America Über Alles

by Jack Fernley

  ‘Hey, Tommo, what’d yer give to be young and part of this fella’s army, eh?’

  ‘Wouldn’t be wearing ol’ Dick here if this baron had been leading me. You know Fritz over there?’ He pointed in the direction of an even older, grey-haired man, limping away in a group of three men. ‘He did serve wi’ him. Hey, Fritz, that’s true, ain’t it? You were serving with him in Prussia?’

  The grey hair looked up: ‘The Baron?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Well, va real Baron von Steuben. Vat’s not Baron von Steuben I knew.’

  Hand’s ears pricked up at this.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked the first veteran.

  Fritz limped over towards them; a small group of beer-stinking veterans formed a close group, Hand on their edge.

  ‘I voz wit va baron ein Kunersdorf, va most terrible day. Fifty-Nine. King Frederick’s army, butchered. The baron, he vasn’t baron then, just Fred Steuben, vurst lieutenant. He was a Miss Molly un.’

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘You mean he liked to visit the Winward Passage, Fritz?’ said the first veteran, laughing.

  ‘A buggerer. This one don’t strike me as a buggerer.’

  ‘Say he ain’t. And he’s older, five years or more. And taller. Fred Steuben shorter van vat. And his nose. All his face. Everyvin’ bout him, wrong. I tell yer that ain’t Fred Steuben.’

  Hand pushed through and confronted Fritz.

  ‘You’re saying that this Baron von Steuben is not the man you knew in Prussia?’

  ‘Saying exactly. Some other fella, I’d wager my last glass of porter on it. He might be a fine general an’ all vat, but he ain’t the man I stood alongside at Kunersdorf.’

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Adams poured a glass of brandy, passed it to von Steuben before sitting down in the armchair to face him. They had dismissed all their retainers. It was just the two of them now. Two men who held no formal title, but were close to having control over the military and civil establishment of the emerging republic. Von Steuben, the garlanded war hero; Adams the acknowledged ‘first man in the House’, the most powerful voice in Congress, the man who could carry the day. The President of Congress may have been John Hancock, but the leader was John Adams.

  ‘So, Baron, the question we face now is how we proceed to end this war and establish a new system of government for these colonies. And I daresay your role in that settlement.’

  Von Steuben rolled the glass, took a sip and said nothing. He had long learned the value of silence at such moments.

  ‘There can be no denial. Our fortunes have changed considerably since your arrival on our shores. Where we previously faced defeat, humiliation even, now we can proceed with the comfort of certain victory. We may not achieve our aims immediately, but we will achieve them. That is, if you continue to inspire our forces and people.’

  Adams peered deeply at the baron. There was no response.

  ‘Do I detect a reservation on your part, Baron?’

  Von Steuben placed the glass on the table, ran his hands down the fabric of his trousers and then leaned towards Adams.

  ‘Let us trust in each other, Mister Adams. It is not so much a question of my place in the new America as our place. How do we ensure the talents of both of us are employed in their most effective way to finish the war and establish the country we dream of? We do not want to win the war and lose the peace. We both want, I believe, a model society that will be a beacon for the rest of the world to emulate. For that, we need strong leadership, both civil and military. I believe you must provide the former and myself the latter.’

  Now Adams paused for reflection, then, ‘Pray, continue, Baron. Your assumptions are correct.’

  ‘I can achieve victory here. But I cannot do so if my hands are tied behind my back.’

  ‘How can I untie your hands?’

  ‘I must have complete control of the army. I cannot serve under your General Washington any longer. You saw at the conference here in Philadelphia what he lacks. His form of leadership is conciliation; he follows the course the majority of his generals prefer. That is not leadership. That is an abdication of leadership. Where is he now? Wherever he is, it does not matter. He has made himself inconsequential.’

  Adams paused for a beat before deciding there was no point in prevaricating: ‘Indeed. Indeed he has. And his generals, are they too inconsequential?’

