1901

by Robert Conroy

  Schlieffen drew his slight frame to an erect pose. “I can state with confidence that we have achieved great success.”

  The kaiser exhaled noisily and sagged in relief. “Then we have destroyed them?”

  “Not yet, sire, but that will happen shortly. Perhaps I should start at the beginning?”

  The kaiser laughed softly. It surprised those who had not heard him laugh in some time. “Do that. Every time I asked for information earlier, I was told the battle was in progress. Good lord, I knew that!”

  Schlieffen chuckled and others joined in. Being on the winning side was always a good feeling.

  “Sire, at first light this morning, we commenced an enormous artillery barrage utilizing more than four hundred pieces that we had gathered for that purpose. They consisted of weapons from 90 to 160mm. A very impressive display of firepower was then utilized to batter a small section of their defenses west of the river while the units we’d advanced to the jump-off point awaited the order to attack. For your information, we moved them all last night. At approximately midmorning, the attack began. We used one division on a very narrow front corresponding roughly to the area of bombardment. That one division was backed by three others ranked directly behind it. There was little finesse involved. We simply overpowered the Americans at a specific point and swept through before they could react.”

  “And where was that point?” Bulow inquired.

  Schlieffen indicated a spot on the map. “We chose what appeared to be the northernmost point of the American river lines. It is near the little town of Sandy Hook, Connecticut, and south of where the river is met by a minor tributary that would confuse and hamper our efforts. It is approximately thirty miles from Long Island Sound and the city of Bridgeport. It is,” he said, smiling, “a point where the river is not all that deep and there are numerous places to cross. Even though it has been raining, the river is well below flood stage, perhaps even below normal for this time of year.”

  “God smiled on us,” said Kaiser Wilhelm.

  Schlieffen nodded. He preferred to think it was good staff work rather than divine inspiration or intervention.

  “We pushed them across the river, bombarded them some more, and then successfully crossed.” Schlieffen checked a clock and tried to recall the time differential. It was the middle of the night in America. “When dark fell, we had at least four divisions on the other side, and we will commence advancing eastward when the morning comes.”

  “Why not now?” asked Bulow, and the kaiser nodded.

  “There are many reasons. First, the men are exhausted. They marched all night and fought all day. There are many men who have lost their units and many units that have lost their way. What Clausewitz referred to as the fog of war has arrived and must be blown away. Further, we must get ammunition to the men. Many frontline units have used up most or even all of what they carried. If we can get them some food as well, that too would be most beneficial. Our priorities are ammunition and food. As a result of the American bombings, we have been forced to decentralize our supply depots for safety, which will slow down the resupply efforts.”

  Bulow was puzzled. “What about medical care for the wounded?”

  Schlieffen looked at him sadly. “That is a secondary concern.” The response appeared to shock Bulow, and Schlieffen continued. “War, as they say, is hell. My first duty is to see that the living and unhurt continue to live and fight again. Although it is brutal, I must assume that many of the wounded will die anyhow. I might also say that we now have to reposition all those cannon we used so marvelously in the assault. They will be returned to their units so they can fight in a more normal manner. If it is deemed necessary, the Grand Battery will be reconstituted later.”

  Bulow appeared shaken and turned away. Holstein asked about casualties.

  “Right now, we estimate we have suffered between five and seven thousand killed and wounded, the Americans somewhat fewer,” said Schlieffen. “They have the immediate advantage of defending fortified positions, and, despite the barrage, we paid a heavy price to assault them. Now that we have pushed many of them out of those lines, we will begin to harvest them more heavily. We also lost about fifty of our artillery pieces in duels with the Americans. They were not totally helpless, not for one minute. They also used what appear to be large naval guns to good effect. Fortunately, there were only a few of them.”

  Schlieffen turned again to the map. “We are going to continue pushing almost due east and search for the end of their right flank. Of necessity, they will try to deny us that by stretching their lines farther east as well, and then by curving back toward the Sound. When they do that, we will have them trapped in a perimeter with their backs to the ocean.”

  “But what about Hartford and Boston?” Holstein asked. “I thought those were our objectives.”

  “They certainly are,” Schlieffen said. “But not until we have destroyed their army. Right now we are between them and Hartford and are slowly pushing them toward the water. You are right about those two cities, and, yes, we could take them at any time we wish, but we cannot prudently do so and leave such a large American army in our rear. They managed to retreat in surprisingly good order and are still a very large and potentially viable force. They cannot be ignored. First we destroy them, then we will move on to Boston.”

  Holstein persisted. “And how long will it take to entrap them?”

  “Two, three days at the most. Then we squeeze them, bombard them, and crush them.”

  It was Holstein’s turn to go to the map, and he moved his bulk slowly. “Yet by doing so, you are ignoring any American forces to your north.”

  “Count, there are no Americans to our north. Other than a few thousand raw militia and untrained recruits at Springfield, there are no significant American forces in a position to help. Even so, we have not left that area totally unprotected. One of the divisions that led the attack has been sent there to act as a blocking force and for some rest. They lost heavily and will be of no further use in this campaign.” Schlieffen turned to the kaiser and bowed. “By this time next week, the war will be over.”

