CHAPTER 3
A few days later, Luke Martel was so exhausted he could hardly stand as General Hunter Liggett read the messages from Washington. They included endorsement letters from Lansing and March along with the actual translated message stating that the Germans were going to invade. A copy of the original German text was included in case anyone on Liggett’s staff wished to question the interpretation.
Liggett was sixty-three, hugely fat and slow moving, which some mistook for mental slowness, or even stupidity. They were wrong. Liggett was a man of great dignity, and a solid general with a keen and lively intellect.
He was also a man of some compassion. “For God’s sake, Lieutenant, sit down.”
“I may fall asleep if I do, sir.”
“I’ll wake you if I need to.”
Two days and two sleepless nights in a series of frail and open biplanes, either rented from civilians or owned by the Signal Corps, had left Martel physically and emotionally drained. Nor had he had a moment to freshen up. He’d been met at the little airstrip outside San Francisco by a corporal driving, of all things, a motorcycle with a side car. More wind in my face, he thought, but this time with the added joy of bugs in my teeth.
A telegram from March to Liggett had directed the general to see to it that Martel be picked up and delivered to him as soon as possible. So, after thousands of miles in an open cockpit in air that was bone-chillingly cold, he had finally arrived in San Francisco and the office of Major General Hunter Liggett.
He was somewhat gratified to find that his innocuous telegram and phone call to Ike and Patton warning them of a sudden storm from the south had been passed on to Uncle Fox and Uncle Hunter as he’d requested.
“I presume you have read this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is that vomit on your uniform?”
“It is, sir. Two days in an airplane with utterly insane pilots will do that and I didn’t always make it over the side when we hit an air pocket or a storm. However, sir, there are parts of several states that have been thoroughly decorated by me, or desecrated if you prefer. The secretary of state and General March said it was urgent and that the full text could not be entrusted to the telegraph.”
Liggett set the messages on his desk. “They were, of course, correct. Are you aware that Lansing is now the president?” Martel was not. It had all transpired while he was in the air.
Liggett lifted his bulk from his chair. “Martel, I want you to go to your quarters, clean up, and get some sleep. After that, you will report here for assignment as God knows what. I have a feeling events are going to begin moving very quickly and we will all need clear heads.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But I do envy you, Martel. I would dearly love to go up in an airplane, but I very much doubt there’s one strong enough to hold me. Now get the hell out of here and come back in a more useful state. And by the way, Uncle Fox and Uncle Hunter commend you on a job well done.”
* * *
The Germans were not the sort of ally Mexican President Venustiano Carranza would have chosen, but then, beggars could not be choosers. He had needed help in the long and bloody civil war fighting the forces of his rival, Alvaro Obregon, and, in return for some small favors, Germany was more than pleased to comply. The Germans arrived, routed Obregon’s forces and imposed a peace of sorts.
Now there were hundreds of thousands of German soldiers, engineers, and businessmen in Mexico, and her ports were choked with German warships and transports. Vera Cruz on the east coast and Mazatlan on the west now played host to powerful German Navy squadrons. Mountains of supplies had been moving westward. German efficiency was both incredible and frightening. The border with the United States was essentially frozen, and foreign travelers, especially Americans, were only allowed access to certain areas of Mexico.
The despised Monroe Doctrine of the equally despised United States was just so much historical rubbish. He had contempt for the arrogance of the U.S. in thinking they could dictate the foreign policy of Mexico and other nations. In his opinion, the Americans felt that way because they were filled with brown-skinned people instead of white.
Carranza’s enemies and some of his friends thought he had made a pact with the devil, and perhaps he had. But Mexico was now united and would be a powerful nation once her lost provinces were returned. He was going to take a tremendous risk, but the rewards would be worth it. Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona would again be part of Mexico. California would belong to Germany and that was an annoyance, but Carranza was pragmatic. At age sixty-one, he was mature enough to know he could not have everything.
A positive side effect would be Carranza’s armies finally crushing the tens of thousands of armed Mexican refugees now in the United States. These were the remnants of Obregon’s forces, and they had to be destroyed in order to ensure Carranza’s view of Mexico’s future. This would be bloody but necessary.
