1901

“God and his angels, I think, Esau.” He handed Jones the binoculars. When he brought the scene into focus, he whistled. His assignment had been to find the German army. Although this group of people was not the whole army, its importance was obvious. Was he justified in exposing his presence? It was apparent that the people on the hill had not heard the sounds of the battle behind them. They were all looking away from him and at something that was causing much smoke in the distance. Jones made up his mind.

“Tyree, tell the Professor to bring all the company commanders here, and pronto. Also damned quietly.” He grinned at temporary-Captain Tyree. “We’re gonna deliver some paybacks for all the shit we been takin’ the last few months.” He also recalled some of his men being skewered on German bayonets that awful day in early June. “Damn fine binoculars,” he said as he handed them back to Tyree, who put them in a case bearing the insignia of the Imperial German Army. “Someday you gotta tell me how you got those.”

Lieutenant Sigmond von Hoff hated every moment of his present existence. He was a Prussian and a Uhlan, an elite cavalryman, by God, not a damned babysitter. Or a nanny! Perhaps there were those who would consider his current position as guard to the high command both an honor and a safe place to be, but he was not one of them. All about him were the sounds and smells of battle, glorious battle, but he and his fellow Uhlans were not part of it. There was some feeling at headquarters that this was not the right war for cavalry armed with lances.

It infuriated him. Why had the Imperial General Staff shipped them over if not to use them? Some peabrains in headquarters had stripped them of their lances and given them carbines, which they barely knew how to operate. Now they were considered useless soldiers fit only for ornamental guard duties like this.

Hoff was personally considered much worse than useless. He was a pariah. What had he done wrong? His orders had been to execute American prisoners, and all he had done was to follow those orders. And, by God, those orders had come from the kaiser himself. When Hoff’s actions caused such a stink, everyone had conveniently forgotten the fact that he hadn’t acted alone. Now no one wanted to even talk to him. Still more galling was the fact that others had achieved promotion in this war, whereas he was still a lieutenant at the ripe old age of twenty-four.

Disgusted, he lay down on the grass and stared at the sky. Let the mighty ones he was protecting gaze at the smoke towers and try to figure out where they were. He almost giggled at the thought of some stupid Bavarian staff officer having to admit they were, while not quite lost, not quite certain just where they were. They could only assume that much of their army was in action a few miles away.

“Lieutenant!” Hoff sat up and looked where a soldier was pointing. A row of horsemen had emerged from the woods and a second was forming behind it. Columns of cavalry commenced to gallop both to his left and to his right. As he watched in astonishment, the double line began to move forward. Toward him.

He jumped to his feet and yelled for his men to mount up, which they did with alacrity. He had only one troop. It appeared that several hundred of what he now easily identified as Americans were about to envelop his position. His actions had attracted the attention of the senior officers, and he saw them scrambling for their horses and carriages.

In dismay, Hoff saw that the rapidly moving flanking columns would easily cut off most, if not all, of the fleeing Germans on horseback and certainly all of the slower carriages. Even if he managed to survive this debacle, his career was ruined.

“Open fire!” he shrieked, and his men let loose a ragged volley that appeared to accomplish little. Suddenly, he realized that the enemy cavalry all had dark skins. “Blacks!” he screamed. It was too much. In a blind rage he spurred his horse forward. He pulled a revolver and emptied it as the black horsemen swirled passed him. His horse stumbled, and Hoff fell heavily to the ground. As he attempted to pull his saber from its scabbard, a careening horse ran over him and he felt his legs snap. Before the waves of agony could reach his brain, he looked up at his assailant and saw an iron-shod hoof descending on his head.

On the hill, the fight deteriorated into a short-lived melee. At arm’s length, carbines and revolvers emptied into living flesh. The Germans fought hard to protect their charges, but they were soon overwhelmed. As Hoff had guessed, none of the carriages escaped. In one, an old man flailed about with a saber in one hand and a pistol in the other. As a young black trooper reached for him, the old man shot him in the face. On the other side of the carriage, Maj. Esau Jones saw this and emptied his revolver at point-blank range into the back of the old man, who crumpled onto the floor of the carriage.