The journey north had been a hard one for a man as old as James Longstreet, and he felt it in every bone in his body. Yet could he be elsewhere? He allowed his aide to help him down from his carriage and walked the few steps to where MacArthur and Schofield waited. Schofield looked a little more rested than Longstreet, but he had arrived a day earlier. Longstreet returned their salutes. “How is it within the perimeter?”
MacArthur answered. “Still holding. We have just about reached the water on our eastward swing and are digging in like mad. So are the Germans.”
Longstreet nodded. He did not ask how long they could hold out. “With you up here, Mac, what’s the command structure?”
“I’m still in overall command, of course, and keeping in touch via wireless and telegraph. We buried a number of lines between here, Bridgeport, and New Haven, and the Krauts haven’t thought to dig them up yet. Baldy Smith is in tactical command within the perimeter and Joe Wheeler has taken over his corps. Chaffee commands the second corps. Division commanders are Funston, Pershing, Lee, Kent, Merritt, and Scott. Bates commands north along the Hudson, and Ludlow commands the Jersey shore. Both might as well be on the moon for all the good they’ll do us in this fight.”
Longstreet realized that these were the cream of the American army command. If they were lost, then the army was effectively beheaded as a fighting force. What had he done? By answering his country’s call, James Longstreet had put himself in position to preside over the greatest defeat in the young nation’s history. Hell, a man in his eighties should be home watching his favorite hound sleep. But here he was, ancient and hard of hearing, trying for one last battle. He must be a fool.
The distant sound of a train whistle brought him out of his reverie. He took his watch from his pocket and checked the time. “Schofield, is it true the trains run on time in Germany?”
Schofield kept a straight face. “Everything runs on time in Germany. Everything is done precisely and to the numbers, and that includes the pious act of copulation for the betterment of the fatherland.”
Longstreet was about to ask him what a man of his age recalled of the pious act of copulation when the train whistle sounded again, this time closer. Longstreet looked at the others and saw the expectant expressions on their faces. Working with Stonewall had taught him something about trains, and a stint as commissioner of railroads, a largely ceremonial position, had taught him even more. Yes, the German trains always ran on time; by comparison, exact scheduling in the United States was often a joke. But sometimes, just sometimes, they got it right.
The kaiser looked at his map and watched as staffers again moved the pins denoting a further surge eastward by his army. “Von Schlieffen, I am still concerned about that mob they have up north in their training camp. Although it might not be much, there is little to stop it from bursting into our rear and doing a great deal of mischief.”
Schlieffen responded confidently. “We will not permit that to happen, sire. First, it will take the Americans several days to organize and move that force to the battle area. When they do that, our blocking force will intercept and delay them until reinforcements arrive.” He pointed to another spot on the map. “We have generated enough additional troops to form a reserve corps of two divisions under General von Trotha. He is simply awaiting orders as to which direction to send his troops-south against the perimeter or north against any relief force.”
The kaiser was impressed. “And where did you find this reserve army?”
“Sire, we stripped forces away from Manhattan, the northern flank of the salient, and, of course, from the defensive fortifications along the river. We decided, and rather logically, that the battle was being fought here"-Schlieffen pointed at the American perimeter-"and that any troops retained elsewhere were useless. It was all planned some time ago,” he added smugly.
“But what about the risk?”
Schlieffen shrugged. “In all things there is an element of risk. In this case it is minimal. The Hudson protects Manhattan, and numerous other water barriers protect the northern flank. As to the fortifications, well, if we keep pushing the Yanks back, the forts will be so far in the rear as to be moot. Besides, the moves were completely secret.”
Johnny Two Dogs arrived back at the farmhouse from a pleasant day of cutting wires and throats to find the place crawling with German soldiers. He didn’t know how the Germans designated rank, but he did know the American system, and his experience with the latter told him that some very important people were now in that building.
So too, he realized, were Blake and Willy. He laughed and wondered if they were hiding in that huge and labyrinthine basement. If they were, at least they were dry and out of the wind. There was no safe way they could emerge with so many guards and sentries, who would immediately stop any strange-looking line repairmen coming out of the basement. They would have to endure until the Germans left. Well, he didn’t. He decided if he was going to be cold and uncomfortable, then others would pay for it. He had already killed once today-a messenger who had dismounted because his horse was going lame-and he would look for other opportunities. Then he would return to see what Blake and Willy thought of their new neighbors. And he decided it might be time to let them know he was around.
Patrick Mahan pored over the piece of paper on his field desk and didn’t look up when Ian Gordon and Lieutenant Colonel Harris entered.
“You called, beloved general?” Ian asked.
“I did. Look at this.” Patrick handed them the paper. “Just about the strangest orders I have yet received. According to what I read, I am to pull in my troops from their extended screening formation and stay within new brigade boundaries. The boundaries are very small and I am supposed to be ready to attack the Germans from the confines of those strange boundaries. All of this is to be accomplished within one hour.”
Gordon handed back the paper. “That is indeed what it says.”
“Gentlemen, does it make sense?”
“Not really,” said Harris. “If we attacked the local Germans in a tight formation, I’m confident we could easily punch a hole in their lines. However, they could hurt our flanks and rear while we were pushing on to hit the main German force.”
Ian added, “Even if we were then to make contact with that main force, it would outnumber us perhaps ten to one overall and would chew up our little brigade and spit out the pieces without much difficulty. I think I agree with you, Patrick-an attack would be suicidal. Our brigade is much too small to cause any significant damage. So, what are you going to do?”
Patrick shook his head sadly. “I am going to obey orders. The concentration of force is already under way, and we will indeed be ready to move out within an hour. But I do not think of myself as suicidal. I will attack if I must, but if it looks as though we are going to be overwhelmed, I will order a retreat as quickly as I can and the hell with what the history books might say.” Getting home to Trina was another motivation. He didn’t like the thought of her in widow’s weeds after such a short marriage.
Ian agreed. “Good plan. I always did want to live to a ripe old age.”
Patrick was about to remind Ian that he really didn’t have to be there in the first place when a sentry opened the tent flap and stuck his head in. “Sir, General Schofield is arriving.”
Patrick reached for his hat. “Shit. What the hell is the old man doing here?”
Ian Gordon sighed. “Probably wants to make sure you obey your orders.”
When Schofield arrived he went directly into Patrick’s command tent. He plucked the orders from where Patrick had laid them. “What do you think?”