Robert Conroy - 1920 - America's Great War

“Hey, Lieutenant, I hear we got a new division commander. Should I be concerned?”

Lieutenant Taylor yawned hugely and stretched out as far as he could in his seat in the passenger car of the slow moving train. “Normally, Sergeant Randall, I would agree that those of us so far down the ladder would have nothing to worry about, but I’ve heard some intriguing things about this Douglas MacArthur character.”

Tim laughed and continued cleaning his Springfield. “I hear character is the really tactful word for him.”

The Twelfth Division had undergone a major reorganization. Gone were the two Marine regiments and with them went General Lejeune. He now commanded a true Marine division of four regiments and was en route to the Mexican border, if he hadn’t already reached it. Two additional and very inexperienced infantry regiments were added to the 12th and so too was a new division commander, Major General Douglas MacArthur.

The Twelfth had managed to cross the Columbia before the water rose and the pontoon bridges were swept away. A trickle of supplies still made it across on motor-powered barges, but it would be a while before large numbers of troops and supplies could cross again. The Twelfth was not the only unit to make it across, but Tim didn’t know just how many other men were now on trains heading for Seattle and then south to San Francisco.

Rumors of the new commanding general had emerged only minutes before MacArthur himself had strolled down the train, speaking briefly to the men. Tim admitted he was impressed. MacArthur was taller than average, lean, and had eyes that pierced you. He was young, maybe forty, and had a deep, dramatic, and compelling voice. He wore a rumpled officer’s hat and Tim guessed it was for effect. Others joked that he couldn’t afford a new one.

“MacArthur’s going to be interesting,” said Taylor. “The man’s an unquestioned genius. He broke almost all academic records at West Point and he reorganized the place as its commandant. He’s also a man of unquestioned personal courage. It’s rumored that he personally gunned down some Mexican bandits during the 1914 incursion at Vera Cruz.”

“Nothing wrong with courage, Lieutenant.”

“Not unless it’s my courage he’s playing with, Sergeant. Keep it under your hat, but the dark side of the rumor mill says he’s a glory hound, and that means he could lead us into some reckless messes.”

“Damn,” said Tim.

The lieutenant’s frank assessment was unusual. Most times officers banded together and presented a wall of silence instead of permitting criticism of a brother officer, but Tim and the lieutenant had been through a lot together in a short time, and an easy relationship had formed. Tim looked out the soot-covered window. Despite the dirt covering the glass, he could see massive stands of snow covered pine trees and deep valleys. Every second took them closer to the front and the likelihood that they’d be fighting first-line German soldiers who would be a lot more lethal than the disorganized and poorly-trained Mexicans they’d whipped outside San Antonio.

“Yeah,” said Taylor. “All I want to do is finish this war and then get back to my daddy’s Wall Street law practice where I can get rich squashing ordinary people like you and driving you further into financial ruin.”

“Jeez, you’re all heart, Lieutenant.”

The Rio Grande. Tovey and his men cheered when the river came into view. Shallow and sandy, it had become a symbol of Texas pride and independence, as had the burned-out hulk that had once been the proud city of Laredo.

Tovey now commanded the First Texas Volunteer Brigade and served alongside the First Marine Division now commanded by General John Lejeune. After the intense fighting at San Antonio, the Marines and the men of the Texas Brigade had formed a bond, one created in blood. Undisciplined though the Texans were, the Marines recognized fighters when they saw them. For their part, the Texans stood in some awe of the thoroughly deadly and totally professional Marines.

As they approached Laredo, they could see the rear of the Mexican Army crossing back to their own country. Rank and file soldiers wondered if the Mexicans had reached sanctuary or if the army would be allowed to pursue. To a man they wanted to chase the Mexicans as far south as they could.

Carefully, soldiers and Marines entered the shattered city of Laredo, looking for booby-traps and snipers. Most buildings were charred hulks and those that hadn’t been burned out were at least badly damaged. The city stank of death. A handful of emaciated dogs emerged from someplace and growled at the approaching Americans. Tovey wondered what they’d been eating. He decided he already knew. The dogs would have to die. A shame. He liked dogs.

Astonishingly, a handful of people remained in Laredo. A few old men and a handful of scraggly women emerged and looked at them with a mixture of relief and uncertainty. The men had hidden in caves and basements, while the women had worked for the Mexicans to pick up a little food by doing their cooking and laundry. Some had doubtless whored for them as well, but Tovey wasn’t in the mood to be judgmental. Let them answer to their God, their neighbors, and maybe the laws of the State of Texas.

Sporadic gunfire kept the men on their toes. Mexican and American snipers sparred with each other from their respective sides of the river. Tovey sprawled behind a ruined wall and took a swallow of brackish water from his canteen. Lejeune dropped down beside him. “Tovey, what do you want to do about the bastards who destroyed this town?”

Tovey grinned wickedly. “Chase the sons of bitches back to the halls of Montezuma, general, and then maybe all the way to the fucking shores of Tripoli.”

Lejuene roared. “Good one. Instead of going that far, why don’t we make a little compromise? Why don’t we just go as far south as Monterrey? That way maybe we can catch that butcher Carranza and cut the German supply route from Vera Cruz to the west.”

Tovey sloshed his parched mouth with what remained of the contents of his canteen. He’d likely have to fill up in the Rio Grande and God only knew who’d been shitting and pissing in that river.

“Great idea,” he said. “When do we go?”

Lejuene looked over the situation. Several battalions had made it to the shallow running river and the Mexican presence across in the town of Ciudad Juarez seemed minimal.

“I’d say there’s no time like the present.”

“Hot damn,” said Tovey. He stood and waved his rifle. “Texans, get off your asses and cross this fucking river! Now, now, now!”

Texans and Marines roared their approval and surged forward, crossing in a rush, with machine guns covering their approach. Mexican resistance, limited already, melted entirely. Within minutes, several thousand Americans were in Ciudad Juarez, Mexican territory.

Lejeune slapped Marcus on the back. “Tovey, your speech was the most inspirational and eloquent I’ve ever heard. You should’ve been a Marine.”

Dwight Eisenhower had always been a quick study, but he found himself overwhelmed by the scope of the job he’d been handed. Through hard work and a sleepless night, however, he felt he had begun to get a handle on the basics.

Ike rubbed his eyes and took a sip of coffee. He winced. It had gotten cold and he couldn’t stand cold coffee. Luke got him another one. “Luke, tell me some things I don’t know.”

Luke grinned. The two of them were alone in Ike’s office, the one that had been Nolan’s. That man’s personal possessions had been taken down and a handful of Ike’s put up. A photo of Mamie Eisenhower smiled proudly at Ike from across his desk, and why shouldn’t she be proud? Her husband had just been promoted to the temporary rank of brigadier general.