Robert Conroy - 1920 - America's Great War

Besides, when the attack succeeded as it would, he would find out firsthand what the Yanks were up to.

George Patton stared in disbelief. It looked as if the entire German Army was coming out of its trenches and awkwardly turning in his direction, their neat formations disintegrating into what resembled a horde. What the hell were they doing? Had they all decided to attack him? That was a crazy thought. They had no idea his force was in front of them. He laughed. No, they had just handed him a grand opportunity.

Patton turned and faced the dozen officers and men who were watching him expectantly. Rank in a mechanized outfit had a way of becoming blurred as men became filthy with dirt and grease. It annoyed the normally immaculate Patton that he again looked like a bum.

He raised a riding crop and yelled, “To your steeds, men. The U.S. Army’s first armored mechanized regiment, or whatever the hell they’re going to call us, is going to roll! Mount up.”

Moments later, fifty formerly British tanks emerged and crossed the American trenches. On their hulls was proudly painted the letters “U.S.A.” and in red, white, and blue respectively. Behind the tanks came close to a hundred armored trucks, each with four light machine guns. Armored trucks had performed poorly for the Germans, but Patton thought they might do better in support of the larger armored vehicles.

A smart-boy engineer had concluded that bullets were more likely to bounce off the trucks’ thin metal plating if the armor was slanted, and damned if tests hadn’t proven the young man right. Of course, tests and combat were hugely different stories. Somebody else had determined that both truck tires and tank treads could be protected a little by hanging woven cables alongside the vehicles. Now we’ll see how it works in the real world, he thought.

Patton was jammed into a modified tank that served as his command vehicle. No way was he going to miss out on the first great attack by tanks in warfare. He only hoped it wouldn’t be the last. His real concerns, however, were the propensity of the beasts to break down and the real difficulty of directing the operation once fighting began. The vehicles would be buttoned up so crews wouldn’t be killed by shrapnel or bullets, which meant that commanders and drivers couldn’t communicate. Wireless radios had been suggested, but they were too cumbersome and fragile for today’s battle. It was something to think about for the future.

The host of German infantry was directly in front of them and only a few hundred yards off. The Germans halted as the metal apparitions lumbered closer. The noise of the tanks’ engines drowned out all but the sound of bullets hitting like small hailstones pattering harmlessly off the tanks’ hulls.

As one, the American guns returned fire, with hundreds, then thousands, of bullets ripping through the massed German ranks. Dead and wounded fell in rows as the tanks moved forward at a sedate ten miles an hour. They could go faster, but why strain the engines or take a chance on bad terrain damaging them? The armored trucks drew alongside the tanks and their guns added to the slaughter.

As they neared the Germans, individual faces, their mouths wide with shock, anger, and terror grew plain. Peering through a firing slit, Patton exulted. “You bastards are going to die. How do you like war now, you Kraut sons of bitches?”

When the tanks were less than a hundred yards away, the Germans began to pull back. Their sergeants and officers tried to maintain discipline, but it didn’t help, as they were cut down with the rest. The American machine guns indiscriminately killed everything in front of them.

The slow retreat disintegrated, becoming first a fast walk, and then a run as the proud German Army fell back in utter disarray. Confused and terrified, soldiers threw away their rifles and packs, and then their helmets. Patton had never seen such a glorious sight. The armored advance continued and he felt the sickening crunch of tank treads grinding over the bodies of the dead and dying. The tank’s engine was not always loud enough to drown out the screams of those being squashed.

Some brave Germans tried to jump on the tanks and fight their way in. A grenade exploding inside a tank would have been catastrophic. This was when the trucks earned their pay. Their light Browning Automatic Rifles swept enemy soldiers from the tanks’ hulls before the Germans could open the hatches and drop in a potato masher grenade. Finally, there were no Germans standing, although a number were crawling and limping away.

Patton paused and opened the hatch. Signalling wildly, he finally got the attention of most of his commanders. He counted noses. Thirty-eight of his mighty beasts remained. He presumed most of the missing had mechanical problems. Better, almost all of the trucks were still with him. The ropes and the slanted armor appeared to have worked.

What to do now? he pondered. The German attack was broken, but there were still many other Germans attacking the American trenches. He could turn to the right and his tanks could attack the German rear and get them between the proverbial rock and the hard place.

Or they could go left and slice into the main German Army’s rear and continue pushing the Krauts backward. A German artillery shell landed nearby and reminded him that one thing he couldn’t do was stay where he was.

Right or left, that was the question. Patton was confident that the fighting to his right would break up. American reinforcements were arriving and he intuitively felt that the German high-water mark had been reached. He could already see men leaving the German forward positions and running back across the corpse-littered field.

“Left,” he ordered, and then because it seemed so appropriate, “Charge!”

Not since the days of antiquity could a general see the entire battlefield. Neither the crown prince nor General Mackensen saw anything other than what was directly in front of them. Their position had been predicated on observing the massive, four-division attack on the American trenches and the decision to switch the focus of the fighting left them with nothing in view.

The two divisions that made up their reserves had marched out, veered right, and disappeared. The sounds of fighting came from both the front and the right. The prince and the general could do nothing but worry while maintaining a facade of aloof indifference. No thought was given to moving the headquarters. That would have taken too much time. The telephone and telegraph lines ended here.

An operator took a call. He turned to the two men, shock on his face. “Sir,” he said to the prince, “there is a report that our men are being attacked by metal monsters that are impervious to bullets and shells.”

“Rubbish,” snapped Mackensen. “Call other units and find out what the devil is going on.” He laughed nervously. “Has someone gotten drunk in the middle of a battle? Monsters? What next?”

The operator did as directed. Moments later, he clarified his report. “Sir, armored vehicles of a strange type along with armored trucks have struck the troops advancing on our right. Our men are suffering heavy casualties and are falling back in great disorder.”

Now it was time to move. Both men left the bunker and climbed to higher ground where they could see at least a good portion of the battlefield. They didn’t like what they saw.

Mackensen and Crown Prince Wilhelm watched in horror as the army was destroyed by a few dozen metal monsters. The pride of the German Army was fleeing in panic. While the actual numbers of dead and wounded would ultimately only amount to a couple of thousand at most, the wounds to the German Army’s morale and pride would be immense and long lasting. After all the time spent campaigning up California, victory was being denied them. His army was confused, defeated and half a world away from home.