To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [197]
He paused, reached into a drawer beside him, his fingers probing a file. He retrieved a piece of paper, said, “Here. One of the first calculations we made was a conservative estimate of the artillery we would require. The immediate necessity was twenty-five hundred guns, of varying calibers. I have received word that we can expect precisely one hundred and twenty cannon by the end of the year, with no further deliveries from our foundries until next June. We currently have no production of tanks, no factories that are producing aircraft. And the chief of staff has given me no indication that this is of concern . . . to anyone!” He paused, rubbed a hand across his forehead. “We are desperate for transport ships. I have been screaming at the top of my lungs to anyone in authority: British, French, and American. I received a stack of manifests, the cargo that was reluctantly unloaded by the French stevedores at Nazaire. Of course, I cannot completely fault them for their complacency. You should see just what our valuable tonnage is being used to transport: to date, we have received an excessive supply of bookcases, bathtubs, office desks, floor wax, stepladders, lawn mowers, window shades, and cuspidors. Cuspidors! Feel free to spit to your heart’s delight, gentlemen. We shall never run out of cuspidors.” He stared up at them, saw no one smiling. “I appreciate that someone one day will find humor in this. Perhaps I might even find humor in this. We received one ship designated to carry a significant number of long wooden pilings, timber that was not available to us here. The timber companies from the Pacific Northwest obliged our needs admirably. But the gentlemen at the New York pier who were charged with loading these long timbers onto the ship found their length to be inconvenient, and so, to make their job easier, they sawed the timbers into shorter lengths! Imagine the joy of the engineers at Nazaire when they anxiously unloaded their much-needed pilings, and found that they had been transformed into firewood!”
He paused again, his words choking away. He took a breath, said, “Forgive me for unburdening myself, gentlemen. We have an exceptionally good staff here, all of you included. Our progress on this side of the Atlantic has met my expectations, and has sincerely impressed our allies, regardless of what their politicians may say. But the past few months have provided me several lessons in command, for which I may not have been prepared. As you know, I have been assured by both the secretary and the president that there would be no interference in my judgment as to how the AEF is to be trained, equipped, and deployed. In France. I understand where my authority ends, that I can only request and suggest to the chief of staff. What I am learning is that my expectations, and yours, conflict with the views of many in the War Department. The secretary has hinted to me that there is a general attitude brewing in Washington that we have exceeded our responsibilities to our allies. There is talk that this war can be decided in our favor without the involvement of so many American soldiers. Can you imagine the reaction of our allies to such a concept? We completely support your cause, but heaven forbid we should actually risk American lives to secure peace in Europe. It has been suggested that President Wilson has had second thoughts about his own commitment, his own reasons for declaring war, that perhaps now he is reluctant to grant so much power to the essential industries that are such an important part of this process. I don’t know if that is accurate.” He paused, saw Harbord fidgeting.
“What, Colonel?”
“Sir, this might be the appropriate time to inform you. . . . I believe I know one reason why Washington seems unwilling to respond to our needs. If you will permit, I should show you something.”
Pershing nodded, and Harbord