looked up at the clear, starry sky in which seemingly millions of lights twinkled and danced. Was it an illusion too?
* * *
Ike Eisenhower grinned as he handed Luke a sheet of paper. “Congratulations and very long overdue.”
Now it was Luke’s turn to grin. Not only had he been promoted to first lieutenant, but there was a letter of commendation from General March, endorsed by Connor and Liggett regarding his last intelligence-gathering mission to Mexico. That was a surprise. He’d heard that Connor and Liggett had gotten chastised for his adventure. President Wilson was afraid that such intelligence-gathering efforts would offend the Mexicans and the Germans. He knew he’d been in the clear. After all, he’d just been following orders, but he’d thought the event would just be forgotten and filed away.
“Now that we have a new president,” Ike said, “it looks like we can start doing the things we should have been doing five years ago. And by the way, Patton and I have both been promoted to major so you’ll still have to be nice to us.”
Martel understood. Not only had the other two men been promoted, but they now held field-grade ranks, which were at least a world away from a first lieutenant. The three of them could definitely be friendly, but never friends. At least not until Martel caught up, which was profoundly unlikely.
Ike continued. “Any idea what your next assignment will be? Are you getting any kind of command?”
“Nah, who’d want me?” Luke grinned. “I’m going to be attached to Colonel Nolan.”
“Best place for you. You’ll be right on top of what the Germans and Mexicans are up to.”
Lieutenant Colonel Dennis Nolan, West Point ’96, was Hunter Liggett’s chief intelligence officer, and Luke considered working with him a plum assignment. He hoped it would allow him freedom to ferret out enemy intentions.
“And yourself?” Martel asked Ike.
“Plans, with Connor. Patton has managed himself a billet with the Seventh Cavalry outside of San Diego.”
“I hope this doesn’t mean an end to our seminars with General Connor,” Martel said.
“I hope not, either,” said Ike, “but it just might be that we’ll all be very busy soon when that storm from the south blows in.”
* * *
Robert Lansing wore two hats and neither of them fit very well. Along with being the newly sworn in President of the United States, he was still Secretary of State and had to make a decision. In the absence of a true vice president, the person Lansing appointed to replace himself at State would now become next in line to the presidency; therefore, it behooved him to choose well on two accounts.
So who would be the next secretary of state, he pondered as he paced the Oval Office? He immediately ruled out his predecessor, William Jennings Bryan. The man had not done a good job during peacetime and seemed totally dedicated to peace at any cost. How would he behave when thrust into an unwanted war? Lansing did not want to find out. Even though he was only sixty, Bryan was old beyond his years.
Some had suggested Colonel Edward House, the shadowy eminence grise’ behind Wilson. The title of “colonel” was strictly honorary but he was skilled in foreign policy. Too skilled, Lansing thought. The man’s ego was monumental and he’d be difficult to control.
Other major figures came to mind. Warren Harding of Onio, Wilson’s opponent in the last election, was an obvious choice. Also obvious were his sexual peccadillos that had achieved Olympian levels and cost him the election. The genial Harding would try to screw every woman in every country he went to as Secretary of State. Harding was out.
Harding’s running mate in the recent election, Calvin Coolidge, might make an excellent president but he was too taciturn and shy to be an effective dealer with other countries. General Leonard Wood wanted the presidency, but he was truculent and belligerent, excellent qualities for a general, perhaps
* * *
Ike Eisenhower grinned as he handed Luke a sheet of paper. “Congratulations and very long overdue.”
Now it was Luke’s turn to grin. Not only had he been promoted to first lieutenant, but there was a letter of commendation from General March, endorsed by Connor and Liggett regarding his last intelligence-gathering mission to Mexico. That was a surprise. He’d heard that Connor and Liggett had gotten chastised for his adventure. President Wilson was afraid that such intelligence-gathering efforts would offend the Mexicans and the Germans. He knew he’d been in the clear. After all, he’d just been following orders, but he’d thought the event would just be forgotten and filed away.
“Now that we have a new president,” Ike said, “it looks like we can start doing the things we should have been doing five years ago. And by the way, Patton and I have both been promoted to major so you’ll still have to be nice to us.”
Martel understood. Not only had the other two men been promoted, but they now held field-grade ranks, which were at least a world away from a first lieutenant. The three of them could definitely be friendly, but never friends. At least not until Martel caught up, which was profoundly unlikely.
Ike continued. “Any idea what your next assignment will be? Are you getting any kind of command?”
“Nah, who’d want me?” Luke grinned. “I’m going to be attached to Colonel Nolan.”
“Best place for you. You’ll be right on top of what the Germans and Mexicans are up to.”
Lieutenant Colonel Dennis Nolan, West Point ’96, was Hunter Liggett’s chief intelligence officer, and Luke considered working with him a plum assignment. He hoped it would allow him freedom to ferret out enemy intentions.
“And yourself?” Martel asked Ike.
“Plans, with Connor. Patton has managed himself a billet with the Seventh Cavalry outside of San Diego.”
“I hope this doesn’t mean an end to our seminars with General Connor,” Martel said.
“I hope not, either,” said Ike, “but it just might be that we’ll all be very busy soon when that storm from the south blows in.”
* * *
Robert Lansing wore two hats and neither of them fit very well. Along with being the newly sworn in President of the United States, he was still Secretary of State and had to make a decision. In the absence of a true vice president, the person Lansing appointed to replace himself at State would now become next in line to the presidency; therefore, it behooved him to choose well on two accounts.
So who would be the next secretary of state, he pondered as he paced the Oval Office? He immediately ruled out his predecessor, William Jennings Bryan. The man had not done a good job during peacetime and seemed totally dedicated to peace at any cost. How would he behave when thrust into an unwanted war? Lansing did not want to find out. Even though he was only sixty, Bryan was old beyond his years.
Some had suggested Colonel Edward House, the shadowy eminence grise’ behind Wilson. The title of “colonel” was strictly honorary but he was skilled in foreign policy. Too skilled, Lansing thought. The man’s ego was monumental and he’d be difficult to control.
Other major figures came to mind. Warren Harding of Onio, Wilson’s opponent in the last election, was an obvious choice. Also obvious were his sexual peccadillos that had achieved Olympian levels and cost him the election. The genial Harding would try to screw every woman in every country he went to as Secretary of State. Harding was out.
Harding’s running mate in the recent election, Calvin Coolidge, might make an excellent president but he was too taciturn and shy to be an effective dealer with other countries. General Leonard Wood wanted the presidency, but he was truculent and belligerent, excellent qualities for a general, perhaps
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