  ‘They are in many ways fine men, but they are not experienced men of war. He prefers Greene, Hamilton, Knox, even that preening French peacock Lafayette, and pushes experienced men such as Gates, Arnold and Lee to the margins. If you want victory, you need to seize the opportunity we created on the banks of the Elk. This must not be squandered.’ He sat back in the chair.

  ‘It will not, Baron. You have my word.’

  ‘My men and I are no longer prepared to suffer such ill leadership. There are those among them who have suggested we should seek an alternative arena rather than suffer further.’

  ‘An alternative?’

  ‘Perhaps Canada. Establish a new colony of our making there. Throw ourselves in with the French even, in Louisiana, perhaps. They would welcome us I believe.’ In the glint of shock that passed like an electrical spark across Adams’s eyes, he saw it had the desired effect.

  ‘We would be most unhappy if that was to occur. I am certain that we can provide you with the necessary assurances. Congress will follow my lead on this matter.’

  ‘Total command. The ability to wage war as we see fit. That is what I require.’

  John Adams paused. He stood up, his hands behind his back, and contemplated for a brief moment. ‘The primacy of Congress must be maintained. That is clear. Any war leader must be accountable to Congress. We are to be a civil society. Not a military one.’

  Von Steuben nodded his head, a little curt nod, one that was entirely full of deceit. He knew where power resided, both in the present and in the future. There would come a time when he would deal with Adams and the lackeys of Congress. ‘Of course. We understand, respect and share your belief in a civil society. The war leader must be accountable to Congress. I would honour that. As long . . .’ he smiled now, ‘as long as you do not expect me to have to attend to lectures by Thomas Paine every month?’

  ‘Ah, no. I think the corset-maker may be reaching the end of his use for us all. Time we sent him back to England. Tell me, what would your stratagem be for ending this war?’

  Confident now, von Steuben stretched out his legs, folded his arms and began his lecture. ‘Howe is returning to New York, bloodied, but not broken. I sense that he will return to London with his tail very much between his legs. The leadership will then be passed to Cornwallis. In London though, they will be confused. King George will have great difficulty in persuading his parliament to approve further expenditure on the Americas, especially as the French, with the prompting of your Ben Franklin at the court of King Louis and smelling the opportunity to bloody the British themselves, will begin to attack British colonies in the Caribbean.

  ‘Our aim over the autumn will be twofold. To squeeze the last drops out of the British forces in New Jersey and Pennsylvania by the use of the local militias. And to march the main body of the army north and defeat Burgoyne in battle. So by the end of the year, the British will have no troops outside of New York. They will be encircled. By the spring, they will either have to break out and attempt to defeat us in battle or they will sue for peace.’

  ‘And how certain can you be that you will defeat them in battle? We have yet to win any engagement in which there has been a traditional land battle.’

  ‘That, sir, was in the past, where your armies suffered from poor organisation, discipline and leadership. By the spring of next year, this will be the finest army in the world. However, we will also have a great advantage over the British. By the spring of next year, we will have the new weaponry that our gunsmith Schmeisser is working on. The British muskets will fail against them. And we have another weapon, one that w
e are manufacturing right here in Philadelphia under our man Krupp. We call it an iron horse.’

  ‘Really? What is this?’

  ‘Ah, you will see it soon enough. We should be ready to unveil it in a matter of days. It will help us bring this struggle to a quick end. Victory is within our grasp, Mister Adams. We cannot let it slip away.’

  ‘I would agree, but what would lead you to think we would let this opportunity slip away?’

  ‘You cannot run a war as a university debating society.’

  ‘A university debating society?’

  ‘Listening to conflicting and contradictory opinions, looking for consensus. In war, strong, firm leadership is required. General Washington has many qualities; he is a man of moral force, but he is a vacillator. Once he arrives in Philadelphia, he will thank us for this great victory, but we will then return to his policy of muddle and dithering. There will be those in his entourage who will disagree with the strategy I have outlined and—’

  ‘And they will have the ear of Washington,’ Adams interrupted.

  ‘I fear so.’

  Adams paused, put his glass down and stood up.