Carranza had just completed a conference with the long-serving ambassador from Berlin, Heinrich von Eckardt, and the details were finalized. The Mexican Army would thrust north towards San Antonio after first taking Laredo. They’d both laughed at the idea of the Alamo falling again, although Carranza had laughed without humor. The damned Texans considered the Alamo a holy place. He would crush its every stone into dust when it was recaptured.
A second, smaller, attack would take Brownsville, while other Mexican units moved into Arizona and New Mexico. The Germans would attack with overwhelming force into California and move as far north as they wished.
Some of the bushy-bearded Carranza’s advisors warned him that Mexico was vulnerable to counterattacks by the Yanquis since Texas was much closer and easier to reach than California. Von Eckardt had soothed Carranza. The Americans would be far more concerned about California. He said there was enmity between Texas and the rest of the United States. Once the American military was crushed in the Pacific, a peace treaty would be signed that would guaranty Mexican sovereignty over her reacquired territories.
And Venustiano Carranzo would a hero to all of Mexico, indeed, all of Central and Latin America.
* * *
Meetings of the farmers, ranchers, and townspeople were often a bore. But this one had taken on an air of urgency. The two dead men discovered by Kirsten Biel hadn’t been the only bodies discovered. Ten others had been found the same day and it was supposed that still more lay rotting somewhere out in the barren land.
The small settlement named Raleigh was located ten miles north of the Mexican border and proudly called itself a town. With feet firmly planted in two centuries, Raleigh had one gas station, two blacksmith shops, and a stable. It also had a city hall, a bank, a small hotel, a couple of stores, and two churches—one Lutheran and one Methodist. A Catholic church that catered mainly to those of Mexican descent was a couple of miles out of town, where the Lutherans and Methodists said it belonged. A railroad line heading north originated in the town, and there was a loading platform, although it had been months since anyone had seen a train.
The name of Raleigh had been chosen by a real estate developer who thought he could get rich attracting Americans to the southern edge of California. The developer had gone broke, but Raleigh remained.
The telephone hadn’t yet reached Raleigh, although there were a couple of ham radio operators. Interior plumbing was considered far more important than the telephone, and even that was in short supply.
Kirsten let her cousin drive the Model T. She could drive better than he, but she knew it would irk him if she insisted. This day she dressed more demurely in a long blue dress. Hemlines were coming up, but why shock the very conservative people of Raleigh? She did tell Leonard that she intended to speak her mind at the meeting if she thought it appropriate. Leonard laughed and wondered aloud just how on earth he could stop her. Ella stayed behind to mind the ranch. Functions like this didn’t interest her, and she didn’t think they should interest Kirsten. Kirsten thought she was afraid of them.
Roy Olson chaired the meeting. As the largest landowner in the area and the unofficial mayor of Raleigh, he felt it was his right and no one disagreed with him. A big man in his late forties, he stood and called for silence.
“Folks, I don’t think anybody’s gonna argue when I say we have a problem that’s getting out of control. The Mexican civil war has spilled over the border and now involves us. We’ve sent letters and telegrams to the Federal government in San Francisco and to Governor Stephens in Sacramento, but they all say they can do nothing about it. Therefore, it’s up to us to do something ourselves before the Carranza forces start attacking us instead of just the refugees. I think it’s only a matter of time before that happens.”
There were nods of agreement. Opinion held that Carranza was a bloodthirsty dictator who’d stop at nothing. “What are you proposing?” he was asked.
“Armed patrols,” Olson said.
Kirsten stood. “And what will they do, Roy? Will they fight Carranza’s army or will they fight the refugees and send them back? And what if Carranza’s Germans decide to help him out?”
Olson flushed. He was used to making pronouncements, not having discussions. “The purpose of the patrols would be to protect our property and our lives, and not to go about fighting anybody unless, of course, attacked. And I don’t think there’s any chance of the Germans coming across the border.”
“How would you organize these patrols?” Kirsten persisted. She didn’t like Olson. With his wealth came arrogance and, worse, he’d tried to make a pass at her at a town social a while ago. The man was single, so there was nothing wrong with him being interested, but he’d grabbed her bottom and squeezed and that offended her. Only her late husband had been permitted that privilege.
