“Right now, we estimate we have suffered between five and seven thousand killed and wounded, the Americans somewhat fewer,” said Schlieffen. “They have the immediate advantage of defending fortified positions, and, despite the barrage, we paid a heavy price to assault them. Now that we have pushed many of them out of those lines, we will begin to harvest them more heavily. We also lost about fifty of our artillery pieces in duels with the Americans. They were not totally helpless, not for one minute. They also used what appear to be large naval guns to good effect. Fortunately, there were only a few of them.”
Schlieffen turned again to the map. “We are going to continue pushing almost due east and search for the end of their right flank. Of necessity, they will try to deny us that by stretching their lines farther east as well, and then by curving back toward the Sound. When they do that, we will have them trapped in a perimeter with their backs to the ocean.”
“But what about Hartford and Boston?” Holstein asked. “I thought those were our objectives.”
“They certainly are,” Schlieffen said. “But not until we have destroyed their army. Right now we are between them and Hartford and are slowly pushing them toward the water. You are right about those two cities, and, yes, we could take them at any time we wish, but we cannot prudently do so and leave such a large American army in our rear. They managed to retreat in surprisingly good order and are still a very large and potentially viable force. They cannot be ignored. First we destroy them, then we will move on to Boston.”
Holstein persisted. “And how long will it take to entrap them?”
“Two, three days at the most. Then we squeeze them, bombard them, and crush them.”
It was Holstein ’s turn to go to the map, and he moved his bulk slowly. “Yet by doing so, you are ignoring any American forces to your north.”
“Count, there are no Americans to our north. Other than a few thousand raw militia and untrained recruits at Springfield, there are no significant American forces in a position to help. Even so, we have not left that area totally unprotected. One of the divisions that led the attack has been sent there to act as a blocking force and for some rest. They lost heavily and will be of no further use in this campaign.” Schlieffen turned to the kaiser and bowed. “By this time next week, the war will be over.”
Bemused by Morris’s and Willy’s attempts at furtiveness, Johnny Two Dogs made it a point to follow them whenever they went outside. He was greatly surprised when they managed to steal some German uniforms, which enabled them to move about openly. He was further amazed that they did so without being able to speak any of that throat-clearing noise the Germans used as a language.
Morris and Willy remained invisible in plain sight because of the chaos resulting from the huge German offensive. They stole a wagon, loaded it with tools and such, and set about working on the telephone lines. Johnny had always hated the wires that sent messages faster than the wind, betraying the presence of his people to the vengeance of the goddamn blue bellies.
Johnny noticed that Willy and Morris were discreet and worked on lines only when no other German engineers were around. Then it dawned on him and he laughed aloud for one of the few times in his harsh life. The crazy bastards weren’t fixing the lines, they were wrecking them! And they were doing it without actually breaking the wire, which would have made the damage easy to find. Pretty clever, those white dogs.
Well, Johnny thought cheerfully, he could play that game as well. Only he would have to actually cut the wires. The Germans would rush out and see the break, fix it, and, if Morris and Willy had done their jobs, go crazy when the damn phones and telegraphs still wouldn’t work. Maybe some dumb German would wander into the woods to take a piss and Johnny would get a chance to cut another throat. And to think that young MacArthur actually said he would be paid to have such fun.
Roosevelt looked again at the map on the wall of the war room. For the first time in a long time, the red and blue flag pins representing the German and American forces had moved. What they showed was a hint of German victory. The U.S. Army was in retreat. It had been shoved back to the Housatonic and then over it. The German force had crossed and was between the American army and Hartford. North of Hartford was Boston, and the only blue pin in the Germans’ path represented the brigade commanded by his friend Patrick Mahan. Fortunately for Mahan, only a small German force seemed to be opposing him. The bulk of the German army flowed over the river and toward the east, bending the American army back toward the ocean.
Roosevelt turned to Maj. Gen. Leonard Wood. “Is it as bad as it looks?”
“It could be worse, sir. We have only withdrawn, not been defeated.”
Roosevelt shuddered. He had spent all day in the room listening to the reports of the bombardment, which had been followed by an assault in overwhelming strength against a single point in their defenses. It was the same strategy that Patrick Mahan had said General Miles should have used against the Germans in July. The president wondered if Patrick felt any satisfaction for being correct. Probably not.
“Where’s Longstreet?”
“He went north to be with MacArthur in Hartford, sir,” Wood replied. “He left last night. I don’t want to put words in his mouth, but I don’t think he could stand being here while the battle was being fought elsewhere.”
Roosevelt couldn’t blame the man. It was not as if he had abandoned his post, far from it. He had done well, and if he wanted to be present at what would undoubtedly be his last battle, then God bless him. For a moment Roosevelt toyed with the thought of going up there as well, but reluctantly abandoned it. Right now the worst that could happen was that the United States could lose the battle and its army and have to sue for peace. If he went up north and managed to get captured, it would be an additional disgrace for his young nation. Perhaps they wouldn’t want him back after this.
It came to him, as it had several times in the last few weeks, that he was very likely going to be the first U.S. president to lose a war. If so, the territorial ambitions of the United States would be on hold until she managed to loosen whatever shackles a treaty with the Germans would demand. Also, it would doom him to the saddest of all places in American history. His name would be a mark of shame. What would become of his family?
He looked at the map again and saw that the trainees near Springfield were on the move. He knew about it and had given reluctant approval. They would be slaughtered, but it had to be done. Perhaps they could pull off a miracle.
And how many old Civil War generals could MacArthur possibly use? He now had Longstreet, whose career had been clouded by controversy; Schofield, who had retired six years ago; Smith, who’d failed outside Richmond; Wheeler, who’d lost to Sherman while serving under Hood; and Lee, whose only real claim to fame was being nephew to his illustrious uncle. Merritt had also been recalled from retirement.
These relics of bygone days were paired with younger generals like Pershing, Funston, Kent, and Chaffee. It was a real passing of the torch. He hoped it wasn’t too late.
Trina made sure the carriage was packed with everything that could be useful on the trip. She had only a vague idea which way she would head with Heinz and Molly, although she thought it likely that they would try to head north and west toward her family’s estate outside of Albany -if the Germans didn’t get that far.
All about her were signs of evacuation. Carts, wagons, and people on horseback were heading anywhere but south, where the throbbing sounds of battle were ominously discernible. The people with vehicles were the lucky ones. There were long lines of men, women, and children walking along the trails and paths.