1920: America's Great War

by Robert Conroy

  Her plane shuddered. Oh, Christ, she thought. Her left wing was damaged and the rudder wasn’t responding. Nor were her legs, she realized. Blood was running down them and into he boots. She’d been shot and didn’t know when.

  The plane began to cartwheel and Amelia Earhart knew she was going to die. She whimpered as the sea drew closer. Her last thought as the plane struck the water and exploded was the fervent hope that at least some of her body would be found so her parents could give her a proper funeral.

  * * *

  MacArthur’s detractors in the small American Army, Luke included, might have considered him arrogant or pompous, but he wasn’t a coward. His actions at Vera Cruz a few years earlier had proven that. Yelling and screaming, he charged into the Germans. Luke fired into the chest of a German only a few feet away, wheeled and stuck another in the gut with his bayonet. He tried to pull it out and it stuck. The German howled and tried to grab the rifle.

  Luke fired, killing the Kraut and freeing the bayonet. He slid in a fresh clip and continued firing. More Americans had joined what was now a brawl. Suddenly, the rifle was knocked from his hands. He pulled his pistol and looked for someone to shoot.

  A middle-aged man was staggering in front of him. The man looked confused and disoriented. He also looked important. Luke grabbed him by the lapel and jabbed the pistol under his chin. “Surrender or I’ll blow your fucking head off,” he said and then repeated it in German.

  The man looked startled. His eyes were glazed. He raised his hands. “Bitte, bitte,” he said, please, please. As he did, other Germans began to do the same thing.

  A younger German officer approached tentatively, his hands open. “My name is von Richter. It’s over. Let me help my general.”

  Luke’s mind whirled. General? What the hell had he just gone and done? “Great, but who is this guy?”

  Von Richter smiled wanly as the sounds of battle faded into unnatural silence. “Please let me present General Oskar von Hutier.”

  * * *

  Hipper was outraged and frustrated. A tiny plane had dropped something on the Bayern’s rearmost turret and now the damn thing was burning furiously. Damage-control parties were working hard to contain the blaze lest the flames reach the ammunition in the turret or, God forbid, an ammunition magazine and cause a catastrophic explosion. His beautiful ship, the Bayern, was damaged and one quarter of her weapons were out of action.

  Little planes, like little bugs, swarmed around the ships, sometimes flying so low they couldn’t be seen and sometimes flying between ships so guns couldn’t be fired for fear of hitting another German ship.

  The little planes, gnats he thought, were wreaking havoc. If it wasn’t so tragic, it would be funny. Everyone knew that planes couldn’t bomb warships and do much damage, but everyone had assumed the bombs would be explosive, not flammable. How wrong could they have been?

  Many of the little gnats had been blown from the sky, swatted like the bugs they were. Perhaps dozens had fallen, but there were still so many that the ships’ guns couldn’t kill them all. In a corner of his mind, Hipper made the mental note that future warships would have to have many, many more antiaircraft guns as everyone would soon know of this despicable trick pulled by the Americans. Also, seals around turrets and hatches would have to be tighter. He wondered if he would live long enough to transmit this information.

  Two other of his battleships, the Koenig and the Thuringen, were burning badly. As he watched, the front turret of the Koenig exploded, sending wreckage into the air. The turret itself lifted off the ship and fell into the ocean with a mighty splash. The Thuringen ceased moving and men began throwing themselves off the burning wreck and into the relative safety of the bay. Some of the German sailors were themselves on fire and Hipper allowed himself a moment of pity before he realized what he had to do.

  “Sortie!” Hipper screamed. “All ships sortie!”

  To hell with formation and to hell with dignity, he thought. He had to get the remainder of his fleet out of this death trap. He’d entered with ten battleships and was now down to six, and the remainder all damaged to some extent. The Koenig and the Thuringen might not even make it to sea. The German Navy had won its honor but had just been defeated by a most unlikely and improbable enemy.

  “Full speed,” he ordered. The Bayern raced through the channel and out into the ocean.

  His great ship shuddered. Something was erupting in the stern where the fire raged. He was afraid to look. The ship shook again and a shock wave passed over and through the Bayern. D-turret had exploded.

  * * *

  Kirsten ran to where she could see what was happening in the bay. Earlier, she’d watched in dismay as the mighty German fleet hammered its way in. She wondered if this was the end of it. Would San Francisco fall to Germany despite all their efforts to defend it?

  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 na
tional 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.