How had the Gotha bombers returned? His job was Intelligence and he was supposed to know these things. Hadn’t he and Ike destroyed their bomber fleet? Had they managed to ship additional planes to Los Angeles or had resourceful German mechanics been able to cannibalize the destroyed planes for enough parts to create this smaller Gotha fleet?
Since American spies had not detected the arrival of new planes, he decided it was likely the latter and reluctantly gave credit to that Captain Krause. He had been almost weeping with despondency at the loss of his planes. Now, somehow, he had gotten a number of them airborne. Luke didn’t think he’d want to fly in something held together with strings and baling wire, but Krause obviously found pilots and crew.
Luke recalled that they hadn’t had time to look for and destroy the ammo dump where the bombs were stored. As explosions rocked the area, he regretted that fact. The Germans were raiding again.
But for what purpose? It was a virtual given that the American defenses could not be seriously harmed by the handful of bombers. Terror? Possibly, but the risk to the handful of planes was too great for that purpose.
The planes continued overhead. In a few moments he heard more explosions to the north and realized the source. They were aiming for the Dumbarton Railroad Bridge that connected San Francisco with the rest of the world.
Luke chuckled mirthlessly. Even if the Krauts managed to hit the bridge, a highly unlikely event, the bridge could be repaired and rather quickly. And while it was being repaired, the Army would resort to using the barges and ferries that had been in use before the bridge’s completion ten years earlier.
At best, therefore, the Gotha raids were nuisances. He didn’t think Liggett would let Ike and him try another raid to destroy them. This time the Germans would have the airstrip well secured.
D.W. Griffith was ecstatic as he examined the packages before him. “I love you, my fair Elise.”
Elise smiled tolerantly. It was not the first time she’d heard the pun between her name and “Für Elise,” the elegant and delightful solo piano piece by Beethoven. She took it as the compliment it was.
The boxes contained what Griffith craved even more than publicity—film. The war was an insatiable beast and Griffith’s men had been filming anything and everything and sending copies out east via Canadian rail. The rest of the country was now able to view scenes of carnage and destruction, which helped galvanize American attitudes. The films of the burning of Los Angeles and the bombing of San Francisco had outraged the American public. So too had scenes of dead on the battlefield and the badly wounded and terribly maimed young men lying in hospitals.
Griffith had also filmed large numbers of terrified Americans trying to flee north and east. All of these served to fuel American anger.
“David, I sincerely hope you realize that these packages represent ammunition and other war material that didn’t get through.” It was a small lie. The Canadian government wouldn’t let weapons and ammunition be shipped on their neutral railways, but film was allowed.
“I know and please tell both Liggett and Sims that I am profoundly grateful.”
As well you should be, she thought. In a couple of hours she would be with Josh. At least he wasn’t out in a ship or on some secret mission. Today he was involved in something to do with naval construction.
How to hide an elephant in a small room, was the question. The answer was simple. You didn’t. Admiral Sims had reluctantly come to the conclusion that he’d made a mistake; ergo, he would have to own up to it. The elephant was just too big to hide.
Having his few big naval guns pointing out to the Pacific would do no good whatsoever in stopping the Germans from crashing through the Golden Gate and into San Francisco Bay where there would be no American defenses. No, most guns would have to be placed where they could fire directly at the Germans as they attacked the narrow Gate and directly on them if they made it into the bay itself. Once the German fleet was inside the bay, guns pointing out to the Pacific would be useless. A couple would be kept pointing out to the Pacific to keep the Germans honest along with a number of dummy guns, but the rest would be moved.
Even though the guns belonged to the Navy, overland engineering expertise belonged to the army. The chief Army engineer, a genial, ruddy-faced major named Scully, had taken on the obduracy of the challenge with equanimity. Everybody admitted that the easiest way would have been to lower the disassembled guns onto ships by way of cranes. However, that would have enabled to Krauts to see what was up, and might have precipitated an attack.
So that left moving them overland, and Scully happily said it reminded him of what he’d read about the Egyptians building the pyramids. While visiting, Sims overheard the comment and reminded Scully that he didn’t want pyramids, just the damn guns moved. Scully didn’t take Sims’ anger seriously.
Detached from their firing mechanisms and supports, the gun barrels were the major problem—some weighed well over twenty tons.
“Would be nice if we had a railroad,” Scully had mused, “but we don’t.”
The closest thing was the cable-car system and nobody thought the cars and tracks could support the weight of a twelve-inch gun barrel.
Then there were the hills. Scully said the guns could probably be manhandled up, but the thought of trying to control them on the way down was frankly terrifying. Josh concurred. He had a nightmare vision of a gun barrel rolling down Nob Hill and crushing houses, cars, and people in its path.
So that left dragging the damn things over level ground, which is what they did, dragging them down San Francisco’s streets with literally hundreds of soldiers, sailors, and civilian volunteers pulling on control and guide ropes while trucks pulled in tandem.
To add to the difficulty, it all had to be done at night in order to keep German reconnaissance planes from discovering the secret and attacking. German pilots had come to respect the truck-mounted antiaircraft machine guns, but a photo plane didn’t have to fly within their range.
But they did it. Over the course of two nights, eight twelve-inch guns were moved and reassembled in their new sites facing inward onto the bay. Josh had to admit that it was indeed an epic evocative of building the pyramids or, as Scully said, a place in England called Stonehenge.
Dummy guns, consisting of telephone poles painted black, were left in their place to confuse the Germans. Sims congratulated the insufferable Scully, who informed the admiral that it had been a piece of cake and that he should have called on the Army sooner to bail him out of hot water. Sims was too pleased to take offense.
Off in the channel, Josh could see Oley Oldendorf out in his trawler, the very lucky Shark, laying more mines. Oldendorf, now a lieutenant commander, was out sowing his crop of mines almost every day. The Germans were clearly watching but had made little move to interrupt his efforts, except to lob some shells at extreme long range. Josh hoped the threat of mines would at least slow down the Germans.
It was mid-morning when an exhausted and dirty Josh Cornell dragged himself to Elise’s apartment. He’d been given the day off by Sims to rest and cleanup as Josh had given his best pulling on the tow ropes even though his injured shoulder now hurt like the devil. He had no hopes of seeing Elise. She would be at work with Sims. What he really needed was a chance to sleep.
He was just about to use his key on her apartment door when it opened and a smiling Elise stood there, wearing a long blue robe. Her bare feet poked out from under it. He suddenly felt awake and alive.