To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [115]
“Canada, General. Some military genius here decided that since our neighbor to the north was the most convenient place for us to engage in combat, we should look to drawing up a plan. So, there is a plan. It is the only plan. And I had the president staring at me with the same look of utter disbelief which I now see from you.”
Baker raised the piece of paper again. “General, the president and I are in agreement that what this nation requires is leadership that comes from outside of Washington. What the army requires is a man who understands what leadership means in the field. Hence, we have begun to prepare this order. Allow me to read the first part.”
Baker held up the paper, read: “To: Major General John J. Pershing. The president directs me to communicate to you that effective immediately, you are to assume command of all the land forces of the United States operating in continental Europe and in the United Kingdom.” He lowered the paper. “The complete order will be in your hands in a few days. Do you understand what I am telling you, General? You are no longer to command merely a single division. The president and I are assigning you to command the entire military operation.”
Pershing stared at Baker for a moment. “Sir, you cannot . . . I am not the ranking officer.”
Baker laughed now, surprising him. “Chain of command, eh, General? Yes, I know. You are the sixth-ranking major general in the army. But I would argue one point with you. Not only can the president advance you to overall command, but he has. You want action, General? Then take action. You want a fire lit under the chairs of all those cogs in the army’s machine? Then light them.”
“Sir, what of General Scott . . . and General Wood?”
Baker laughed again. “General Scott shall accept your appointment like a good old soldier. I’m certain General Wood will not. It’s just part of the burden of command. Some people won’t like you. If the president had allowed his naysayers to influence his actions, he wouldn’t still be president. You have been in the army long enough to know how often an officer advances because of who he knows, or who his relatives are. That system suffices in peacetime, but, as you have already observed, it won’t work now. I told you that President Wilson is committed to winning this war. It is the president’s decision that you are the most qualified man for the job. I agree with his decision.”
Pershing felt himself straightening in the chair. “Thank you, sir.”
“Since you have such respect for chain of command, there’s something I want to make clear to you.” He turned away, and Pershing saw him pull a book off the shelf behind his desk.
“General, are you well acquainted with the writings of Ulysses Grant?”
Pershing saw the book now, Grant’s own memoirs. “Yes, sir. I have read that several times. General Grant has always been an inspiration to me.”
“Excellent. He should be. Do you recall President Lincoln’s promise to Grant, when he promoted Grant to overall command?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I won’t insist you recite it. Instead, I offer you my own pledge, from me and from the president. It is my intention to give you two orders. This paper, when it is completed in detail, will be the first. The second will come when your job in Europe is finished. It will be the order for you to gather your army and return home.”
MAY 1917
THERE WAS A DISTINCTLY MIXED RESPONSE AMONG THE PILOTS TO the declaration of war by President Wilson. No one protested the decision itself, which had certainly been welcome news to the French and British pilots who flew from the same airfield. But with the news had come all manner of rumors, and the pilots of the Lafayette Escadrille had no idea what might become of their own squadron.
The letters poured in along with the newspaper clippings, a massive flood of news and information from across the Atlantic. Much of it was from family, the hope that their sons would find their place now with the American Air Service, flying American planes under the flag of their own country. The difficulty