Captain Adolf Steiner looked up from his desk and smiled tightly. “Olson, you look worried. Why is that?”
“Captain, I am always worried. Show me a man without a care in the world and I’ll show you a fool. So, yes, I am worried.”
Steiner sat back in his chair. It used to be Olson’s. “About what?”
“Rumors are swirling that the Mexicans got themselves defeated at San Antonio and are retreating towards the Rio Grande. Our Mexican allies, in particular the men I’m using as guards, are very concerned, and that makes me worry about their loyalty.”
Steiner sighed. He’d known this moment would come. “Your stalwart Mexican guards have a right to be concerned. Not only was their army in Texas defeated, it was virtually destroyed. And the American Army under someone named Pershing is not headed towards the Rio Grande; it has already crossed the Rio Grande and might be on its way to Monterrey. If that has occurred, Carranza may be on his way to becoming a footnote to history.”
Olson paled. “Then Mexico is out of the war?”
“Hardly. Mexico is doing yeoman service in tying down the vast majority of the uniformed mob the United States calls its army. Every American moving south towards Monterrey is one who is not moving north and west to reinforce Liggett. In fact, every step Pershing’s army takes places them farther away from doing something useful. Olson, the Mexicans were never meant to win. Their job was to die on our behalf and they are doing an admirable job of it.” He laughed. “Of course, they didn’t realize it at the time, although perhaps it’s dawning on that fool, Carranza.”
“And if the Americans take Vera Cruz and eliminate your base, or there’s another government in Mexico City that is hostile to Germany, what then?”
“We no longer need Vera Cruz as a base, although we might try to hang on to it to tie up the Americans. A few divisions from Germany will stiffen Mexico’s spine. Or we will simply take over whatever the Americans don’t want. Or we will just abandon Mexico to its well-deserved fate at the hands of vengeful and vindictive Americans. Vera Cruz has become redundant thanks to the capture of San Diego and Los Angeles. Why in God’s name would we haul supplies overland when we can send them by ship to those ports? Or haven’t you noted the slackening of material coming from the east?”
Olson flushed. He had but he had put it down to a lessening need for an Atlantic base, not a total lack of a need for one.
“Look, Steiner, there will be desertions when the Mexican guards find out, and we need those people to maintain order. I’m afraid they’ll change their allegiance back to Obregon the minute they sense that Carranza’s done with.”
Steiner glared. Olson was taking liberties. Steiner preferred to be addressed by rank. “Then you stop them, Olson. Kill a few of the guards if you have to, and if too many of our guards run, then do something about the prisoners. We can’t have them rushing us and slicing our throats with the knives they’ve doubtless got hidden everywhere in their camp, now can we?”
Olson had a horrible thought. “What do you mean by doing something about the prisoners?”
He laughed savagely. “Why Olson, if it comes down to it, you will have to kill them.”
Olson’s mind reeled. Kill all the American prisoners? Dear God, had he backed the wrong dog in this fight? He forced himself to be logical. Steiner liked logic.
“I don’t think the Mexicans would do it even if ordered, and I know damn well my own men won’t. They’ll all kill enemies in battle, but they won’t slaughter helpless prisoners.” Well, maybe a couple of them would, he thought.
Steiner smiled tightly. “Then you’d better learn to sleep lightly and with a gun under your pillow.”
The crown prince and the admiral finished a pleasant meal of grilled salmon accompanied by a surprisingly good white wine. They were in a wealthy man’s mansion south of Monterey, California, and seated on a patio overlooking the ocean. The homeowner had departed weeks earlier. The wine came from the owner’s private stock. Like so many people in the area, he’d made his own.
The scenery was beyond fantastic. Great waves crashed among massive, craggy rocks. Both men admitted they could watch the waves for hours if only the war would let them. Only the two German battleships anchored offshore intruded on the area’s natural beauty.
They were told that the homeowner had been a banker before the war; now the man was a refugee. The size of the estate, however, had given them a further understanding of the wealth and potential of California, a land that would soon join the Reich. It was understood that, after the war, many Americans would leave and migrate east of the Rockies, which would be the new boundary. In their place would come good, solid German immigrants to California.
The admiral and the crown prince had their own concerns about the Mexican defeat and how it would affect them. The prince waved away the servants who were hovering near them. They left the patio and gave the two men privacy. The first topic of discussion was the deteriorating situation with Mexico. They were shocked that the Mexican collapse had been so quick and so total. Obviously, Mexico had been a weak reed.
Admiral Hipper laughed. “Since I have no Mexicans among my crews, I must consider myself fortunate. Tell me, Majesty, just how much do you depend on those cretins?”
“Less and less each day. I use them as workers rather than as soldiers. The ones guarding the mountain passes are the exception. Since you were kind enough to deliver those two divisions of German soldiers from Indo-China, I will use one to buttress the Mexicans and even take over from them in the passes should it prove necessary.”
Both men understood that this had not been the plan. The two divisions were intended to reinforce the drive to San Francisco, not function as guards over unruly Mexicans guarding the mountain passes. However, plans always went to hell the minute they were implemented, and one worked with the tools one had.
Wilhelm wiped his mouth with a napkin and took a sip of the homemade wine. Really quite pleasant, he thought, although just a little too sweet. “And how is your fleet? I too have heard rumors that all is not as well as it should be.”
Hipper scowled. “Unfortunately, the rumors are correct. The officers are impatient and feel that they are missing out on the glory of the war by performing tedious blockade duty. They want me to storm San Francisco Bay and blow the town to pieces, after which they want to steam north and do likewise to the Americans in Puget Sound. You heard I lost a cruiser because a squadron commander got impatient? Well, I’m afraid there might be more of that if something doesn’t happen soon.
“And the morale among the enlisted sailors is very low. They are living in cramped quarters in ships that were never intended to be at sea for this long. Our ships were built to rule the Baltic and the North Atlantic, returning periodically to warm, comfortable barracks, not to travel around the world like the British ships. I am afraid that illness, like the American flu, might strike. That and the fact that the lower decks are filled with radicals and communists who could cause trouble at the first chance concern me.”
“Can you give your men shore leave?”
“Only at the cost of weakening the blockade, Majesty.”
The prince understood the admiral’s dilemma. His own army was wearing down as well, although that had been expected and even built into their plans.
The German Army was on the doorstep of San Francisco. A couple of weeks and they would be able to attack and overwhelm the Americans.
The crown prince sighed. “Do what you can for your men. I am rotating my own out of the lines as much as I can. Perhaps we shouldn’t be so concerned about the Americans breaking our blockade. Kindly consider some form of shore leave to keep your men fresh. As to your bloodthirsty young officers, tell them they’ll have all the fighting they can handle in a very little while.”