1920: America's Great War-eARC (12 page)

Liggett beamed. “That can be done?”

“Indeed. They were anchored in shallow water; thus, even the ship that sank, the
Michigan
, is resting with her superstructure above the surface.”

“Excellent,” Liggett said, “Anything I can do to help please ask.”

“General, I will require transportation. Some of the equipment can go by barges or trains, but others will require improvisation. May I call on your engineers?”

“Of course.”

“I do have a small number of other, smaller warships at Seattle, and these include a handful of cruisers and, more important, some torpedo boats and six submarines. I propose to utilize them as soon as I can to interdict German supply ships. I believe the only reason the Germans didn’t dally longer off San Francisco was that they are beginning to run low on fuel after a very long voyage. It isn’t yet a crisis for them, but it could be. Their fuel vulnerability is something to keep track of.”

It was Liggett’s turn to update the group and he informed the admiral that two more regiments of regular American Army infantry were on trains and crossing the mountains via the northern route and should be in San Francisco in a week. Monumental efforts were being made to keep the tracks open and clear of snow. He reported that the snow removal efforts had unearthed a couple of dead bodies along the northernmost route. It was presumed that these were some of the German saboteurs who had failed in their assignment.

Of more importance, the additional six thousand regular army soldiers would be useful but only a drop in the bucket when compared with the German Army now estimated at a quarter of a million.

“Where will you make your stand, General?”

Liggett winced. He was going to have to admit that most of California was indefensible. “Ultimately, San Francisco. My engineers are designing defenses that will surround San Francisco and lead east into the mountains. It is about five hundred miles from San Diego to San Francisco and I fervently hope we can delay the Germans long enough to complete our works.”

With little more to discuss, the meeting broke up. Josh Cornell thought it was interesting that both the admiral and the general appeared to be getting along. Perhaps a shared crisis makes people think more clearly and less parochially. Regardless, he had more pressing things on his mind.

He smiled at Elise, “Lunch?”

She smiled briefly in return and looked at her notes. “I think I should type these as soon as possible.”

“But you do have to eat. You must conserve your strength for your typing.”

She was about to retort sharply when Admiral Sims voice boomed from his office. “For God’s sake, Elise, go to lunch with him or you’ll never get anything done.”

* * *

Colonel Marcus Tovey of the Texas National Guard hoped he had prepared his defensive position well. He had his flanks covered and his men were dug in. He wished they had something more than just their rifles. The damned Mexicans had machine guns and artillery to go along with their excellent German rifles.

What he and his men wanted more than anything was to kill Mexicans. And if there were any Germans around they’d kill them as well.

Tovey and the rest of his men still seethed over the horror of the burning of Laredo. Granted, many of the fires had likely started during the vicious house-to-house fighting that had erupted when the citizens of that border city awoke to the fact that the Mexican Army had swarmed across the Rio Grande. Just about every man in town had grabbed his rifle or pistol and started shooting Mexicans. The battle quickly disintegrated into a chaotic brawl.

The results had left many dead, including hundreds of civilians, among them women and children. Atrocities had been committed on both sides in an orgy of violence that would take a long time to forgive. Tovey knew he would never forget the sight of several small children who’d been dismembered by an artillery shell, or a woman who’d been shot in the back of the head by Mexican soldiers as she’d tried to flee. There were rumors of rapes and the thought of Mexican soldiers assaulting white women made his blood boil.

Thus, what the Mexican command thought would take only an hour or two wound up taking three long bloody days. Buildings were destroyed and homes were burned as the fighting raged from house to house and room to room. The delay enabled Guard units like Tovey’s to gather and join the fight. They had been too few and too late, and the Mexicans ultimately prevailed, but only after paying a heavy price.

He recalled that American army officer who’d crawled out of the Rio Grande so long ago, and asking him just what the hell Germans were doing south of the Rio Grande? Now Tovey knew. Everyone knew. The sons of bitches had been planning a “stab in the back” attack on the United States. And they had burned Laredo. They would pay.

