A cool breeze swept through the streets of Washington DC, which helped moderate the stifling summer heat. The city seemed to have its own unique climate, and its miserably hot summers were well-known to those whose business kept them in it in June, July, and August. Washingtonians liked to joke that Congress used weather predications to schedule its recesses to avoid the worst of it. Others were less fortunate. The soldiers at the Washington Arsenal, the sailors and marines at the Navy Yard, and the constabulary troops at the guard posts throughout the city all had to grin and bear the heat as best they could.
So did Lt. Robert Fitzgerald, and he had it somewhat worse. He wasn’t standing guard at a sentry box. He was following a rear-admiral up Pennsylvania Avenue, trying to scan for threats as he tried to keep up. Admiral Fiske kept a brisk pace that made it difficult for Robert to do his job as Fiske’s confidential aide. While he might now be a glorified clerk, his job still entailed acting as Fiske’s bodyguard. Walking as fast as he had to kept him from properly looking out for threats. Fiske had insisted on walking despite the heat and the risk of being out in the open.
Robert silently thanked God for both the breeze and the fact that Fiske and he were in civilian dress. Military personal wore civilian clothing when they had business off-post as a general rule. This made it harder for Redeemers terrorists to identify them as targets, though it cut into martial grandeur. Absent his dress uniform, Fiske looked more like an absentminded professor than a career sea officer. Likewise, Robert looked more like a young clerk in one of the government departments than a marine officer. Had they been in uniform, walking two miles through the city would have been borderline suicidal on Fiske’s part and gross negligence on Robert’s part. However, their cool cotton suits blended perfectly with the Washington crowd, and they had no trouble.
Their walking eventually brought them to their destination. The War Department was located next to the White House. Built between the two phases of the Rebellion, the building was a monument to the transformation of the American military establishment. President Hamelin authorized its construction in 1866 to house the Navy General Board and the new Army General Staff in one building. Housing both headquarters in one place had raised eyebrows at the time but proved fortunate when President Grant merged the Navy Department back into the War Department in the same of interservice unity. The building was the sanctum sanctorum for the American armed forces, and Robert felt a bit apprehensive about going inside it.
They presented their identification papers at the gatehouse. In the aftermath of the Lincoln Assassination, the Chief of the Marshal’s Service insisted on fortifying the White House grounds. The Hamelin Administration agreed and had the White House, Treasury Building, and the space now occupied by the War Department turned into an executive compound with a twelve-foot wall surrounding it. This proved of great help during the zenith of the Redeemer assassination campaign against military officers in the 1880s. The wall kept assassins at a distance, and the guards learned to look out for people loitering by the gates.
After passing through security, Fiske and Robert walked the short distance to the War Department entrance and went in. The lobby contained a large desk staffed by an Army clerk and a Navy yeoman. Fiske stepped up to the yeoman and cleared his throat. The yeoman looked up at Fiske.
“Good morning sir,” he said politely. “how may I assist you?”
“Could you inform the Secretary that Admiral Fiske has arrived for his appointment?” Fiske said.
“Yes Sir,” the man replied briskly, and Fiske stepped back as the man used a desk telephone to convey Fiske’s arrival. After a few minutes, the phone rang again. The yeomen answered it, answered what were almost certainly orders with the required ‘yes sir,’ before putting it back down.
“Admiral Fiske,” the yeoman said. “Your appointment is to be in Office 400.” A marine came out of a side door and walked up to them as the yeoman spoke. The yeoman looked at him and said, “Office 400, private.” The marine nodded.
“Sir,” He said to Fiske, “this way please.”
They followed him to a staircase and walked up the flights of stairs. The building possessed elevators, but Fiske preferred to take the stairs despite his own reputation as one of the Navy’s leading inventors. Robert suspected that having not developed them himself, Fiske didn’t entirely trust the safety of the elevators. Not that Robert minded too much. The high rise his family lived in back in Boston did not have elevators either.
After trotting up to the 4th floor, the guide led them through a maze of hallways until they reached an unadorned door and entered. Two desks were crammed into a small office, positioned between the entrance to the room and a door directly opposite it. Two uniformed clerks, one Army, the other Navy, looked up.
“Admiral Fiske for his appointment.” The guide said.
“Go ahead sir,” The Navy clerk said, “you are expected.”
“Thank you,” Fiske replied.
The guide disappeared while the Navy clerk stood, knocked on the door, and opened it. He announced, “Admiral Fiske, sir,” and stood aside. Fiske swept past him, with Robert following close behind.
