* * *
Count Johan von Bernsdorff had been Imperial Germany’s ambassador to the United States for a number of years. Ordinarily, he was a genial man who seemed to attract attention and didn’t care whether or not he scandalized what he considered the sometimes puritanical people of the United States. He was frequently found in the company of women of ill repute and even more frequently overindulged in alcohol. Photos of him with prostitutes had even appeared in newspapers. When the 1914 war had broken out, the British had sought to discredit him by publicizing his personal life, but Bernsdorff had confounded them all. He simply didn’t care and neither did his masters in Berlin.
He was ushered into the Oval Office where the new President of the United States awaited him. He sighed. He’d dealt with Robert Lansing on matters of state in the past and this was not going to be a pleasant meeting.
Lansing directed him to a chair. It wasn’t very comfortable. Bernsdorff was mildly surprised that they were alone. There was not even anyone to take notes. Interesting, he thought. Conversations between two people can always be denied, however frank and candid they might be. Well, he could play that game as well.
Lansing began. “Let me blunt, Count. Before your despicable and dastardly attack on our helpless ships in San Francisco, I was willing to negotiate and publish a fiction that the invasion of California was nothing more than a misguided raid against Mexican rebels. However, your attack on our ships makes it abundantly clear that Germany wants war. Tell me, sir, is all-out war with the United States what Germany desires?”
Bernsdorff felt himself starting to perspire. A shame he had drunk so much champagne the night before, but he didn’t think he’d be permitted to stay in the United States very much longer and wished to enjoy what time was left. One particular prostitute had been particularly creative. A shame he would never see her again.
He took a deep breath. It was time to enlighten President Lansing as to how the world now worked. “With regrets, President Lansing, immediate peace will not occur until you make it happen by acquiescing to our needs. Our goals and those of our ally, Mexico, are far more extensive than simple raids.”
Lansing shoved a piece of paper across his desk. Bernsdorff took it and read it quickly. Lansing glared at him. “Then this, Count, is correct? Assuming it is, your foreign minister, Zimmerman, has countenanced the invasion of my country and the severing of California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas from the United States.”
Bernsdorff didn’t bother to look at it. “It is entirely correct. However, it is up to you whether or not you wish to minimize the damage to the rest of your country. To use your words, you are the one with the power to contain the potential tragedy, not Imperial Germany.”
Lansing was taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“Simply put, sir, Germany is the mightiest nation in the world, stronger than any alliance that can be put against her. Take a look at a world map and what do you see? As a result of the 1914 war and the subsequent treaty brokered by your pathetic predecessor, Woodrow Wilson, the nations of Belgium, Holland, and Luxembourg are now essentially part of the Second Reich, and Germany now controls the channel ports of Cherbourg and Dunkirk. France has been required to discharge the bulk of her army and decommission most of her navy. Without France as an ally, England is helpless to impose her will on anyone. France is a helpless shell and England is impotent on land. Germany now has bases in Mexico, and in what used to be Indo-China. And Ireland, of course, is allied with us since we forced England to grant her full independence.
“Because it serves our interests, we permit Denmark, Switzerland, the Scandinavian countries and a handful of others to pretend they are neutral and independent. Our allies also include the inept but gigantic Austro-Hungarian Empire, the sick but cruel Ottomans, and the chaotic and farcical creation called Italy. Germany and Austria are propping up the Romanovs against revolutionary threats, which means that Russia is now beholden to Germany as well. Your United States is the only remaining power that could possibly pose a threat to future German ambitions and you are now being cut down to size. The Kaiser is getting older and wishes to pass on to his son and to the people of Germany an empire like none the world has ever seen. I would suggest you face reality, Mr. President. Pax Germanica is the order of the day, and your nation will never be more than a second-rate power.”
As Lansing recoiled from Bernsdorff’s words, the German smiled tightly and leaned forward. “Now it is my turn to be even more blunt. In conjunction with Mexican forces, we are seeing to it that property stolen from Mexico is returned to her. That stolen property is, of course, what you refer to as the states of Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico, which the United States ripped from Mexico about sixty years ago. California will become part of Germany. If you allow this absolutely just action by us and Mexico to occur, the remainder of the United States will be left alone. If you resist, your nation will incur the full wrath of the Kaiser’s Reich.”
“Your kaiser is insane.”
Bernsdorff laughed. “Quite possibly, but, as you say, crazy like a fox. The kaiser is totally unlike your saintly and naïve fool President Wilson. By the by, don’t even think of a formal declaration of war. If you do that, the remainder of the German High Seas Fleet will leave German waters and commence the destruction of America’s east coast ports, after, of course, destroying your small navy. Following that, the mighty German Army will invade your east coast at points of its choosing and crush what remains of the United States. The result will be a peace that deprives you of far more than the four states now involved. Sign a peace and you will be able to retain northern California, Oregon, Washington, and the territory of Alaska. Don’t and you will lose them as well, along with God knows what else along the east coast. Perhaps we’ll take Florida and New Orleans.”
Lansing’s face was turning red. “Bernsdorff, have you forgotten the extent to which the United States mobilized in previous wars, such as our Civil War? This is now a nation of more than a hundred million people and they will not stand to have four states taken from her.”