“Roy,” Kirsten added, “the patrols would have to be large enough to deter anybody and numerous enough to cover all the ground in the area, and we don’t have the numbers to do that. If we used all our people, we’d never be able to work our farms and ranches.”
Olson grudgingly acknowledged the truth. “I only suggest that we do what we can. I also suggest that we turn our homes into places that can more easily be defended in case the Mexicans get nasty and start raiding. I also would like us to establish means of communication so we can assemble for the common defense. Oh yes, I suggest everyone be packed and prepared to run quickly if things get out of hand.”
Fair enough, thought Kirsten. But how would there be instant communications without telephones or wireless radio? Even if they’d had phone lines, which they didn’t, they could easily be cut. And how long could fortified homes hold out, or where would they run to? There were too many questions and not enough answers.
Further discussion went long into the night. Nothing concrete was resolved and a highly perturbed and frustrated Olson finally adjourned the meeting with the thought that they could convene in a week’s time and hopefully have some alternate and workable suggestions for their mutual defense and safety.
Kirsten and Leonard drove home in silence. It was obvious that their peaceful existence could come unraveled at any time. Perhaps peace was only ever an illusion. Two of the older men at the meeting had fought in the American Civil War and looked distraught at the thought of violence catching up to them again.
She also wondered about Roy Olson. What had he expected them to do? A handful of armed adults could not begin to defend the area around Raleigh as well as their homes. He must have known that. Or did he have some kind of plan that would work to his own advantage? She thought it likely.
Kirsten looked up at the clear, starry sky in which seemingly millions of lights twinkled and danced. Was it an illusion too?
* * *
Ike Eisenhower grinned as he handed Luke a sheet of paper. “Congratulations and very long overdue.”
Now it was Luke’s turn to grin. Not only had he been promoted to first lieutenant, but there was a letter of commendation from General March, endorsed by Connor and Liggett regarding his last intelligence-gathering mission to Mexico. That was a surprise. He’d heard that Connor and Liggett had gotten chastised for his adventure. President Wilson was afraid that such intelligence-gathering efforts would offend the Mexicans and the Germans. He knew he’d been in the clear. After all, he’d just been following orders, but he’d thought the event would just be forgotten and filed away.
“Now that we have a new president,” Ike said, “it looks like we can start doing the things we should have been doing five years ago. And by the way, Patton and I have both been promoted to major so you’ll still have to be nice to us.”
Martel understood. Not only had the other two men been promoted, but they now held field-grade ranks, which were at least a world away from a first lieutenant. The three of them could definitely be friendly, but never friends. At least not until Martel caught up, which was profoundly unlikely.
Ike continued. “Any idea what your next assignment will be? Are you getting any kind of command?”
“Nah, who’d want me?” Luke grinned. “I’m going to be attached to Colonel Nolan.”
“Best place for you. You’ll be right on top of what the Germans and Mexicans are up to.”
Lieutenant Colonel Dennis Nolan, West Point ’96, was Hunter Liggett’s chief intelligence officer, and Luke considered working with him a plum assignment. He hoped it would allow him freedom to ferret out enemy intentions.
“And yourself?” Martel asked Ike.
“Plans, with Connor. Patton has managed himself a billet with the Seventh Cavalry outside of San Diego.”
“I hope this doesn’t mean an end to our seminars with General Connor,” Martel said.
“I hope not, either,” said Ike, “but it just might be that we’ll all be very busy soon when that storm from the south blows in.”
* * *
Robert Lansing wore two hats and neither of them fit very well. Along with being the newly sworn in President of the United States, he was still Secretary of State and had to make a decision. In the absence of a true vice president, the person Lansing appointed to replace himself at State would now become next in line to the presidency; therefore, it behooved him to choose well on two accounts.
So who would be the next secretary of state, he pondered as he paced the Oval Office? He immediately ruled out his predecessor, William Jennings Bryan. The man had not done a good job during peacetime and seemed totally dedicated to peace at any cost. How would he behave when thrust into an unwanted war? Lansing did not want to find out. Even though he was only sixty, Bryan was old beyond his years.
Some had suggested Colonel Edward House, the shadowy eminence grise’ behind Wilson. The title of “colonel” was strictly honorary but he was skilled in foreign policy. Too skilled, Lansing thought. The man’s ego was monumental and he’d be difficult to control.
