At which point we’ll all be dead or prisoners, Liggett thought, and he saw the same on Admiral Sims’ face. Sims and the other naval personnel looked incongruous in their blue uniforms carrying rifles. Many looked like they’d never seen a rifle before. At least the sailors weren’t wearing white. That would have made them ideal targets.
Liggett nodded and the scout began to return to his position down the street. Suddenly, he wheeled and ran back.
“Oh shit, sir, here they come.”
Waves of soldiers in field gray uniforms were advancing up 40th Avenue, a close-packed mass of humanity in metal helmets. So far they were walking, but they would charge when they got close enough and overwhelm the barricade by sheer weight of numbers. Through his binoculars, Liggett recognized a German general—von Hutier? Well, he thought, the man at least had the courage of his convictions.
“Where do you want my men, General?”
Liggett wheeled and smiled. He’d been so engrossed that he hadn’t noticed the sounds of boots pounding on the pavement behind him, many boots.
“Douglas, it’s so good to see you. Luke, what the devil took you so long?”
Before either could reply, Liggett continued. “General MacArthur, place your men as you see fit, but please do so in a hurry.”
MacArthur looked down the street and gasped. “Fill in everywhere, men, just fill in!” He saw Randall and Taylor. “You two stay with me.”
“Oh Jesus,” Tim muttered, “Just what we need.”
The newly-arrived Americans had no artillery, but they did have machine guns, both BARs and Hotchkiss guns, along with some Browning weapons. Liggett could only stare and smile. What he would have given for those machine guns when the Germans were advancing up the valley.
“Now!”
At MacArthur’s command, hell broke loose from the Americans. Tim ran along behind his men and urged them to keep aiming low, just like they’d been taught. Tim stopped and aimed at a German. He squeezed off a shot just the way he’d done in camp and saw the man fall. He fired a second time and another German grasped his leg and tumbled. Look at that, he thought, the Germans can die just like anybody else. All around him, men were firing and Germans were falling.
It wasn’t one sided. Germans paused and fired their Mausers coolly and steadily and with deadly effect. Lieutenant Taylor screamed and fell back, clutching his shoulder. Tim started to reach for him when MacArthur snarled at him to keep shooting and let the medics care for his friend. As an aside, MacArthur told Tim he was now in charge of Taylor’s company.
The Germans stopped advancing. MacArthur sensed that this was the moment of truth. He leaped to the top of the barricade, firing his pistol at the Germans. Bullets whipped by him but none hit. MacArthur had a coldly maniacal look on his face, as if he knew it was not his destiny to die this day.
“Fix bayonets!” he ordered and thousands of men complied.
Again MacArthur fired his pistol in the direction of the Germans. “Now charge!” he yelled and jumped down to the other side, running forward, confronting the Germans.
Aw shit! Tim thought as he landed beside MacArthur and began to move forward.
Admiral Hipper was disconcerted and confused. The garbled radio message from the prince seemed to say that he should depart the bay, which was what he’d already decided. A fleet should never be landlocked any longer than necessary. The German Navy had proven its mettle by crashing through into San Francisco Bay. The American defenses had been destroyed and there was no reason to remain. A few barges or ferries carrying troops had managed to cross the bay, but others had been destroyed with great loss of life. Bodies of dead Americans floated everywhere. It was a great victory.
The loss of the Nassau and Posen would prove that a blood price had been paid and that German naval courage could not ever be doubted.
The survivors from the two battleships had been picked up and the wounded were being cared for. In a short while it would indeed be prudent to seek the open ocean, but what was the rush? From the sounds of it, there was fighting in San Francisco proper and it was inconceivable that the main attack had failed. Yet, that was what the miserable and static-filled radio communication seemed to indicate. Technology was so wonderful except when it didn’t work.
He’d launched a floatplane to fly over the battlefield but some fool on one side or the other had shot it down.
Twilight was coming and he didn’t want to rush through unfamiliar waters in darkness. It was either leave now or wait until morning.
A confirmation was radioed in. Something had gone horribly wrong with the main attack and Mackensen’s army was pulling back, presumably to try again tomorrow, Hipper thought. Leaving now, therefore, was the right thing to do. If they remained, they would be at the mercy of American field artillery which, while more annoying than anything else, might still present a danger to his precious ships. As to what was happening in San Francisco, it was clearly not any of his immediate concern.
He gave the order to Canaris, who began to relay the proper commands to the other ships. Eight great capital ships were at anchor and it would take a few minutes haul them up and begin their way out. No matter. With the Yank shore batteries silenced, the German fleet could return tomorrow if needed. If not, then honor had been satisfied.
“What the devil?”
A burst of fire erupted from the deck of the battleship Kaiserin and billowed skyward. In the light of the flames, he could see dots, like moths, flitting about. They were planes, he realized with horror, American planes.
Amelia Earhart flew low, extremely low, over the ground and then over the blue water of San Francisco Bay. A German cruiser was in front of her and she had to gain altitude to clear it. As it was, she saw shocked faces beneath her. She thought about waving.
Scores of other little airplanes had commenced departing their secret airfield. The total number of Fireflies would be close to two hundred. She was to drop her load and return to the airfield for another and, God willing, another and another.
Today’s cargo consisted of one female pilot and a number of containers rigged to drop from the plane when she pulled the appropriate handle. The containers were filled with gasoline and had a crude detonator for each. Even though the gasoline made takeoffs extremely dangerous, she had convinced a couple of mechanics to go along with her plans. Without a second person in the plane, it meant she could carry that much more gasoline.
Something exploded to her right and she saw a ship on fire. Good, the Germans were beginning to pay. Oops, bad. Now they would be alert. As she thought that, glowing fingers of tracer bullets leaped from the German ships but didn’t touch her.
“Look at that,” she said to herself.
A truly massive ship was coming up fast. She gauged the distance and pulled a switch. Two of the containers dropped. She banked the plane to see and yelled with delight as the ship’s rearmost turret began to burn. Gas was thinner than water. The gasoline would find cracks and crevices that would stop the thicker liquid. The gas didn’t even have to ignite immediately. Sooner or later, it would likely come in contact with something hot or burning and flare up. She visualized gallons of flaming gasoline going down hatches and into the interior of the huge ship, coming in contact with red hot shells.
Her plane shuddered. Oh, Christ, she thought. Her left wing was damaged and the rudder wasn’t responding. Nor were her legs, she realized. Blood was running down them and into he boots. She’d been shot and didn’t know when.