1920: America's Great War Read online

  Griffith looked at Elise. She had not stopped cranking the camera, although her face was pale with shock and her actions an automatic response.

  Griffith grabbed the camera from her. “Get in the car.”

  Elise shook herself. The carnage around her was overwhelming. “We have to help these people.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No, but I do know some first aid. I can help.”

  He grabbed her and pushed her into the back seat. “I need you and the film you took more then those people need you putting a bandage on them. Look, they’re already being taken care of.”

  Still numb from the horror, Elise agreed. Incredibly enough, there were far more survivors than casualties, and every injured person seemed to have at least one or two persons performing first aid on them.

  Griffith dumped the camera and its precious film in the trunk and jumped in the front seat with his driver. “We are going back to Hollywood as fast as we can to get that film developed. Then we’re going to run up to either San Francisco or Sacramento and see what the government thinks of this.”

  * * *

  Only a couple of days after the invasion, Kirsten became the de facto leader of a small but growing group of friends, relatives, and neighbors. Several other ranchers, remembering the decision to gather at her place, had shown up with their families and there was now a small tent village in the hills near Raleigh.

  The Germans had swept through the area, taking whatever they wanted. It wasn’t quite looting, since they were generally disciplined enough to take only those things they needed, and high on the list was food. They’d herded away all her cattle, at least all they could find, and emptied storage sites. They’d even left receipts which would doubtless prove worthless.

  The disciplined behavior of most of the Germans contrasted sharply with the ones who had burned her home and raped her cousin. The difference was simple: do not resist and you will be left alone. Resist and you will suffer terribly.

  Kirsten had come to the realization that the others in her group, both men and women, were looking to her for leadership. Was it because they were on her property, or was it some other reason?

  Still, the leadership role was collaborative. They discussed matters well into the night and came to collective decisions. First, they would do nothing to antagonize the Germans. That lesson had been learned. Second, they would gather enough food to keep everyone fed and try not to attract attention. There were seven men, five women, and six children to care for. Several said they would head north as soon as they felt the situation was safe enough. Of course, nobody had any idea just when that might be.

  From a position on a hill, Kirsten could make out long lines of soldiers, infantry this time, snaking north and west. Their obvious target was San Diego. San Diego was the largest city in this area of Southern California and possessed a pretty good harbor that would be useful to the Germans if they planned to stay. And it looked very much like they planned on sticking around.

  She and several others were angry enough to want to strike back, but how? They wouldn’t stand a chance taking on German regulars, so what were they to do?

  First, they had to get the children and the women who wanted to leave to a place of safety. Then the remainder had to realize that the only place they could strike back at the Germans was their supplies. But what would the Germans do if she or anyone in her group tried to destroy supplies or damage roads? In 1914, the papers reported that the Germans had behaved hideously in Belgium and northern France. They’d blown up cities, executed hostages or shipped men off to work camps in reprisal for guerilla attacks, and in some cases, for no good reason at all. They papers had implied mass rapes and even the killing of babies by impaling them on bayonets, and Kirsten now believed it was possible. Would they do the same to Americans? Of course they would. Ella still hadn’t moved or said anything. Maria had managed to get clothes on her, and food and water in her, but her eyes were still blank. She remained in her own dark world.

  A deep growling sound alerted her to the fact that several German airplanes were above her. She felt naked and helpless. Where were the American planes? She remained still. Even if the enemy pilots were looking, they were unlikely to notice her if she remained motionless. She’d hunted often enough to know that movement attracted attention and, if she stayed unmoving, she could hide in plain sight.

  The planes passed from view, but the columns of German soldiers continued. How many of them were there, she wondered?

  And where the hell were our American soldiers?

  * * *

  The film flickered on the sheet that served as a movie screen. Much of it was of poor quality but all of it was utterly horrible in its content. It showed German planes dropping their deadly load on hundreds of movie extras. It showed the victims being blown to pieces and later being strafed by escorting fighters.

  The viewing only took a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. Ensign Josh Cornell leaned on his crutches and wished he’d asked for permission to sit down. Admiral Sims would have permitted it quickly, but the man had to be asked. He had so much on his plate, it was ridiculous to think he’d recall that his newest and very junior aide had just survived the sinking of his ship, and been pulled from the ocean with an injured leg, along with multiple cuts and bruises. He looked as if he’d gone fifteen rounds with Jack Dempsey and lost every one of them.

  Fortunately, the leg wasn’t broken. His knee had been dislocated and the doctors said he’d be just fine in a couple of weeks or maybe a couple of months. In the meantime, sea duty was out of the question and Josh had been tapped to serve on the newly arrived Sims’ staff for the simple reason that there wasn’t any other place for him.

  The admiral was receiving praise for saving the bulk of the fleet from destruction by the Germans. He’d managed to save the three newer and larger battleships and most of the smaller warships. They were now more or less safely ensconced in Puget Sound, close to Seattle.

