CHAPTER 5
Elise Thompson felt she had the best of both worlds. At nineteen, she was two years out of high school and now a trusted assistant to famed movie producer D.W. Griffith. David Wark Griffith was a Kentuckian who was raised to be a loyal son of the lost Confederacy. Thus, he would never have hired Elise had he known she’d been born in Chicago and moved to Los Angeles when she was twelve. He hated Northerners.
Griffith had made several major motion pictures, including Intolerance and Birth of a Nation. Now he was part of a new company, United Artists, and the future looked good for United Artists and the movie industry, much of which, in the last decade, had moved to the Hollywood section of Los Angeles.
Griffith’s latest epic, and one he hoped would help him recoup that portion of his reputation lost when Intolerance turned out to be an expensive bust, was titled Victory at the Marne. It was going to be Griffith’s salute to the German victory that had changed the world. To him, the Germans were white people, while the French, along with being incompetent and dirty, also were racial mongrels. He felt it was shame that the Brits had gotten caught up with such Gallic rabble, but such is life.
The fifty-five-year-old Griffith’s logic said the world was a better place because of the German victory. Germany and the United States, which to him meant the Union, were natural rivals and he hoped to portray the Germans as the potential saviors of white civilization. Some had condemned Birth of a Nation as racist and he rejected those criticisms. The movie told the truth as he understood it and had been brought up to believe.
To portray the 1914 battle of the Marne with the realism he demanded, trenches had been dug and impressive fortifications built on land fifty miles south and east of Los Angeles. Hundreds of extras wearing German, French, and British uniforms milled around waiting for the climactic battle scenes that were about to be filmed. Dummy cannon and machine guns were everywhere. Elise still wondered just how anyone could believe southern California resembled the interior of France. However, most people were like her and had never seen the interior of France and had nothing with which to compare.
Griffith had heard rumors of fighting between German and American soldiers along the Mexican border, but decided it didn’t concern him at all. Just a border incident, he thought. Whatever was going on was more than a hundred miles away and none of his business.
Elise was exhausted and happy. One other reason she’d gotten a job with Griffith was the fact that she wasn’t an aspiring actress using the clerical job to suck up to him, sometimes literally. She hated the young women who’d spread their legs or open their heavily lipsticked mouths to get a part in a movie. Thank God for real actresses like Mary Pickford and the Gish sisters who didn’t need to do those things. Elise considered herself a good girl, but was not a prude and knew full well where babies came from and what made men happy. She understood it sometimes made women happy, too, but hadn’t yet tried to find out, at least not all that much.
Elise worked hard to not appear pretty. She was short, thin, and not well endowed, which made it fairly easy. Her parents said she was beautiful and she loved them for it, but she knew they were biased. She’d succeeded with Griffith through her intelligence and hard work.
Griffith stood, a megaphone in his hand. “What the devil are those?”
Half a dozen large planes were flying towards them in a rough V-formation, and a score of smaller ones seemed to be escorting the larger ones. Griffith smiled. He knew a golden opportunity when he saw one.
“Get cameras on those magnificent things.” He said and turned to Elise. “Maybe we can use the footage sometime, and, heck, it’s all free.”
The planes flew closer, then they were over the movie-set trenches. Bombs fell and explosions rocked the large movie set, knocking people down and showering them with dirt and debris. Griffith’s jaw dropped as everyone panicked, running in all directions. The smaller planes swooped down and machine guns ripped into the uniformed extras who screamed and fell by the score.
When the cameraman started to bolt, Griffith yelled at him to keep his camera rolling. The man complied for a second and then ran, hurling an obscenity at Griffith. Elise took hold of the camera and aimed it in the general direction of the carnage and began to crank away.
The bombers departed, their deadly gifts given, but the escorts returned for another and equally murderous strafing run. After what seemed an eternity, they too flew away, leaving an unnatural silence that was quickly filled with screams.
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 historical, 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 Francisco. 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.
* * *
On returning to his desk at the Presidio, Luke decided to take a few moments to catch up on news and events. First, he was delighted to see that the United States had formally declared war on Imperial Germany. Apparently there was some thought that an official declaration would not be made because of possible repercussions, but transcripts and recordings of the last meeting between President Lansing and the German ambassador had been so inflammatory that anything else was impossible.
