1920: America's Great War-eARC

by Robert Conroy

  The Nassau was already burning. He swore and pounded his fist on the railing of the bridge. “It cannot be helped, sir,” Canaris said. Hipper was not comforted. Those were good German sailors dying on the battleship.

  Still, she was steaming forward, although at a much slower speed and the Posen was already almost through the channel. Now the other, larger ships, including the Bayern, entered the fray. The thunder of the other ships’ great guns shook the Bayern even though she was a mile away. The American batteries continued to fire, but there were fewer guns and their rate of fire was much slower.

  It was suggested that everyone don earplugs and the men complied. A moment later and the Bayern’s guns joined the others. Despite the earplugs, the sound was deafening. The shock wave almost knocked them over. The firing from the shore ceased. Hipper exulted. In moments they would be in the bay.

  A shell struck the hull of the Bayern, just beneath the bridge. Hipper and others were thrown to the deck, and there were screams from the wounded. Not all the American guns had been silenced, Hipper thought bitterly.

  The damage report came quickly. The damage was negligible. The Bayern’s armor was almost fourteen inches thick. The Americans had nothing on shore that could penetrate it.

  As they entered the bay and began to circle, the American guns facing the inner bay opened up. Again, no surprise. Spies in the city had reported on their position and the German warships quickly pulverized them.

  Canaris grabbed his arm. “Sir,” he said and gestured. The Nassau was burning from stem to stern and the Posen was listing to port and sinking. Hipper cursed the Americans and he silently cursed the kaiser who had sent him only one of the four mighty fifteen-gun ships. Why hadn’t he sent at least one of the Bayern’s sisters and left the old ships like the Nassau and Posen back in Germany?

  The German Navy had paid a heavy price, but they were in San Francisco Bay. The city’s waterfront was burning. Could surrender be far behind? If the army had accomplished half what it had intended to do, the Americans would come crawling as they realized that their position in San Francisco was utterly untenable.

  Better, the future of the German Navy would be golden.

  * * *

  Josh Cornell and the rest of the joint Army-Navy headquarters staff could only stare helplessly as the German warships bulled their way through the channel and into San Francisco Bay.

  So much for our well-laid plans, he thought bitterly. All the digging of fortifications and the dragging of guns through the city had been for naught. The German warships had pounded the American works to dust. Yes, they had badly damaged, perhaps sunk, at least two of the enemy ships, and others had been hurt to varying degrees, but the remainder were now safely ensconced in the bay.

  “Will we surrender?”

  The question came from a Hearst reporter who had managed to attach himself to the group. Both Liggett and Sims glared at him. “Hell no,” Sims said. “I have not yet begun to fight.”

  Liggett shook his head sadly, “Not very original but my sentiments exactly.” He spotted Cornell. “Is Firefly ready to commence?”

  Josh looked at the sky. It was cloudy and gloomy. Twilight would arrive fairly soon. “In a short while, sir.”

  A very young Army private ran up. He was filthy and out of breath. He looked at both Sims and Liggett in confusion. He’d doubtless never seen an admiral or a general and now he had both to contend with.

  “Report to me, son,” Liggett said gently.

  The private took a deep breath. “General Bullard’s respects, sir, but the Krauts have broken through and are only a couple of miles away.”

  * * *

  Joe Flower and Tomas Montoya had taken the freed American prisoners under their wing. They now had another hundred and fifty mouths to feed and shelter. Fortunately, the Germans had squirreled away enough foodstuffs to solve that problem for the foreseeable future. The Germans had also left enough clothing to cover the raggedy prisoners although a few grumbled at having to wear portions of German uniforms. When asked if they preferred going naked, they stopped complaining, although they took steps to ensure they didn’t look too much like German soldiers.

  They had rifles and ammunition enough, again thanks to the German stockpiles, but what they didn’t have was real numbers or a destination. With potentially angry Mexicans to the south and definitely angry Germans to the north, there was no safe place to go. The decision was made to stay put and hope for a rescue, while evading German patrols.

