1920: America's Great War-eARC

by Robert Conroy

  A smart-boy engineer had concluded that bullets were more likely to bounce off the trucks’ thin metal plating if the armor was slanted, and damned if tests hadn’t proven the young man right. Of course, tests and combat were hugely different stories. Somebody else had determined that both truck tires and tank treads could be protected a little by hanging woven cables alongside the vehicles. Now we’ll see how it works in the real world, he thought.

  Patton was jammed into a modified tank that served as his command vehicle. No way was he going to miss out on the first great attack by tanks in warfare. He only hoped it wouldn’t be the last. His real concerns, however, were the propensity of the beasts to break down and the real difficulty of directing the operation once fighting began. The vehicles would be buttoned up so crews wouldn’t be killed by shrapnel or bullets, which meant that commanders and drivers couldn’t communicate. Wireless radios had been suggested, but they were too cumbersome and fragile for today’s battle. It was something to think about for the future.

  The host of German infantry was directly in front of them and only a few hundred yards off. The Germans halted as the metal apparitions lumbered closer. The noise of the tanks’ engines drowned out all but the sound of bullets hitting like small hailstones pattering harmlessly off the tanks’ hulls.

  As one, the American guns returned fire, with hundreds, then thousands, of bullets ripping through the massed German ranks. Dead and wounded fell in rows as the tanks moved forward at a sedate ten miles an hour. They could go faster, but why strain the engines or take a chance on bad terrain damaging them? The armored trucks drew alongside the tanks and their guns added to the slaughter.

  As they neared the Germans, individual faces, their mouths wide with shock, anger, and terror grew plain. Peering through a firing slit, Patton exulted. “You bastards are going to die. How do you like war now, you Kraut sons of bitches?”

  When the tanks were less than a hundred yards away, the Germans began to pull back. Their sergeants and officers tried to maintain discipline, but it didn’t help, as they were cut down with the rest. The American machine guns indiscriminately killed everything in front of them.

  The slow retreat disintegrated, becoming first a fast walk, and then a run as the proud German Army fell back in utter disarray. Confused and terrified, soldiers threw away their rifles and packs, and then their helmets. Patton had never seen such a glorious sight. The armored advance continued and he felt the sickening crunch of tank treads grinding over the bodies of the dead and dying. The tank’s engine was not always loud enough to drown out the screams of those being squashed.

  Some brave Germans tried to jump on the tanks and fight their way in. A grenade exploding inside a tank would have been catastrophic. This was when the trucks earned their pay. Their light Browning Automatic Rifles swept enemy soldiers from the tanks’ hulls before the Germans could open the hatches and drop in a potato masher grenade. Finally, there were no Germans standing, although a number were crawling and limping away.

  Patton paused and opened the hatch. Signalling wildly, he finally got the attention of most of his commanders. He counted noses. Thirty-eight of his mighty beasts remained. He presumed most of the missing had mechanical problems. Better, almost all of the trucks were still with him. The ropes and the slanted armor appeared to have worked.

  What to do now? he pondered. The German attack was broken, but there were still many other Germans attacking the American trenches. He could turn to the right and his tanks could attack the German rear and get them between the proverbial rock and the hard place.

  Or they could go left and slice into the main German Army’s rear and continue pushing the Krauts backward. A German artillery shell landed nearby and reminded him that one thing he couldn’t do was stay where he was.

  Right or left, that was the question. Patton was confident that the fighting to his right would break up. American reinforcements were arriving and he intuitively felt that the German high-water mark had been reached. He could already see men leaving the German forward positions and running back across the corpse-littered field.

  “Left,” he ordered, and then because it seemed so appropriate, “Charge!”

  * * *

  Not since the days of antiquity could a general see the entire battlefield. Neither the crown prince nor General Mackensen saw anything other than what was directly in front of them. Their position had been predicated on observing the massive, four-division attack on the American trenches and the decision to switch the focus of the fighting left them with nothing in view.

  The two divisions that made up their reserves had marched out, veered right, and disappeared. The sounds of fighting came from both the front and the right. The prince and the general could do nothing but worry while maintaining a facade of aloof indifference. No thought was given to moving the headquarters. That would have taken too much time. The telephone and telegraph lines ended here.

  An operator took a call. He turned to the two men, shock on his face. “Sir,” he said to the prince, “there is a report that our men are being attacked by metal monsters that are impervious to bullets and shells.”

  “Rubbish,” snapped Mackensen. “Call other units and find out what the devil is going on.” He laughed nervously. “Has someone gotten drunk in the middle of a battle? Monsters? What next?”

  The operator did as directed. Moments later, he clarified his report. “Sir, armored vehicles of a strange type along with armored trucks have struck the troops advancing on our right. Our men are suffering heavy casualties and are falling back in great disorder.”

  Now it was time to move. Both men left the bunker and climbed to higher ground where they could see at least a good portion of the battlefield. They didn’t like what they saw.