The attacks on California and Texas, coupled with the German ambassador’s arrogance had galvanized the nation. Reports said President Lansing was cheered by Congress and that the vote in both houses was unanimous. Even the diehard pacifists couldn’t deny that the United States had been invaded, and that the invader, Imperial Germany, had declared its intention to siphon off four states from the Union.
A confidential report said that California wasn’t quite as cut off from the rest of the world as was first feared. Trans-Atlantic cables ran from San Francisco and Seattle to points west and then around the globe where they wound up in Washington D.C. It took several hours to get there, but it was far better than several weeks, or even months. Better, the telegraph and rail lines from Seattle eastward had not been destroyed. Luke and the rest of the army’s intelligence community wondered why not and concluded that a spring thaw might find a group of German saboteurs where they’d frozen to death when a sudden storm hit them. So much for German infallibility and omnipotence, he thought. Luke did not feel sympathetic to the thought of a bunch of frozen Krauts.
National Guard troops from Washington and Oregon were moving into the northern passes to rebuild the telegraph lines and protect the one open railroad from a second German try. The destroyed rail lines would not be rebuilt before spring—if the Germans let them, that is. Colonel Nolan felt the Germans would garrison the passes and glumly said that only a few men would be required to hold them against any American advance.
National Guard troops in California had been activated by the Republican Governor of California, William Dennison Stephens. It had been rumored that Stephens was going to order the poorly trained and inexperienced guard to attack the Germans, but prompt action by President Lansing had put an end to that suicidal nonsense. The California National Guard was now under the control of General Liggett.
There was fighting in Texas between Mexican Army units and Texas National Guard, but that was not Luke’s immediate concern.
“Welcome home, soldier.”
Luke looked up and saw the friendly grin of Major Ike Eisenhower. “Good to be back and gather my wits,” Luke said, “but I’d much rather be down south gathering info than reading about it.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Ike said, pulling up a chair. “Here I am, supposed to be making plans and I have nothing to plan with. I even envy Patton. He gets to ride around and actually try to accomplish something, even though it might result in his getting his butt kicked every now and then.”
“So what’s going to happen, Major?”
“Nothing that isn’t all that obvious,” Ike said. “The Krauts will very shortly take San Diego, if it hasn’t fallen already. Then they will move north and into the Central Valley where it’ll be easier for them to march. They will then keep on north until they can turn west and fall on San Francisco. Before that, however, I’m certain one prong will continue to move along the coast and take Los Angeles, which will give them a second major port.”
“San Francisco is their goal, isn’t it?”
“In my opinion, yes,” Ike said. “Does Colonel Nolan agree?”
“Yes, and again, it’s fairly obvious.”
“At least General Liggett and Admiral Sims have agreed to try to agree on strategy,” said Eisenhower, “Although it would be nice to have one overall commander.”
Luke laughed. “Not in this man’s army and navy.”
“Speaking of navies, Luke, you are aware that three of our new battleships did make it to Seattle, along with a handful of cruisers and destroyers, and maybe a few submarines before the Germans hit Mare Island and destroyed the three older battleships. Apparently our surviving ships were chased by the German fleet which then decided not to enter Puget Sound because so much of it is British and they don’t want to antagonize the Brits, at least not yet. Since the Krauts destroyed our coastal forts in Puget Sound as well here, there wouldn’t have been much we could have done to stop them. Sims told Liggett we actually have what he called a ‘fleet in being’ that we can use to tie down German naval units.”
“Wonderful,” Luke said. “I wish we had an army in fact instead of a fleet in being.”
He was about to say something further when an enormous explosion struck the building and sent both of them to the floor. Smoke and dust filled the room. They scrambled to their feet, astonished to be unhurt, and ran outside through where part of the wall had collapsed.
Another explosion rocked them as a second shell impacted near them. They hit the ground again as more debris fell on them. In the nearby city proper, people were running and screaming. Several civilians, including women and children, lay in bloody heaps, some unmoving.
Ike and Luke ran to where they could see out into the ocean. Off in the distance, silhouetted gray shapes lay just under the horizon. The German fleet had returned to San Francisco. Lights twinkled from them, almost merrily, but each twinkle was a naval gun firing and a shell being hurled on its way. The German Navy was bombarding the city.
After a few more minutes, the bombardment stopped and the Germans steamed off, headed south. There had been no return fire from the American coastal forts.
“Son of a bitch!” Luke said. “There was no reason to bombard a helpless city!”
Ike shook his head. “Just like there wasn’t any reason for the Germans to bombard and burn cities in Belgium in 1914.”
