Robert Conroy - 1920 - America's Great War

From several miles away, Kirsten and Elise watched as shells splashed in the water and sent geysers skyward. It was morbidly beautiful.

“Today the bridge, tomorrow the city,” Kirsten murmured and Elise nodded solemn agreement.

“I guess I never realized we were so vulnerable,” Elise said. “With the exception of the attack on that movie production site, war was always so far away. I watched others plan, but never watched it in action. Even the bombings and shellings seemed like aberrations that would stop and go away.”

“I know. When I see those poor boys in the hospital, I don’t particularly think of them as having come from down the road. Perhaps from another world, but not someplace nearby.”

The number of casualties had diminished, if only for a while, and exhausted medical personnel and volunteers like Kirsten had been given blessed relief from their sometimes terrible duties.

Kirsten looked up suddenly. “I just realized something. Tell me, do you see any trains crossing?”

“No.”

“And you won’t. The Germans don’t actually have to hit the bridge to stop train traffic; all they have to do is come close.”

Elise shook her head. She ached to see Josh and herself safe and out of San Francisco. “So we’re cut off, aren’t we?”

“Not quite. There will still be barges and other ships crossing the bay to the city proper, but a major link has indeed been severed. And that means the Germans have won another round, damn them to hell.”

President Lansing and Secretary of State Hughes beamed. “Ambassador Grey, what a pleasure. Come in and please sit down.”

Grey sat on a couch and Lansing sat across from him. Hughes took a chair behind Lansing. A clearly flustered Mrs. Tuttle entered with tea, coffee, and cookies. “Now, sir, to what do I owe the honor of your visit?” inquired Lansing.

Grey sighed dramatically. “I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad tidings. His Imperial majesty, Kaiser Wilhelm, is protesting the loose manner in which both Canada and the United States are paying attention to the integrity of their respective borders.”

“Oh dear, dear me,” said the president.

“Indeed. The kaiser now has information that military goods are being shipped from Canada and into the United States via rail to Seattle.”

“I’m shocked, devastated. Please have a cookie.”

“Thank you, and my compliments to Mrs. Tuttle.”

“I believe she has a crush on you.”

Grey smiled. “Ah, and who can blame her. Now, as to the border, our foreign office has informed the kaiser that our border agents are checking what comes into Canada, and are not particularly interested in what goes out, in this case to the United States. The task of checking what goes into the United States belongs to the United States. We told him we sincerely doubted you Americans would voluntarily halt the flow of badly needed war materiel to your country.”

“Did he take it well?”

“Actually, no. He called us duplicitous liars and closet allies of America.”

“The nerve of the man, calling you duplicitous after he’s invaded France, Belgium, and the United States, among other places.”

Grey continued with additional mock solemnity. “They have further informed us that they have reasons to suspect that American merchant ships are running their Puget Sound blockade by flying British flags and carrying false manifests. The Germans are aware that Admiral Beatty has told British merchant captains that, under no circumstances, may Germans board and inspect our ships and we’ve informed the Germans that such would constitute piracy or something like that. They are not concerned about our feelings, but they are worried by us Brits. Beatty has told them they may check manifests, but from a small boat alongside the merchant, and that is all. The Hun right now respects that because he does not wish to risk another war with Great Britain. At least, not yet.”

Lansing nodded solemnly and glanced at Hughes who maintained a good poker face. It had taken too much time for someone to come up with the scheme. British-flagged ships were now loaded with war material at either Boston, New York, or, with the strange Italian Golitti’s assistance, in Lisbon. They transited the Panama Canal, still solidly in American hands, and sailed insolently up the Pacific to Puget Sound and Seattle where they offloaded and returned. So far more than a score of ships had made the journey, and others were en route. If the output of America’s factories could not be sent overland, they would go by sea.

The first ships had unloaded fourteen inch shells for the Nevada , which was now ready to attack the smaller German ships still blockading the Sound. Other ships brought artillery, machine guns, and ammunition. If Lansing recalled correctly, half a hundred crated airplanes had also been unloaded. Their pilots had traveled the land route as Canadian citizens and simply crossed the border without incident. The planes were now being assembled under the direction of an officer named Mitchell.

Lord Grey smiled. The president’s mind was easy to read. “I am concerned, Mr. Lansing, that the Germans will grow impatient and do something rash like searching a British flagged ship and then finding contraband in its hold. That would be quite embarrassing. What would we do? Would we scold the Germans for violating the sanctity of the British flag, however fraudulent its use, or would we chastise you for using our flag for immoral purposes?” Grey sighed expansively. “I just don’t know what we will do. Are there any more cookies?”

Hughes passed a new tray. “I believe Mrs. Tuttle would marry you if she could.”

“If only for the cookies, I might take her up on it. Family might not approve, however. Where were we?”

“Your options,” said Lansing.

“Yes. Indeed. Should a ship be found carrying contraband, we would profess shock and dismay that it occurred, and tell the kaiser that we will work diligently to ensure that it doesn’t happen again. We would ask for and get an apology from you for your actions.”

Lansing smiled wickedly. “I will write it now if you’d like.”

Twenty feet below ground in a dimly lit man-made cavern, Luke felt the earth tremble from the massive explosions. It felt as if the Germans were trying to destroy all life on the earth. He was beyond fear. He was terrified. He could die at any moment, and the thought made him want to whimper. How the hell did people endure it? Because they had to, was the only answer.

A real question might be what the devil made him volunteer to come to the front for information at just the time the Germans were launching another offensive. During the previous assault, he’d been a spectator and off to the side. This time he was right in the middle of the titanic battle.

Some of the other soldiers in the bunker looked to him for leadership. The cement roof above them vibrated and quivered. Martel saw the fear on their faces and hoped it wasn’t reflected on his own. The air in the bunker was clammy and some of the men felt weak from the poor circulation, but at least it was safe. Some fools even smoked cigarettes, which further fouled air that was already ripe with the smell of urine, sweat, shit, and fear.

They might be relatively secure in the well-constructed bunker, but they would soon have to emerge to a new and frightening surface where they would confront the prospect of horrible and violent death.

Dust trickled down from the ceiling and covered them all with a light film as enemy shells hit above them. The soldiers, Luke included, were lucky; they had helmets that kept their heads reasonably clean. Small pieces of debris patted like raindrops on their helmets.