have chosen this route, President Lansing, a word of warning to the people of California. We will deal fairly and honorably with military prisoners of war, but not with civilians who oppose us. Such Franc-tireurs are nothing but terrorists and will be executed summarily as we did in Belgium and elsewhere. Good day, sir.”
* * *
Martel crawled over the crest of the hill over to where Major George Patton lay peering through binoculars.
“Don’t stand at attention and don’t even think of saluting,” Patton muttered.
“Glad to see you too, Major.”
“Drop it,” Patton said, referring to rank. It was just the two of them. “How’d you get down here so quickly?”
“Another plane. I’m almost getting used to them. The pilot was some lunatic teenager named Lindbergh and I’ll swear he stayed at three feet above the ground to avoid German planes.”
The sound of machine-gun fire interrupted them. They both looked through their binoculars.
“Okay, George, what do you see down there?”
Patton chuckled, “Germans, Germans, and still more Germans. They are moving ever so slowly on San Diego, which they should have taken ten minutes after crossing the border. Hell, it’s only sixteen miles from Mexico.”
An artillery shell screamed in and landed a hundred yards in front of them. Martel winced and Patton laughed. “You afraid, Hammer?”
“Hell, yes.” Patton liked to show off his knowledge of military history by occasionally calling Luke “Hammer.”
Charles—“the Hammer”—Martel had defeated the Moslems at Tours in the eighth century in an epic battle that had stopped the Moslem advance into Europe and possibly changed the course of history. To the best of Luke’s knowledge, he was not descended from the early medieval French warrior, but that didn’t stop Patton from teasing him.
Luke peered through his own binoculars. He saw infantry and lots of it, but no cavalry, and they were all moving very slowly and carefully. He noted the presence of several armored trucks. He thought they would be far more dangerous than cavalry in a modern war. He wondered if Patton agreed with that. Patton was a horse man.
“I can’t believe they’re moving so slowly,” Patton said.
“I can and it’s all your fault.”
“What?”
“One of the prisoners you took was a staff major and needed morphine to dull the pain of his wounds. Of course, I wouldn’t give him any until he talked at length and then I gave him some more and he talked at even greater length.”
Patton laughed, “Luke, you are a class-A shit. I am so proud of you.”
Luke grinned. “Thanks, George. At any rate, he said his division had been told to expect light resistance, but to be careful not to leave their flanks hanging. Apparently, they actually understand how close their win at the Marne in 1914 truly was and don’t want to make the same nearly fatal mistake again. They are more than willing to sacrifice speed to maintain the integrity of their formations. Also, it was understood it would take time to get their army across the rugged and constrained border between California and Mexico and in position to fight. Thus, they were directed to move slowly on the defenses of San Diego.”
Patton snorted, “Defenses of San Diego? What defenses of San Diego are they talking about? The place is absolutely wide open.”
“George, according to their thinking it is inconceivable that a major port like San Diego wouldn’t be protected by major fortifications. The Kraut major said they were to move forward and locate them. He said his senior officers would be stunned when they found out about your attack on their formation since they assumed us stupid Americans would wait in our forts to be attacked and then pulverized. He said your attack proved two things: One, that there is a major American presence in the area, and, two, San Diego would be well defended. Congratulations, George, if the major is correct, you’ve just bought us some
* * *
Martel crawled over the crest of the hill over to where Major George Patton lay peering through binoculars.
“Don’t stand at attention and don’t even think of saluting,” Patton muttered.
“Glad to see you too, Major.”
“Drop it,” Patton said, referring to rank. It was just the two of them. “How’d you get down here so quickly?”
“Another plane. I’m almost getting used to them. The pilot was some lunatic teenager named Lindbergh and I’ll swear he stayed at three feet above the ground to avoid German planes.”
The sound of machine-gun fire interrupted them. They both looked through their binoculars.
“Okay, George, what do you see down there?”
Patton chuckled, “Germans, Germans, and still more Germans. They are moving ever so slowly on San Diego, which they should have taken ten minutes after crossing the border. Hell, it’s only sixteen miles from Mexico.”
An artillery shell screamed in and landed a hundred yards in front of them. Martel winced and Patton laughed. “You afraid, Hammer?”
“Hell, yes.” Patton liked to show off his knowledge of military history by occasionally calling Luke “Hammer.”
Charles—“the Hammer”—Martel had defeated the Moslems at Tours in the eighth century in an epic battle that had stopped the Moslem advance into Europe and possibly changed the course of history. To the best of Luke’s knowledge, he was not descended from the early medieval French warrior, but that didn’t stop Patton from teasing him.
Luke peered through his own binoculars. He saw infantry and lots of it, but no cavalry, and they were all moving very slowly and carefully. He noted the presence of several armored trucks. He thought they would be far more dangerous than cavalry in a modern war. He wondered if Patton agreed with that. Patton was a horse man.
“I can’t believe they’re moving so slowly,” Patton said.
“I can and it’s all your fault.”
“What?”
“One of the prisoners you took was a staff major and needed morphine to dull the pain of his wounds. Of course, I wouldn’t give him any until he talked at length and then I gave him some more and he talked at even greater length.”
Patton laughed, “Luke, you are a class-A shit. I am so proud of you.”
Luke grinned. “Thanks, George. At any rate, he said his division had been told to expect light resistance, but to be careful not to leave their flanks hanging. Apparently, they actually understand how close their win at the Marne in 1914 truly was and don’t want to make the same nearly fatal mistake again. They are more than willing to sacrifice speed to maintain the integrity of their formations. Also, it was understood it would take time to get their army across the rugged and constrained border between California and Mexico and in position to fight. Thus, they were directed to move slowly on the defenses of San Diego.”
Patton snorted, “Defenses of San Diego? What defenses of San Diego are they talking about? The place is absolutely wide open.”
“George, according to their thinking it is inconceivable that a major port like San Diego wouldn’t be protected by major fortifications. The Kraut major said they were to move forward and locate them. He said his senior officers would be stunned when they found out about your attack on their formation since they assumed us stupid Americans would wait in our forts to be attacked and then pulverized. He said your attack proved two things: One, that there is a major American presence in the area, and, two, San Diego would be well defended. Congratulations, George, if the major is correct, you’ve just bought us some
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