The Other Teddy Roosevelts

by Mike Resnick

  “Nonsense!” said Roosevelt defensively. “I feel as fit as a bull moose!”

  “A one-eyed bull moose,” replied Wilson dryly. Roosevelt seemed about to protest, but Wilson raised a hand to silence him. “Yes, Mr. Roosevelt, I know that you lost the vision in your left eye during a boxing match while you were President.” He couldn’t quite keep the distaste for such juvenile and adventurous escapades out of his voice.

  “I’m not here to discuss my health,” answered Roosevelt gruffly, “but the reactivation of my commission as a Colonel in the United States Army.”

  Wilson shook his head. “You have my answer. You’ve told me nothing that might change my mind.”

  “I’m about to.”

  “Oh?”

  “Let’s be perfectly honest, Mr. President. The Republican nomination is mine for the asking, and however the war turns out, the Democrats will be sitting ducks. Half the people hate you for entering the war so late, and the other half hate you for entering it at all.” Roosevelt paused. “If you will return me to active duty and allow me to organize my Rough Riders, I will give you my personal pledge that I will neither seek nor accept the Republican nomination in 1920.”

  “It means that much to you?” asked Wilson, arching a thin eyebrow.

  “It does, sir.”

  “I’m impressed by your passion, and I don’t doubt your sincerity, Mr. Roosevelt,” said Wilson. “But my answer must still be no. I am serving my second term. I have no intention of running again in 1920, I do not need your political support, and I will not be a party to such a deal.”

  “Then you are a fool, Mr. President,” said Roosevelt. “Because I am going anyway, and you have thrown away your only opportunity, slim as it may be, to keep the Republicans out of the White House.”

  “I will not reactivate your commission, Mr. Roosevelt.”

  Roosevelt pulled two neatly-folded letters out of his lapel pocket and placed them on the President’s desk.

  “What are these?” asked Wilson, staring at them as if they might bite him at any moment.

  “Letters from the British and the French, offering me commissions in their armies.” Roosevelt paused. “I am first, foremost, and always an American, Mr. President, and I had entertained no higher hope than leading my men into battle under the Stars and Stripes—but I am going to participate in this war, and you are not going to stop me.” And now, for the first time, he displayed the famed Roosevelt grin. “I have some thirty reporters waiting for me on the lawn of the White House. Shall I tell them that I am fighting for the country that I love, or shall I tell them that our European allies are more concerned with winning this damnable war than our own President?”

  “This is blackmail, Mr. Roosevelt!” said Wilson, outraged.

  “I believe that is the word for it,” said Roosevelt, still grinning. “I would like you to direct Captain Frank McCoy to leave his current unit and report to me. I’ll handle the rest of the details myself.” He paused again. “The press is waiting, Mr. President. What shall I tell them?”

  “Tell them anything you want,” muttered Wilson furiously. “Only get out of this office.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Roosevelt, turning on his heel and marching out with an energetic bounce to his stride.

  Wilson waited a moment, then spoke aloud. “You can come in now, Joseph.”

  Joseph Tummulty, his personal secretary, entered the Oval Office.

  “Were you listening?” asked Wilson.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is there any way out of it?”

  “Not without getting a black eye in the press.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” said Wilson.

  “He’s got you over a barrel, Mr. President.”

  “I wonder what he’s really after?” mused Wilson thoughtfully. “He’s been a governor, an explorer, a war hero, a police commissioner, an author, a big-game hunter, and a President.” He paused, mystified. “What more can he want from life?”

  “Personally, sir,” said Tummulty, making no attempt to hide the contempt in his voice, “I think that damned cowboy is looking to charge up one more San Juan Hill.”

  ***

  Roosevelt stood before his troops, as motley an assortment of warriors as had been assembled since the last incarnation of the Rough Riders. There were military men and cowboys, professional athletes and adventurers, hunters and ranchers, barroom brawlers and Indians, tennis players and wrestlers, even a trio of Maasai elmoran he had met on safari in Africa.