  ‘Baron, this struggle is greater than any one individual. We must all do what is necessary for the victory we desire, regardless of our own personal ambitions.’ He started to pace around the room. ‘This is a most difficult issue. A most difficult issue.’

  He stopped and faced von Steuben.

  ‘I will discuss the matter with Congress, and ensure we have an outcome that will deliver us victory.’

  THIRTY-SIX

  Hand had been watching the City Tavern for a few hours.

  It had been von Steuben’s and the Stormtroopers’ headquarters since their arrival in the city and they had returned to it following the defeat of Howe. A steady flow of well-wishers and those seeking advancement had made its way to the tavern, filling the downstairs rooms, spilling out into the streets. The merchants, tradesmen and ruling elite of the city were keen to come and ingratiate themselves and establish relationships with this other elite. Consequently, the tavern was awash with free drinks, loud good wishes and, on the edges, Stormtroopers disappearing with women.

  Finally, Hand saw what he had been waiting for.

  His sister Sarah.

  Although at first he failed to recognise her.

  A group of half a dozen young women were walking down Chestnut Street in the afternoon sunshine, joking and laughing. All six seemed close to identical; blonde hair pulled back in ponytails, they wore long jackets, in the grey-green of the Stormtroopers, with matching long skirts. On their heads, a jaunty black beret, with an eagle sat atop a swastika. That these young women, looking like no young ladies he had ever seen before, created little or no comment on the streets of Philadelphia was in itself cause for comment, he thought.

  It was then that Hand realised the leader of the group was Sarah.

  She had a new-found confidence about her that surprised him. This was not the callow girl he had so long taken her for. At that moment, he understood that he had always underestimated her, that he had never regarded her as having any potential. Whatever the issue he had with these Germans, they had given his sister a new sense of purpose, perhaps real meaning for the first time in her life.

  She bade goodbye to the other women and turned into the tavern. Hand quickly followed her.

  His unkempt state would normally have seen him rejected from the City Tavern whose proprietor, Little Smith, was determined that his inn was to be the most upscale establishment in the emerging capital. However, the press of people was so great that he was able to slip in, keeping an eye on Sarah as she too squeezed in among the throng.

  He saw her break free from the crowd and make her way up the stairs to the lodging rooms, and he followed her. Reaching the landing, he saw her disappear into a room. Outside, his heart racing, he waited a beat before knocking on the door and without waiting for a reply, opened it and stepped inside.

  Sarah turned around in surprise and then greater surprise when she saw her brother.

  ‘Ed! I, I thought, I thought, you were . . .’

  ‘Dead?’ he finished for her. ‘I feel I have been dead these past six months.’

  He rushed to her and they embraced.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I survived.’

  ‘But how? Werner told me, those Indians, they cut you into pieces.’ She held his face, her hands feeling his scars.

  ‘No Indians cut me. It was Conze who ordered me shot by my own men.’

  ‘What? How, why would Werner do that?’

  ‘Because he is an animal, more savage than the Indians.’ She pulled away from him. He knew he did not have much time, every word had to make its mark. ‘Sarah, these people are not what you think they are. They are capable of great cruelties. I have seen that. I have suffered for it.’

  ‘No, no, you are wrong. Werner told me you were attacked outside a village. Pat told me the same. Why would they make up such stories?’ Suddenly some form of truth dawned on her. ‘You’re not . . . you’re not a traitor? You’re not in the pay of the British, are you? We are surrounded by spies, there are traitors all about us. Not you, not my brother!’

  ‘No, I am not a spy. I tried to stop Werner massacring the village, like he had done to a Jewish village. He had me shot.’

  ‘A Jewish village? What do you mean he had you shot? If he had you shot, how have you ended up here alive?’

  ‘I was lucky, very lucky. Indians saved me. They nursed me back to health.’

  Now she scoffed at him. ‘Indians nursed you? Your own men shot you and Indians nursed you back to health? You expect me to believe this?’ There was a bluntness to her he had never seen before. It threw him.