Other major figures came to mind. Warren Harding of Onio, Wilson’s opponent in the last election, was an obvious choice. Also obvious were his sexual peccadillos that had achieved Olympian levels and cost him the election. The genial Harding would try to screw every woman in every country he went to as Secretary of State. Harding was out.
Harding’s running mate in the recent election, Calvin Coolidge, might make an excellent president but he was too taciturn and shy to be an effective dealer with other countries. General Leonard Wood wanted the presidency, but he was truculent and belligerent, excellent qualities for a general, perhaps even for a president, but not for a secretary of state. Lansing decided he needed his experienced generals in military service at this time.
In his opinion, that left two choices. First was the former Republican candidate for president and former Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, Charles Evans Hughes. Hughes had run against Wilson in 1916. Even though Lansing had run on the Democratic ticket, he thought he could get a Republican of Hughes’ stature approved by the senate.
Hughes had been a favorite for the most recent Republican nomination until the death of his beloved daughter in early 1920. She’d died of tuberculosis at the young age of twenty-eight, and Hughes had withdrawn from consideration as a candidate. His personal grief was too deep to permit him to campaign. But would he be able and willing to be secretary of state in this time of crises?
Lansing’s second choice was current Chief Justice Edward Douglas White, the man who had performed so well in getting Vice President Marshall to step down. However, White was seventy-four, in ill health, and, even though he had once been a Democrat, that was decades ago. It would not be White.
What other choices did that leave? He did not like the idea of tapping someone from Congress or a professional diplomat. Congressmen all seemed to be planning for the next election, and diplomats, in his opinion, had a difficult time making hard choices. More important, the more powerful men in Congress had let it be known that they weren’t much interested in what they perceived as a demotion.
He made his decision. It would be Charles Evans Hughes and damn the torpedoes. He would talk to the man and appeal to his patriotism. Now he could get on with the business at hand, preparing the defense of the United States against the likely German onslaught.
That is, if it could be defended.
* * *
The door to the Oval Office was closed. Only the participants, a small, select group, were inside. There were no secretaries or clerks present and no aides. Lansing wanted no notes taken for a posterity that might consider them fools. He instructed the staff that there should be no interruptions.
Even though Washington was a city of spilled secrets, not even rumors of the pending German incursion had leaked out. Everyone in the nation’s capital was abuzz with talk about Wilson’s death, Marshall’s abdication, and the new and totally unexpected elevation to the presidency of Robert Lansing. As far as the nation was concerned there were no problems with Imperial Germany and the Kaiser. Both Germany and even Mexico were far, far away.
Along with Secretary of War Newton Baker and General Payton March were Naval Secretary Josephus Daniels, and Admiral Robert Coontz, the Chief of Naval Operations.
Lansing called the meeting to order. “I’ll get directly to the point, gentlemen. How do we stop the Germans?”
Daniels looked at him sternly. “You presume they are coming. You have only the word of the British and we all know how they would love to drag us into the next conflict with Germany. And, unless my memory fails me, don’t governments like to begin war during the spring or summer, not in the late fall?”
“Agreed,” said Lansing. It was common knowledge that the British and the French were planning revenge against the Kaiser and desperately wanted the United States as an ally.
“And it is that last shred of doubt that has stopped me from announcing it to the world,” Lansing continued, “along with the fact that such an announcement would precipitate panic and possibly even violence. If we accuse the Kaiser and nothing happens, we look like fools for crying wolf. But let us assume that Zimmerman’s message is true, what can we do? What are our strengths?” He turned to Secretary Baker and then to General March, who shook his head sadly.
“First,” March said, “Mr. Daniels’ concern about campaigning in winter is misplaced. The fighting, if it comes, will take place in southern Texas and southern California. The weather will not be an issue. If anything, campaigning during the winter in southern California will be advantageous.” Daniels nodded, understanding.
“As to the army, it is in terrible shape,” March said. “We have a little more than fifty thousand men on active duty, which is down significantly since the crisis of 1914. Please recall that President Wilson said there would be no more wars; therefore, why have an army? We had a devil of a time fighting the Mexicans in 1916 when Pershing went in after Pancho Villa and his bandits and nothing has changed since then. About half the reserves called to fight in Mexico never even showed up.