  Bemused by Morris’s and Willy’s attempts at furtiveness, Johnny Two Dogs made it a point to follow them whenever they went outside. He was greatly surprised when they managed to steal some German uniforms, which enabled them to move about openly. He was further amazed that they did so without being able to speak any of that throat-clearing noise the Germans used as a language.

  Morris and Willy remained invisible in plain sight because of the chaos resulting from the huge German offensive. They stole a wagon, loaded it with tools and such, and set about working on the telephone lines. Johnny had always hated the wires that sent messages faster than the wind, betraying the presence of his people to the vengeance of the goddamn blue bellies.

  Johnny noticed that Willy and Morris were discreet and worked on lines only when no other German engineers were around. Then it dawned on him and he laughed aloud for one of the few times in his harsh life. The crazy bastards weren’t fixing the lines, they were wrecking them! And they were doing it without actually breaking the wire, which would have made the damage easy to find. Pretty clever, those white dogs.

  Well, Johnny thought cheerfully, he could play that game as well. Only he would have to actually cut the wires. The Germans would rush out and see the break, fix it, and, if Morris and Willy had done their jobs, go crazy when the damn phones and telegraphs still wouldn’t work. Maybe some dumb German would wander into the woods to take a piss and Johnny would get a chance to cut another throat. And to think that young MacArthur actually said he would be paid to have such fun.

  Roosevelt looked again at the map on the wall of the war room. For the first time in a long time, the red and blue flag pins representing the German and American forces had moved. What they showed was a hint of German victory. The U.S. Army was in retreat. It had been shoved back to the Housatonic and then over it. The German force had crossed and was between
the American army and Hartford. North of Hartford was Boston, and the only blue pin in the Germans’ path represented the brigade commanded by his friend Patrick Mahan. Fortunately for Mahan, only a small German force seemed to be opposing him. The bulk of the German army flowed over the river and toward the east, bending the American army back toward the ocean.

  Roosevelt turned to Maj. Gen. Leonard Wood. “Is it as bad as it looks?”

  “It could be worse, sir. We have only withdrawn, not been defeated.”

  Roosevelt shuddered. He had spent all day in the room listening to the reports of the bombardment, which had been followed by an assault in overwhelming strength against a single point in their defenses. It was the same strategy that Patrick Mahan had said General Miles should have used against the Germans in July. The president wondered if Patrick felt any satisfaction for being correct. Probably not.

  “Where’s Longstreet?”

  “He went north to be with MacArthur in Hartford, sir,” Wood replied. “He left last night. I don’t want to put words in his mouth, but I don’t think he could stand being here while the battle was being fought elsewhere.”

  Roosevelt couldn’t blame the man. It was not as if he had abandoned his post, far from it. He had done well, and if he wanted to be present at what would undoubtedly be his last battle, then God bless him. For a moment Roosevelt toyed with the thought of going up there as well, but reluctantly abandoned it. Right now the worst that could happen was that the United States could lose the battle and its army and have to sue for peace. If he went up north and managed to get captured, it would be an additional disgrace for his young nation. Perhaps they wouldn’t want him back after this.

  It came to him, as it had several times in the last few weeks, that he was very likely going to be the first U.S. president to lose a war. If so, the territorial ambitions of the United States would be on hold until she managed to loosen whatever shackles a treaty with the Germans would demand. Also, it would doom him to the saddest of all places in American history. His name would be a mark of shame. What would become of his family?

  He looked at the map again and saw that the trainees near Springfield were on the move. He knew about it and had given reluctant approval. They would be slaughtered, but it had to be done. Perhaps they could pull off a miracle.

  And how many old Civil War generals could MacArthur possibly use? He now had Longstreet, whose career had been clouded by controversy; Schofield, who had retired six years ago; Smith, who’d failed outside Richmond; Wheeler, who’d lost to Sherman while serving under Hood; and Lee, whose only real claim to fame was being nephew to his illustrious uncle. Merritt had also been recalled from retirement.

  These relics of bygone days were paired with younger generals like Pershing, Funston, Kent, and Chaffee. It was a real passing of the torch. He hoped it wasn’t too late.

  Trina made sure the carriage was packed with everything that could be useful on the trip. She had only a vague idea which way she would head with Heinz and Molly, although she thought it likely that they would try to head north and west toward her family’s estate outside of Albany-if the Germans didn’t get that far.

  All about her were signs of evacuation. Carts, wagons, and people on horseback were heading anywhere but south, where the throbbing sounds of battle were ominously discernible. The people with vehicles were the lucky ones. There were long lines of men, women, and children walking along the trails and paths.

  As Trina finished loading her carriage, she wondered how many of them would survive. The weather was getting colder with each day, and the thought of sleeping on the unprotected ground made her shiver. At least they had enough blankets to keep warm, and fodder for the horses. If they had to, they could nap in the carriage.

  This time they were well armed. Trina had a revolver in her belt and a shotgun on the floor of the carriage. Molly had another shotgun that a local blacksmith had made more compact by cutting off most of the barrel. It was Molly’s idea. She swore to Trina that she’d seen such weapons in New York and said it would be devastating at short range. Trina could only shake her head at the things the young one knew and she did not. How many different worlds could there have been in one city?

