To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [138]
“I understand, General. Britain has endured a great deal of suffering. No one believes that it will simply cease because the Americans have joined us. You are correct. Exaggeration is optimism, but we must have optimism. We must be allowed our hopeful expectations, General. It is what keeps us going.”
HE LEFT THE PALACE FEELING AN ODD MIX OF DREAD AND RELIEF. George V had been nothing like he had expected, no pomposity in the man, no obnoxious boastfulness. Pershing was impressed that the monarch seemed to have his finger squarely on the pulse of his nation’s people, and involved himself in the details of their military campaigns, if only as a bystander. It was far different than what Pershing knew of countries such as Belgium, where the king was in fact the active commander of the military, leading his men into the field against their enemies. The comparison between George and the kaiser was inevitable, and though Pershing had no real notion of what life was like for those who fluttered about Wilhelm, he had to believe that the German monarchy was surely a different world from the calm and cordial pleasantries of Buckingham Palace.
The long day’s appointments had filled pages in his calendar, and already, Pershing was feeling an itch to get on with it. He was driven now to the American Embassy, felt another mix of dread and relief, facing the American diplomats who had already been the target of so much pressure from their British counterparts, so much energy directed by official England toward convincing America to enter the war. There was probably no one more relieved by Wilson’s decision than the men who occupied the offices of the American Embassy.
The meetings were brief and formal, lengthy introductions, allowing Pershing to put faces on the lists of names he carried in his files, all those American personnel who would serve as a conduit to the British civilian government. The ambassador added more to Pershing’s calendar, requests for visits to Parliament, luncheons and dinners with all manner of the British hierarchy. But Pershing had been told that one man in particular expected to meet with him immediately, to discuss the unpleasant reality of America’s naval situation.
Admiral William Sims of the United States Navy had been recently assigned to his post in London as a liaison with the Royal Navy, and he was the man responsible for American efforts to combat the German U-boat threat. Pershing had known of Sims from the controversy the man had caused as early as 1910, when he began to insist publicly that America and Britain should be formally aligned to confront any conflict that might threaten the seagoing trade between Europe and America. It was a prescient point of view, but one that flew into the face of Washington’s official stance of neutrality. Though Sims’ promises to the British had once been maddeningly inappropriate, Washington could only concede that, now, the admiral had earned his position, and Sims had been appointed to what he felt to be his rightful place of authority.
Sims had been among the many who had welcomed Pershing and his staff the evening before, a friendly handshake in a room filled with the stiffness of formality. The reception had been at the Savoy Hotel, where Pershing and his staff were to reside during their stay in London. Sims was older than Pershing by a few years, a ruggedly handsome man who had grown more outgoing with age, obviously unafraid to pour out his opinions in a profession where most men learned to keep their thoughts to themselves. Pershing was still unsure about Sims, whether the man had any intention of cooperating with the army’s efforts, or, like Hugh Scott and Tasker Bliss, might have all his energy focused on his eventual retirement.
“General Pershing, how was your meeting with royalty? Serve you apple juice, did he?”
“Apple juice. Yes. Quite a pleasant affair, actually.”
Sims led him into his office, closed