  That the Germans were interested in what was going on in Raleigh was obvious. Small patrols from San Diego scouted the area routinely, but were kept away with only minor skirmishing. Dubbins had been killed in one such fight. Nobody mourned him. Without vengeance as a motive, he’d taken to stealing things from the other Americans.

  No major German force had yet shown up, but they felt it was only a matter of time. To forestall this, they had taken to the hills. It meant sleeping in tents or out of doors, but it might ensure safety. Captain Barnes and his men moved about a mile away and out of sight.

  Flower and Montoya had chosen what they felt was a good defensive position facing west toward German-occupied San Diego. They were on a hill and in the distance they could see the abandoned prison camp. They both were shocked and angry when they suddenly realized that a large force of mounted men had just been spotted approaching from the east. Although too distant to make out specifics, it was clearly a military outfit, but whose? They didn’t ride in a crisp formation like the Germans. They were more like a gaggle of geese, like the Mexicans. Only, they didn’t seem to be Mexicans. At least Flower and Montoya were out of sight. With some irony, they were in the rabbit holes made by the late and unlamented Dubbins when he was spying on the camp.

  “I think we’ve been outflanked, Joe.” Montoya said with dismay in his voice. Only his men and a handful of others were mounted. The freed prisoners were half-trained infantry at best, and men who had not yet regained their full physical strength. If they had to run for it, they’d be caught in a short while and slaughtered.

  “Maybe,” Flower said, “And maybe not.”

  “Please make sense,” Montoya snapped. Even though the two men still had feelings of ethnic enmity, they’d established a working truce. It was either that or chaos.

  They were joined in the hole by Barnes. Below them, the mounted men fanned out and moved easily through the ruins of Raleigh and what had been the American’s prison. They stopped in the center of town where a naked flagpole stood. They watched intently as two men attached a flag and ran it up. The wind snapped it.

  “Jesus Christ,” gasped Flower. His eyes were better and he had the binoculars.

  “What?” chorused Rice and Montoya.

  “It’s the stars and stripes. They’re ours.”

  * * *

  A few minutes later, the two groups had united with much cheering and backslapping. As the ranking officer, Tovey took charge and the others were happy to let him do it. He quickly sent a patrol west to make sure nothing was coming from that direction. As he did, a thought was forming.

  Barnes again pumped his hand. “I gotta ask, General, how did you know we were here?”

  “Thank her,” he said, pointing to where Martina Flores sat on her horse. She took off her wide brimmed hat and waved shyly.

  “Holy hell,” yelled Barnes, “Tina came back. Now’s she’s saved us twice!”

  With that, dozens of cheering former prisoners surrounded Martina and lifted her off her equally startled horse. Sitting her on Barnes’ shoulders, they began parading her around while chanting “Tee-nah! Tee-nah!”

  At first confused, she broke into a wide smile and then happily waved her arms as tears began to stream down her cheeks. Tovey watched in satisfaction as more of her tormented past was purged. After a few moments they put her on the ground where she hugged and kissed a number of them, especially a young man named Sullivan who, Tovey was told, had been her contact with the prisoners.
r />   Finally, she stood beside Tovey and discreetly took his hand, establishing ground rules that very much pleased Tovey.

  “Gentlemen and lady,” Tovey announced. “I have it on good authority that a full U.S. division is about a half day behind us under a nasty Marine general named Lejeune, and that other units are right on his tail. He has wiped out some Krauts who were delaying him and now is riding the rails and making good speed. Therefore, I have a proposal. How many of you want to stay here and wait for him?”

  “What’s your other choice?” asked Montoya.

  “Simple. I don’t think there’s much of anything between us and San Diego but hills. You men can do as you see fit, but I’ve always wanted to see San Diego.”

  * * *

  Tim Randall was part of a confused mass of armed humanity trying to push and shove its way onto ferries. “Tickets, please,” someone yelled in a mock falsetto and the response was a chorus of obscenities.

