“I think we’ve been outflanked, Joe.” Montoya said with dismay in his voice. Only his men and a handful of others were mounted. The freed prisoners were half-trained infantry at best, and men who had not yet regained their full physical strength. If they had to run for it, they’d be caught in a short while and slaughtered.
“Maybe,” Flower said, “And maybe not.”
“Please make sense,” Montoya snapped. Even though the two men still had feelings of ethnic enmity, they’d established a working truce. It was either that or chaos.
They were joined in the hole by Barnes. Below them, the mounted men fanned out and moved easily through the ruins of Raleigh and what had been the American’s prison. They stopped in the center of town where a naked flagpole stood. They watched intently as two men attached a flag and ran it up. The wind snapped it.
“Jesus Christ,” gasped Flower. His eyes were better and he had the binoculars.
“What?” chorused Rice and Montoya.
“It’s the stars and stripes. They’re ours.”
A few minutes later, the two groups had united with much cheering and backslapping. As the ranking officer, Tovey took charge and the others were happy to let him do it. He quickly sent a patrol west to make sure nothing was coming from that direction. As he did, a thought was forming.
Barnes again pumped his hand. “I gotta ask, General, how did you know we were here?”
“Thank her,” he said, pointing to where Martina Flores sat on her horse. She took off her wide brimmed hat and waved shyly.
“Holy hell,” yelled Barnes, “Tina came back. Now’s she’s saved us twice!”
With that, dozens of cheering former prisoners surrounded Martina and lifted her off her equally startled horse. Sitting her on Barnes’ shoulders, they began parading her around while chanting “Tee-nah! Tee-nah!”
At first confused, she broke into a wide smile and then happily waved her arms as tears began to stream down her cheeks. Tovey watched in satisfaction as more of her tormented past was purged. After a few moments they put her on the ground where she hugged and kissed a number of them, especially a young man named Sullivan who, Tovey was told, had been her contact with the prisoners.
Finally, she stood beside Tovey and discreetly took his hand, establishing ground rules that very much pleased Tovey.
“Gentlemen and lady,” Tovey announced. “I have it on good authority that a full U.S. division is about a half day behind us under a nasty Marine general named Lejeune, and that other units are right on his tail. He has wiped out some Krauts who were delaying him and now is riding the rails and making good speed. Therefore, I have a proposal. How many of you want to stay here and wait for him?”
“What’s your other choice?” asked Montoya.
“Simple. I don’t think there’s much of anything between us and San Diego but hills. You men can do as you see fit, but I’ve always wanted to see San Diego.”
Tim Randall was part of a confused mass of armed humanity trying to push and shove its way onto ferries. “Tickets, please,” someone yelled in a mock falsetto and the response was a chorus of obscenities.
Tim, Lieutenant Taylor, and the rest of the company were in the bow of the large, stubby ship. It had been designed to carry railroad cars, not men, and it had no accommodations for them. This was a mixed blessing as they were exposed to the weather, which was calm and clear for the moment, but did give them a view of what they were about to do. The lack of cover also meant that any German plane could see what they were up to and possibly strafe them. Tim hoped that all the German planes were occupied supporting their army.
Packed elbow to elbow with soldiers, the ferry cast off and slowly churned the water of San Francisco Bay. “I get seasick,” said the same voice that cried out for tickets. “I’m going to puke.” It was followed by more obscenities.
“My God,” said Taylor, “look where we are again.”
Douglas MacArthur was in the small cabin, standing behind the captain, and only about fifteen feet away.
“Maybe we really are his lucky charm,” Tim said.
But just how lucky were they, he wondered. They could hear explosions in all directions. Most disconcerting was the fact that there was fighting in the Golden Gate channel. Tim envisioned German warships pouring through while the totally unarmed ferry was still in the bay.
Taylor had heard a messenger explain that MacArthur’s division was to go directly to the city as an unexpectedly heavy attack on it had been launched by some German general named “Hooter.”
The remaining two divisions that were coming behind them would fill in the trenches to the east of the city and where a major attack by the whole German Army was taking place. MacArthur had commented that the decision to send his men over was the right one. If the city fell to General von Hutier, as MacArthur corrected the pronunciation, then there was no point in continuing the fighting elsewhere.
About halfway across the bay, Tim saw in horror that a German battleship was emerging through the channel. It was burning and the men cheered. A moment later, they stopped as one of the guns in her secondary battery opened fire on the flotilla of ferries. More guns fired from the burning ship and shells began to land around them. The captain of the ferry announced that he was turning back.
“The hell you are,” snarled MacArthur, “keep on towards shore. Forget about Fisherman’s Wharf. It’s too dangerous.”
“So’s going on ahead,” whined the captain. “I’m turning back before you get us all killed. I’m captain of this goddamn ship and what I say goes.”
MacArthur pulled his .45 automatic, cocked it, and placed it against the ferryman’s head. “If you don’t go on, I will shoot and kill you and your ship will have a dead captain. I’ve killed before and shooting one more sniveling coward won’t matter. If you go on, you at least have a chance at living.”
Another shell landed near them, showering them all with water. The captain moaned but the ferry kept on.
An explosion rocked and shook them. A shell had struck another ferry a hundred yards to their right. Men and parts of men were flying through the air while hundreds of soldiers fell into the water. Others jumped in order to flee the sinking craft.
An aide stared in horror. “General, do we stop and save them?”
MacArthur’s face showed intense emotional pain. “No. Our duty is to land these men. Then our brave captain here can retrieve the survivors on his way back.”
A few moments later the first of the remaining ferries hit the docks. Ropes quickly anchored them and officers yelled for the men to get off. They needed no urging. A second German warship had emerged and, although this one too was damaged, it still had working guns.
Men fell into the water and were helped out by comrades. There was chaos as several thousand soldiers disembarked from ferries that landed wherever they could. Units were mixed and any sense of cohesion was lost. Tim saw an officer pushing his way through the throng towards MacArthur.
“General,” Luke said as he saluted. He had just arrived from Oakland on an earlier ship and reported to Liggett. “I’m Major Martel from General Liggett’s staff. Your men are needed urgently. The Krauts have broken through and are advancing past the Laguna de la Merced and will be crossing Ocean Avenue. After that they’ve got a straight shot to the Presidio.”