Horse drawn ambulances had begun to pick up the dead and injured, and fire engines were fighting the fires that the shelling had begun. Ironically, the earthquake and fire of 1906 had resulted in San Francisco having very efficient emergency services. Luke thought this would not be the last time they were needed.
* * *
Kirsten felt very nervous riding into Raleigh. She was in a horse-drawn carriage with an equally nervous Maria at her side. Kirsten was dressed demurely in a long skirt, wore no makeup, and her clothes were intentionally baggy and worn. Of course, as a result of the Germans burning her home, her choices of clothing were few. She didn’t think she’d have any difficulties with the Germans in the town, but she was not taking any chances. What happened to Ella might have been a fluke caused by Leonard shooting at the Germans, but she would take no chances.
She was in town for several important reasons. First, the group in the hills needed supplies and she hoped the local stores still had some. That and she wanted some news as to what was going on. Up in the hills it was like they were on another planet.
Raleigh was depressing. Many of the buildings were damaged or destroyed and the smell of charred wood was still in the air. Worse, there were many German and Mexican soldiers in the little town. Some of them appeared to be working, while the others just lounged. On the plus side, they didn’t give them more than a glance. Two dowdy women in a carriage pulled by a miserable-looking horse were not a threat, and it did appear that there was discipline in the town.
She pulled up at the general store where she normally shopped. It was owned by an Italian couple, the Russos. Joseph Russo was behind the counter and greeted her warmly, but with a hint of nervousness. Kirsten attributed it to the fact that a couple of German soldiers were also shopping. She wondered if they would pay or just requisition what they needed.
She pulled out a list and handed it to Joseph. He blinked and took a deep breath. “Do you have authorization, Miss Biel?”
Now it was her turn to be surprised. “What do you mean?”
He was about to answer when Roy Olson appeared at her side. “What he means, Kirsten, is that things have changed in the last couple of days. The German commander in the area, a Captain Steiner, has instituted rationing since our food supplies are rather limited and likely to stay that way for a while.”
Kirsten thought it made a kind of painful sense. “I see. Now, how do I get such a permit?”
Olson smiled. “Why, you get to talk to me. Steiner appointed me administrator of the area and liaison with the occupying forces.” He guided her by the arm and into the back of the store where he had established an office. She noticed that the rear of the store was filled with supplies. She wondered if Olson rationed himself.
“Steiner wants to make sure that only people who really need food get it,” Roy said. “He would be much happier if everyone came down from the hills and didn’t sit up there with rifles and pose a potential threat to his men. He will not tolerate any of his soldiers being shot, which would result in tragedy. Like what happened at your home.”
“Are you saying we won’t be allowed to defend ourselves?” she bristled.
Olson’s face hardened. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Times have changed and we have to change with them. We are no longer in charge and we’d better get used to it.” He gestured to a window. “See those boys out there digging?”
She hadn’t really noticed them before, she realized to her chagrin. “Yes.”
“Like I said, this Steiner fellow, who’s really quite pleasant as long as you don’t cross him, has made a rule and it’s probably the same way all over German-occupied California. All able-bodied men will work two days a week helping expand the rail siding here to accommodate more trains. So, if you’ve got men up in the hills with you, you’d better get them down here and registered so the Germans don’t think they’re guerillas. They shoot guerillas, Kirsten, and they don’t ask questions.”
She found a chair and sat. “So you’re collaborating with the Germans.”
“Of necessity, yes. Steiner drafted me to be the administrator and I did not have much choice. If I hadn’t taken the position, I’d be outside digging ditches myself.”
She looked at him coldly. “And how vehemently did you argue?”
“Kirsten, I have always thought of you as a reasonable, intelligent woman, so let me tell you a few things. This isn’t the United States of America anymore. The Germans are here and, according to what I’ve learned, they aren’t leaving. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. California has become a territory of Imperial Germany and will be ruled from Berlin. We no longer live in a democracy; we now live in an autocratic empire and under military rule. Kaiser Wilhelm II is our leader, not Robert Lansing. We don’t have to like it, but that is our new world, and yes, I am going to collaborate. It has taken me thirty years to build up what I have and I’m not going to lose it because of any political change. The United States can’t even decide who’s going to be president, much less defend us. The U.S. just went through three presidents in one week. Washington’s just like the Roman Empire or a debauched Papacy.”