“I will add that the fifty thousand we do have are scattered all about the country, the Philippines, Hawaii, and elsewhere. Also, the National Guard and reserves total fewer than a hundred thousand, and they are poorly trained and even more poorly armed.”
Lansing nodded sadly. “And what will the Germans throw at us?”
March glanced at his figures. “Last estimate is fourteen divisions of infantry plus a number of regiments of cavalry, some armored car units and large numbers of artillery, and all will be under the overall command of Crown Prince Wilhelm. Of course, that doesn’t count an equal number of Carranza’s Mexican Army, which is just lusting to cross the border. Against them, General Liggett has three regiments in California. In Texas we have skeleton garrisons at Bliss and Sam Houston.”
Baker injected. “We will begin immediately to strengthen Liggett’s position by adding one regiment from Nevada and another from Oregon. They will go to California under the guise of maneuvers. Still, they will be but a drop in the bucket.”
“Assuming the Germans do invade,” Lansing persisted, “I anticipate large numbers of people volunteering; can they be of assistance?”
March shrugged. “We have almost a million ’03 Springfield rifles and millions of rounds of ammunition stockpiled at the Springfield Armory in Massachusetts, which is nowhere near California or Texas, and getting them to the fronts will be another problem. Nor do we have the artillery or the machine guns, and what we do have is largely obsolescent. I propose that we send a hundred thousand of those rifles to California immediately, along with whatever ammunition is appropriate. Similarly, we should send another hundred thousand to a warehouse in Texas. As to machine guns and cannon, we must strip National Guard units in the east and send what weapons they have to the danger points.”
“Do it,” Lansing said. “And do it sooner than immediately.”
March made a quick note. “Nor will the volunteers be trained, which means they will be slaughtered by the Germans, and perhaps even by the Mexicans. Yes, we will have numbers of men under arms, but to use them without a number of months proper training would be to court catastrophe. And dare I add that we won’t have the officers and sergeants to lead them?”
There was a knock on the door. The newly transferred Mrs. Tuttle and two smiling and well-meaning secretaries entered with coffee, tea, and little cakes. They seemed oblivious to the seriousness of the meeting they’d interrupted and Lansing’s astonished glare. So much for requesting no interruptions, he thought. For a moment he considered strangling her, but, as usual, he realized that she meant well. He looked out the doorway and saw a number of curious faces staring in.
The new president stepped to the doorway and grabbed a couple of Secret Service agents. He told them in no uncertain terms that no one else was to be allowed in and that office workers were to leave the adjacent area. He had no idea if people outside the office could hear their conversations and did not wish to find out.
He returned to his desk, the same one used by Teddy Roosevelt and built from a British warship of the past century. He managed a wan smile. “Shall we have tea and cakes while we discuss war?”
Navy Secretary Daniels made a rare small joke. “At least there’s no alcohol involved.” Josephus Daniels had raised a storm of controversy by banning alcoholic beverages from the Navy’s ships.
Daniels continued. “I must add a piece of information that only now makes sense. About two months ago, a very large German naval squadron left Wilhelmshaven in Germany, and steamed to their base in Cam Ranh Bay, in Indo-Chinese waters recently acquired from France as war booty. Assuming that the German Army does attack, I believe this powerful fleet might just appear off the California coast to assist it. If the Kaiser’s army is to invade on a particular date, the German naval force could easily plan to arrive off our cities on that same date.”
Lansing took a deep breath, “How large a fleet?”
“At least ten modern capital ships and a dozen or so cruisers and destroyers.”
“And our forces are much weaker,” said Admiral Coontz, “And not just in the Pacific.”
A reluctant Coontz had been in charge of enforcing the peace economies mandated by Woodrow Wilson. A number of warships had been decommissioned and were awaiting sale as scrap, and several naval bases had been closed. March added that a number of coastal forts run by the Army’s Coast Artillery Corps were in bad shape. These had been designed to protect major ports but were now mere skeletons. Part of the rationale for closing them was the fact that they were very vulnerable to attack by airplanes. Intelligence said that the Germans had a large but unknown number of fighters and bombers in Mexico, while the US had perhaps a dozen obsolescent British warplanes in California.