Bernsdorff laughed. “Your people will accept reality. France has had to deal with the loss of Alsace and Lorraine and parts of the Normandy coast, and has survived, although as a bloody mess. Denmark lost Schleswig and Holstein in the last century, and other nations have lost territories as well. Such fluctuations and corrections are the way of the world. Borders are fluid and sophisticated nations, not childlike ones like yours, understand that reality. After all, didn’t you enhance your borders as the expense of Mexico? You are not being asked to like it, merely accept it as reality and move on.
“And as to your population of more than a hundred million, don’t forget that many of them are ethnic Germans who will not support you in a war against us and will likely rise up against you in a second civil war that will totally involve and overwhelm your disreputable little army. You will have a bloodbath within your borders as you try to defend against us. And as to the rest of your population, many of them are immigrants who don’t speak English and can’t even spell America. Did you know, sir, that fully three quarters of the population of New York City is foreign born? No, we are not afraid of your numbers. They are an illusion.”
“Get out of here.”
Bersndorff blinked. “Sir?”
Lansing stood. His face was red with fury. “Get the hell out of here! You attacked innocent people without provocation or warning. Dastardly! You people are cowardly barbarians.”
Bernsdorff stood and walked towards the door of the Oval Office. His dismissal was nothing more than what he expected. He had a message to deliver and had done it. Now he would have to leave a country he rather enjoyed and return to a rather sterile Berlin. A shame, he thought. He would really like to remain and see just what the Americans would do and how they would do it.
He turned. “I will prepare a more diplomatic memorandum than what just transpired between us in privacy. Perhaps it will provide you with some political
shelter.”
Lansing laughed harshly. He was breathing hard and his pulse was racing with anger. “Don’t bother. Thanks to Thomas Edison’s marvelous phonograph, all of what you said was recorded. Copies will be made and sent about the country while transcripts are provided to national and international news services. Your perfidy will be totally public.”
Bernsdorff was shocked. “That is not gentlemanly, sir. Our conversation was between the two of us.”
Lansing stood and wanted to punch the man. “Is a surprise and sneak invasion of another nation a German’s definition of gentlemanly? Once again, get the hell out of my office before I have you thrown out.”
“Since you have chosen this route, President Lansing, a word of warning to the people of California. We will deal fairly and honorably with military prisoners of war, but not with civilians who oppose us. Such Franc-tireurs are nothing but terrorists and will be executed summarily as we did in Belgium and elsewhere. Good day, sir.”
* * *
Martel crawled over the crest of the hill over to where Major George Patton lay peering through binoculars.
“Don’t stand at attention and don’t even think of saluting,” Patton muttered.
“Glad to see you too, Major.”
“Drop it,” Patton said, referring to rank. It was just the two of them. “How’d you get down here so quickly?”
“Another plane. I’m almost getting used to them. The pilot was some lunatic teenager named Lindbergh and I’ll swear he stayed at three feet above the ground to avoid German planes.”
The sound of machine-gun fire interrupted them. They both looked through their binoculars.
“Okay, George, what do you see down there?”
Patton chuckled, “Germans, Germans, and still more Germans. They are moving ever so slowly on San Diego, which they should have taken ten minutes after crossing the border. Hell, it’s only sixteen miles from Mexico.”
An artillery shell screamed in and landed a hundred yards in front of them. Martel winced and Patton laughed. “You afraid, Hammer?”
“Hell, yes.” Patton liked to show off his knowledge of military history by occasionally calling Luke “Hammer.”
Charles—“the Hammer”—Martel had defeated the Moslems at Tours in the eighth century in an epic battle that had stopped the Moslem advance into Europe and possibly changed the course of history. To the best of Luke’s knowledge, he was not descended from the early medieval French warrior, but that didn’t stop Patton from teasing him.
Luke peered through his own binoculars. He saw infantry and lots of it, but no cavalry, and they were all moving very slowly and carefully. He noted the presence of several armored trucks. He thought they would be far more dangerous than cavalry in a modern war. He wondered if Patton agreed with that. Patton was a horse man.
“I can’t believe they’re moving so slowly,” Patton said.
“I can and it’s all your fault.”
“What?”
“One of the prisoners you took was a staff major and needed morphine to dull the pain of his wounds. Of course, I wouldn’t give him any until he talked at length and then I gave him some more and he talked at even greater length.”
Patton laughed, “Luke, you are a class-A shit. I am so proud of you.”
Luke grinned. “Thanks, George. At any rate, he said his division had been told to expect light resistance, but to be careful not to leave their flanks hanging. Apparently, they actually understand how close their win at the Marne in 1914 truly was and don’t want to make the same nearly fatal mistake again. They are more than willing to sacrifice speed to maintain the integrity of their formations. Also, it was understood it would take time to get their army across the rugged and constrained border between California and Mexico and in position to fight. Thus, they were directed to move slowly on the defenses of San Diego.”
Patton snorted, “Defenses of San Diego? What defenses of San Diego are they talking about? The place is absolutely wide open.”