He laughed harshly. “And have you seen the American Army? Of course not. It doesn’t exist. On the other hand, I’ve seen thousands of German soldiers come through and this isn’t even the main part of their invasion. Tomorrow, a squadron of German warplanes will land here to add to their strength.
“Someday the United States may again govern here, Kirsten, but I doubt that it will be in our lifetimes or those of our great-grandchildren.”
For one of the few times in her life, Kirsten was speechless. The enormity of the events and changes was overwhelming.
“So you see,” Olson continued, “it is in everyone’s best interest to cooperate with the Germans. Or would you rather that California be part of Carranza’s Mexico? Would you want your family to be hurt anymore then they have? Poor Leonard was brave but foolish and what happened to Ella was deeply regrettable. And, yes, I do know what happened to her. Steiner told me. He assured me that the soldiers in question have been disciplined.”
Kirsten stood up. She very much doubted that anything had happened to the Germans who’d raped Ella, but this was not the time for such a debate.
“You’ve given me much food for thought, Roy. But first, how do I get food for the women and children in the hills?” she asked, intentionally leaving out the fact that men were up there as well.
He smiled. “Why I give you permits, of course.” He pulled some forms out of his desk and filled them out. “Here. Give these to Joseph out front and he’ll be glad to fill your orders.”
He guided her out of his office, letting his hand rest on her shoulder and drop down to her waist. She shuddered but kept her feelings under control. Yes, things had changed and she would have to figure out just how much.
And what in God’s name could she do about it?
* * *
Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes looked coldly at the man before him. “I only have a few minutes,” he said pointedly.
Giovanni Golitti had been premier of Italy until a corruption scandal had resulted in his ouster. He was confident he would rise again. Corruption is so quickly forgotten, especially in the riotous politics of the still very new nation of Italy.
“I had hoped to see President Lansing,” he said through a very nervous translator.
Hughes remained stern. “You are a minister without portfolio from a nation that is allied with our enemy, Germany. There are those who feel I should not waste my time by talking with you at all.”
Golitti matched the glare. He’d been weaned in the rough and tumble arena of Italian politics. “Then you’d be making a huge mistake. Things are not always as they seem and there are many people in my country and other countries who are concerned about Germany’s preeminence in the world and who would wish to do something about it.”
“Go on,” Hughes said, his curiosity piqued.
“Indeed. Germany’s successes have led to even greater arrogance on their part, and that has been followed by their insistence on preferences in trade and other matters that simply are not in Italy’s best interests. In short, it would not bother Italy and several other nations if Germany were cut down a little bit, perhaps even more than little bit.”
“How would you accomplish that?”
“Mr. Hughes, you have a wonderfully large nation with a potential for military greatness. Sadly, you lack everything needed to fulfill that potential. I—we—propose to remedy that.”
Hughes smiled, “We?”
“A number of nations, including France and England obviously, have been contacted by my government and are more than willing to help you get the equipment you lack. Others include Spain, Portugal, Sweden, and, of course, my beloved Italy.”
Hughes smile widened. “May I ask if you and your associate nations have any specific plans to assist us?”
“Your crying need is for artillery, machine guns, and ammunition. While we would not be so foolish as to send hundreds of planes, thousands of French 75mm cannon, and tens of thousands of machine guns to you and try to hide that fact from the Germans, a thought did occur to us. You are the greatest manufacturing nation in the world, so we will send you the dies and other equipment necessary to begin the immediate manufacture of those items.”
“And when will that occur?”
“It has already begun, Mr. Secretary. In anticipation of your concurrence, equipment is on trains headed for Lisbon. They are crated as farm machinery—which reminds me, the British will be sending you some special farming equipment they’ve been working on for the last several years and which is, I understand, quite secret.”
“Excellent,” Hughes beamed.
Golliti continued. “Further, it is understood that you need bases for your warships if they are to go on commerce raiding cruises. Since you are so outnumbered I don’t think your navy will be looking for fleet actions, at least not yet. We will look the other way if your ships use the Azores or Canary Islands as bases, just as your navy is planning to use Catalina Island off California.”
Hughes blinked. How did the little Italian learn about the plans for Catalina? “And if our ships were discovered,” Hughes said, “I am certain that the nation whose resources we were using would deny complicity, demand both our immediate withdrawal and an apology from us, which we would quickly and sincerely give.”
Golitti laughed, “Of course.”
Hughes stood and smiled broadly. “Would you like to meet President Lansing?”