Statistically, the United States had the third largest navy in the world, but Germany was far ahead of her in second place. Great Britain’s Royal Navy was alone in first place, but a number of her ships were crewless and rusting in port as a result of peace treaty obligations.
“As of this moment,” Coontz continued, “our entire battle force consists of seven modern battleships and eight older ones. However, only three modern capital ships are at Mare Island on the west coast: the Nevada, Arizona, and Pennsylvania, and only the Arizona is ready for sea. The other two only have skeleton crews and will be obvious targets of the German fleet. The three older ships, the Kansas, Minnesota, and Michigan are already at less than half strength and would be useless in a battle with modern ships should the Germans attack Mare Island. I propose moving them to our base in Puget Sound. The base is far into the narrow waters of the Sound which should protect them. Also, the Sound is jointly held by us and Great Britain, which might deter a German attack.”
Lansing rubbed his eyes. “Then for God’s sake get the Arizona out of harm’s way immediately and get the others underway as quickly as possible along with anything else that can float. Yes, send them north to Puget Sound as soon as you can. I believe we can send ships out to sea without frightening anyone.”
The president stood. Every muscle in his body was tensing and he needed to stretch. “Admiral Coontz, what about the Marine Corps?”
“Approximately fourteen thousand men are scattered all over the world. Some are guarding embassies, some are maintaining discipline on what ships are now active, and others are in a variety of posts. We could likely organize a couple of regiments out of troops currently stateside. I will direct General Lejeune to commence immediately.”
“Jesus wept,” Lansing said. “Is there any good news at all?”
“Yes,” said Baker, smiling grimly, “these little cakes are really quite good.”
* * *
German tourists and travelers were not unusual along the railroad lines that ran east from California. This group of six men had arrived in San Francisco by ship the week before and had arranged train passage to St. Louis and then on to Cincinnati. When asked, they assured the curious that they had families in those cities large German communities and were going to join them.
When asked why they hadn’t landed in New York, they’d explained that they’d been working as civilians at the German naval base in China. Questions were few. Frankly, nobody much cared.
Klaus Wulfram was their leader and a captain in the Imperial German Army. He was an engineer. His specialty was blowing things up, and his hobby was mountain climbing. The others were good climbers and excellent demolitions men as well. After getting his group organized, they proceeded to make a number of purchases: Cold weather clothing, rifles and pistols, ammunition, dynamite and detonator caps, electric wiring, and plungers to set off the dynamite. They purchased these in small amounts and aroused no suspicions.
Away from the coast, they changed their story. Now they were mining engineers headed into the mountains to find leftover traces of gold and other minerals for investors out east. Again, nobody noticed or cared, because it wasn’t at all unusual. People were always looking for unfound remnants of the Gold Rush of 1849, or perhaps even a new mother lode. Local Californians shrugged and smiled at the new treasure hunters, wished them luck, and privately thought they were insane.
One storeowner allowed that there had been a number of young German men coming into California recently. He’d been told that they were students researching the history of Spanish missions. Wulfram had smiled in what he hoped was an engaging manner. He said that California was such a lovely state and had such potential that there might soon be many more Germans entering the area. He did not add that they would be part of the German Army.
After adding horses and mules to their party, the Germans headed east. The weapons they carried excited no curiosity. After all, they were going into the rugged mountains where bad people and the shattered remnants of the Indian community still roamed and wouldn’t hesitate to steal or even kill if they saw weakness.
The Sierra Nevada range was the first they saw. It was impressive but the Rockies beyond awed them with their immensity and their grandeur. Wulfram had seen and climbed the Alps and considered the Rockies to be even more impressive. He ached for the chance to climb these new challenges. The soldier in him recognized the obvious—given the right circumstances, the mountain ranges could be a virtually impregnable barrier to an army advancing from the east. It was his job to begin that process.
Wulfram found it tempting to dwell on the mountains’ majesty, but he had his duty. Where others saw beauty, he saw trestles, bridges, and vulnerability. Only a half dozen rail lines connected California with the rest of the United States and they all ran through the mountain passes that were already filling with snow. His task, and that of the other teams he knew to be searching the other passes, was to destroy those trestles and bridges and sever the connection between California and the rest of the United States.
