Robert Conroy - 1920 - America's Great War

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, but 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.