  Tim, Lieutenant Taylor, and the rest of the company were in the bow of the large, stubby ship. It had been designed to carry railroad cars, not men, and it had no accommodations for them. This was a mixed blessing as they were exposed to the weather, which was calm and clear for the moment, but did give them a view of what they were about to do. The lack of cover also meant that any German plane could see what they were up to and possibly strafe them. Tim hoped that all the German planes were occupied supporting their army.

  Packed elbow to elbow with soldiers, the ferry cast off and slowly churned the water of San Francisco Bay. “I get seasick,” said the same voice that cried out for tickets. “I’m going to puke.” It was followed by more obscenities.

  “My God,” said Taylor, “look where we are again.”

  Douglas MacArthur was in the small cabin, standing behind the captain, and only about fifteen feet away.

  “Maybe we really are his lucky charm,” Tim said.

  But just how lucky were they, he wondered. They could hear explosions in all directions. Most disconcerting was the fact that there was fighting in the Golden Gate channel. Tim envisioned German warships pouring through while the totally unarmed ferry was still in the bay.

  Taylor had heard a messenger explain that MacArthur’s division was to go directly to the city as an unexpectedly heavy attack on it had been launched by some German general named “Hooter.”

  The remaining two divisions that were coming behind them would fill in the trenches to the east of the city and where a major attack by the whole German Army was taking place. MacArthur had commented that the decision to send his men over was the right one. If the city fell to General von Hutier, as MacArthur corrected the pronunciation, then there was no point in continuing the fighting elsewhere.

  About halfway across the bay, Tim saw in horror that a German battleship was emerging through the channel. It was burning and the men cheered. A moment later, they stopped as one of the guns in her secondary battery opened fire on the flotilla of ferries. More guns fired from the burning ship and shells began to land around them. The captain of the ferry announced that he was turning back.

  “The hell you are,” snarled MacArthur, “keep on towards shore. Forget about Fisherman’s Wharf. It’s too dangerous.”

  “So’s going on ahead,” whined the captain. “I’m turning back before you get us all killed. I’m captain of this goddamn ship and what I say goes.”

  MacArthur pulled his .45 automatic, cocked it, and placed it against the ferryman’s head. “If you don’t go on, I will shoot and kill you and your ship will have a dead captain. I’ve killed before and shooting one more sniveling coward won’t matter. If you go on, you at least have a chance at living.”

  Another shell landed near them, showering them all with water. The captain moaned but the ferry kept on.

  An explosion rocked and shook them. A shell had struck another ferry a hundred yards to their right. Men and parts of men were flying through the air while hundreds of soldiers fell into the water. Others jumped in order to flee the sinking craft.

  An aide stared in horror. “General, do we stop and save them?”

  MacArthur’s face showed intense emotional pain. “No. Our duty is to land these men. Then our brave captain here can retrieve the survivors on his way back.”

  A few moments later the first of the remaining ferries hit the docks. Ropes quickly anchored them and officers yelled for the men to get off. They needed no urging. A second German warship had emerged and, although this one too was damaged, it still had working guns.

  Men fell into the water and were helped out by comrades. There was chaos as several thousand soldiers disembarked from ferries that landed wherever they could. Units were mixed and any sense of cohesion was lost. Tim saw an officer pushing his way through the throng towards MacArthur.

  “General,” Luke said as he saluted. He had just arrived from Oakland on an earlier ship and reported to Liggett. “I’m Major Martel from General Liggett’s staff. Your men are needed urgently. The Krauts have broken through and are advancing past the Laguna de la Merced and will be crossing Ocean Avenue. After that they’ve got a straight shot to the Presidio.”

  MacArthur glared at him. “Martel, I have absolutely no idea where the devil those places are. May I assume you can lead us to where General Liggett wants us?”

  “Yes sir. You are needed in great haste.”

  “Then lead on. We will follow you.” To the men around him, he ordered. “Everybody after me! Don’t even think of trying to find your units. Just come.”

