A second voice added, “We’ve got guns and we’ll use them. Leave us alone. That’s all we ask, just leave us alone.”
Of course they have weapons, Luke thought. They’re soldiers, or once upon a time they were. Now they’re deserters and would hang if caught. A police patrol happened to see motion in what was thought to be an abandoned house and shots were fired when the cops went to investigate. Fortunately, no cops had been hit in the skirmish, but it had proven that the deserters were indeed desperate.
Even in peacetime, desertion was a problem, and now it was especially severe. After the major German attack on the trenches, Luke had seen hundreds of men running in panic towards safety in the rear. That happened all the time with inexperienced troops. Men broke and ran. Most of them came back after a while, all sheepish and shamefaced. Sometimes they were punished with extra duty and sometimes a sympathetic commander let them back in their units with little more than a scolding. Every soldier understood terror. Modern battle was a terrifying thing.
But the men in the house had not come back to duty. They’d stolen food, shot at cops, and now were a threat to Luke and his men. He couldn’t just leave them there despite their entreaties.
“If you surrender and come out, I promise you a fair trial and that you won’t hang if you’re guilty.”
Of course they’re guilty, he thought. They wouldn’t be in that house if they weren’t. The not-hanging promise had been concurred with by Liggett. A long and hard prison sentence awaited them, with them probably breaking rocks for most of the rest of their lives. Maybe hanging would be more merciful, he thought. With the Germans only ten miles away from the city, no one was inclined to be merciful.
“Fuck you, soldier!” someone yelled from the house.
Luke turned to the corporal in charge of the enlisted men. “Well, that settles it. I don’t think they like us. Throw in some tear gas.”
The corporal grinned wickedly and he and his men lobbed tear gas grenades through the windows, smashing what remained of the glass. The original owners of the house are going to be pissed when they come back, Luke thought.
They could hear coughing and choking from inside. Someone fired wildly through a window and they ducked. “Stupid sons of bitches,” snarled the corporal. “Should we shoot inside, sir?”
“No. Hold off for a minute.” The house was frame and he was concerned that bullets would go right through and innocent people would be hit by strays. Already, a crowd of spectators had gathered and police were having a hard time keeping them out of the way.
“More gas,” he ordered and a half dozen more grenades added to the choking fumes.
A moment later, the front door opened and a man came out. He had a revolver and fired it wildly. The corporal did not need an invitation. He fired and hit the man in the chest. The deserter went down, flapping his arms.
The two others emerged, also blinded and firing wildly. Luke’s men returned fire and both men fell, wounded. The corporal and another man dragged the three deserters from the doorway. The first man was dead and the others seriously wounded. With luck they would live until they were hanged. Liggett had been adamant on that further point. There would be no mercy if they didn’t surrender.
One of the deserters, a boy about eighteen, was crying and not just because of the tear gas. He was hurt and he was going to die. Maybe not today, but very soon, and he was scared to death. Luke wondered if the others had led him on. Too bad. He was old enough to make his own decisions and he had made a tragically bad one.
A couple of trucks were driven up and the prisoners were dumped inside. One of the wounded screamed. Luke thought he should chide the corporal for letting that happen, but what the hell. Those men had let down their comrades and then tried to kill Luke and the other soldiers. Maybe the people who wrote the Geneva Convention wouldn’t like it, but Luke didn’t recall signing the damned thing.
The Dumbarton Railroad Bridge ran from the eastern shore of San Francisco Bay to the village of Menlo Park, just south of the city of San Francisco. It was essential to the existence of the city since no other railroads ran into the city. A spur line ran from the bridge north to the heart of town, but the Dumbarton Bridge stood alone.
The bridge had been completed in 1910. Prior to its existence, food, supplies, clothing, and anything else that arrived in Oakland were either ferried across the bay or driven the long way around it.
And now its existence was being challenged. German artillery had begun firing at it from long range. Granted, the shelling was inaccurate, but it was only a matter of time before the bridge was struck and the city would be back once again to its dependence on ferries.
From several miles away, Kirsten and Elise watched as shells splashed in the water and sent geysers skyward. It was morbidly beautiful.
“Today the bridge, tomorrow the city,” Kirsten murmured and Elise nodded solemn agreement.
“I guess I never realized we were so vulnerable,” Elise said. “With the exception of the attack on that movie production site, war was always so far away. I watched others plan, but never watched it in action. Even the bombings and shellings seemed like aberrations that would stop and go away.”
“I know. When I see those poor boys in the hospital, I don’t particularly think of them as having come from down the road. Perhaps from another world, but not someplace nearby.”
The number of casualties had diminished, if only for a while, and exhausted medical personnel and volunteers like Kirsten had been given blessed relief from their sometimes terrible duties.
Kirsten looked up suddenly. “I just realized something. Tell me, do you see any trains crossing?”
“No.”
“And you won’t. The Germans don’t actually have to hit the bridge to stop train traffic; all they have to do is come close.”
Elise shook her head. She ached to see Josh and herself safe and out of San Francisco. “So we’re cut off, aren’t we?”
“Not quite. There will still be barges and other ships crossing the bay to the city proper, but a major link has indeed been severed. And that means the Germans have won another round, damn them to hell.”
President Lansing and Secretary of State Hughes beamed. “Ambassador Grey, what a pleasure. Come in and please sit down.”
Grey sat on a couch and Lansing sat across from him. Hughes took a chair behind Lansing. A clearly flustered Mrs. Tuttle entered with tea, coffee, and cookies. “Now, sir, to what do I owe the honor of your visit?” inquired Lansing.
Grey sighed dramatically. “I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad tidings. His Imperial majesty, Kaiser Wilhelm, is protesting the loose manner in which both Canada and the United States are paying attention to the integrity of their respective borders.”
“Oh dear, dear me,” said the president.
“Indeed. The kaiser now has information that military goods are being shipped from Canada and into the United States via rail to Seattle.”
“I’m shocked, devastated. Please have a cookie.”
“Thank you, and my compliments to Mrs. Tuttle.”
“I believe she has a crush on you.”
Grey smiled. “Ah, and who can blame her. Now, as to the border, our foreign office has informed the kaiser that our border agents are checking what comes into Canada, and are not particularly interested in what goes out, in this case to the United States. The task of checking what goes into the United States belongs to the United States. We told him we sincerely doubted you Americans would voluntarily halt the flow of badly needed war materiel to your country.”
“Did he take it well?”
“Actually, no. He called us duplicitous liars and closet allies of America.”