1901

It was dark in the president’s office. No light had been turned on to dispel the gloom of the darkening summer night. Obviously, that was the way Roosevelt wished it as he sat there, brooding silently in the shadows. Patrick tapped on the door and entered. Without saying a word or receiving one, he sat and waited. Minutes stretched out. Roosevelt’s face was hard to read in the shadow, but Patrick sensed the man was on the verge of tears. Perhaps he had already been crying.

Finally, the president spoke. “Patrick, what happened? What went wrong?”

Patrick took a deep breath. “Sir, where would you like me to begin?”

“Anywhere you wish, just don’t sugarcoat it. Don’t pander to me. Just give me the straight answers I’ll need tomorrow when I have to confront Congress and the press. Yesterday, I had a fine new army going into battle to save our nation. Today that army is in ruins. What happened?”

Where to begin indeed? Patrick thought. “Sir, it was a poor plan, poorly conceived, and even more poorly executed.” There, he’d said it.

Surprisingly, a low chuckle rumbled from Roosevelt. It dripped bitterness. “And where is General Miles? I assume the plan and the conception were his, were they not?”

“Yes, sir, they were. I believe the general is in Boston, under a doctor’s care. He may have suffered a nervous collapse.” For the first time, he felt sympathy for General Miles. A brave and honest man, he’d had a long and distinguished career even though he often behaved as a paranoid dictator. The totality of the defeat had crushed him. “Sir, he was in well over his head.”

Roosevelt moaned. “And I put him there. Gave him the go-ahead and urged him to strike. Where does that put me?”

“Sir, you are the commander in chief. If you are blaming yourself, you’re at least partially right.”

There was a strained silence. “Patrick, in the last minute you’ve criticized both your commanding general and your president. Although I know I asked for frankness, I’m a little surprised at how much I’m actually getting.”

“Mr. President, if you’re thinking my candor might end my military career, don’t worry about it. When this war is over I will resign my commission. Enough is enough.” Too many wars, he thought, and too many dead.

“And I will respect that decision. Now, please tell me what you saw.”

Freed of the burden of having to be tactful, Patrick described the battle in detail. He reminded the president that the German lines ran from a point on the Hudson just above Peekskill, through a tangle of lakes, ponds, and bogs, stopping short of the Housatonic River, near Danbury. From there they ran generally south to Long Island Sound, a little more than twenty miles away. This twenty-odd-mile front was the only area that could be assaulted by a major force because of the lakes and bad ground to the north, which could be infiltrated only by smaller units. It was, therefore, the area most heavily fortified. Conversely, it was the place deemed most likely for the Germans to attack, so the constraints of geography placed the fighting bulk of both the opposing armies at that point.

“The Germans built about a dozen forts, each containing a regiment and some artillery. They numbered about fifteen thousand men in total, although we think they had another five thousand men in reserve. The forts were so situated that artillery fire from one could help the others on either side. The line of forts was between ten and fifteen miles from the American lines, which ran north-south on the west side of the Housatonic River.”

Roosevelt nodded. There was nothing new in what was being said.

“Yesterday, and with very little planning or preparation, between fifty and seventy thousand American soldiers in four divisions and two corps attacked those fortified Germans.”

Roosevelt was incredulous. “And failed? How? You’re saying we outnumbered them at least four to one!”

“They never had a chance. At least not a real one. I said there was no preparation. They all managed to leave their lines at about the same time, and all were scheduled to launch their attacks at seven in the morning. General Miles’s plans, such as they were, totally ignored the fact that the units were at different distances from the Germans and each confronted unique problems in getting there. There were no good roads, maps were poor, and, in trying to reach their objectives in the night, people simply got lost. Not one regiment made the start time. Some few actually did attack before nine, but many didn’t start their assaults until early afternoon. By that time, of course, the Germans were fully alert.”

“Dear God.”

Patrick continued. “The German forts communicated with each other by means of telephone and telegraph. There was no attempt to cut those lines. Thus all of them knew within minutes of the first attack that something was happening.”

Roosevelt sagged. Poor Miles. Didn’t he understand these things? Was he so far behind the times?