  Also, they were not traveling alone. In the wagon ahead were Mrs. Harris and a lady friend. There were men in the group as well, so she felt secure, albeit distressed at the need to run. This would be the second time she had been expelled from her home. It was an extremely unsettling experience for someone who had always lived a life of privilege and comfort. But she had strong mental as well as physical resources and would endure.

  Heinz had been a problem. “I should be there with them, with General Mahan and the others. I shouldn’t be running away like this.”

  Before Trina could answer, Molly snapped at him. “Sure, you big ass, like you would be such a great help! You got one arm broken and can’t walk right yet because of a hole in your leg. Would you want them to carry you to the battle? Christ, love, you fought your fight. You’re wounded. Now, if you don’t want to get hurt worse than you are, shut up and get in that carriage! I want the father of our child to be with me when the kid grows up, not in some fucking government cemetery!”

  Finally Trina got things sorted out and started on the road north. She hated the thought of leaving Patrick, but they had talked about it and decided it would be more of a comfort to both of them if she left. God willing, they would meet later.

  It was so inconceivable. The Germans had attacked and won. It was as if all the work put into making a defensive effort had been for naught.

  The carriage rocked as Trina eased it over a set of railroad tracks. That was another thing: why weren’t trains being used to evacuate people? she wondered. She and others had checked and been told that the trains were reserved for military purposes. What military purposes? It was common knowledge that the bulk of the army was cut off to the south. Where could the trains be sent? Trina was certain it was just another military foul-up. Or, as Molly would have said, a fuck-up.

  Ludwig and the rest of the 4th plunged into the icy water and began wading as the American bullets whizzed about them. The engineers had tried to build a bridge for them to cross on, but the return fire from the Americans caused too many casualties, and it was decided that the assault waves would ford the river. Men screamed and fell, and now the American dead were joined by Germans floating down to the same impartial Long Island Sound.

  After what seemed an eternity, they made the other side and started up a slight rise to the American trenches. Since they were so close, the artillery barrage had to let up. The Yanks reappeared and commenced a withering fire. The only way through was to rush as quickly as possible, firing all the time to keep the Americans’ heads down.

  Then came more barbed wire, much worse than it had been before. It stuck them, cut them, entangled them in its sharp claws, and finally forced them to halt until they found a way past it. All the while, American rifles and machine guns blazed away, ripping holes in their ranks. The stench of battle almost overwhelmed Ludwig as both the dead and the living lost control of their bowels and the smell of bloody flesh filled the air.

  When enough men were finally across the river, some units laid down covering fire while others tried to make their way through the wire barrier. At last the sheer weight of German numbers prevailed, and the American fire slowed, then stopped. Germans found ways through the wire where the artillery had blasted paths, or decided that cheap cuts were a small price to pay for saving their own lives.

  Exhausted and stunned, the remnants of the 4th finally made the American lines, only to see the Yanks trotting away, occasionally turning to fire. As before, they were in good order, and Ludwig knew they would have to be fought again. He gasped and took a swallow from his canteen. The rush of excitement caused by the intensity of the battle ebbed fast, and the feelings of cold, wet, and hunger returned. Only now there was fatigue and pure fear.

  Captain Walter came by, his arm wrapped
in a dirty bandage. His face was pale and his eyes looked haunted. They would rest, he said; their battle was over.

  But it didn’t turn out that way. Just as darkness fell, they were ordered to march north. When the captain protested that the men were hungry and tired, and that some of them were nursing minor wounds and cuts, he was verbally savaged by an exquisitely clean staff major for being a slacker. It was sickening, although Kessel had grinned.

  The captain gathered his shrunken company and they started to march.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  As the new day dawned, Ludwig lay stiffly in the shallow depression made by a dirt road and confronted a wall of trees about a quarter-mile away. His body was a mass of aches and he dreamed of a hot bath. He also prayed that no one would ever shoot at him again.

  The captain had told the company they were part of a screening force in place to make sure the Yanks did not attack the now-vulnerable German rear. The main force was driving south to surround and destroy the Americans, who were being pushed into the sea. Ludwig had to agree that it sounded good. But he recalled that the Yanks had pulled out of their untenable trenches in a manner that showed they were a long way from being destroyed or pushed into the Sound.

  Ludwig took another swallow from his canteen and tried to wash the taste of filth from his mouth. At least there was something to drink. No one had seen any food since yesterday morning, and his stomach was growling. He looked around at the others in the company, also on the dirt road. No one had dug in yet; they were just too tired. Some were sleeping while others watched the wide stand of trees. Later, when they’d rested, they’d start to dig in. There was no urgency; the American army was miles away and surrounded.

  Captain Walter crouched beside Ludwig. “How much ammunition do you have?” Ludwig checked and counted only seven rounds. Had he used up that much? He barely remembered firing. “Well,” Walter smiled, “I hope you hit something with all that shooting.” Then, more seriously, he said, “Nobody has much ammo left. I’ve tried to get more, but the depots are all supplying the troops for the big assault. They say we are to rest and watch the leaves change.”