  The lights were switched on and Josh caught D.W. Griffith’s young female assistant looking at him. He felt like saying “boo” to see if his appearance scared her. He recalled Griffith saying she had actually taken some of the pictures when the regular cameraman quite understandably ran away. She looked quiet and plain, but on second thought, not all that plain and she was certainly intelligent looking. He smiled at her and she blinked and seemed to smile in return. At least he hoped it looked like she’d smiled.

  General Liggett and Admiral Sims sized up the moment. Finally, since it was Sims’ office, he spoke first. “Mr. Griffith and Miss Thompson, thank you for bringing this to our attention. We will attempt to send it on to Washington and you will be given the proper recognition for what were obviously heroic efforts. It is ironic in the extreme that the Germans apparently mistook your movie set for a defensive work and bombed it. Although, I somehow don’t believe the dead and wounded think it ironic at all.”

  Liggett nodded agreement. “And we’re particularly impressed by Miss Thompson’s bravery in continuing to take pictures.”

  Elise flushed. “I think I was too scared to even realize what I was doing.”

  “Mr. Griffith,” Liggett continued, “you have a reputation as a businessman, what do you want out of this?”

  Griffith nodded and half bowed. “I wish the honor and privilege of continuing to film the war. When the time comes, I will make more than enough money out of those efforts.”

  Sims and Liggett looked quickly at each other. Griffith would surely find a way to make some money out of his films, which made his comment a little crass, but did it matter?

  Liggett spoke for the two commanders, “Done. However, you must not do anything to endanger American soldiers and sailors and you must never betray anything we say without permission. Everything must be kept secret. Of course, you must also stay out of our way.”

  “Agreed.”

  Liggett rose. “Unfortunately, the films you took, while dramatic and histori
cal, are of little strategic or tactical value. Still, they will show the world what we’re up against.”

  “The film can be edited to look even more dramatic,” Elise found herself saying. “I would especially recommend editing out those extras dressed in German uniforms. It might be difficult to explain them to viewers in New York and elsewhere.”

  Both Sims and Liggett chuckled. “Indeed it would, Miss Thompson,” Sims said. “Not only are you brave, but you think clearly, a fairly rare commodity. Perhaps you would consider leaving Mr. Griffith for a similar position with me?”

  Griffith laughed. “She would, but she has too much of a future with me.”

  Elise glared at him. How dare he speak for her? She was still perturbed at him for not letting her care for the injured. “I’d be honored to work for you, Admiral. When would you wish me to start?”

  Sims smiled broadly. He had barely begun to gather a staff for his newly created position and needed all the qualified help he could get. “Yesterday would have been nice.”

  “Elise, I thought you worked for me,” Griffith lamented.

  “Mr. Griffith, haven’t you noticed there’s a war on? Frankly, I think that’s far more important than taking movies.”

  Josh leaned against a wall. Elise? What a lovely name. And she was going to be working for the admiral. How wonderful. And now his leg didn’t hurt quite as much.

  * * *

  When his father died, he would be crowned Kaiser Wilhelm III. For now, he was the Crown Prince and he wished his father a long and happy life. He also wished his army would move a lot faster. The thirty-eight-year-old general knew he’d been given command of these armies, collectively known as “Army Group Crown Prince,” because of his royal heritage. Despite that implicit handicap, he’d worked hard and studied intensely to make himself a good general and a good leader, and he had largely succeeded. He was a professional and would not make mistakes.

  Even though it was frustrating, he accepted that armies sometimes moved with maddening slowness, in particular over difficult terrain and when looking for an enemy that wasn’t visible but might pop up at any time. The crown prince also knew von Moltke the Elder’s dictum that even the most careful and well thought out plans fell apart when an attempt was made to implement them. So be it. It was sometimes referred to as the “fog of war.”

  The prince had divided his forces into three very unequal prongs. In the east, along the Texas border, it was virtually an all-Mexican show. They wanted Texas back and they could have it. Already swarms of less than well trained Mexican soldiers were streaming into Brownsville and Laredo. Good, he thought. It would keep them out of his hair. He had little respect for Mexican President Carranza and even less respect for Carranza’s army. In the crown prince’s opinion, Texas was a sideshow, intended to siphon off American responses while the conquest of California took center stage.

  Thus, the remaining two prongs were given over to California. Planning and execution of the invasion of California were handicapped by the miserable terrain south of the American border. The Mexican border to the west was interrupted by the Sea of California and the wastelands of the Baja Peninsula; there was absolutely no good place for a large army to assemble on the Mexican side. There was plenty of land but it was barren and there were few decent roads and no trains. Bringing in food and ammunition could only be done with great difficulty. He’d managed to get a brigade of two infantry regiments and one detachment of cavalry assembled at the squalid Mexican city of Tijuana, but that was all the area could support. That brigade was now moving cautiously northward towards San Diego. Too cautiously, in the prince’s opinion. Despite some nibbling attacks, it was beginning to appear that the intelligence they’d garnered was incredible but correct—there was no significant American military presence in and around San Diego. German airmen had attacked what might have been a belated attempt to build some defenses near Los Angeles, but there was much that was puzzling about that incident.