  “Some of ‘em look a little long in the tooth, Colonel,” remarked Frank McCoy, his second-in-command.

  “Some of us are a little long in the tooth too, Frank,” said Roosevelt with a smile.

  “And some of ‘em haven’t started shaving yet,” continued McCoy wryly.

  “Well, there’s nothing like a war to grow them up in a hurry.”

  Roosevelt turned away from McCoy and faced his men, waiting briefly until he had their attention. He paused for a moment to make sure that the journalists who were traveling with the regiment had their pencils and notebooks out and then spoke.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “we are about to embark upon a great adventure. We are privileged to be present at a crucial point in the history of the world. In the terrible whirlwind of war, all the great nations of the world are facing the supreme test of their courage and dedication. All the alluring but futile theories of the pacifists have vanished at the first sound of gunfire.”

  Roosevelt paused to clear his throat, then continued in his surprisingly high-pitched voice. “This war is the greatest the world has ever seen. The vast size of the armies, the tremendous slaughter, the loftiness of the heroism shown and the hideous horror of the brutalities committed, the valor of the fighting men and the extraordinary ingenuity of those who have designed and built the fighting machines, the burning patriotism of the peoples who defend their homelands and the far-reaching complexity of the plans of the leaders—all are on a scale so huge that nothing in past history can be compared with them.

  “The issues at stake are fundamental. The free peoples of the world have banded together against tyrannous militarism, and it is not too much to say that the outcome will largely determine, for those of us who love liberty above all else, whether or not life remains worth living.”

  He paused again, and stared up and down the ranks of his men.

  “Against such a vast and complex array of forces, it may seem to you that we will just be another cog in the military machine of the allies, that one regiment cannot possibly make a difference.” Roosevelt’s chin jutted forward pugnaciously. “I say to you that this is rubbish! We represent a society dedicated to the proposition that every free man makes a difference. And I give you my solemn pledge that the Rough Riders will make a difference in the fighting to come!”

  It was possible that his speech wasn’t finished, that he still had more to say…but if he did, it was drowned out beneath the wild and raucous cheering of his men.

  One hour later they boarded the ship to Europe.

  ***

  Roosevelt summoned a corporal and handed him a hand-written letter. The man saluted and left, and Roosevelt returned to his chair in front of his tent. He was about to pick up a book when McCoy approached him.

  “Your daily dispatch to General Pershing?” he asked dryly.

  “Yes,” answered Roosevelt. “I can’t understand what is wrong with the man. Here we are, primed and ready to fight, and he’s kept us well behind the front for the better part of two months!”

  “I know, Colonel.”

  “It just doesn’t make any sense! Doesn’t he know what the Rough Riders did at San Juan Hill?”

  “That was a long time ago, sir,” said McCoy.

  “I tell you, Frank, these men are the elite—the cream of the crop! They weren’t drafted by lottery. Every one of them volunteered, and every one was approved personally by you or by me. Why are we being wasted here? There’s a war to
be won!”

  “Pershing’s got a lot to consider, Colonel,” said McCoy. “He’s got half a million American troops to disperse, he’s got to act in concert with the French and the British, he’s got to consider his lines of supply, he’s…”

  “Don’t patronize me, Frank!” snapped Roosevelt. “We’ve assembled a brilliant fighting machine here, and he’s ignoring us. There has to be a reason. I want to know what it is!”

  McCoy shrugged helplessly. “I have no answer, sir.”

  “Well, I’d better get one soon from Pershing!” muttered Roosevelt. “We didn’t come all this way to help in some mopping-up operation after the battle’s been won.” He stared at the horizon. “There’s a glorious crusade being fought in the name of liberty, and I plan to be a part of it.”

  He continued staring off into the distance long after McCoy had left him.

  ***

  A private approached Roosevelt as the former President was eating lunch with his officers.

  “Dispatch from General Pershing, sir,” said the private, handing him an envelope with a snappy salute.

  “Thank you,” said Roosevelt. He opened the envelope, read the message, and frowned.

