Robert Conroy - 1920 - America's Great War

“I pray they will be in time,” said Sims. “But in the name of God, what about poison gas? Could the Germans be barbaric enough to introduce it?”

Poison gas had not been used by either side in the 1914 War, but the Germans had used it in Russia against the Reds. The horrific results had stunned the world and further cast the kaiser in the role of Attila the Hun.

Liggett glared. “When you consider their other atrocities, why not?”

“With respect, sirs,” Luke injected, “I think it’s highly unlikely they’ll introduce gas. The prevailing winds are from the west-northwest, which means they’d likely blow the gas back over the German lines.”

“What a pleasant thought, Luke. Are you a hundred per cent certain of that?” Liggett asked.

“No sir, I’m not. There could always be exceptions. Also, I have no idea how many German casualties the kaiser’s oldest son is willing to accept in order to achieve victory. Having gone this far, however, I think they Germans would be willing to accept enormous casualties to achieve their goals.”

The final bombardment began at first light. The shells landed on the area where Luke and Ike had predicted. Now they could only hope it wasn’t a well-orchestrated feint. There was no corresponding shelling of American positions on von Hutier’s front.

This time, Luke was prudently far back. Still, as before, the ground shuddered and shook. He recalled the feeling of terror he’d had just a few days earlier when the shells rained down on the bunker. Kirsten was already at the hospital and this time she would be helping with the growing influx of wounded. Letter writing and bookkeeping could come later.

“Poor bloody infantry,” said a familiar voice.

“Hello Reggie, and are you supposed to be here?”

“Dashing young correspondents can dash about wherever they wish,” Carville said as he dumped down a suitcase. “And I have a chit from Liggett that says so, and another one from the kaiser himself if I should happen to be picked up by those nice people from Berlin. Just don’t ask how I happened to come by it.”

Overhead, scores of German planes dipped and swooped like gulls skimming the sea. Only they were strafing the trenches and not looking for fish. Or were they, Luke thought. Maybe they were looking for human fish. Gotha bombers dropped their loads from height and succeeded in hitting not much at all. The explosions, however, were impressive, and must have added to the primal fear of the men underneath them.

Reggie laughed. “High-level bombing is very much a work in process.”

“Thank God.”

“Ah, and here comes the infantry, entering stage left.”

As before, waves of Germans flowed out of their trenches and around their own barbed wire. They hadn’t gone far before the American barrage opened up on them, this time with much more intensity than before. There was no longer reason to save shells or hide guns. The American front had been strengthened by troops from other areas. Luke could only hope that neither the crown prince nor General Mackensen realized that the rest of the American line was virtually defenseless.

This time concentrated machine-gun fire came from the Americans and not the Germans, and Luke exulted. Men were dying in great bloody piles, but they were Germans, not Americans.

But the Germans were coming on. More left their trenches and began the inexorable move to reinforce the first wave. Behind them, Luke made out a third wave forming and a fourth. Mackensen had done the same thing Liggett had. All of the German Army was in front of him. He felt the sickening reality that the German weight of numbers and firepower would still prevail. He got up.

“Where to now?” Reggie asked.

“Back to headquarters. Liggett will want to know about this firsthand. What are you going to do?”

Carville smiled, and Luke noticed that his eyes were cold. “Why, I believe I’ll just sit here until the Germans arrive and see if any of them want to be interviewed.”

Admiral Hipper received word of the main infantry attack. He angrily paced the bridge of the Bayern . He was frustrated. The moment of glory was at hand and all he could see was fog, damned bloody fog. He couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. He heard one of the junior officers joking that he had just made an obscene gesture to himself and couldn’t see it. He felt like strangling the little snot.

The German fleet was approximately ten miles off the coast of California and, if his navigators were any good, directly in front of the Golden Gate, the entrance to San Francisco Bay.

But he couldn’t do anything. Not only because of the promise he’d made to the crown prince, but because moving towards the coast would be foolhardy, not brave. And if he managed to ground one or more of his battleships, or God help him, the whole fleet, he and the German Navy would be disgraced for all eternity.

However, he had to do something. The ship moved forward at dead slow, barely moving. The other behemoth battleships crawled slowly as well in response to his orders. They were in line abreast, which meant there was little or no danger of a rear end collision. When—if?—the damned fog lifted, they’d be in position to move quickly. That is, if the minesweepers could clear the channel in enough time.

“Oh,” someone said and the ship was suddenly bathed in wonderful, miraculous sunshine. And straight in front of them was the Golden Gate. Hipper exultantly pounded his fist into the palm of his hand while others clapped and cheered. Not only had the fog lifted, but, thanks to superb navigation, he’d managed to creep close to the American shore without being seen. He laughed. Perhaps fog wasn’t a bad thing after all.

“Send in the minesweepers.”

Hipper gave the order and it was relayed to the small, M-Class minesweepers that had all been built in the previous couple of years. The need for them hadn’t existed until the Royal Navy had sown thousands of mines in the waters off Germany in the 1914 War.

The task of the sixteen knot, 360-ton craft was doubly dangerous. First was their primary purpose—finding and removing mines so the fleet could charge through the channel to the bay. Second, they had to do this while enduring the American shore batteries at nearly point-blank range. Hipper thought all the crews of fifty men on each ship deserved medals.

“They’re doomed,” said Trotha from his position behind him.

Hipper didn’t want to look through his binoculars at what likely to be their destruction. He simply nodded. In a few moments, the American shore batteries opened fire. Near miss shells lifted enormous amounts of water much higher than the puny sweepers as they pushed forward.

Suddenly, one of them disappeared as a shell struck it, causing it to disintegrate in a cloud of splinters and human flesh. Hipper winced and Trotha cursed. Still, the brave little ships attempted to do their duty. They were inside the channel and taking fire from two directions. Now gunfire came from a third direction, as the guns from Alcatraz Island joined in. A second minesweeper was hit, and then a third was turned into a flaming ruin. All the batteries focused on the remaining one. A message blinked from a signal light. Her radio must be gone, Hipper thought. A shell struck her and she too began to sink. The American guns ceased fire. All four brave ships were destroyed, but had they succeeded?

He translated the Morse code from the last mine sweeper—No mines. “Damn them to hell,” Hipper raged. No mines. He had sacrificed four ships and two hundred men for nothing.