1901

by Robert Conroy

Tirpitz lurched to his feet and shuffled in a half run out of the room. With his departure, there was a sudden and not unwelcome silence. Well, Holstein thought, who will be next to feel the Imperial wrath and the Imperial need for someone to take the blame?

  Kaiser Wilhelm had passed that point. He seated himself at the head of the table and wrapped his cape about himself as if in mourning. “What to do now, gentlemen, what to do?”

  Schlieffen jumped to his feet, his face reddened with scarcely repressed anger. “All Highest, what we will now do is what we should have done all along. Depend on your army, not your navy. The army has always been successful and can still be successful now. We waited too long in our forts for the Yanks to see reason, and we are paying for our delay. Now we must fulfill the original plan as best we can: first by attacking, defeating, and destroying their army, and then by taking Hartford and Boston while we still have the resources. The alternative, All Highest, is to surrender.”

  The kaiser was stunned by the outburst from the normally tightly controlled Schlieffen. He was also appalled at the thought of losing an army; he would be shamed before the world. “You can retrieve success from this fiasco?”

  “Yes, All Highest.”

  “When?”

  “The moment you give the word. We have planned and prepared for this contingency from the moment we landed. With regrets, sire, we did not fully share von Tirpitz’s confidence that he could control matters so vital to us. We have sufficient resources for at least one toss of the dice. It will be enough for us to win. And, I must hasten to add, we must do so while we are confronted by only one American army. The others that are being trained, some as near as Boston, must not be permitted to develop to the point where they can do damage to our cause. We must strike now and with everything we have in our North American arsenal!”

  The kaiser nodded. It would be now.

  Blake Morris and Willy Talmadge eyed the large farmhouse and made an unavoidable decision. Despite the presence of Germans in the vicinity and the likelihood that the house had been spared for use by the Germans, they would enter it and take refuge. It was getting just too damned cold out. Blake had no idea where the remaining few others in his group were, or if they were even alive. Now it was just he and Willy and a sack of dynamite. What a helluva note.

  They made it to the house unnoticed and climbed through a basement window into the packed-earth cellar. It was still colder than Blake would have liked, but it was fairly dry and the walls of the house blocked the wind. The cellar was a honeycomb of small rooms for storage and work, and there was no problem finding a place to be comfortable. They dug a hole for latrine purposes and prepared to spend the next few days in relative comfort until they could decide their next move. Perhaps, Blake thought, it was time to go back through the American lines. He had a feeling that his effectiveness here was about over and he should call it quits. Then the images of his wife and daughter appeared and scolded him. No, dearest loves, he told them, I will not let you down. I will find a way.

  Concentrating on their own needs, they did not sense or feel the presence of Johnny Two Dogs in another portion of the cellar. He, however, was well aware of them, smelled them, heard them. He did not have any idea what to do about their presence and was beginning to doubt his choice of a shelter from the early winter cold. It was getting just too damned crowded.

  “Ludwig.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Corporal Weber responded and snapped to attention. Captain Walter looked saddened.

  “Draft an order to all my platoons. I want the men fed immediately and then they are to load as much ammunition and food as they can carry. Blankets and water as well. They are to be ready to move out in two hours.”

  Ludwig paled. “It’s time, then.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes, Ludwig, it is. As a result of that damnable defeat of our navy, we must win the war by ourselves, and do it right now if we are not to starve and freeze here this winter. We are going to move out early tonight when there is still a hint of light and attack them in the morning. I’m afraid we will not have an easy time of it.”

  Ludwig remembered the American dead piled up in front of his trench last summer. Now the shoe would be on the other foot. The captain read his thoughts. “No, we will not do it like the Americans. There will be a tremendous artillery barrage to soften them up, and then we will attack in great strength. Our generals have planned well. Not,” he laughed sharply, “like the fools who led our navy to defeat.”

  Ludwig saluted and departed to carry out his orders. The captain had confirmed the rumor that was running rampant through the 4th Rifles. The navy had lost badly. Now the army could be stranded here in this strange land and be forced into captivity. He had mixed emotions. Although part of him did indeed want to stay, another part didn’t find the thought of becoming a prisoner very attractive. All he really wanted to do was find those nice people who wrote the pamphlet and who would give him sanctuary. Instead, he was going to have to fight the Yanks again and probably kill some more of them. It wasn’t fair. All he had ever wanted to do was teach school.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Theodore Roosevelt looked anxiously at the report and the handful of men who were his key advisers. “You believe we are now going to reap the whirlwind?” Longstreet and the army men nodded. “You are certain the actions of the Germans in the no-man’s-land presage a general assault?”

  “Confident,” Longstreet corrected, “but not totally certain. Their patrols have become larger and much more aggressive. It is as if they wanted us out of that area to mask their actions.”

  “And our balloons and airships?”

  “Those same patrols have brought down several with machine guns and small cannon. The airships are stationary targets and prone to either collapse or blow up when hit. We are not totally blind, but the Germans are seriously impeding our efforts at determining their true intentions.”

  “I see. And you think they will now attack?”

