“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?”
CHAPTER 6
Despite not being particularly tall, Major General John J. Pershing was a totally dominating person. Dressed in a uniform that looked like it had been painted on him and without a button or a crease out of place, he seemed to epitomize what a general should look like. He was sixty and looked at least a decade younger.
Pershing was also the only American general with significant experience in leading anything resembling a large body of men. Four years earlier, he’d taken an ad hoc division into Mexico in search of bandits who’d attacked towns and ranches in Texas. He’d fought several battles against the bandits and, later, against Mexican regulars when the Mexican government finally decided it didn’t like an American army marching around in their nation.
He was often referred to as “Black Jack” Pershing, because he’d commanded Negro troops against the Apaches and, later, in the attack on what became popularly known as San Juan Hill in the Spanish American War. There he’d met and impressed a young Theodore Roosevelt. Many Southern officers disparagingly referred to him as Nigger Jack instead of Black Jack.
Pershing was a widower. His wife and two of his three children had been killed in a fire. He was not the prude his stern appearance would seem to indicate. Indeed, after the loss of his wife, he had consoled himself by having several affairs, including one with the sister of one of his favorite young officers, George Patton.
General Payton March thought Pershing was a very good general and a very flawed man. He was also the best March had. Liggett was tied up in California and, in March’s mind, the only remaining choice to command the American Army was Pershing, who was still unpopular in some quarters after Roosevelt had promoted him to brigadier rank ahead of many, many others senior to him. Major General Leonard Wood, also sixty, was available, but Wood wanted desperately to be president, not just a general, and March was concerned that his political agenda might interfere with his military one.
March smiled and the two men sat down. “General Pershing, I have a very simple request to make. The Germans must be defeated. Can you do it?”
Pershing did not blink. “Of course. However, I will need the time and resources to develop an army that can win and not be slaughtered in the attempt. You know as well as I do that despite the fact that enlistments are pouring in, there are no training camps, no uniforms, no tents, no officers, no sergeants, no machine guns, and no artillery. Oh yes, don’t forget planes and armored vehicles. Once those problems are resolved, we can and will expel Germany from our country.”
“And how long will that take?” March asked, dreading the answer. The treatment of volunteers was a scandal. Many thousands were freezing in inadequate facilities in poorly designed camps.
“At least a year,” Pershing answered without hesitation. “And I will require approximately a million men.”
March blinked. Damn Woodrow Wilson and his naive belief that the United States could stay out of war by simply wishing it. Wilson could never accept the premise that some nations were predators. “Many are enlisting,” March said, “but nowhere near that number.”
“Then, odious as it may seem, there must be conscription.”
March leaned back in his chair. A conscription act was already working its way through Congress and would be law in about a week.
“But why so many men?” March asked. “The Germans don’t have anywhere near that many in California, and Texas appears to be a totally Mexican-run operation.”
Pershing smiled tightly. “You are quite correct. However, the Germans have made it plain that the declaration of war would result in attacks along the Atlantic coast. That will result in pressure on President Lansing to divert forces to garrison coastal cities against attacks that might or might not ever come. That and the fact that I would wish to outnumber the Germans when we do counterattack.”
“But a year? That seems excessive.”
“Let me be blunt, General March: it may take even longer. The only things we have in great numbers are Springfield rifles. Sadly, they require ammunition and trained personnel. We are like Washington at Valley Forge. We must create an army out of nothing, and an army a hundred times larger than Washington’s, and we don’t have a von Steuben to train them.”
March nodded. “We cannot afford to strip our existing units to train recruits. We will have to use retired military personnel.”
Pershing shook his head vigorously. “I do not want to use our own soldiers, or even experienced retired soldiers, to train recruits. However well intended they might be, the last war they might have fought in would have been against the Spanish in Cuba, or the Moros in the Philippines, or even the Apaches, and these are hardly examples of modern warfare. No, sir, if humanly possible, I would like the trainers to be British. They may have lost to the Germans, but they did confront the Germans and often hurt them badly. They would know their weapons and their tactics. And I would not want any French instructors. Their tactics were execrable.”
March was about to say it was impossible, but the germ of an idea crept in. “Perhaps,” he said with a small smile.
Pershing leaned forward. “Terrible things may happen in California and we will be unable to prevent them or strike back. The president will be under tremendous pressure to do something, anything, but to act prematurely would be disastrous.”
“Are you saying General Liggett must be abandoned to his fate?”