram and agreed to come.

He walked up behind her. “Kathy?”

Startled, she wheeled and turned. She recognized him and her smile became radiant.

They embraced discreetly, timidly. She pulled apart. “Did you find us a place?”

Tim grinned. “I did and it overlooks Puget Sound.”

Kathy picked up her bag and handed it to him. “Then let’s go see it.”

* * *

“What do you think?” Marcus Tovey asked. The end of the fighting had brought an end to the need for volunteer units like his and he too had been discharged. He had no plans to go back to being a Texas Ranger. He’d had enough of guns to last a lifetime.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything flatter,” Martina said with a hint of a smile. The land north of San Antonio seemed to go on forever with only slight undulations to the ground. It was certainly nothing like the mountains of her home that formed the spine of Mexico.

“How much of it do you own?” she asked.

“Several thousand acres with options to buy more. And I’ll raise cattle on them. Beef cattle for the people out east and for the growing population of California. I’ve heard from an engineer that there might also be oil underneath the land, but I’ll deal with that when the time comes. Right now, California supplies all the oil we need.”

“That will change, Marcus. Just think of all the automobiles that are being built.”

Tovey grunted and concurred. He decided to make sure he owned the mineral rights to his property.

Martina urged her horse forward. “Do you call that a house?”

The one-story building looked dilapidated, but at least it was built of stone. “I’ll admit it needs work.”

“A lot of work if you expect me to live there, Marcus Tovey. And I will require something more than an outhouse.”

“Of course. But is it a place where you can learn to forget the past?”

She reached over and took his hand. “No. It’s a place to begin a future.”