  ‘And von Steuben, I don’t know who he is, but he is not Baron von Steuben.’

  ‘Oh, what is this now, what do you mean, brother?’

  ‘This von Steuben is an imposter.’

  ‘Oh, away with you, such madness. What do I care if he is an imposter or not? All I know is that he has brought us victory and given me and hundreds of others hope. What were we before, what hope did we have? What hope did I have for my life? What hope did you have for me?’

  Her words cut him. He knew what she was going to say; he could see the words shape and rush towards him. He saw the ring then, the light dancing around the diamond. He had never seen anything like it.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘A gift. A gift from someone who believes in me,’ she almost spat the words at him.

  ‘I believe in you, Sarah. I’ve always believed in you.’

  ‘You believed in me? What did you ever see me as? A pathetic girl, there to do your bidding, following you, tending to you until I found another man I could tend. This is all you thought me good for. Or worse. Do you not remember the last words you said to me? When you called me a whore. My own brother.’

  Hand blushed with shame.

  ‘These imposters, as you call them, they do not box me in, they do not see me fit for so little, see me as a whore! I am a leader of people now, Edward. People listen to me. The League of American Girls, that is my group. You see these flags that decorate all of Philadelphia? My girls made them. My girls. Under my direction. Two hundred young women who rely on me for leadership. Two hundred. And more and more join us every day. We are a movement, do you even know what that means? Do you have any idea what that means to me?’

  He did not. He could have no idea, she was right about that. He closed his eyes and said very softly, ‘These people are criminals, Sarah.’

  She looked back at him, fire in her eyes. She was no longer a girl. He saw that. He had underestimated her, she was right. ‘Not to me they’re not. They have given me meaning. You, you despise them not for that reason, but because you no longer control me or Pat or anyone else. That is the source of your desperation, brother. The fault is with you, not them. And you come here with this tall story of being shot by your own
men!’

  ‘It’s true! They are not what you take them for, none of them, von Steuben, Hanna, even your Werner. They will corrupt this country.’ He gripped her wrists and pulled her towards him. ‘Sarah, you have to believe me. Follow them and devastation will follow. You have to believe me.’

  ‘Let go of me, let go of me, brother!’ she screamed at him. ‘I want nothing more to do with you!’

  ‘You have to believe me!’

  ‘Go! You’re dead to me, to all of us. Go!’

  As she spat out these words, the door to the chamber opened and Conze walked in. He stopped, silent at first, unable to believe what he saw, a dead man alive. ‘What the hell? You, alive? Where have you come from?’ he said as he lurched towards Hand.

  Dropping his sister’s wrists, Hand went to defend himself and the two men started to wrestle to the floor, before the German pulled free. Standing up, panting at each other, they faced off, Sarah screaming at Hand to leave.

  ‘You’re no longer wanted, Hand,’ Conze said coldly. ‘Has Sarah told you? We are to be married, but even more, see that?’ He pointed at Sarah’s belly. ‘In there is our child. The firstborn of a new world, a world of Aryan perfection. A world with no place for traitors to our race. Traitors like you.’

  Furious, Hand screamed, ‘No!’ and threw a punch at Conze, which the German easily ducked, before planting a firm blow of his own to the Irishman’s stomach. Winded, Hand bent over and Conze delivered a succession of punches around the head and chest. On the floor now, scrambling away to safety, Hand was only saved by Sarah stopping her lover from delivering a ferocious kick to the chest. ‘Leave him! Let him go, Werner.’

  Out of breath, dazed and bloodied, Hand used a chair to pull himself up from the floor. Standing less than firmly, he took a shallow breath and with as much disdain as he could muster, he said, ‘I won’t go away. I won’t let you Germans ruin this country. I will stop you. Not today perhaps, but I will.’

  Infuriated, Conze pulled away from Sarah and made for Hand, but this time the Irishman got in a punch that hit its target and the German wheeled away, stunned, before charging back towards his man. Hand made for the door, then for the stairway and the ground floor of the tavern.