  Mackensen and Crown Prince Wilhelm watched in horror as the army was destroyed by a few dozen metal monsters. The pride of the German Army was fleeing in panic. While the actual numbers of dead and wounded would ultimately only amount to a couple of thousand at most, the wounds to the German Army’s morale and pride would be immense and long lasting. After all the time spent campaigning up California, victory was being denied them. His army was confused, defeated and half a world away from home.

  And now the beasts were turning in Wilhelm’s direction. What to do? His army was in full flight.

  “General Mackensen, I suggest we find a safer place to conduct the war.”

  Mackensen was shocked, “A retreat?”

  The prince sighed. “Yes, it certainly looks like that, doesn’t it? We shall pull back and regroup. Those iron beasts are mortal and should run out of gas sooner or later and need to be refueled. Perhaps they will even break down. Meanwhile, we will figure out how to defeat them. If necessary, we will retreat down the coast to Santa Cruz or even Monterey where Hipper’s fleet can protect us until we are reinforced and resupplied.”

  Assuming, he thought bitterly, his army stopped running before it reached Los Angeles.

  Then another horrible thought intruded. Admiral Hipper was in San Francisco Bay. The admiral’s grand attack had succeeded, but now the game had changed. The prince needed to ensure that the fleet was intact, or at least strong enough to fend off the American warships now prowling the Pacific. Hipper must remain strong to protect the army and ensure reinforcements and supplies made it safely.

  The prince turned to an aide. “Send a message to Admiral Hipper and inform him of our, ah, tactical withdrawal. Tell him he must sortie out of San Francisco Bay as soon as possible lest his ships become trapped.”

  A most disconsolate Mackensen looked at him, “And what about Hutier?”

  The prince sat down heavily as aides packed up their infernal papers. The American land monsters were coming closer with every minute. He could see someone standing with his head and shoulders out of a turret, giving directions. Why didn’t someone shoot him? But no, the insane fool led a charmed life.

  It was time to go, time to retreat and time to fight another
day. But what if Hutier did succeed? Then San Francisco would be theirs and the hell with the metal monsters chewing up the German Army. There was still a chance. It San Francisco was truly taken, there was no need for this days’ defeat by the metal monsters to be fatal.

  “We will pray for Hutier’s success.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Barricades had been thrown up across the streets leading south towards where the Germans had penetrated. The barricades were made up of cars, trucks, and wagons that had been tilted on their sides. Furniture had been added and stuffed in to make a wall maybe ten feet high. Where possible, soldiers had taken up flanking positions. The ad hoc defenses had been skillfully laid. The only problems were the lack of manpower and firepower. The headquarters had been stripped of all army and navy personnel and a number of civilians and retreating soldiers had joined the force. General Liggett estimated that he had perhaps a thousand men.

  The main German force was coming up 40th Avenue, a straight road that led directly to the U.S. Military Preserve and the Golden Gate Cemetery. Before that, however, was the Golden Gate Park, and it was at the southern end of the park that the barricades were put up.

  Liggett had taken direct command and decided they would try to funnel the German advance down the streets, rather than giving them a chance to fan out in the park and use their firepower and numbers to advantage. So far, it had worked, but because only a relatively few Germans had made it that far. Several Germans had been killed or wounded by the initial burst of fire. The wounded had been picked up by German soldiers under flag of truce. Now all the American defenders could do was wait for the Germans to get organized and launch a real assault.

  A forward scout scrambled back from his position a few blocks in advance of the barricades. “They’re forming up, General, and it looks like at least a full regiment, maybe more. They’ll be coming down this street in a few minutes.”

  At which point we’ll all be dead or prisoners, Liggett thought, and he saw the same on Admiral Sims’ face. Sims and the other naval personnel looked incongruous in their blue uniforms carrying rifles. Many looked like they’d never seen a rifle before. At least the sailors weren’t wearing white. That would have made them ideal targets.

  Liggett nodded and the scout began to return to his position down the street. Suddenly, he wheeled and ran back.

  “Oh shit, sir, here they come.”

  Waves of soldiers in field gray uniforms were advancing up 40th Avenue, a close-packed mass of humanity in metal helmets. So far they were walking, but they would charge when they got close enough and overwhelm the barricade by sheer weight of numbers. Through his binoculars, Liggett recognized a German general—von Hutier? Well, he thought, the man at least had the courage of his convictions.

  “Where do you want my men, General?”

  Liggett wheeled and smiled. He’d been so engrossed that he hadn’t noticed the sounds of boots pounding on the pavement behind him, many boots.

  “Douglas, it’s so good to see you. Luke, what the devil took you so long?”

  Before either could reply, Liggett continued. “General MacArthur, place your men as you see fit, but please do so in a hurry.”

  MacArthur looked down the street and gasped. “Fill in everywhere, men, just fill in!” He saw Randall and Taylor. “You two stay with me.”

  “Oh Jesus,” Tim muttered, “Just what we need.”

