Robert Conroy - 1920 - America's Great War

“Makes sense,” Liggett murmured.

Luke looked around and sucked in his breath. In the room were Liggett and Sims, Nolan, and the Army’s two corps commanders, Fox Connor and James Harbord. If successful, an assassination attempt could decapitate the U.S. Army in California.

“How could they know we were all here?” a grim-faced Harbord asked.

“That’s something else to be investigated,” Nolan said. “Maybe they just hoped to get either Liggett or Sims, or both, and the rest would be a bonus.”

“I don’t wish to think of myself as anybody’s bonus,” Connor said to wry chuckles.

Nolan continued. “The problem is we don’t have a clue as to their whereabouts. We called an alert less than an hour ago and they could be anywhere, and that includes on this base. So far, nobody’s seen or heard anything unusual.”

“So what do we do?” asked Sims. “We can’t hide. We all have work to do and a war to run. German patrols are only fifty miles from here and we’re going to need all the time we can get.”

Liggett responded for the harassed Nolan. “For the next day or two, or until we find the Krauts, we have no choice but to stay here in this building under heavy guard. There are no more than four of them and if they are going to try something, it almost has to be soon. Every minute they are out there running around increases their chances of discovery.”

There was a clatter down the hallway and they all jumped. They looked sheepishly at each other as they realized it came from pots and pans clanging together.

“Somebody’s bringing us food,” Liggett said drily, “How wonderful.”

Something clicked in Luke’s mind. A mess hall would be fairly easy to take over by only a handful of people. “Anybody check these people out?” he said as he drew his pistol.

“Damn it to hell,” snarled Nolan. He drew his own pistol and ran into the hallway. The deafening roar of automatic weapons fire greeted him. Nolan fell over, nearly cut in half. A man dressed as a cook stood in the doorway. He had what Luke recognized as an MP18 German submachine gun and began shooting, awkwardly spraying the room. Luke dropped to his knees and shot him in the chest. The impact of the .45 bullet sent him flying backwards. Two more Germans appeared and began wildly firing their own automatic weapons. Now everybody in the room and others outside were shooting. The Germans fell and Liggett yelled cease fire. Then there was silence.

There had been four Germans. Luke had killed one and everybody had shot the two in the doorway, while the fourth had been killed in the hallway, apparently by Ike Eisenhower, who’d come running from his own office with a pistol in his hand. Inside the conference room, a distraught Liggett looked over Nolan’s mangled body. General Connor had taken a bullet in the thigh and the wound was bleeding profusely.

Luke looked around. His smoking pistol was still in his hand. Liggett and Sims were unhurt except for some scratches. Harbord was bleeding from a wound in his arm that didn’t appear serious.

Medics had rushed in and were frantically working to stop the bleeding from General Connor’s leg. The general’s face was ghastly pale. He reached up for something and Luke grabbed his hand. “You’ll be all right, General,” he said, knowing it was a lie. The general was dying. No one could lose that much blood and live.

Connor blinked and seemed to recognize Luke. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. After a couple of minutes more, the medics gave up. The bullet had hit an artery and Fox Connor, a friend and mentor to many young officers, had bled to death.

“Sorry, sir,” the lead medic said to General Liggett, “but his artery was shredded. We couldn’t find a way to stop it.”

Liggett nodded sadly. “You did your best.”

They withdrew to Liggett’s office while the conference room was cleaned up. There were decisions to make and most of them were Liggett’s.

“We lost good friends today, but we still have to continue. We are not unlike a line outfit that just lost a couple of buddies in a skirmish with the enemy. We will not be permitted the luxury of mourning.

“Therefore, I have determined the following. First, General Nolan will be put in for a medal for his heroism in storming that door. Captain Martel, we will do something for you as well, just don’t ask me what.

“Next, we must have replacements. Eisenhower will replace Nolan. For a number of reasons, not the least that you’re far too junior and inexperienced, I cannot promote you, Captain Martel.”

“Understood, sir.” Luke actually felt relief. He didn’t feel qualified to step in for Nolan.

“Good. And what the devil is that you’re playing with, Luke?”

“Sir, I took it off one of the Germans. It’s a German submachine gun, 9mm, Model MP18. This version came with a thirty-two shot magazine which actually might have saved some lives. The thirty-two shot magazine is considered very awkward to use, unlike ones with a twenty-shot magazine, which is much more stable. We may have been lucky that they used the wrong weapon.”

Luke handed the weapon to Liggett who examined it briefly, muttered something, and gave it back.

“To continue, General Cameron will succeed General Connor as corps commander. Other changes will have to be made, but those can wait at least a little while. I also want Mr. Hearst to send a reporter here to view the carnage and let the world know what barbarians the Germans are, not that the Germans care. I am frankly stunned that the German Navy would stoop to murder and assassination. Yes, I know we are all soldiers and, therefore, prime targets, but it is one thing to be shot on a battlefield and quite another to be killed while gathered around a conference table. I didn’t think Admiral Hipper would stoop to that.”

“Perhaps he didn’t,” Sims said.

“Pardon?” said Liggett.

“Gentlemen,” Sims said, “the Office of Naval Intelligence is getting information that neither the German Army nor the German Navy are in total lockstep with their superior officers. In the German Navy in particular, the ship captains are very frustrated that they have been relegated to boring blockade duties, while the Army gets the glory of fighting us.”

“Some glory,” said Harbord.

“Agreed, but the German Navy is the new and junior service, very insecure, and very testy when it comes to getting a slice of the action. Like that stupid attempt to bombard our batteries that cost the Germans a cruiser, this too may have been an independent action by some overaggressive and overzealous junior commander. Gentlemen, they either want to fight us in a glorious fleet action, or get back to Europe and try to entice the British into fighting them in a high-seas battle. The German Navy has to prove its worth to a country that never really had a navy until relatively recently. It may even be possible to use that insecurity to our advantage if we can get the German Navy to do something truly foolish.

“Gentlemen,” Sims continued, “I will contact Admiral Hipper under flag of truce and tell him what his people did. I would bet money that he will issue an apology of sorts and claim that he didn’t know anything about it, which is possibly the truth.”

Luke left shortly after. A flag of truce to complain about shooting an enemy general? What the devil was the world coming to? Joe Flower would have sliced throats or cut off balls, while Luke would have shot every German officer he could.

Josh Cornell ran up. “Where the hell have you been?” Luke asked.

“Sims sent me out to the country to check on something. Jesus, is it as bad as they say?”

“Define bad, Josh,” Luke said grimly. “Connor and Nolan are dead, but Sims and Liggett are fine. There’s still hope for the world, but damn, it hurts.”