occupied in the West for more than half a century of warfare against the Indians. Even though the Indians were long subdued, no one had ever thought to move the army. It would have cost money.
“Mr. President.”
“Yes, Elihu.”
“Guard and militia units from a number of states are accumulating around the New York area. For all intents and purposes, they are leaderless, as each consists of an independent brigade or regiment. There is no cohesion, no direction. I suggest that you appoint regular army generals for that area and make them responsible for the gathering up of those units before disaster strikes. For a start, I recommend simply establishing geographic lines of demarcation and control and letting our generals sort out who’s in their area.”
“Who do you have in mind? General Miles?”
Root smiled. “No, sir, he’s much too valuable right here.” A small sop. Root neither liked nor trusted Gen. Nelson Miles. “I propose sending Joe Wheeler and Fitzhugh Lee up there immediately. They are in town and I’ve got them standing by. Baldy Smith has been contacted. He will get there in a little while and, with your concurrence, will assume tactical command for the time being.”
John Hay leaned back in his chair and looked to the ceiling in mock prayer. “My lord, our first line of defense is two aging Confederates to be followed as soon as possible by an old Union general.”
Roosevelt hushed him. “It could be worse. At least they’re skilled soldiers.” There was a pause as a messenger entered with a sheet of paper. Roosevelt scanned it and looked up. “Well, Congress didn’t dally. They’ve approved a declaration of war and given me control over state units.”
“Well, sir,” said Hay, “where does that put us regarding a response to the German ultimatum?”
“Tell them,” Miles snarled, “to shove it up their Teutonic asses!”
Roosevelt laughed and slapped the table. The irascible and unpleasant Nelson Miles, who had spent much of his career fighting rivals for his own personal glory, had focused on yet a new enemy and this time the correct one. Bully! thought Roosevelt. “Well, General, I think Mr. Hay and I can formulate a response that will convey the sense of what you just said.”
Miles handed Roosevelt a thick envelope, bypassing the very surprised Elihu Root. “Sir, since we are going to war with a major European power, it will necessitate a major increase in the size of the American army. I have some thoughts and recommendations I am confident you will find interesting.”
Roosevelt took the envelope and tried not to look at Root, who glared at Miles and appeared as though he wished to strangle the man. “I think we have accomplished much that is necessary here today, and we will accomplish much more in the days to come. We must make an army and gather our fleet. Then we will wring that puffed-up little bastard kaiser’s neck.”
To a chorus of “hear, hear” they started to rise in dismissal, but the young lieutenant who’d been overseeing the telegraph operations in the war room above burst through the door. “Mr. President,” he gasped. “There’s been a battle!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
P ATRICK M AHAN REGRETTED the delay in his journey to the front, but there was little he could do. With the death of the two servants in the attempted robbery, he had assumed responsibility for Katrina Schuyler and the refugee, Molly Duggan. The first thing to do was see to Molly’s health. They found a doctor who treated her physical wounds and assured them she would be all right with time. What mental wounds she’d incurred were beyond anyone’s estimate. It sometimes seemed to Patrick and Katrina that the whole ugly incident with the German soldier had been blotted from Molly’s mind once she told them of it. But then something about Germany or the Germans would arise in conversation and they could see her hatred. Nevertheless, with the resilience of a youth who was still
“Mr. President.”
“Yes, Elihu.”
“Guard and militia units from a number of states are accumulating around the New York area. For all intents and purposes, they are leaderless, as each consists of an independent brigade or regiment. There is no cohesion, no direction. I suggest that you appoint regular army generals for that area and make them responsible for the gathering up of those units before disaster strikes. For a start, I recommend simply establishing geographic lines of demarcation and control and letting our generals sort out who’s in their area.”
“Who do you have in mind? General Miles?”
Root smiled. “No, sir, he’s much too valuable right here.” A small sop. Root neither liked nor trusted Gen. Nelson Miles. “I propose sending Joe Wheeler and Fitzhugh Lee up there immediately. They are in town and I’ve got them standing by. Baldy Smith has been contacted. He will get there in a little while and, with your concurrence, will assume tactical command for the time being.”
John Hay leaned back in his chair and looked to the ceiling in mock prayer. “My lord, our first line of defense is two aging Confederates to be followed as soon as possible by an old Union general.”
Roosevelt hushed him. “It could be worse. At least they’re skilled soldiers.” There was a pause as a messenger entered with a sheet of paper. Roosevelt scanned it and looked up. “Well, Congress didn’t dally. They’ve approved a declaration of war and given me control over state units.”
“Well, sir,” said Hay, “where does that put us regarding a response to the German ultimatum?”
“Tell them,” Miles snarled, “to shove it up their Teutonic asses!”
Roosevelt laughed and slapped the table. The irascible and unpleasant Nelson Miles, who had spent much of his career fighting rivals for his own personal glory, had focused on yet a new enemy and this time the correct one. Bully! thought Roosevelt. “Well, General, I think Mr. Hay and I can formulate a response that will convey the sense of what you just said.”
Miles handed Roosevelt a thick envelope, bypassing the very surprised Elihu Root. “Sir, since we are going to war with a major European power, it will necessitate a major increase in the size of the American army. I have some thoughts and recommendations I am confident you will find interesting.”
Roosevelt took the envelope and tried not to look at Root, who glared at Miles and appeared as though he wished to strangle the man. “I think we have accomplished much that is necessary here today, and we will accomplish much more in the days to come. We must make an army and gather our fleet. Then we will wring that puffed-up little bastard kaiser’s neck.”
To a chorus of “hear, hear” they started to rise in dismissal, but the young lieutenant who’d been overseeing the telegraph operations in the war room above burst through the door. “Mr. President,” he gasped. “There’s been a battle!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
P ATRICK M AHAN REGRETTED the delay in his journey to the front, but there was little he could do. With the death of the two servants in the attempted robbery, he had assumed responsibility for Katrina Schuyler and the refugee, Molly Duggan. The first thing to do was see to Molly’s health. They found a doctor who treated her physical wounds and assured them she would be all right with time. What mental wounds she’d incurred were beyond anyone’s estimate. It sometimes seemed to Patrick and Katrina that the whole ugly incident with the German soldier had been blotted from Molly’s mind once she told them of it. But then something about Germany or the Germans would arise in conversation and they could see her hatred. Nevertheless, with the resilience of a youth who was still
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