  “Bad news, Colonel?” asked McCoy.

  “He says to be patient,” replied Roosevelt. “Patient?” he repeated furiously. “By God, I’ve been patient long enough! Jake —saddle my horse!”

  “What are you going to do, Colonel?” asked one of his lieutenants.

  “I’m going to go meet face-to-face with Pershing,” said Roosevelt, getting to his feet. “This is intolerable!”

  “We don’t even know where he is, sir.”

  “I’ll find him,” replied Roosevelt confidently.

  “You’re more likely to get lost or shot,” said McCoy, the only man who dared to speak to him so bluntly.

  “Runs With Deer! Matupu!” shouted Roosevelt. “Saddle your horses!”

  A burly Indian and a tall Maasai immediately got to their feet and went to the stable area.

  Roosevelt turned back to McCoy. “I’m taking the two best trackers in the regiment. Does that satisfy you, Mr. McCoy?”

  “It does not,” said McCoy. “I’m coming along, too.”

  Roosevelt shook his head. “You’re in command of the regiment in my absence. You’re staying here.”

  “But—”

  “That’s an order,” said Roosevelt firmly.

  “Will you at least take along a squad of sharpshooters, Colonel?” persisted McCoy.

  “Frank, we’re forty miles behind the front, and I’m just going to talk to Pershing, not shoot him.”

  “We don’t even know where the front is,” said McCoy.

  “It’s where we’re not,” said Roosevelt grimly. “And that’s what I’m going to change.”

  He left the mess tent without another word.

  ***

  The first four French villages they passed were deserted, and consisted of nothing but the burnt skeletons of houses and shops. The fifth had two buildings still standing—a manor house and a church—and they had been turned into allied hospitals. Soldiers with missing limbs, soldiers with faces swathed by filthy bandages, soldiers with gaping holes in their bodies lay on cots and floors, shivering in the cold damp air, while an undermanned and harassed medical team did its best to keep them alive.

  Roosevelt stopped long enough to determine General Pershing’s whereabouts, then walked among the wounded to offer words of encouragement while trying to ignore the unmistakable stench of gangrene and the stinging scent of disinfectant. Finally he remounted his horse and joined his two trackers.

  They passed a number of corpses on their way to the front. Most had been plundered of their weapons, and one, laying upon its back, displayed a gruesome, toothless smile.

  “Shameful!” muttered Roosevelt as he looked down at the grinning body.

  “Why?” asked Runs With Deer.

  “It’s obvious that the man had gold teeth, and they have been removed.”

  “It is honorable to take trophies of the enemy,” asserted the Indian.

  “The Germans have never advanced this far south,” said Roosevelt.“This man’s teeth were taken by his companions.” He shook his head. “Shameful!”

  Matupu the Maasai merely shrugged. “Perhaps this is not an honorable war.”

  “We are fighting for an honorable principle,” stated Roosevelt. “That makes it an honorable war.”

  “Then it is an honorable war being waged by dishonorable men,” said Matupu.

  “Do the Maasai not take trophies?” asked Runs With Deer.

  “We take cows and goats and women,” answered Matupu. “We do not plunder the dead.” He paused. “We do not take scalps.”

  “There was a time when we did not, either,” said Runs With Deer. “We were taught to, by the French.”

  “And we are in France now,” said Matupu with some satisfaction, as if everything now made sense to him.

  They dismounted after two more hours and walked their horses for the rest of the day, then spent the night in a bombed-out farmhouse. The next morning they were mounted and riding again, and they came to General Pershing’s field headquarters just before noon. There were thousands of soldiers bustling about, couriers bringing in hourly reports from the trenches, weapons and tanks being dispatched, convoys of trucks filled with food and water slowly working their way into supply lines.

  Roosevelt was stopped a few yards into the camp by a young lieutenant.

  “May I ask your business here, sir?”

  “I’m here to see General Pershing,” answered Roosevelt.

  “Just like that?” said the soldier with a smile.

