“The nerve of the man, calling you duplicitous after he’s invaded France, Belgium, and the United States, among other places.”
Grey continued with additional mock solemnity. “They have further informed us that they have reasons to suspect that American merchant ships are running their Puget Sound blockade by flying British flags and carrying false manifests. The Germans are aware that Admiral Beatty has told British merchant captains that, under no circumstances, may Germans board and inspect our ships and we’ve informed the Germans that such would constitute piracy or something like that. They are not concerned about our feelings, but they are worried by us Brits. Beatty has told them they may check manifests, but from a small boat alongside the merchant, and that is all. The Hun right now respects that because he does not wish to risk another war with Great Britain. At least, not yet.”
Lansing nodded solemnly and glanced at Hughes who maintained a good poker face. It had taken too much time for someone to come up with the scheme. British-flagged ships were now loaded with war material at either Boston, New York, or, with the strange Italian Golitti’s assistance, in Lisbon. They transited the Panama Canal, still solidly in American hands, and sailed insolently up the Pacific to Puget Sound and Seattle where they offloaded and returned. So far more than a score of ships had made the journey, and others were en route. If the output of America’s factories could not be sent overland, they would go by sea.
The first ships had unloaded fourteen inch shells for the Nevada, which was now ready to attack the smaller German ships still blockading the Sound. Other ships brought artillery, machine guns, and ammunition. If Lansing recalled correctly, half a hundred crated airplanes had also been unloaded. Their pilots had traveled the land route as Canadian citizens and simply crossed the border without incident. The planes were now being assembled under the direction of an officer named Mitchell.
Lord Grey smiled. The president’s mind was easy to read. “I am concerned, Mr. Lansing, that the Germans will grow impatient and do something rash like searching a British flagged ship and then finding contraband in its hold. That would be quite embarrassing. What would we do? Would we scold the Germans for violating the sanctity of the British flag, however fraudulent its use, or would we chastise you for using our flag for immoral purposes?” Grey sighed expansively. “I just don’t know what we will do. Are there any more cookies?”
Hughes passed a new tray. “I believe Mrs. Tuttle would marry you if she could.”
“If only for the cookies, I might take her up on it. Family might not approve, however. Where were we?”
“Your options,” said Lansing.
“Yes. Indeed. Should a ship be found carrying contraband, we would profess shock and dismay that it occurred, and tell the kaiser that we will work diligently to ensure that it doesn’t happen again. We would ask for and get an apology from you for your actions.”
Lansing smiled wickedly. “I will write it now if you’d like.”
Twenty feet below ground in a dimly lit man-made cavern, Luke felt the earth tremble from the massive explosions. It felt as if the Germans were trying to destroy all life on the earth. He was beyond fear. He was terrified. He could die at any moment, and the thought made him want to whimper. How the hell did people endure it? Because they had to, was the only answer.
A real question might be what the devil made him volunteer to come to the front for information at just the time the Germans were launching another offensive. During the previous assault, he’d been a spectator and off to the side. This time he was right in the middle of the titanic battle.
Some of the other soldiers in the bunker looked to him for leadership. The cement roof above them vibrated and quivered. Martel saw the fear on their faces and hoped it wasn’t reflected on his own. The air in the bunker was clammy and some of the men felt weak from the poor circulation, but at least it was safe. Some fools even smoked cigarettes, which further fouled air that was already ripe with the smell of urine, sweat, shit, and fear.
They might be relatively secure in the well-constructed bunker, but they would soon have to emerge to a new and frightening surface where they would confront the prospect of horrible and violent death.
Dust trickled down from the ceiling and covered them all with a light film as enemy shells hit above them. The soldiers, Luke included, were lucky; they had helmets that kept their heads reasonably clean. Small pieces of debris patted like raindrops on their helmets.
The young captain who commanded the troops in the bunker sat beside Luke on the wooden bench. His name was Ward and he was a friendly sort, even though he was harsh when it came to dealing with subordinates. He was trying to convince them that he knew what he was doing and wasn’t afraid of the Germans.
The shelling had been going on for hours. It was beyond Luke’s comprehension and belief. There was nothing in his experience to even remotely compare with what was going on above him. And it was all prelude, the real battle had yet to commence.
It had also been a most unpleasant surprise. Luke’s intentions had been to visit the front, observe, take some notes, and leave, but the sudden and unexpected shelling had trapped him. Now he wondered if his coming to the front was going to be a tragic mistake.
Ward laughed hesitantly. “At least the bombardment keeps the Krauts away, sir. When it stops, it will mean that their damned infantry will be well on their way to our trenches. While they’re trying to keep us pinned down, they’ll attempt a barrage in front of their advancing troops.”
At which point, the Americans would pour out of the bunker and into their own trenches, and rain small-arms fire on the attackers. Luke knew all this, but understood that Ward felt a need to talk, to prove that he knew what was happening and that neither he nor his men should be fearful.
A crack appeared in the roof of the bunker and dirt poured onto the floor. For a moment they all thought it was going to collapse, but it didn’t and they began to breathe again. “It’s like an earthquake,” Luke said.
Ward nodded. “The ground, the solidest earth, seems to be turned into mud by the shelling. It has no substance. It must be what an earthquake is like.”
“Wouldn’t know,” Luke said. “And I’d prefer to keep it that way.” Ward laughed and a couple of soldiers within hearing distance nodded appreciatively.
Martel turned and looked at the infantrymen stare at him and Ward. They were the poor bloody bastards who were going to try and stop the Germans who would soon be assaulting from their positions.
If the bunker in which he cowered was any indication, the German artillery had been ineffective. There had been numerous direct hits on the roof of the bunker, but it had withstood them all. Even the new crack above them seemed stable. They understood that German infantry doctrine would have the cannon fire stop well before the actual assault to prevent hitting their own troops. It was a prudent measure, but the brief warning caused by the halt would enable the Americans to take their positions and begin killing Germans.
Luke tried to act relaxed. “Captain Ward, has anyone considered what might happen if a shell blocks our exit?”
“That, sir, is why we have built several exits. If all else fails, I have thirty men who will dig like fools to get ourselves out before we suffocate.”
The firing seemed to diminish. Ward barked an order and two men went to the tunnel that led up to the trench. They opened the door and one of them gingerly went out and up the stairway. The second followed behind him.
Martel heard the crack of an explosion and the last soldier was thrown back into the bunker, engulfed in a cloud of smoke. A long metal splinter from a shell had been driven into his chest. He screamed once and fell silent as blood poured from the wound. Incredibly, the first soldier returned unhurt as the shelling picked up again.