  Geography dictated that the main German thrust come from the south and east of the California coast. German forces were massed south of the border near the town of Mexicali. They had begun to cross the border and advance patrols had penetrated a number of miles. Better, they had connected with the railroad line from Yuma to San Diego. This would facilitate the movement of troops over the low mountains that shielded San Diego. Both the army and the navy needed a port to gather supplies, and taking San Diego was an admirable solution.

  The crown prince was also thrilled to be out of Mexico. It was a stinking island of corruption in a sea of incompetence. The Mexican Army was a joke, and the Mexican government a prime example of brutal incompetence and criminality. It galled him to have to pretend to accept that packet of filth named Carranza as a head of state. The crown prince’s father was a true head of state. His father was the head of a vast empire as were the others in his extended family, such as the Czar of Russia and the King of England. Mexico was a joke in comparison. And when the United States was defeated, Imperial Germany would truly be the only major power in the world and perhaps Germany’s Second Reich would indeed last for a thousand years, just like the First Reich.

  The prince and his staff frequently wondered just why the French had tried to establish an empire in Mexico sixty years earlier and, more important, just how had the wretched little brown people managed to defeat the French? The few Mexican Army detachments he’d included in his assault on California would function as rear echelon guards and supply soldiers, providing they didn’t steal too much. They would also serve as cannon fodder, he decided mirthlessly, should such situations arise. He would not waste the lives of good German soldiers. Mexicans were another matter entirely.

  The German armies would advance north and west into California, after first ensuring that the army was entirely over the border, in proper position, and with sufficient supplies. While he agreed that there would be minimal defense from the Americans, he didn’t feel like handing them even a small victory on a platter. The ambush of that probing cavalry force was still on his mind. If the cavalry commander hadn’t been killed, he would have been court-martialed for stupidity. According to the German embassy in Mexico City, the American press was making much ado about what the crown prince thought wasn’t even worthy of being called a skirmish.

  There were other differences between Mexico and the United States. For instance, the signs in the United States were in English, which he could read, instead of Spanish, which he couldn’t. Also, the homes and businesses were neater and more prosperous looking, and why not? As much as he disliked the citizens of the United States, they were far preferable to the dirty and illiterate people of Mexico.

  He hoped he and his army would never have to return south of the border, except, perhaps, for a victory parade or a well-deserved vacation. Both he and his father knew how close Germany had come to defeat along the Marne River near Paris in September of 1914. The German Army had suffered grievously in a bloodbath of monumental proportions that was all the more terrible because it was so unexpected. The ability of modern weapons to slaughter soldiers had been horribly underestimated.

  Before the 1914 war was completely over, German armies had suffered nearly six hundred thousand casualties. He shuddered. A hundred thousand casualties a month could not be sustained by any nation. Therefore, there would never again be a war on the European continent between the major nations. Modern killing was just too efficient. Such sustained losses might also result in a revolution, such as the ones that were ripping apart the Russian and the Ottoman empires.

  Therefore, Germany would seek its conquests elsewhere. First had been Mexico and now California. It had taken four years of planning and action to initially bring in a small force to Mexico, have it accepted by the pliant Wilson, and then enlarge it with every ship that docked. Now the man who would be Kaiser Wilhelm III had an invasion force of a quarter of a million that, once they got organized and onto California soil, would advance inexorably and take San Franci
sco. It would be the final and crowning jewel in the reign of his father.

  The kaiser, the prince, and his generals all vowed never again to repeat the mistakes of 1914. The prince would not divide his forces. He would not allow his generals to ignore or disobey orders. He would insist on constant communications between his units, unlike the way the kaiser’s generals operated in 1914. They would use telephone, telegraph, couriers, and pigeons if necessary to maintain contact.

  Nor would he take the Americans for granted. Even though it seemed that there was little in the way of organized resistance, the crown prince recalled just how desperately the French had fought before finally collapsing. The prince would also ensure that his forces had the bulk of their supplies within reach before advancing. That might mean a slower advance than the generals in Berlin, including his father, might wish, but it was the prudent way to conquer.

  Finally, the army had learned its lesson. There would no longer be attacks by massed ranks of infantry. The Americans might not have the large numbers of machine guns and artillery that his Germany Army had, but what weapons they did have could prove deadly. His force was limited in size and reinforcing it would be difficult; therefore, he would not waste lives.

  Artillery rumbled in the distance and the crown prince cursed. He’d told his generals to fire only at viable targets and not to just shoot an area because it looked suspicious. They could not squander precious supplies shooting at shadows.

  More artillery thundered and the prince swore again.

  He heard the sound of a train whistle and grinned, his good humor returned. He urged his horse over a low rise to where he could see a long train on the tracks and it was headed west. He thanked God that the United States had such a fine railroad system. Not as good as Germany’s, of course, but very good indeed when the great size of the United States was considered. When he’d realized that it was nearly three thousand miles from San Francisco to Washington, he’d been aghast. But now he and his army could move over the smallish mountains and into San Diego without further delay. Some of the men on the train saw him and waved. He laughed and waved back. The world was good. And it was becoming a German world. Pax Germanica.