“Absolutely they will come again, and there is precious little we can do to stop them. We can elevate machine guns and our few cannon to shoot skyward, but hitting a moving airplane at ten thousand feet is virtually impossible. If one of their planes should deign to fly low, we stand a chance, but not against high-flying bombers. Until and if we have enough airplanes of our own to intercept the bombers, we are helpless. I believe the only practical and useful thing we can do is dig trenches for people to take shelter in.”
Nolan allowed a moment for that unpleasant truth to sink in. “Could we use civilian airplanes as interceptors?” Liggett asked. “I understand there may be several hundred in the area.”
Sims decided to interrupt. “I’ve had conversations on that score and civilian planes are small, slow, and frail. They would be slaughtered by the German fighters and many couldn’t attain the altitude necessary to fight the Gothas in the first place.”
“But what concerns me more,” Nolan said, “is just where did they come from? The Gotha V bomber has a range of just over five hundred miles, which means it can only be based about two hundred and fifty miles away for them to get here and back. To the best of our knowledge the Germans have still not taken San Luis Obispo, which is about two hundred miles south, and I can’t imagine they’d put a bomber base too close to the front lines.”
“A hidden base?” Sims asked.
At that moment, Luke entered the room and quietly took a seat behind Nolan. Liggett spotted him immediately. “Captain, you interrogated the German prisoner. Did he talk? And please tell me that you didn’t threaten to cut off his testicles or anything like that.”
“Wasn’t necessary, sir,” Luke grinned. “It seems the man is an enlisted gunner, not a pilot or an officer. He was conscripted into the German Army a few years ago and wants out of it. His name is Schmidt and he is pathetically eager to please. He also informed me he has family in Milwaukee and, in return for his cooperation, he would like to be released to them. I told him we’d consider it.”
Liggett stifled a smile. “Tell us what you’ve found.”
“First, sir, the Germans have sixty of the Gothas and a hundred fighters. Ten of the bombers didn’t go on the attack because of mechanical problems. Schmidt said his officers told him the attack was designed to bring us to the negotiating table by emphasizing how helpless we are against their bomber attacks. Again, sir, it was terror, plain and simple, and designed to get us to negotiate.”
“They do have a point,” Liggett muttered. “Tomorrow, I’m going to have to endure a meeting with local merchants who will doubtless want San Francisco either surrendered without a fight or be declared an open city. I will, of course, tell them exactly where they can put their precious business interests. Now, how the devil did the Germans accomplish the attack? Where are they based?”
Luke continued. “Sir, they are based just south of their lines at Obispo. They managed to cover the additional distance by reducing their bomb load and by carrying additional fuel in cans. Schmidt’s job was to take cans of gas and pour the gas down a funnel into the gas tanks as they flew along. By those means, they greatly extended their planes’ range. It’s almost like warships carrying extra barrels of oil or, in days past, bags of coal.”
Sims chuckled. “It’s a trick that works, but I cannot imagine sitting in a plane, ten thousand or more feet in the air, and pouring gasoline down a funnel. Instant immolation would have been only seconds away at any time.”
Luke smiled, “Schmidt felt that way as well, which is another reason for him to want to change sides. He says he cannot imagine American generals being so reckless with human life.”
“I can think of a few,” Liggett said, drawing laughter. “But did he give you a precise position where the bombers are based?”
“He did, sir,” Luke said. He caught Eisenhower smiling at him. “And I think we can come up with a way of disrupting their operations.”
“But will it be in time to forestall another attack?” Sims inquired.
“Probably not, Admiral. Schmidt said they want to hit us again fast so we don’t get the idea they’re short on fuel. And by the way, sir, they are short on fuel. There’s scuttlebutt in the German camps that tanker ships full of oil are only days away which will at least partially solve their problem.”
Sims leaned forward eagerly. “Did your man say where the tankers were headed, San Diego, Los Angeles, or elsewhere?”
“No sir. He didn’t know.”
Liggett stroked his chin. “And these plans of yours to, ah, disrupt the Germans, how soon can they be implemented.”
“A week to ten days,” Luke answered, looking at Eisenhower who smiled slightly. There was sadness in his eyes and the smile wavered. Ike had just gotten word that his son, David Doud Eisenhower, was deathly ill. Ike wanted to be by the boy’s side, but duty called. Luke continued. “Provided we can get the equipment and other resources we need.”
Liggett stood. “I will personally see to it that you get everything and then more. Anybody who fails to cooperate will be on permanent latrine duty for the remainder of their lives. Tell me, Martel, is there anything that might prove difficult?”
Luke grinned. “Well sir, I could use a couple of German uniforms.”
Roy Olson had seen death many times lately, but the dead body on the ground before him bothered him greatly. It was one of his Mexican soldiers and the man’s skull had been bashed in. From the look of it, someone had snuck up behind him and struck him with something like a hammer and hit him a lot of times.
“Another one?” Steiner said with a sneer.
Olson jumped. He hadn’t noticed the captain come up beside him. “Yeah,” he finally answered. “And it’s the fourth one if you’re counting.”
Steiner steered Olson away from the corpse. There would be no investigation. They had a man’s footprints as evidence and that was all, and that told them absolutely nothing.
“And what will you do this time besides send out search parties, Mr. Olson?”
“Captain, if you’ve got a better idea, I’d love to hear it. You want me to hang a prisoner or two to make a point, I’ll do it, but the prisoners are surly enough now. I don’t think they’ll take to having some of them being strung up, especially in payment for a dead Mexican that they couldn’t possibly have hurt.”
Steiner’s response was silence. The American prisoners of war worked slowly at best, and neither man felt that a retaliatory execution would be a motivator. They needed the Yanks, however slowly they worked, to keep supplies flowing north to a hungry and thirsty German Army. The American prisoners had gotten over their shock of defeat and imprisonment and now their eyes were filled with hate. They seemed on the verge of bloody insurrection. No, it was better they work a little than not at all.
“I’m almost a hundred percent certain it’s Lew Dubbins,” Olson said. “He’s the last of the brothers alive and the only one with half a brain.”
“Maybe more than half by the way he’s eluded your men.”
“Maybe,” Olson admitted. “Dubbins was raised here, so he knows every place to hide. He could be fifty feet from here, laughing at us while we send patrols into the mountains that come back with squat.”
“So where is he?” Steiner asked.
“Probably in a hole in the ground, preferably in the shade. He’s likely got a full canteen and his head is covered with a dusty brown blanket. We could walk within ten feet of him and not see him. And the son of a bitch is definitely taunting us. He could have killed the four Mexicans he murdered earlier with a rifle, but he’s chosen to do it with clubs or knives.”