Whatever they destroyed could be rebuilt but, with the weather turning bad, Wulfram knew that reconstruction would not even begin for a number of months. By that time it would be too late.
As Wulfram and his men headed east through the mountains, they blew up trestles and bridges with cold efficiency. The first was a small bridge that let them test their skills. The explosion was loud and the bridge crumpled and dropped into a creek, a total ruin, as Wulfram’s men cheered. Better, they had used their limited supply of dynamite sparingly and skillfully. Wulfram was not a murderer, so he left a warning in plain sight that the bridge was out. As they continued their work, he continued to leave signs. He hoped the American engineers driving the trains would get the message. He also hoped no train would come from the east without first seeing that something was terribly wrong.
They trekked eastward, destroying bridges and cutting telegraph and telephone lines. The weather was getting steadily worse. Large wet flakes of snow covered the ground, and collected on their hats and coats. Walking was becoming difficult, and the horses were struggling through the deep slop. They were running out of time. Soon they would have to concern themselves with their own survival, and not about any rail lines.
Wulflram was a man with a sense of duty. He needed to make sure he’d done his part in isolating California from the rest of the United States. Before the inevitable happened and they had to give in to the weather, he hoped for a target that would really cripple this particular line through the mountains.
And there it was. He gazed in wonder at a cut made in the side of a mountain to accommodate the tracks and realized the potential for long-term destruction. Where a bridge could be rebuilt, a mountain could not. A new cut would have to be made, carved like this one into the living rock. Certainly not impossible, since the Americans had done it, but definitely an awesome project that would take a considerable amount of time and resources. If the cut was destroyed, it would be a long time before trains came through this section of the mountains.
He placed a good deal of his remaining supply of dynamite into holes drilled below the tracks and into the mountainside. They connected the wiring and retreated to the other side of the steep valley. This would be their last demolition. They would head east and out of the mountains, hopefully to warmer places. His men deserved a respite and so did he.
Wulfram pushed the plunger and a number of explosions erupted in a line along the cut. For a second, nothing seemed to happen; then the entire side of the mountain slide down into the valley. Two hundred yards of track and earth had simply disappeared into the valley below.
He and his men were congratulating themselves when they heard the whistle of a train coming from the east. They stared at each other in surprise and dismay. For safety’s sake they were a couple of hundred yards away from the demolished cut and the intervening terrain was extremely rugged. There was no way they could get to the other side and warn the oncoming train.
The train’s whistle sounded again and this time dramatically closer. Wulfram prayed that it was a freight train, which would lessen the number of innocent lives lost if the engineer couldn’t stop.
It wasn’t. As it rounded the last bend, he saw four passenger cars connected to the coal burning engine and coal car. He was close enough to see people looking out the windows and he swore they were staring at him, damning and accusing him as if they already knew their fate. At nearly the last instant, the engineer saw the danger and slammed on the brakes which let out an obscene screech.
The train shuddered and slowed, and the Germans held their breath, hoping it would stop in time. It almost did. But, slowly, horribly, it reached the break and fell with majestic slowness down into the valley, with the cars tumbling over and over like toys thrown by a demonic child. The sound of the cars crashing and disintegrating was covered by the roar of the of the engine’s boiler exploding. Clouds of white steam and brown clouds of dust surged skyward. Moments later, flames began to flicker from the now silent wreckage.
Wulfram and his men ran down into the valley to rescue as many of the passengers as they could. What they found, however, was a valley strewn with wreckage and mangled corpses. Only a literal handful had survived, and two of those were small children. Wulfram wept as did several of his men.
He gave orders to tap into the telegraph lines and report the “accidental train wreck,” but the lines to the West Coast had already been severed by his men. They sent the message eastward and got a response. Rescuers were on the way, but it would be a long while.
Wulfram made a decision. They would stay with the wreck and the badly injured survivors until rescuers came close enough, then they would head south and try to escape. He didn’t think it would take the Americans very long at all to realize that this was all part of a plan, a pattern.
Wulfram recalled reading that war was hell. He looked at one of the children who stared vacantly at the sky as her life ebbed away. Hell was not the proper word.