The room they entered had a rich character to it. The walls were lined with bookshelves, except for two large windows which let in the morning sun. A large hardwood desk dominated the room, with a pair of chairs set in front of it. The desk itself was piled high with stacks of files, several books, and a giant coffee mug.
Behind the desk stood Theodore Roosevelt, formerly President and now Secretary of War. He had a look of pleasure on his face as he looked at Fiske. Robert had last seen the formidable politician at Annapolis when Roosevelt spoke to the Brigade of Midshipmen. Robert hadn’t seen him move much at that time, and he was somewhat surprised how quickly Roosevelt stepped from behind the desk and over to shake Fiske’s hand. He silently reminded himself that Roosevelt wasn’t called “Dynamo” without cause. More than one observer had suspected that President Taft had appointed him Secretary of War because few other men had the energy to manage such a large department. For his part, Robert suspected that it was also Taft's way of keeping Roosevelt busy enough to let him enjoy some peace and quiet.
“Hello Jim,” Roosevelt thundered. “It’s good to see you again!”
“And you, sir,” Fiske replied with a smile. It was natural for Roosevelt to know that Fiske was called “Jim” by service friends. It was a nickname that went back to Annapolis.
Roosevelt shook Fiske’s hand and beckoned for him to take a seat. He cast a look at Robert and smiled again. “Good morning to you, lieutenant,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” Robert responded awkwardly. The War Department started assigning junior marine officers as aides to admirals in the 1880s. Originally, they were simply there as bodyguards, but over time, their role had changed to that normally filled by a flag secretary in other navies. Most flag officers were so used to them that their presence was usually ignored. Robert caught Roosevelt’s amused expression. Robert was sure that the old lion liked putting junior officers in a state of unease by noticing them. Roosevelt smiled and returned his gaze to Admiral Fiske.
“Well Jim, the whole world is going to hell in a handbasket.” Roosevelt said. “I had a meeting with the President, Secretary Knox, and Graf von Bernstorff yesterday. Bernstorff provided us with a copy of the Austrian ultimatum to Serbia. I have to say that it does not look good.” Roosevelt seemed to lose some of his usual bonhomie. “The President and the Cabinet were all inclined to let the Austrians exact their pound of flesh for Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Plenty of people can still remember the Lincolns being blown up by the damned Copperheads in ‘63, and the miserable slew of disasters that followed. Hell, I remember the British and French warships steaming off New York Harbor and their assault on the Narrows.”
Robert noticed that Roosevelt’s eyes burned with a sudden intensity. He’d seen that same look in the eyes of his grandfather. Roland Fitzgerald’s parents left Ireland at the height of the famine, and he had a deep, abiding hatred of the English. Grandpa Roland inherited the Irish Catholic hatred for England, and it had grown to frightful proportions when his parents were killed in the Anglo-French bombardment of Boston.
“At any rate, we were willing to concede that the Austrians had a right to deal with Serbia as they saw fit. More importantly, so did the Kaiser. It’s still not clear to us exactly what Wilhelm, Chancellor Bethmann-Hollweg, or Foreign Minister Jagow discussed with the Austrians, but the Austrian note is effectively a declaration of war. It would be impossible for any nation to accept. Here, you can peruse their demands for yourself.”
Roosevelt placed a packet of papers on the desk. Fiske grasped it and began to read. As he worked his way through the list, Fiske seemed to grow more and more animated. By the end, Fiske was muttering imprecations audibly. Finally, he placed the documents back on the desk and looked at Roosevelt.
“I see what you mean sir,” Fiske said. “The list itself is an insult.”
“Exactly,” Roosevelt replied. “and this is the problem. You are still familiar with the general state of European alliances?” Fiske nodded, and Roosevelt continued. “The crux of the matter is that the State Department thinks Russia will stand by Serbia even if it means war. So long as the Serbs agree to the overwhelming majority of the proposals with only minor reservations, Russian will stand by them. From my own point of view, I doubt the Austrians will accept any reservations. I met Franz Joseph when I visited Vienna in 1910, and even if his officials are directing the Austrian response, I think that this note reflects his own desires. Austria-Hungary is coming apart at the seams and they believe that crushing Serbia is the only means by which they can arrest their disintegration.”
Fiske said nothing but nodded. Robert thought that everything he’d heard about Roosevelt was correct. The Secretary of War was a one-man gasbag. Admiral Fiske could not have said more than twenty words, including a greeting. Moreover, Roosevelt looked like he had no sign of stopping.