A Mexican officer they’d captured said that it had been bandits led by Pancho Villa who’d set most of the fires, and that the rest were a result of intense combat. That may have been true, but it didn’t matter. “Remember Laredo” was a rallying cry. Then they hanged the Mexican son of a bitch.

Tovey’s men were below the crest of a low hill maybe twenty miles north of Laredo and on the way to San Antonio. Rumor had it that San Antonio and the recapture of the Alamo were the goals of the Mexicans. Rumor also had it that the Federal government in Washington was powerless to help stop the invasion. More rumors even said that Texas Governor William P. Hobby, Democrat, had rejected assistance from Washington. Rumors and more God-damned rumors. Rumor had it that pigs could fly. All he knew was that he was on a hill and the Mexican Army was coming north and nobody was going to help out.

That was okay by him, he thought and spat on the ground for emphasis. Texans didn’t need help from anybody, especially to deal with a bunch of fucking greasers.

A smattering of gunfire erupted to his left. Damn Mexicans were trying to get around his flank. He could see a couple of score of them and that his men had the situation in hand. The Mexicans left a few on the ground and pulled back, joining the several thousand forming up behind the low hill in front of him.

This organized fighting was new to him. As a Texas Ranger he’d fought the Apache and the Comanche, and even some Mexican bandits, but this was nothing he’d ever experienced. One of the older guys in the unit had ridden with the Rough Riders in 1898, but even he said this was a whole lot different.

“Here they come.”

Tovey grinned. Let’s see how they liked his little surprise. Waves of Mexican infantry emerged from behind their own low hill, marching slowly and keeping rough formation while American rifle fire slashed through them. Flags flew above the Mexicans and music was playing. Tovey grudgingly admitted that the Mexicans were brave enough, but they still had to be killed.

The Mexicans returned fire and a number of Texans fell. Tovey wished he’d told the men to dig in deeper. Something else to learn, he realized reluctantly.

At a little more than a hundred yards away, the Mexican advance halted, the men milled in puzzlement. Tovey noticed his own men’s fire slackening.

“Keep shooting, God damn it!” he yelled and the firing picked up. The massed and confused Mexicans were easy targets and the battle became a slaughter. After a couple of moments, the Mexicans pulled back, leaving heaps of dead and wounded on the ground.

Tovey grinned. Two strands of barbed wire was all it took. Two strands and the surprised dumb-ass Mexicans didn’t know what to do. They couldn’t go around it or over it and couldn’t cut it, and didn’t think to crawl under it. He wondered if anyone else understood the potential of barbed wire.

He heard the sound of artillery. Seconds later, shells landed in front of him. “Damn it to hell!” he yelled.

Mexican cannon had been an unpleasant surprise in Laredo. At first he thought it impossible that ignorant greasers could shoot cannon, but that thought had been dispelled. He only wished the Texas Army’s own artillery wasn’t from the Spanish-American war or older. What few pieces they’d managed to find were old 75mm cannon from warehouses in Bliss and Sam Houston or from lawns in front of town halls. They were inaccurate, slow, and, oh yeah, there wasn’t much ammunition.

Before he could finish his mental laments, orders came from Governor Hobby, who’d assumed command in the field, for him to pull his men back to a new defensive position. Tovey looked at the stacked-up dead Mexicans and wondered just what the hell was wrong with his current position. He wondered if the governor knew his ass from a hole in the ground about military tactics.
Damnation,
he thought. He gave the orders for his men to pull back. He also ordered men out to recover the barbed wire.

* * *

Elise and Josh had a sandwich at a little place on California Street, a block away from the boundary of the Presidio complex. It was about as far as Josh could walk with the single crutch he was now using. He planned on graduating to a cane soon, which he thought would be more dashing.

Despite agreeing to go out with him, Elise did feel pressed to finish typing up the notes and informed him that lunch would not be extended. The typing should have been easy as the admiral’s office possessed several fairly new Remington typewriters. The hard part was that she was a long ways from being the world’s most accurate typist and she made mistakes that had to be corrected on both the original and the carbon copies.

She found herself enjoying Josh’s company and, after learning that he was a transplanted Midwesterner too, found they had a lot to talk about.

