Captain Walter came by, his arm wrapped in a dirty bandage. His face was pale and his eyes looked haunted. They would rest, he said; their battle was over.
But it didn’t turn out that way. Just as darkness fell, they were ordered to march north. When the captain protested that the men were hungry and tired, and that some of them were nursing minor wounds and cuts, he was verbally savaged by an exquisitely clean staff major for being a slacker. It was sickening, although Kessel had grinned.
The captain gathered his shrunken company and they started to march.
26
A S THE NEW day dawned, Ludwig lay stiffly in the shallow depression made by a dirt road and confronted a wall of trees about a quarter-mile away. His body was a mass of aches and he dreamed of a hot bath. He also prayed that no one would ever shoot at him again.
The captain had told the company they were part of a screening force in place to make sure the Yanks did not attack the now-vulnerable German rear. The main force was driving south to surround and destroy the Americans, who were being pushed into the sea. Ludwig had to agree that it sounded good. But he recalled that the Yanks had pulled out of their untenable trenches in a manner that showed they were a long way from being destroyed or pushed into the Sound.
Ludwig took another swallow from his canteen and tried to wash the taste of filth from his mouth. At least there was something to drink. No one had seen any food since yesterday morning, and his stomach was growling. He looked around at the others in the company, also on the dirt road. No one had dug in yet; they were just too tired. Some were sleeping while others watched the wide stand of trees. Later, when they’d rested, they’d start to dig in. There was no urgency; the American army was miles away and surrounded.
Captain Walter crouched beside Ludwig. “How much ammunition do you have?” Ludwig checked and counted only seven rounds. Had he used up that much? He barely remembered firing. “Well,” Walter smiled, “I hope you hit something with all that shooting.” Then, more seriously, he said, “Nobody has much ammo left. I’ve tried to get more, but the depots are all supplying the troops for the big assault. They say we are to rest and watch the leaves change.”
Ludwig thought his stomach was more important and asked about food. “Same story,” said the captain. “They are sending everything for the troops south of us.” He took out his binoculars and scanned the forest. “Seen any Yanks in there?”
“A couple, sir. I think they’re just keeping an eye on us. Not much else they can do, with their entire army trapped.” Even with most of the leaves gone from the trees, the woods were dark and impenetrable; the shadows and limbs broke up any line of sight.
Captain Walter put his field glasses back in their case. “Oh, they’ll try something. Latest rumor is that an untrained militia will be sent against us in a few days.” He chuckled. “If that’s all they have, the fact that they outnumber us won’t mean a thing. On the other hand, it would be nice to have ammunition by then. I trust we’ll have some before long.”
“And food too, sir.”
Walter slapped him on the shoulder. “Good German soldiers never admit to being hungry.”
The corporal managed a small smile as the captain walked away on tired, unsteady legs. Ludwig was still hungry, and he decided he wasn’t a very good soldier. Hell, he knew that already. In a little while it would be his turn to sleep. He prayed he would not dream of the barbed wire and see the dead lying across it like flies entrapped in a spiderweb.
He watched as the captain walked from man to man, checking each. Sadly, it didn’t take long. Of the 120 who’d landed on Long Island in June, only 38 were present for duty this morning. More than 30 men were dead, wounded, or missing from yesterday alone. Maybe one or two would show up as the day wore on, but somehow Ludwig didn’t think that very likely. The Yank fire had been just too deadly.
He tried not to think of the friends who now lay dead or bloody and mangled. There were too many. One of the Schuler boys was dead, killed in the crossing, and the remaining brother was inconsolable. Ludwig could hear the sound of his sobbing from farther down the widely spaced defensive line.
Battle had changed Ludwig, hardened him both physically and mentally. Once he had been an innocent and very naive itinerant schoolteacher. Now he had killed, and others had tried to kill him. His comrades respected him and he could lead them. Even Kessel no longer caused him fear. The scarred bully and thief was indeed a damned coward. A few weeks earlier, Kessel had finally cornered him in a supply tent and tried to fondle his buttocks. “C’mon, pussy boy, let me show you a real man.” Ludwig had whirled and locked an iron grip around his throat. “Even think of touching me again, you fucking prick, and I’ll kill you.” Kessel had recoiled in shock and fled from the tent. Ludwig had surprised himself; it felt wonderful.
He would never be an officer in what he felt was the obscene German military machine, but he would be a force in whatever endeavors he took up. Teaching was still a real possibility, but he would now be a different sort of teacher. First, he reminded himself, he had to make sure he survived this battle.
He glanced upward. Funny, but he almost thought he heard the sound of a train whistle.
Theodore Roosevelt left the war room and tried to relieve his stresses by pacing up and down the second-floor corridor of the White House. Major General Leonard Wood poked his head out and watched his friend the president. Finally, Roosevelt paused.
“Leonard, now I finally and truly do understand what Lincoln went through during those awful battles. How maddening it is to do nothing but sit by a telephone and wait for it to ring, or by a telegraph in hopes it might start chattering. How utterly useless I feel!”
Wood glanced about to see who else could hear. “Theodore,” he said, taking in private the liberty of using his first name. “I would a hundred times rather be actually doing something than waiting, waiting, waiting. You mention Lincoln, but what about McKinley while you and I were tramping through the Cuban swamps?”
Roosevelt laughed. “Damn, those were good days.” His face clouded quickly. “But waiting for news of the battle is driving me crazy. The newspapers are pillorying me because the Germans are driving us back, and they predict an awful defeat that will end the war on very unsatisfactory terms. They blame me for the failure of the country to be ready. In a way, I guess they’re right. After all, I was the vice president. Mr. Bryan and his friends are calling this the culmination of a policy of failure. In the Spanish war, Bryan had the decency to put on a uniform, but not this time.”
“Well, at least the fleet has sailed,” commented Wood.
“But to what avail? The German army will be well out of range, and the German navy can stay safely where it is. Oh, I suppose Dewey had to do something. Perhaps he can force his way into Long Island Sound and prevent the Germans from bombarding our perimeter.”
Wood was no longer listening. He had gone to a window and was looking out at Lafayette Park. “Theodore, come here.”
The president came and peered over his shoulder. “Goodness, what do they want?” Outside, in the park, were thousands of men, women, and children. They were staring at the White House in almost total silence. Even from a distance he could see the grim, sad looks on their faces.
“Sir,” said Wood, formality returning. “I believe they want to see you.”
Roosevelt looked again at the somber faces. “I should go speak to them. No,” he said, smiling slightly, “I will go and ask them to pray with me.”