“So, Austria attacks Serbia, and Russia mobilizes against Austria. Now, what do the Germans do?” Roosevelt continued. “The Austrians are the only continental ally Germany can absolutely count on. The Russians have an alliance with the French that traps Germany and Austria in between two significant powers. If Austria-Hungary collapses, the Germans are pretty well isolated, at least in Europe. So, they have to stand by the Austrians. But what do the French do if the Germans become involved? By the same coin, the French have to stand by Russia this time around. Too many Russians remember that their alliance did them little good in the Russo-Japanese War, and if the French won’t stand with them against Germany, then there’s really no reason for them to be allies. So, the French will stand by the Russians.”
Again, Fiske nodded. Robert was amazed at Roosevelt’s monologue. The former President was either possessed of remarkable foresight or a towering sense of confidence in his own opinions. Then again, Robert reminded himself, this was the man who sent the Asiatic Fleet to Manila in “98, started the Panama Canal, and gave the U.S. Navy one of the large dreadnought fleets in the world. It was better for Robert to pay attention and not judge his superiors (in more senses than one).
“As for the British. They’ve largely remained aloof from the Continent, aside from the Crimean War. They may have spent the last seventy years playing the Great Game with the Russians in Asia, but an ascendant Germany poses more of a threat to them than a Russian Army trying to march through Afghanistan or the Himalayas. Same goes for the French; the High Seas Fleet and the Imperial Army are far more a threat to the British than Marchand and his flag raising in the Sahara. If the Germans offer a suitable pretext, the British cabinet will use it to intervene.”
“Italy is an enigma. They have a Triple Alliance with Germany and Austria, but anyone who expects Rome to act in against their own interests is quite mad. Italy has territorial claims in Austrian territory which they cannot get by honoring their alliance. Furthermore, the Italian government would never pursue any course that would expose their coast to the combined might of the French and British navies. At best, they’ll be neutral. I think that if we become involved, they would be inclined to adopt a stance of neutrality in Germany’s favor. Though, they’d still walk a tightrope to avoid provoking British and French.” Roosevelt paused. He seemed to have temporarily run out of oxygen. Then he resumed.
“Which bring us to our own position and your purpose for being here. The President wished to consult both Secretary Knox and me on how to proceed. We have a defensive pact with Germany, but its terms do not specifically cover Germany being drawn into a war on behalf of an ally. However, all three of us agreed that we are similar position to Germany as Germany is to Austria. Putting aside the niceties of international law and the strict language of the treaty, the United States has only one major ally: Germany. They helped shield us from the worst depredations proposed at Lisbon in “63 and we fought side-by-side from “71 to “73. Moreover, they are our counterbalance against any combination of European powers bent on meddling in our hemisphere again. The President, Secretary Knox, and I agree that we must stand by them, as does Speaker Mann, Senator Lodge, and Senator Wadsworth. And those are just the key congressional leaders. We still have enough members of Congress who remember the Rebellion and would love a chance to whip the French again and finally settle accounts with the British. Even the Federal Union Party will line up in support; their Irish constituents will fry them alive at the polls if they even appear to side with the British.”
Robert had to keep himself from nodding in agreement. His parents voted for the Federal Union Party, more out of loyalty to their local ward boss than anything else. When Robert’s grandfather was orphaned as a boy, the Federal Union ward boss employed him as an errand boy for the ward boss’s saloon. Eventually, Grandpa Roland found himself working in the rough-and-tumble world of urban politics, cutting his political teeth working for up-and-comers like Patrick Kennedy and Martin Lomasney. Robert agreed entirely with Roosevelt. Any Federal Unionist who voiced opposition to war with England would be in grave danger if they did so in an Irish neighborhood.
Roosevelt’s booming voice brought Robert’s focus back to the conversation. “The President has decided that he will ask Congress for a declaration of war if Germany becomes embroiled in a conflict. So, we need to discuss the preliminaries of our plans for aiding Germany if it does come to war. Just the preliminaries, since it’s just the two of us.”
To Robert’s surprise, Fiske started chuckling. Roosevelt’s face transformed from a rather somber expression into one of surprise. Fiske looked up and started to explain. “Mr. Secretary,” He said, “Has anyone ever told you just how similar a meeting with you is to a hurricane? I’ve only just sat down, and you’ve already divided the Europeans into their respective camps and placed us in a war with the British, French, and the Russians. Now you want to discuss military planning for a global war!”
There was a moment of dead silence after Fiske finished. Roosevelt’s face turned red, and Robert was sure that the Secretary of War would explode in rage. It turned out to be quite the opposite. Roosevelt exploded with laughter. The whole room seemed to shake, and Robert thought he saw some of the book-laden shelves rattle a bit. Roosevelt brought himself under control and smiled.