They avoided the war and his experiences on the
Fox
. She’d read the report he’d written about the destruction of the destroyer, and understood he’d seen horrible things. It was easy to tell that, despite his cheerful facade, he was haunted by the fact that so many of his comrades were dead. Instead, they concentrated on more pleasant matters. He asked her if she knew any real movie stars and she admitted that she did. She said that the Gish sisters were very nice, but that Mary Pickford was a little stuck up. She said that Charlie Chaplin wasn’t very funny in person, which Josh found hilarious.

Elise wanted to know all about Annapolis. She’d never been farther east than Chicago and he told her about life at the naval academy, and what it was like to visit nearby Washington and other cities that had played a major role in America’s history. As they started to walk back to Sims’ headquarters, now also located in the Presidio, she slipped her arm in his. Even though it was cold and damp outside, Josh felt comfortable indeed.

As they turned a corner, they saw and heard a commotion up ahead. Several dozen men and women were milling and shouting outside a small store. A sign above a smashed window said it was Schultz’s Bakery. Two middle-aged people, obviously the Schultz’s had been dragged out onto the street. Stones and trash were being thrown at them while rough looking men and even rougher looking women kicked and punched them, oblivious to the fact that some of the stones were hitting them as well. Two of the women grabbed Mrs. Schultz’s blouse and ripped it apart, exposing her large and pendulous breasts. She shrieked and tried to both defend herself and cover herself while her attackers roared with laughter. Cries of “fucking Krauts” and “kill the Germans” came from the mob.

Josh was aghast. “I have to stop this.”

“Don’t even think of it,” Elise said firmly and stopped him as he started to move forward. “You’re only one person, you’re unarmed, and you’re using a crutch. You are not going to scare anybody away.”

“There must be something I can do! This is so wrong. This is like when the
Fox
was attacked and I couldn’t do a thing about it. What the devil did a poor baker do to deserve this?”

“They were born Germans, Josh,” she said bitterly. “The world is going crazy. Things like this have happened elsewhere, and not just San Francisco.”

Whistles filled the air. The police were arriving and the mob quickly disintegrated, its members running off in all directions. Men ran out of the bakery and, a second later, a young girl about twelve emerged. She was naked and shrieking with pain and shame. There was blood on her inner thighs.

One looter ran by, laughing. Elise grabbed Josh’s crutch, swung it and hit him in the mouth. He staggered and spat out blood and teeth, but continued on, his eyes now wide with fear.

“Great shot,” Josh said admiringly.

“I had to do something when I saw that poor girl.”

Sobbing bitterly, the Schultzes allowed themselves to be helped back into their ruined store by police and a handful of sympathetic neighbors. They’d been bloodied, shamed, hurt, and humiliated. Loaves of bread and cakes were strewn about and all were covered with broken glass. It would be a while before the bakery opened again. if ever.

“That was insanity,” Josh said. He was proud of her for acting so decisively. Now he could see her calmly cranking the movie camera while German planes flew overhead.

Elise continued to hold his arm tightly as she steered him back to the Presidio. “Almost as insane as your thinking you could do something about it. Don’t ever even think of doing anything like that again. I don’t want you getting hurt. I used to play baseball with my brothers and I used your crutch like a bat, while you need it to stand up. It’s bad enough you’re in the Navy, but you don’t have to go looking for trouble.”

Josh brightened. She didn’t want him getting hurt. Wonderful. “Okay, I’ll be more discreet.”

She smiled warmly. “And tomorrow, my brave cavalier, you can take me to lunch someplace where it’s not quite so dramatic.”

* * *

Roy Olson’s knees were shaking. This couldn’t really be happening, could it? The man tied to the post in front of the brick wall seemed to feel the same way. His name was John Dubbins and he was a local boy. His face was swollen and bloody from where he’d been beaten with fists and kicked with German boots, but he seemed to be laughing as if this was some joke, like it wasn’t really happening. Maybe the fool was still too drunk to comprehend.

“What did he do?” Olson managed to ask.

“Sabotage,” Captain Steiner replied quickly. “He was caught cutting a telegraph line. The penalty for sabotage is death.”