After a while, both ships were torches and Kirsten couldn’t begin to imagine the horrors going on inside them. Then both ships ceased firing and began to move slowly towards the shore.
“What are they doing?”
Admiral Sims appeared beside her. He was filthy and bleeding. She told him she should get him to a hospital, but he waved her off. This, the culmination of all his plans, was something he had to see.
“There are others far worse than me, young lady. As to the ships, they are beaching themselves so they don’t sink. Look, the Nevada is attempting the same thing.”
The Nevada didn’t make it. A few hundred yards from shore, she rolled over and disappeared. The crowd groaned and Kirsten felt tears on her cheeks. So many brave men, she sobbed. Elise grasped her arm and was also crying.
Two other German battleships beached themselves. Their crews filled lifeboats and rowed out to the surviving German ships. The remaining German ships were damaged, but seemed under control. They would get away. The Pennsylvania, dark smoke billowing from her many wounds, was withdrawing slowly and would not, could not, interfere.
“And now there are only three,” Sims said. “The Germans have suffered a huge defeat. Sadly, we’re in no position to celebrate. We’ve got only one ship left and she’s badly damaged. We could bring more from the Atlantic, but so too could the Germans. It’s a stalemate.”
Motion from behind caught her eye. Long lines of men in field gray uniforms had begun moving past. She exulted. They were prisoners. German prisoners. She caught Luke walking alongside a youthful-looking American general. Both were limping and holding each other up.
Kirsten ran and took Luke’s arm. “Kirsten, meet General Douglas MacArthur. He just saved our asses with a wild charge through the German Army.”
MacArthur was in pain. “A pleasure,” he grimaced.
Tim Randall took the general’s arm and relieved Luke. MacArthur looked around in confusion. “Where’s my other lucky charm?”
“Wounded, sir, but I think he’ll be okay.” Tim found it difficult to talk. MacArthur was heavy and Tim was exhausted.
Elise screamed and Kirsten and Luke saw her run down the street towards Josh. Elise had informed Kirsten that she would go wherever Josh was sent by the Navy. She hadn’t informed Josh as yet. She threw her arms around him and decided that now was the time. She whispered in his ear. He nodded and hugged her tightly.
Kirsten tore her eyes away from Elise and Josh. “Do you need to go to the hospital, Luke?”
“No.”
“Wonderful,” she said and kissed him on the cheek. “Go do what you have to and I’ll find you at the apartment. We can talk about setting a date to get married. Tomorrow would be nice.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure, you ninny. I think I’m pregnant.”
General Mackensen had spent most of the day and the night trying to round up his shattered army. Panic had ensued and his men had fled from the field of battle in great disarray. It was both shocking and disappointing. He’d thought that the Imperial German Army was made of sterner stuff, but the day’s work had proven his soldiers to be mere mortals.
The Americans had not attacked. Their armored vehicles had withdrawn behind their own lines with nearly half of them damaged, disabled, or simply broken down. American trucks had gone out onto the field and hauled them back where they would be repaired.
Damn them, Mackensen thought. “How could the Yanks have come up with such a devastating weapon so fast?” he muttered.
“They didn’t,” said the crown prince. “We’ve had word that the British were working on something similar for the last couple of years. We’ve never given it much credence, nor did we think it would be such a devastating weapon.”
“Now what, sir?”
Wilhelm grimaced. “Distasteful as it might be, a withdrawal is the wisest course. We will wait for resupply and reinforcements. Our army must rest and regain its collective courage. I doubt very much if God himself could make our men charge the American defenses again, especially as they are being reinforced as we speak. Who knows,” he laughed harshly, “the emperor might just decide to call off this entire endeavor.”
Mackensen was about to ask just what future plans the prince had when a look of surprise appeared for just an instant on the prince’s face before the front of his skull exploded, sending bone and bloody matter into the air. Some of it landed on Mackensen who, along with others, dropped to the ground.
“Sniper!” someone screamed. Of course it was a sniper, Mackensen thought. He reached for the hand of his prince and moaned. The prince’s skull was a vacant mess. The heir to Kaiser Wilhelm II was well and truly dead.
A few hundred yards away, Reggie Carville hummed softly as he wrapped his beloved and disassembled rifle in what he hoped was a waterproof tarpaulin and buried it in the ground. He’d already wiped off his fingerprints, not that anybody would think of using that still fairly new crime-fighting technology on a battlefield. With a little bit of luck he’d be able to retrieve it in a few days when the Germans had evacuated the area. The rifle was a German Gehwehr 88, called by some a Mauser but was really more of a Mannlicher. Regardless, it was a German weapon and, if found, would confuse the finders.
Carville had owned it for several years and had it modified into a highly accurate sporting rifle with a telescopic sight. He had brought it, disassembled, in his suitcase.
The German headquarters was a beehive of panicked activity. No one seemed much in control and patrols were going in all directions searching for the sniper.
When he had the chance, he would tell his good friend, Sergeant “Smeeth,” about his good shooting. “Smeeth” would be so jealous.
Reggie stood and brushed the dirt from his clothing. A German major ran up to him, his Luger in his hand. Reggie was unarmed and in civilian clothing. He smiled and held his hands out to show he was harmless.
“What are you doing here?” the German asked.
“I am a reporter and here are my credentials,” Reggie said firmly. “And kindly note they’ve been signed by the kaiser himself.” And outstanding forgeries they were, he thought. “Has something happened to the crown prince?”
“The late crown prince,” the German said angrily. “A sniper killed him.”
“Good God!”
“So, did you see any suspicious activity? As in someone running away and carrying a rifle?”
“I don’t meant to sound sarcastic, Major, but I’ve seen a great many men running with rifles. Although, I do seem to recall a man in a German uniform running north, rather than south and west along with the rest of the army.”
The major sagged and Reggie could read his mind. Could the murderer have been a German soldier? A communist or anarchist, or just someone who thought the California venture was a bloody waste of lives?
The major departed to continue his fruitless search. Reggie found a comfortable place to sit and wait for the Germans to leave and the Americans to arrive.
Ah, Reggie thought happily, he had indeed crowned the prince.
EPILOG
Robert Lansing, President of the United States, looked over the latest report from California. It had been two months since the surrender of the German Army at the small port of Monterey, on the Pacific coast and south of San Francisco. The Germans had been besieged for three months. They had been left stranded when Admiral von Trotha, replacing the seriously wounded Hipper, decided to withdraw the remains of his fleet to Cam Ranh Bay for refit and repair. This had become necessary when the German Navy realized that Los Angeles facilities had all been damaged and were in danger of falling to fast-moving American columns under General Pershing. A spearhead under Lejeune had moved quickly and taken up position in the hills overlooking Los Angeles.