He lurched forward to the smoking crater. There was nothing. He looked about and saw pieces of cloth on the ground and bits of things that were red. He screamed, and this time he could hear it.
On board the Gazelle, the German captain called a cease-fire. The mob on the shore was no longer a threat. The lifeboats were on the sand and the soldiers already disembarking and fanning out in open skirmish formation. He peered through his telescope at the lifeless bodies on the beach and elsewhere, ignoring the fleeing survivors who were fast disappearing into the nearby woods. Search as he might, he could not see any weapons. His heart filled with a sickened dread. There had to be weapons. Dear God, there had to be weapons. Please.
Patrick Mahan stretched his six-foot body on the stiff cot. After so many years in the military, he still found it difficult to get comfortable on one of the damned things. He was surprised that he had slept at all, but he obviously had.
The clock on the wall told him it was six in the morning of Monday, June 3, 1901. He remembered that he was in the war room on the second level of the White House.
He stood up, and his rustling alerted a servant, who came in with a bowl of water and a cloth to refresh him. Equally important, he directed him to the little room down the hall where he could relieve the suddenly intense pressures on his bladder and bowels. The same servant told him they had taken the liberty of cleaning and pressing the uniforms and clothing in his baggage.
Mind and body clear, he changed into a uniform and sipped a cup of coffee. He had to admit that the service was excellent; he could easily get used to staying at the White House. If only they provided something better than cots.
He turned at the sound of footsteps. Teddy Roosevelt entered, his face grim. “I hope you slept well.” When Patrick assured him he had, Roosevelt continued. “It appears things are happening. The phone lines to New York came up a few moments ago, and the New York papers are saying there’ve been fires and explosions in both the city and the harbor. They also say a number of strange ships have been sighted either in or approaching the harbor.”
Roosevelt stared at the silent phones and telegraph in the war room. “Of course, no one thought to tell us first.” He sighed. “Perhaps they assumed we already knew. After all, we are the government. By the way, I have not told McKinley. Let the man rest while he can. That is also why I didn’t waken you.”
“What about landings?”
“Nothing yet. Thank God.”
There was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs and a half-dozen soldiers entered the room with a young and very nervous lieutenant. Roosevelt waved off a salute and the men took up stations by the communications equipment. “One of Captain Hedges’s ideas,” explained Roosevelt. “He also sent a platoon of infantry to provide additional security for the White House. Other units are being quietly scattered throughout the city. The ones here will be housed in the conservatory for the time being and simply be a standby reserve.”
Stand by for what? Patrick thought. Before he could comment, the phone rang and was answered by one of the young soldiers, who listened and appeared to spasm slightly before gaining control of himself.
“Sir,” he said, directing his comment to the vice president, “the caller is saying that unknown soldiers are landing on beaches along the south shore of Long Island. He also says there’s been a lot of fighting and many casualties. He’s also heard something about a massacre somewhere.”
William McKinley chose that moment to enter the room. The information appeared to stagger him, and Roosevelt grabbed his arm. Patrick was shocked by McKinley’s appearance. The man who was so imposing a physical specimen that he had been described by some as a statue now appeared to have lost all color and life. The vibrant, angry man of yesterday seemed but a shell. Patrick quickly recalled that McKinley had served in the Union army in the Civil War as well as having been commander in chief during the Spanish war, so this was his third war. And this for an old man who professed an abhorrence and hatred of violence.
Roosevelt took McKinley to a chair and tried to make him comfortable. It was questionable whether he succeeded.
From that point on, the day became a blur. Calls and telegrams poured in, confirming the worst. Soldiers, now positively identified as German, had indeed landed on Long Island and were advancing along the shore toward the Brooklyn side of New York, where a flotilla of German warships was now in plain sight. Behind them were scores of merchant ships and liners, all obviously full of soldiers and materiel.
Governor Odell called out the National Guard at about ten in the morning and reported that a handful of German nationals had been taken into custody and were being charged with sabotage. The governor also asked where the hell the rest of the American army was.
McKinley sipped a glass of water. Some of his color seemed to be returning. “It is a good question, is it not? What do we have that can assist them?”
Roosevelt shook his head. “Nothing. Not a damned thing. There may have been a navy ship or two in the harbor, but I doubt it. There is no army post of any size within hundreds of miles, and the coastal fortifications appear to have been either taken by surprise or blown up by saboteurs. Of course,” he added ruefully, “our coastal forts were a farce anyhow.”
About noon, Secretary of State John Hay arrived, along with Lt. Gen. Nelson Miles, the commanding general of the U.S. Army.
General Miles was a vain and bristly man who had a deserved reputation of presuming slights at the drop of a hat. John Hay, on the other hand, was a courtly gentleman who had begun his government service decades before as the assistant personal secretary to Abraham Lincoln during the Civil War. He accepted his introduction to Patrick with a warming grace, whereas Miles simply glared. Hay, at sixty-three, was a year older than Miles.
“John,” said McKinley to his secretary of state. “Should we have expected this? Why have we been so surprised?”
“In all my life, sir, I have never been so totally shocked. I thought I had seen all manner of strange things when dealing with the Germans, but this tops them all. I knew they were upset with us for insisting that they stay out of the Western Hemisphere, but never, never did anyone at the State Department even remotely anticipate what they are doing! And they have us so helpless!” He turned to Miles. “Have they not?”
Miles looked as though he had swallowed something sour. As commanding general, he surely took the question as a rebuke. “Totally,” he said finally. “The state militias and the National Guard are all there is. Even if they succeed in making contact with the Germans, they will be defeated. They have had little training and less in the way of necessary equipment. No, gentlemen, the bulk of our regular army, such as it is, is well away from New York.”
Patrick knew that the major units of the regular army, and the better-trained units of volunteers, were, in large part, in the Philippines, fighting the Moro insurrectionists. The remaining regular units were located primarily in the West, near the Indian reservations and along the border with Mexico.
With that the issue of the army was resolved, although to no one’s satisfaction. They then turned to the status and whereabouts of the navy. Unfortunately, neither the secretary of the navy nor any ranking naval officer had yet been located. Roosevelt, however, had once been assistant secretary of the navy and, with his continued interest in naval affairs, had a fair idea of its whereabouts.
“One squadron is in the Philippines,” Roosevelt said. “With another squadron in or about Cuba, and a handful of remaining ships at Norfolk, Boston, Brooklyn, San Francisco, or on solo cruises.”
Hay sat back in a comfortable chair. “So, what do we do now?”
Before anyone could answer, another telegram was handed to McKinley, who read it and passed it to Roosevelt. “German infantry are now in Brooklyn and appear headed for the waterfront. The German ships are heading for the docks as well.” The German army in Brooklyn? It seemed almost ludicrous, Patrick thought. Might they stop at Coney Island?
Miles stood. His face was florid. “Well, now it becomes obvious. They are going to take the docks and disembark a major force under the protection of their naval guns!”
To Patrick, it sounded very similar to what he had suggested might happen the day before. He caught Roosevelt’s eye and, despite the tension in the room, the man winked slightly. Patrick realized that it is sometimes a shame to be proven right.