  “Son,” said Roosevelt, taking off his hat and leaning over the lieutenant, “take a good look at my face.” He paused for a moment. “Now go tell General Pershing that Colonel Roosevelt is here to see him.”

  The lieutenant’s eyes widened. “By God, you are Teddy Roosevelt!” he exclaimed. Suddenly he reached his hand out. “May I shake your hand first, Mr. President? I just want to be able to tell my parents I did it.”

  Roosevelt grinned and took the young man’s hand in his own, then waited astride his horse while the lieutenant went off to Pershing’s quarters. He gazed around the camp: there were ramshackle buildings and ramshackle soldiers, each of which had seen too much action and too little glory. The men’s faces were haggard, their eyes haunted, their bodies stooped with exhaustion. The main paths through the camp had turned to mud, and the constant drizzle brought rust, rot, and disease with an equal lack of Cosmic concern.

  The lieutenant approached Roosevelt, his feet sinking inches into the mud with each step.

  “If you’ll follow me, Mr. President, he’ll see you immediately.”

  “Thank you,” said Roosevelt.

  “Watch yourself, Mr. President,” said the lieutenant as Roosevelt dismounted. “I have a feeling he’s not happy about meeting with you.”

  “He’ll be a damned sight less happy when I’m through with him,” said Roosevelt firmly. He turned to his companions. “See to the needs of the horses.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Runs With Deer. “We’ll be waiting for you right here.”

  “How is the battle going?” Roosevelt asked as he and the lieutenant began walking through the mud toward Pershing’s quarters. “My Rough Riders have been practically incommunicado since we arrived.”

  The lieutenant shrugged. “Who knows? All we hear are rumors. The enemy is retreating, the enemy is advancing, we’ve killed thousands of them, they’ve killed thousands of us. Maybe the General will tell you; he certainly hasn’t seen fit to tell us.”

  They reached the entrance to Pershing’s quarters.

  “I’ll wait here for you, sir,” said the lieutenant.

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?” asked Roosevelt. “You can find some orderly to escort me back if it will be a problem.”

  “No, sir,” said the young man earnestly. “It
’ll be an honor, Mr. President.”

  “Well, thank you, son,” said Roosevelt. He shook the lieutenant’s hand again, then walked through the doorway and found himself facing General John J. Pershing.

  “Good afternoon, Jack,” said Roosevelt, extending his hand.

  Pershing looked at Roosevelt’s outstretched hand for a moment, then took it.

  “Have a seat, Mr. President,” he said, indicating a chair.

  “Thank you,” said Roosevelt, pulling up a chair as Pershing seated himself behind a desk that was covered with maps.

  “I mean no disrespect, Mr. President,” said Pershing, “but exactly who gave you permission to leave your troops and come here?”

  “No one,” answered Roosevelt.

  “Then why did you do it?” asked Pershing. “I’m told you were accompanied only by a red Indian and a black savage. That’s hardly a safe way to travel in a war zone.”

  “I came here to find out why you have consistently refused my requests to have my Rough Riders moved to the front.”

  Pershing lit a cigar and offered one to Roosevelt, who refused it.

  “There are proper channels for such a request,” said the general at last. “You yourself helped create them.”

  “And I have been using them for almost two months, to no avail.”

  Pershing sighed. “I have been a little busy conducting this damned war.”

  “I’m sure you have,” said Roosevelt. “And I have assembled a regiment of the finest fighting men to be found in America, which I am placing at your disposal.”

  “For which I thank you, Mr. President.”

  “I don’t want you to thank me!” snapped Roosevelt. “I want you to unleash me!”

  “When the time is right, your Rough Riders will be brought into the conflict,” said Pershing.

  “When the time is right?” repeated Roosevelt. “Your men are dying like flies! Every village I’ve passed has become a bombed-out ghost town! You needed us two months ago, Jack!”

  “Mr. President, I’ve got half a million men to maneuver. I’ll decide when and where I need your regiment.”

  “When?” persisted Roosevelt.

  “You’ll be the first to know.”