1901

“I take it, General, that you were present when the All Highest found out about it.”

“Certainly. It was delicious.” Schlieffen smiled tightly at the memory. It caused his pointed mustache to tilt upward, an effect that Holstein found almost ludicrous.

“And the kaiser’s reaction?”

“Apoplexy. Predictable apoplexy. He threw a tantrum.”

Holstein nodded. The whole court was in an uproar. Half the courtiers were outraged; the rest, like himself, thought the development hilarious. The kaiser had just found out that, war or no war, emigration from Germany to the United States was still going on unabated. Ships still took on hundreds of people each week and departed for Boston, Philadelphia, and other American ports. Not, of course, New York. And also not on American- or German-flagged ships. The vessels flew the flags of France or Denmark or Britain, among others.

It was an insult almost too deadly to bear. The fact that the kaiser’s people were still migrating to the land of his enemy during an actual conflict struck his pride like a lightning bolt. Too bad I wasn’t there, Holstein thought. It would have been wonderful.

The problem was the German bureaucracy. Although fully aware of the war, they’d never been told to shut down the processing of applications to depart; thus they continued doing what they’d last been ordered to do. Holstein chuckled. They were mindless twits.

The kaiser was not mollified one bit when he was told that stopping people from leaving German ports would not halt the migrations. People were also going over the border to France and out the Channel ports, or even through Austria to Trieste on the Adriatic. The only way to stop it would be to seal the borders, and this would outrage those other countries. Whatever the kaiser said or did, the emigration would continue. It was a hopeless situation and the kaiser was furious.

Holstein chuckled at the thought of the red-faced kaiser. “Ah my, the crown is such a burdensome thing.”

Schlieffen answered Holstein’s comment with his own small laugh as he stopped to examine a vivid red rose. He knew better than to aggravate Holstein.

“But, dear general,” Holstein continued, “I hear more rumors that your army is having unexpected problems.”

Schlieffen sighed and straightened. Damn the man and his sources. Again it would do little good to deny or even obfuscate, but he would try. “All campaigns have unexpected problems. If we knew the future, there’d be no need for generals. Or for statesmen.”

“I hear there are desertions.”

“Some. It’s to be expected. Virtually all our rankers are conscripts and believe America to be the land of milk and honey. It was nothing that overly surprised us.”

Holstein was insistent. “But I understand the numbers are higher than pleasing.”

Schlieffen paused. That fact was being withheld from the kaiser. Why risk another tantrum and fruitless orders to halt desertions? How did the old bastard find out these things? Was everyone in Germany a spy for him? “True enough, but we think it has stabilized.”

“Even so, I understand that the number of missing is starting to equal the number of killed and wounded.”

“Well, since we haven’t fought a major battle in some time, I think that might be expected.” His mouth puckered in a line of worry. “Even without battles, however, the war seems to be entering a particularly brutish phase. There have been murders, assaults, sabotage, and other small incidents behind the lines as well as numerous small-unit actions along the front line. As a student of military history, I find it evocative of Napoleon’s problems with conquered Spain.”

Holstein chose another topic and probed. “Now that your army is over the one hundred thousand mark, is the navy still up to supplying it?”

This time a visible cloud passed over the general’s face. “Food,” he answered promptly, “is becoming a problem. We are unable to acquire it from the countryside, and virtually all of it must be shipped over and prepared locally. Much of the meat is spoiled on arrival, and no army likes to live out of tin cans for very long. To be frank, dear von Holstein, the food issue does worry me. More than your deserters, by the way. In simple, round numbers, each man needs about ten pounds of food and supplies each day. No, he doesn’t eat ten pounds; that figure takes into consideration such things as spoilage, theft, accidents, sabotage, and the like. Thus each day we require a million pounds, or five hundred tons, simply to sustain ourselves at the current level. As our numbers increase, so will our needs.”

Holstein was surprised. “Five hundred tons? That is nothing. A good-sized freighter holds several times that amount.”