“I see you are still blessed with a lack of reverence for your superiors,” Roosevelt said.
“I prefer to think of them as those who outrank me.” Fiske shot back.
Roosevelt smiled and looked down as if gazing at his shoes would keep him from laughing. “You did have a way of being a perfect gadfly.” He said. “Now I know how the Bureau heads felt when I sent them memos demanding they test your ideas; damned upstart! Still they all said it was worth tolerating. I can still remember what one of them wrote in a memo. ‘I may not approve of a good deal of his conduct, but he has a mind of considerable originality.”
“I see you met poor Admiral McCalla!” Fiske replied with a grin. “God rest his memory.”
Roosevelt laughed and, recollecting himself, looked back up. “If we can get back to the matter at hand?” Fiske nodded, and Roosevelt resumed.
“President Taft has asked me to draw up some preliminary plans for what we can realistically do to aide Germany, both in the short term and the long term. He’s as familiar as anyone outside of the War Department can be with our basic war plans. A number of them were updated when he was Secretary of War, though he freely admitted to me that he left those to the uniformed senior officers; we brought him back to Washington because acting as Ambassador to the Philippines was killing him. At any rate, I met with both of my Undersecretaries after finishing with the President yesterday, and we’ve sketched a basic outline of what we want to do. Undersecretary Stimson is adamant that there’s little prospect of the Army being able to accomplish much in the short term. I agree with him. We will certainly be able to seize and garrison British and French holdings in the Caribbean. The Army will be strong enough, once fully fleshed out to its war establishment, to overrun Canada if the Canadians don’t stay out. However, there’s simply no way for us to transport a single division, let alone an entire field army, to Europe. Moreover, the Army will have enough to do if the Japanese come in alongside the British. The Philippine Army has made great strides and their senior officers have considerable experience in actual fighting. Yet they’ve only had conscription in place for a year and most of their rank-and-file need more training before they’d be more dangerous to the enemy than their own side. The Army’s likely to have its hands full in the Pacific.”
Fiske nodded in agreement. Robert knew little about grand strategy and current war plans, but everyone knew the essential strategic thinking about the Philippines in war with Japan. It had not changed since the U.S. allied itself with Aguinaldo’s republic in “98. First, the Japanese would launch an all-out assault on the Philippines to deny the United States the forward base it needed for offensive action against Japan. The American response was simple; the battle fleet would fight its way across the Pacific, carving a line of communication back to Hawaii and the West Coast. The Navy would proceed to Manila Bay to land reinforcements for the besieged garrison. Then it would be a simple matter of steaming into the South China Sea for a cataclysmic battle with the Combined Fleet.
“This, of course,” Roosevelt continued, “brings us to the Navy and why I summoned you here. As you already know, the overwhelming majority of our battle fleet is concentrated on the West Coast. Admiral Fletcher is in command and they’re as ready as we can make them. The only dreadnoughts not assigned to them are the old Michigan-class ships. They might have been modern when first launched, but I’m well aware of their faults.”
Roosevelt’s face took on a rueful look. “I should have pushed Congress harder to allow a larger tonnage. Trying to force everything into sixteen thousand tons of ship made them damn near obsolete before they were finished. The New Yorks and the Nevadas are ten thousand tons larger.”
Fiske nodded and, sensing an opportunity, chose to interject. “Which means that the Michigans are too slow to keep up with the rest of the battle fleet. They can barely make nineteen knots when the rest of the fleet can do twenty-one. They have thinner armor, less freeboard, and we were damn lucky that the General Board didn’t stick ram bows on them.”
“Exactly,” Roosevelt replied. “So, it is not as if they are a great loss to the Pacific Fleet. Admiral Fletcher still has seventeen dreadnoughts, though the Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, and Arizona are still working up. That’s against Japan’s eight dreadnought battleships and four battlecruisers. Moreover, we need to keep at least a few dreadnoughts in the Atlantic. The British and French will be occupied keeping the Germans and Austrians bottled up, but it would still be to our advantage to have a few dreadnoughts here at home. The Michigans are the only vessels we can keep here without denuding the Pacific Fleet of strength.”
“We could expedite the fitting out of the Saratogas,” Fiske suggested. The Saratogas were the first American battlecruisers to be laid down. Build with a mixture of American design traditions and German influences, they were big enough to carry heavy guns and respectable armor while capable of speeds of up to twenty-eight knots.
