Luke recalled hearing that Griffith had been pro-German before the war. Apparently his views had changed. Well, so had a lot of people’s.
“We’re working on it, Mr. Griffith,” Liggett said quietly.
The film ended. “That’s it, folks,” Griffith said in a most unmilitary manner. “And with your permission, General, I would like to arrange for a copy of it to get to Washington.”
Liggett yawned. He was exhausted and the heat in the closed room had nearly put him to sleep. A telegram from Brigadier General George Marshall had exhorted him to keep the rail line to the east open despite the fact that the bridge over the Columbia tributary had been destroyed. What the hell was Marshall up to now? Regardless, he’d given the orders and the construction battalion that had been withdrawn from the pass was returned.
“By all means make a copy and we’ll arrange to have it sent via Canada as diplomatic mail. Let those people out east see what we’re up against.”
Lieutenant Ron Carter, captain of the sub O-7, was one of the few men who thought Catalina Island was beautiful. It had a rugged and dramatic quality that appealed to him.
He was halfway up a hillside and looking down into the harbor where the five submarines were anchored. It was time to take on supplies and stores, that is, as soon as they came. Since sinking those two transports, Carter’s sub had sent three more German ships to the bottom and one had a full cargo of oil. It had burned furiously. He would have exulted except he had seen a lifeboat from the transport overtaken by a wall of flames and the men inside turned into human torches. He thought he could hear them scream. He couldn’t, of course, but it was the stuff of nightmares.
In the course of his cruises, he’d used all his torpedoes and most of his three-inch shells; thus, his sub was virtually helpless. He was also almost out of fuel. So too were the others. Supply ships were allegedly en route, but, until they arrived, there really wasn’t much to do. Chief Ryan was on the sub with a half dozen crewmen while the rest, like Carter, relaxed.
A trumpet blared from up the hill behind him. What the hell, he thought sleepily, that damn thing was only to be blown if the Germans were sighted.
Oh shit.
Carter jumped to his feet and squinted seaward. A pair of sleek grey shapes was approaching fast. They’d been hidden by the morning mist. More alarms sounded and men began to run around, some aimlessly as they realized they would never get to their subs in time. He began to run down to the little cove they were using, but he saw that Chief Ryan had already cast off the lines and was heading out to sea. Good man, Carter thought. It would have been at least fifteen minutes before he made it to the sub and it was imperative that the boat get to deep water and dive.
The Germans were at extreme range, but they commenced firing anyhow. Seconds later, shells splashed around the other four subs, which were also frantically trying to get away.
A sub was hit. Crewmen began to abandon her immediately. Seconds later, an explosion ripped through a second boat. More German shells landed around the stricken vessels while the remaining American subs found water deep enough to dive in. So too had the O-7, Carter thought gratefully as she disappeared beneath the waves. He thought her hull might be scraping the bottom, but that was better than being shelled.
Deprived of their primary targets, the Germans contented themselves with bombarding any buildings and any people they saw. Carter hid himself in a fold of earth as dirt and debris fell all around him. Nimitz crawled up beside him. “I don’t know about you, Carter, but we’d all better pray the bastards don’t land troops. We have nothing to fight with unless you’re good at throwing stones.” Neither man even had a sidearm, however futile a .45 automatic might be against a destroyer.
“How’d they find out about us, sir?”
“Guess it wasn’t that big a secret. That and the fact that we had to be someplace might have led them to a logical conclusion. Do you recall if they sent over any planes to spy on us?”
Carter didn’t recall seeing any, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t done it. He thought it possible that one of the handful of fishermen living on the island might have betrayed them. These were poor people and perhaps somebody had been bribed.
“Maybe we’re just too damned close to the mainland, sir,” Carter said. He regretted the comment immediately. The brass in San Francisco had chosen the place and Nimitz had concurred.
There was a strained silence that was finally broken by Nimitz. “I’m afraid you’re right, Carter. We’re only about twenty miles from Los Angeles and I realize now that we are way, way too close. When we get ourselves organized, we’ll pull out of this mess and locate elsewhere.”
“Any specific thoughts?”
Nimitz shook his head, “At the moment, no.”
The guns grew silent and Carter worked up the courage to peer over the dirt that was hiding him. The German destroyers were departing. One American sub had sunk in the shallow water while a second was still afloat, but burning. A couple of launches were smashed to kindling. Of the other three subs, including Carter’s, there was no sign, which was good. Hopefully, probably, they’d gotten away.
Several bodies lay on the ground, American sailors who would never again attack German shipping. Nimitz stood up and shook the sand from his uniform.
“Lieutenant, I suggest we find out whose alive and who needs help. Then we get to figure out what resources we have. Y’know, if the relief ships don’t show up, we could get very hungry in a very short while.”
Texas General Marcus Tovey was hungry, tired, and dirty, just like the rest of his dwindling command. He hadn’t changed his clothes in a week and his beard was filthy and tangled.
They’d mauled the Mexicans and still held onto much of San Antonio, including the desecrated ruins of the Alamo which were now only a hundred yards behind him, but they couldn’t hold off the much larger Mexican force much longer. It was the middle of the night and maybe they wouldn’t come this morning, but who could tell. He’d beaten back another attack, leaving scores of dead and wounded Mexicans in front of him, and they didn’t usually attack two days in a row. They needed time to reorganize, eat and sleep, too.
He still had fifteen hundred men, but they weren’t the same fifteen hundred he’d begun the siege with. Most were replacements and, as before, a whole lot weren’t even from Texas. There was some gratification in the fact that men from other states were willing to come and defend Texas. Or maybe they were defending the U.S. and not Texas, he thought, and decided it didn’t much matter.
So many had been killed or wounded that he’d lost track. Against him were two Mexican divisions, maybe twelve thousand men, and they were totally pissed. They’d hoped to be in and through San Antonio a couple of weeks ago and his defense of the city had gutted those plans. If they overran his position he doubted they’d be in any mood to take prisoners. Well, fuck’em, he thought. He didn’t much feel like surrendering and becoming a prisoner. His defenses were deep and good and protected by miles of barbed wire. If the Mexicans did make it through, maybe there wouldn’t be all that many of them left…Sure. There’d be plenty of them left. What made his situation worse was that his men were spread too thin.
Of course he wasn’t the only Texan general fighting the Mexicans. It just seemed that way since almost all their attacks were at the area he commanded. He lit another of his dwindling supply of Lucky Strikes and took a deep breath. The tobacco smoke served to hide the stench of the battlefield. Both sides had stopped removing the dead and the wounded, and the ground before him was littered with bodies that had bloated and begun to rot. He never believed anything could smell that bad. One of his boys had laughed and said the stench was so bad because of all the spicy food the Mexicans ate. At least the wounded had stopped their moaning and screaming. If the Mexicans had asked for a truce to remove them he would have denied it. Niceties were down the toilet. This was a war to the death.