  The army surged from the waterfront. When MacArthur felt the men had all cleared the docks, he turned and hollered, “Double time, men, double time. We have Germans to kill.”

  * * *

  Both the crown prince and General Mackensen were frustrated. Two waves of infantry had moved along a narrow front designed to punch their way through the American lines. It hadn’t yet happened. Twenty thousand men were hung up in the American lines and fighting the Yanks tooth and nail. It was clear that American intelligence had divined exactly where the attack would fall and that the Americans had reinforced that area.

  It was also evident that more American defenders were coming down the rail line from Seattle and were beginning to enter the fighting. German planes attempted to strafe them, but American machine guns and the handful of fighters they owned had disrupted this. Gothas had tried to bomb the railway and only confirmed again that it was difficult for them to hit a small target with any degree of accuracy.

  This day would be critical. There had been word that Hutier’s men might have broken through, in which case the city would fall to Germany without a need to defeat the Americans in front of them. Word had also reached them that the fleet was in the bay. Victory was almost theirs.

  Almost, however, was not quite success. The tide could turn against Germany in a hurry. They had to win here as well as in the city to ensure victory. Nothing could be left to chance.

  To further complicate matters, word had been received that a large American force had emerged far in their rear and was threatening San Diego. Even though San Diego was hundreds of miles away, it was a solemn reminder that the United States could field a large army if given enough time. The stubborn defense of San Francisco was also a case in point. Time was running out for the German invasion force. Although the danger was far from immediate, the Americans were getting stronger. He had to finish off the defenders of San Francisco and then send a sufficient force south towards San Diego to defeat the new threat.

  “San Francisco must fall today,” the prince said.

  “Our men are exhausted,” said Mackensen. “They have marched and fought their way up California almost without letup. Granted, the American defenders were less than splendid, but the army is almost worn out.”

  “Almost, General, but they still have one good fight in them, perhaps more. Still, I am not going to squander our limited resources in a meatgrinder operation. No, the two other waves ready to attack will do so immediately, b
ut not into the current arena of fighting. They will swing to our right and attack just to the east of the current fighting. The American lines are denuded of manpower there and will crumble. The American defenders are frozen into place and your two waves will roll through them and catch them in a giant claw.”

  Mackensen was clearly unhappy. “If we attack as you suggest, there will be confusion as units get mixed up.”

  The prince stood stiffly. “I did not make a suggestion, General Mackensen. It was an order and yes, I do understand that problems will ensue. However, they cannot be any larger than losing more men and the attack bogging down where we are.”

  Mackensen came to attention. “Yes, Majesty.”

  The old general would do his utmost although he was wondering just why he’d agreed to come out of a well-deserved retirement. He was going to ask the prince if he knew anything about the strange goings-on in the area of the new attack, but decided against further aggravating a clearly frustrated crown prince.

  Besides, when the attack succeeded as it would, he would find out firsthand what the Yanks were up to.

  * * *

  George Patton stared in disbelief. It looked as if the entire German Army was coming out of its trenches and awkwardly turning in his direction, their neat formations disintegrating into what resembled a horde. What the hell were they doing? Had they all decided to attack him? That was a crazy thought. They had no idea his force was in front of them. He laughed. No, they had just handed him a grand opportunity.

  Patton turned and faced the dozen officers and men who were watching him expectantly. Rank in a mechanized outfit had a way of becoming blurred as men became filthy with dirt and grease. It annoyed the normally immaculate Patton that he again looked like a bum.

  He raised a riding crop and yelled, “To your steeds, men. The U.S. Army’s first armored mechanized regiment, or whatever the hell they’re going to call us, is going to roll! Mount up.”

  Moments later, fifty formerly British tanks emerged and crossed the American trenches. On their hulls was proudly painted the letters “U.S.A.” and in red, white, and blue respectively. Behind the tanks came close to a hundred armored trucks, each with four light machine guns. Armored trucks had performed poorly for the Germans, but Patton thought they might do better in support of the larger armored vehicles.