  “Yes,” said Longstreet. “There really isn’t much else they can do. I believe it will be an all-out assault to push us off the river line and destroy us out in the open field.”

  “Can we stop them?”

  “We can only try. We have six divisions and they have seven. Our divisions are slightly larger than theirs, so the numbers, unless they bring in additional soldiers by stripping other areas, will be approximately equal. If we can stay on the defensive, we may wear them down. On the other hand, if we are forced into a battle of significant maneuver, we may be crushed. I have no idea just how the untried men in our army will react in a battle as major as the Germans are likely to attempt.”

  “And our navy? It can do nothing?”

  Secretary of the Navy Long answered. “While we could force our way into Long Island Sound and bombard the German lines, I think the German assault will take place well away from the shore and out of range of the navy’s guns. Dewey will do what he can, but the navy will not be a major factor in this battle.” Long looked at Longstreet, who agreed. “Even though we won a great victory, we did suffer grave losses in men, ships, and equipment, and the greater portion of our navy is now undergoing emergency refits and resupply. Some ships can steam now, but the remainder of the navy won’t be ready for a week to ten days.”

  Roosevelt thought about the irony. The greatest naval battle in American history had just been fought and won decisively. The United States had lost 2 battleships, the Texas and the Kearsarge, the monitor Puritan, and the cruisers Boston and Minneapolis, in return for the sinking of 6 German battleships, 3 heavy cruisers, and a host of light cruisers. There had been American losses in gunboats and yachts as well, but these had been offset by the capture of almost 130 transports, which now rested in the harbors of Boston and Norfolk. The balance of power on water had shifted, and America had the decisive advantage. But that success was going to precipitate the largest land battle in American history, the largest ever fought in North America, bigger even than
Gettysburg.

  “So this will be an army show,” said Longstreet. “But we must think of the terrible weapons of destruction available to both sides. What we were able to do with muzzle-loaders can now be done tenfold by rapid-firing, breech-loading rifles and machine guns, not to mention the artillery.”

  “Is this why you sent Schofield up north? To be with MacArthur?” asked Roosevelt. Longstreet said it was. The battle would be fought in Connecticut, not Washington, and Schofield’s years of experience might prove helpful. That he would coordinate events in support of the army was also understood. Roosevelt could not argue the point. Why not have a man of Schofield’s experience where the fighting would occur? “Then it is out of our hands. I think I should like to go someplace quiet and meditate.”

  The tension in Mahan’s brigade headquarters could be cut with the proverbial knife. What had been a relatively quiet area would turn into a cauldron of war in a short period of time. The Germans were coming, the Germans were coming. It sounded to Patrick like the story of the sky falling. Only now the sky might actually be falling and there was little they could do to prevent it.

  When he’d left Trina in the morning they had held each other even more closely than people usually do on their honeymoon. The idea that they might not see each other for a long time, perhaps forever, was foremost in their minds. It wasn’t fair, he wanted to shout, but who would listen? Trina would, he knew that. He had told her he had six thousand and some men to command and, hopefully, bring back alive through whatever ordeal the future held in store. She said she was proud of him for that responsibility but hated the thought of it. Throughout the United States there were millions of people who were not going into battle, so why, she asked him, did Patrick Mahan and so many people she was fond of have to go to war? For that he had no answer.

  “Anything?” Patrick asked Lieutenant Colonel Harris, who slipped quietly into the tent.

  “Not a damn thing. Headquarters says there may have been movement into no-man’s-land during the night, but they can’t confirm it yet.” Patrick checked his watch. It was seven-thirty in the morning of November 17, 1901. It was a Monday and he always hated Mondays.

  Patrick rose and looked at the situation map on the wall of the tent. His brigade was north and slightly east of the main defensive line on the Housatonic. Why were his men there and not directly behind the defenses along the river where they could be used to plug a gap? Instead, they were almost due north of Waterbury. When he’d asked about it, he’d been politely but firmly reminded that his was a strategic reserve and it would act as a blocking force if the Germans crossed the river to the north. It was not a comforting thought. There was the more nagging feeling that his brigade had been hung out to dry because nobody trusted the Germans and nobody wanted to associate with the Negro regiments. He thought MacArthur and Smith were bigger than that. He also hoped they knew what they were doing.

  Patrick caught a noise-a distant, rumbling sound-deep and menacing. He and Harris looked at each other and each saw his own sense of horror reflected in the other’s face.

  “That’s not thunder,” Harris whispered.

  They stepped outside and looked to the south, toward the river line. They knew there would be nothing to see, but they had to make the effort. As they stood, others emerged from their tents, stopped, and turned in the same direction, until thousands of men were simply staring toward the sound of the distant rumbles that presaged agony instead of rain. The volume of sound increased until it was a steady roar, and they knew they were hearing an artillery barrage of truly epic proportions. God help the men on the river line.

  For Ludwig and the men of the 4th Rifles, the night march had been an uncomfortable but not a dangerous experience. German planners had done well, and their way was marked by white ribbons and human guides to direct them. When they reached a point about a mile from the first American defenses without any response from the Yanks, the men of the 4th started to feel better about their prospects for surviving the day. They fed themselves, checked their weapons for the hundredth time, and tried to rest, even sleep.

