To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [110]
“I just arrived last night, sir.”
“Hmm. Well, ignore it. Jealous old fools. That damned Wood. You know Leonard Wood?”
“Yes, sir. I served with General Wood in the Philippines.”
“Yes, of course. We all served under him at some point. Used to sit right here, in this chair. Well, hell, you know that. If it wasn’t for me, he’d be sitting here now, and you wouldn’t be enjoying this pleasant conversation. He thinks the job should be his, you know. Your job, leading the first division of our troops to France. He thinks the army owes him that, that a man should be entitled to go out in a blaze of stupid glory, like George Custer.”
Pershing said nothing, could see that Scott was watching for a response.
Scott laughed now. “Very good. Keep your damned mouth shut. It’s all right, John, you’ll make a good many more enemies before this war is over.”
Pershing was surprised, absorbed Scott’s words. Making enemies was something that had not occurred to him at all.
“General Scott, if I may ask . . . who will be in overall command of the European effort? If not General Wood, then will General Bliss . . . ?”
“Hasn’t been decided yet. The president will choose. You should see all the jockeying going on here, every man with a star on his shoulder putting his face in front of Wilson’s parlor window. The Capitol hasn’t had so many military visitors since the British occupied it in the War of 1812. Just sit tight. Keep working on the details of your own command. Things will sort themselves out soon enough.”
“Sir, how many men do you expect we can mobilize? How many divisions?”
“The quartermaster general guesses that he can feed a half million in a few months or so. What do you think?”
It was not a question Pershing expected. “I . . . don’t know, sir.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get this ball rolling soon enough. Now, I believe we’re expected at the secretary’s office. Mr. Baker can become rather testy if he’s kept waiting. Shall we go?”
Scott was up, and past him, and Pershing followed. They moved out through the same hallways, and Pershing saw the same uniforms, the friendly nods, some of them noticing him now, walking in the shadow of the chief of staff. Pershing matched Scott’s pace, felt a dull throb in his head, the energy in his steps growing sluggish. Scott’s words were plowing through his brain . . . things will sort themselves out. . . .
He realized now what was missing, what had drained the fantasy he had so nurtured on the long train trip. Hugh Scott was chief of staff, would be responsible for managing all the tools of this war, everything required to recruit and equip and train the enormous gaping emptiness that was all that existed of the United States Army. He realized now, it had been a month since the president had declared war. A full month. And the army chief of staff still had no idea how many men were to be assembled, or who would lead them.
THE SECRETARY OF WAR WAS NEWTON P. BAKER, AND PERSHING HAD been leery of his first meeting with the man. Since 1914, Baker had been a supporter of Woodrow Wilson’s obstinate grip on American neutrality, and Pershing had long heard from many of the old career commanders that a tendency toward pacifism was hardly the proper qualification for the man who sat at the head of the War Department. But the meeting with Baker had surprised Pershing. The secretary was a much younger man than Pershing had expected, junior to Pershing by ten years. There was another characteristic about Baker that Pershing found oddly unnerving. The man was quite small in stature; were it not for the position the man occupied, presiding over a meeting of such magnitude, Baker could have been mistaken for a mustachioed schoolboy.
The meeting had included nearly every senior commander stationed in the capital, some whom Pershing knew well, others known by name and seniority only. Baker had seemed pleasant and likable, and despite his unlikely physical stature in the face of so many old school military veterans, he impressed Pershing by holding tight control