Roosevelt shook his head. “I had the same hope, but it is impossible. I checked with Undersecretary Meyer. He already looked into it. The earliest they could be ready by is November. At any rate, they are ear-marked for the Pacific, unless we settle matters with the Japanese first.”
“Now,” Roosevelt continued. “This finally brings us to the specific post we have in mind for you. I know you have the seniority to expect a grander post, but I want you to take command of what remains of the Atlantic Fleet, at least for the rest of the year. But, first, we need to sweep the Caribbean of British and French possessions. The British have fortified Kingston, St Kitts, and Bermuda well enough that a trio of dreadnoughts will be useful in reducing them, but there will be little to nothing in the way of sea action. As for the French, we already took most of their islands back in “73, and they only have Saint Barts. It’s not glorious work, and the only way you’re likely to be mentioned in the papers is if something goes terribly wrong.”
“I understand, sir,” Fiske said. Robert knew that it was something of a bitter pill. While Admiral Fletcher was a good officer, Fiske longed for command of the Pacific Fleet. He’d been one of the staunchest advocates of modern gunnery technology, even at the expense of his career. Unfortunately, his frequent advocacy had made him seem unsound to senior officers for quite some time. Robert knew that Fiske yearned for the chance to show that he’d been right all along. The best way to do that would be with a significant victory against the Japanese. Moreover, the Atlantic Fleet was a paper tiger. Its old battleship line would have been most formidable before HMS Dreadnought came along. Now, it was little more than floating target practice for the enemy.
“I was rather…ah…strenuous in pushing you for the Pacific Fleet.” Roosevelt continued. “However, the President agreed with the General Board that changing commanders in the midst of a crisis would be unwise. However, I did get one concession from him that will hopefully compensate for this.”
“Indeed?” Fiske said.
Roosevelt smiled and nodded. “As I said earlier, the Army may not be able to do anything to assist the Germans, but the Navy can. Once you tidy up the Caribbean, the modern elements from Atlantic Fleet will be detached for duty with the High Seas Fleet. We intend to form a naval expeditionary force and we want you to command it.”
Fiske goggled at Roosevelt. “You mean to tell me that you want me to run a trio of the oldest and slowest dreadnoughts right past the whole British Navy?” Fiske said. “Sir, has anyone ever told you that you’re mad?”
“Careful now Admiral,” Roosevelt shot back. “Admirals who tell the truth- I mean insult their superior tend to find themselves retired…or breaking rocks at Portsmouth.” Fiske chuckled. Robert tried very hard to make himself even more unnoticeable.
“No,” Roosevelt said. “Mind you, the General Board had the same response when I told them of this. I’m not sure if it was the idea of a naval expedition they thought mad, or my decision to appoint you as its commander. At any rate, we are still working out all the details. Coaling, ammunition, and sounding out the Germans. I imagine that we will come up with something a bit more elegant than you running past the British and hoping that they don’t spot you. I also think that we will be able to provide you with more than the Michigans once we’ve dealt with Japan. I should add that this appointment comes with a promotion to Vice-Admiral. What say you? Will you accept the post?”
To Robert’s surprise, Fiske stammered. The Admiral seemed overcome by the sudden prospect of commanding an American fleet on distant service. The assignment was almost sure to include action against the never-to-be sufficiently damned French and the British. It may not be the Pacific Fleet, but even Robert understood that commanding even a handful of battleships against America’s bête noire was better than almost anything else. Fiske finally brought his voice under control.
“Mr. Secretary,” He said formally, “I accept the command, and am deeply gratified to be offered it. Please convey both my acceptance and my thanks to President Taft.”
“Bully!” Roosevelt thundered. “Now that we have accomplished our chief business, I hope you will join me for breakfast. The clerks will need time to start assailing the mound of paperwork. The Bureau Chiefs and General Board will have to have their say as well. A million details to be sorted out before they can even begin putting the necessary lists, accounts, and rosters before you.”
“I’d be dee-lighted,” Fiske replied, imitating Roosevelt’s usual drawl of the word.
“Capital!” Roosevelt replied, standing up. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited young Franklin as well. He heard you were to come today and was most eager to see you.”
“Not at all,” Fiske said warmly. “I always enjoy my conversations with the Deputy Assistant Secretary of War,”
“Excellent,” Theodore replied. “It is such a help having him in the office. He may be young, but he’s enthusiastic about the Navy and he’s still at an age where enthusiasm is considered a virtue. And of course, I get to see quite a bit of Eleanor as well!”
The two men conversed their way to the door, and Robert followed them out.
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