  The newly-arrived Americans had no artillery, but they did have machine guns, both BARs and Hotchkiss guns, along with some Browning weapons. Liggett could only stare and smile. What he would have given for those machine guns when the Germans were advancing up the valley.

  “Now!”

  At MacArthur’s command, hell broke loose from the Americans. Tim ran along behind his men and urged them to keep aiming low, just like they’d been taught. Tim stopped and aimed at a German. He squeezed off a shot just the way he’d done in camp and saw the man fall. He fired a second time and another German grasped his leg and tumbled. Look at that, he thought, the Germans can die just like anybody else. All around him, men were firing and Germans were falling.

  It wasn’t one sided. Germans paused and fired their Mausers coolly and steadily and with deadly effect. Lieutenant Taylor screamed and fell back, clutching his shoulder. Tim started to reach for him when MacArthur snarled at him to keep shooting and let the medics care for his friend. As an aside, MacArthur told Tim he was now in charge of Taylor’s company.

  The Germans stopped advancing. MacArthur sensed that this was the moment of truth. He leaped to the top of the barricade, firing his pistol at the Germans. Bullets whipped by him but none hit. MacArthur had a coldly maniacal look on his face, as if he knew it was not his destiny to die this day.

  “Fix bayonets!” he ordered and thousands of men complied.

  Again MacArthur fired his pistol in the direction of the Germans. “Now charge!” he yelled and jumped down to the other side, running forward, confronting the Germans.

  Aw shit! Tim thought as he landed beside MacArthur and began to move forward.

  * * *

  Admiral Hipper was disconcerted and confused. The garbled radio message from the prince seemed to say that he should depart the bay, which was what he’d already decided. A fleet should never be landlocked any longer than necessary. The German Navy had proven its mettle by crashing through into San Francisco Bay. The American defenses had been destroyed and there was no reason to remain. A few barges or ferries carrying troops had managed to cross the bay, but others had been destroyed with great loss of life. Bodies of dead Americans floated everywhere. It was a great victory.

  The loss of the Nassau and Posen would prove that a blood price had been paid and that German naval courage could not ever be doubted.

  The survivors from the two battleships had been picked up and the wounded were being cared for. In a short while it would indeed be prudent to seek the open ocean, but what was the rush? From the sounds of it, there was fighting in San Francisco proper and it was inconceivable that the main attack had failed. Yet, that was what the miserable and static-filled radio communication seemed to indicate. Technology was so wonderful except when it didn’t work.

  He’d launched a floatplane to fly over the battlefield but some fool on one side or the other had shot it down.

  Twilight was coming and he didn’t want to rush through unfamiliar waters in darkness. It was either leave now or wait until morning.

  A confirmation was radioed in. Something had gone horribly wrong with the main attack and Mackensen’s army was pulling back, presumably to try again tomorrow, Hipper thought. Leaving now, therefore, was the right thing to do. If they remained, they would be at the mercy of American field artillery which, while more annoying than anything else, might still present a danger to his precious ships. As to what was happening in San Francisco, it was clearly not any of his immediate concern.

  He gave the order to Canaris, who began to relay the proper commands to the other ships. Eight great capital ships were at anchor and it would take a few minutes haul them up and begin their way out. No matter. With the Yank shore batteries silenced, the German fleet could return tomorrow if needed. If not, then honor had been satisfied.

  “What the devil?”

  A burst of fire erupted from the deck of the battleship Kaiserin and billowed skyward. In the light of the flames, he could see dots, like moths, flitting about. They were planes, he realized with horror, American planes.

  * * *

  Amelia Earhart flew low, extremely low, over the ground and then over the blue water of San Francisco Bay. A German cruiser was in front of her and she had to gain altitude to clear it. As it was, she saw shocked faces beneath her. She thought about waving.

  Scores of other little airplanes had commenced departing their secret airfield. The total number of Fireflies would be close to two hundred. She was to drop her load and return to the airfield for another and, God willing, another and another.

  Today’s car
go consisted of one female pilot and a number of containers rigged to drop from the plane when she pulled the appropriate handle. The containers were filled with gasoline and had a crude detonator for each. Even though the gasoline made takeoffs extremely dangerous, she had convinced a couple of mechanics to go along with her plans. Without a second person in the plane, it meant she could carry that much more gasoline.

  Something exploded to her right and she saw a ship on fire. Good, the Germans were beginning to pay. Oops, bad. Now they would be alert. As she thought that, glowing fingers of tracer bullets leaped from the German ships but didn’t touch her.

  “Look at that,” she said to herself.

  A truly massive ship was coming up fast. She gauged the distance and pulled a switch. Two of the containers dropped. She banked the plane to see and yelled with delight as the ship’s rearmost turret began to burn. Gas was thinner than water. The gasoline would find cracks and crevices that would stop the thicker liquid. The gas didn’t even have to ignite immediately. Sooner or later, it would likely come in contact with something hot or burning and flare up. She visualized gallons of flaming gasoline going down hatches and into the interior of the huge ship, coming in contact with red hot shells.

  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.