  The shock and roar of the cannons jolted them and they thanked God that the shells were coming from their guns and landing on the Americans. They had all heard cannon fire before, but nothing like this! It was almost deafening, and the earth seemed to vibrate.

  About midmorning, they were ordered into ranks and sent out toward the Americans. There were cheerful jokes that no Yanks would be left.

  As they swept forward it was with a feeling of supreme strength and confidence. Even though Ludwig could see only a few dozen yards in either direction and sometimes not even all the men in his own company, he sensed enormous numbers all about him. Sometimes when fewer trees blocked his view, or the men moved to a slightly higher point of ground, he saw glimpses of the other companies, battalions, and regiments all sweeping forward with him. He also sensed that the huge numbers he could sometimes observe were only a fraction of what was going on out of his range of vision.

  Another small comfort was the presence of other German soldiers in front of them. He wished them well. Even though there was a tendency to deride American efforts, he knew from experience what could be done from behind a good defensive position.

  As they advanced, the barrage seemed to advance with them, and the sounds of impact and explosion caused the ground to vibrate under Ludwig’s feet. He looked for Captain Walter and saw him striding erect, once again apparently without fear, urging his men on, and Ludwig wished he could be like that. He also wished that the captain would not get shot, as the battle was not that one sided. He could hear the rattle of small-arms fire and the bark of smaller artillery pieces and knew they were coming from the American lines. Every so often he would hear someone scream or cry out in pain and fear. More often than he would have liked, they passed German dead and wounded.

  Ludwig had started the advance cold and wet as a result of the November mist. Now he could no longer feel the weather or his own discomfort. His heart was pumping as though it would go through his chest, and he was aware of sounds coming from his own throat.

  Finally they broke into a clearing and he could see both the American earthworks and the river to their rear. How foolish, he thought; they could be trapped. However, he quickly realized that would not be so. As the advancing waves of Germans before him moved over and into the American lines, the brown-uniformed Yanks retreated over pontoon bridges to the other side of the river. He watched spellbound as German guns raked the last Americans crossing to the relative safety of the east bank of the river and saw men fall into the cold water, where they drifted toward the distant ocean.

  A series of small explosions lifted the bridges off their temporary moorings and sent them floating down the Housatonic along with the bodies. Amazing, Ludwig thought; the Yanks had pulled off the retreat across the river and had done so while still being pounded by the crushing might of German artillery.

  As they passed through the American outer earthworks, Ludwig was dismayed to find many more German than American dead. They had succeeded but paid a heavy price. There were other problems as well.

  “Ludwig,” Hans Schuler asked, bleeding from a cut on his arm, “what the hell is this shit?”

  “Barbed wire.”

  “Yes, but so much of it?”

  “I know,” Ludwig grunted as he tried to finesse his way through a barricade made of coils of the stuff. “Be careful. This is really nasty shit.” How many other surprises did the Americans have in store for them?

  Captain Walter ordered them to pause and dig in about fifty yards from the river. “What else can we do?” sneered Kessel when the captain left. “We can’t swim it.”

  Ludwig thought the river looked shallow and could possibly be forded at some spots, but he held his tongue. He didn’t like the idea of crossing it either. It was much more satisfying to watch German artillery make the Yank fortifications bounce and lift into the air. They were less than half a mile away and
it was an impressive show of sound, light, and fury.

  After a while, the battered unit that had preceded them through the American earthworks was withdrawn. Ludwig realized with some discomfort that there was no one else between his 4th Rifles and the Yanks.

  Captain Walter slid into the shallow trench beside him. “Got new orders, Ludwig. Go out there and tell the platoon leaders that we will be crossing the river in an hour.”

  Ludwig was dismayed. “I thought we won the battle.”

  “No, Ludwig, we only pushed them back to where they wanted to be in the first place. Now we have to move them to some other place where they don’t want to be. Then maybe we will be able to say we won.”

  Ludwig looked at the river and the still-impressive American earthworks. “How will we cross, sir?”

  “It has all been planned quite well. Typical German efficiency. Engineers will be along shortly to lay a pontoon bridge. We will cover them with heavy fire and then cross and establish a bridgehead. When we are strong enough over there, we will assault their main works. This, I’m afraid, will be a most difficult day.”

  Ludwig swallowed what he wanted to say, and the captain moved away, leaving him to carry out his orders. As he did so, he saw men laying telephone and telegraph lines up to the river line. The captain was right about German efficiency. A particularly large explosion from the American side caught his eye. Something important had exploded. Good. Whatever his sympathies and future plans, his most significant efforts would be directed toward surviving this awful day. As he looked across again, he saw the thin lines that told him there was even more barbed wire to cross. Damned devils.

  The war room in the chancellery was crowded with generals and staff aides when the kaiser strode in, with Holstein and Bulow in tow. Everyone rose. The kaiser acknowledged their deference and sat down in his special chair.

  “Well, Field Marshal von Schlieffen, what can you tell us about the battle?”