“George, according to their thinking it is inconceivable that a major port like San Diego wouldn’t be protected by major fortifications. The Kraut major said they were to move forward and locate them. He said his senior officers would be stunned when they found out about your attack on their formation since they assumed us stupid Americans would wait in our forts to be attacked and then pulverized. He said your attack proved two things: One, that there is a major American presence in the area, and, two, San Diego would be well defended. Congratulations, George, if the major is correct, you’ve just bought us some time.”
“Jesus.”
“Oh yes. Did your men actually shoot at that German pilot?”
“Hell, yes. Every swinging dick in my command shot at the son of a bitch. And who knows, maybe we even hit him.”
“And what do you think he reported?”
Patton grinned wickedly. “He’s a pilot and all pilots lie like rugs, even the crazy ones and they’re all crazy. He probably said he’d spotted a major American force moving on German positions, and that he bravely attacked it through a hail of bullets and barely escaped with his life.” He laughed. “Hell, I’m even smarter than I thought I was.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Christ, George.”
Another shell crashed into the ground in front of them, close enough for them to feel the vibrations. They didn’t think the Germans were shooting at them. Instead, they were firing at places where they thought American units might be hiding. It was time to leave.
CHAPTER 5
Elise Thompson felt she had the best of both worlds. At nineteen, she was two years out of high school and now a trusted assistant to famed movie producer D.W. Griffith. David Wark Griffith was a Kentuckian who was raised to be a loyal son of the lost Confederacy. Thus, he would never have hired Elise had he known she’d been born in Chicago and moved to Los Angeles when she was twelve. He hated Northerners.
Griffith had made several major motion pictures, including Intolerance and Birth of a Nation. Now he was part of a new company, United Artists, and the future looked good for United Artists and the movie industry, much of which, in the last decade, had moved to the Hollywood section of Los Angeles.
Griffith’s latest epic, and one he hoped would help him recoup that portion of his reputation lost when Intolerance turned out to be an expensive bust, was titled Victory at the Marne. It was going to be Griffith’s salute to the German victory that had changed the world. To him, the Germans were white people, while the French, along with being incompetent and dirty, also were racial mongrels. He felt it was shame that the Brits had gotten caught up with such Gallic rabble, but such is life.
The fifty-five-year-old Griffith’s logic said the world was a better place because of the German victory. Germany and the United States, which to him meant the Union, were natural rivals and he hoped to portray the Germans as the potential saviors of white civilization. Some had condemned Birth of a Nation as racist and he rejected those criticisms. The movie told the truth as he understood it and had been brought up to believe.
To portray the 1914 battle of the Marne with the realism he demanded, trenches had been dug and impressive fortifications built on land fifty miles south and east of Los Angeles. Hundreds of extras wearing German, French, and British uniforms milled around waiting for the climactic battle scenes that were about to be filmed. Dummy cannon and machine guns were everywhere. Elise still wondered just how anyone could believe southern California resembled the interior of France. However, most people were like her and had never seen the interior of France and had nothing with which to compare.
Griffith had heard rumors of fighting between German and American soldiers along the Mexican border, but decided it didn’t concern him at all. Just a border incident, he thought. Whatever was going on was more than a hundred miles away and none of his business.
Elise was exhausted and happy. One other reason she’d gotten a job with Griffith was the fact that she wasn’t an aspiring actress us
ing the clerical job to suck up to him, sometimes literally. She hated the young women who’d spread their legs or open their heavily lipsticked mouths to get a part in a movie. Thank God for real actresses like Mary Pickford and the Gish sisters who didn’t need to do those things. Elise considered herself a good girl, but was not a prude and knew full well where babies came from and what made men happy. She understood it sometimes made women happy, too, but hadn’t yet tried to find out, at least not all that much.
Elise worked hard to not appear pretty. She was short, thin, and not well endowed, which made it fairly easy. Her parents said she was beautiful and she loved them for it, but she knew they were biased. She’d succeeded with Griffith through her intelligence and hard work.
Griffith stood, a megaphone in his hand. “What the devil are those?”
Half a dozen large planes were flying towards them in a rough V-formation, and a score of smaller ones seemed to be escorting the larger ones. Griffith smiled. He knew a golden opportunity when he saw one.
“Get cameras on those magnificent things.” He said and turned to Elise. “Maybe we can use the footage sometime, and, heck, it’s all free.”
The planes flew closer, then they were over the movie-set trenches. Bombs fell and explosions rocked the large movie set, knocking people down and showering them with dirt and debris. Griffith’s jaw dropped as everyone panicked, running in all directions. The smaller planes swooped down and machine guns ripped into the uniformed extras who screamed and fell by the score.
When the cameraman started to bolt, Griffith yelled at him to keep his camera rolling. The man complied for a second and then ran, hurling an obscenity at Griffith. Elise took hold of the camera and aimed it in the general direction of the carnage and began to crank away.
The bombers departed, their deadly gifts given, but the escorts returned for another and equally murderous strafing run. After what seemed an eternity, they too flew away, leaving an unnatural silence that was quickly filled with screams.
1920: America's Great War Page 8
