“Then I’m telling you now,” said Wilson firmly. “I can’t just let any man who wants to gather up a regiment go fight in the war. We have procedures, and chains of command, and…”
“I’m not just any man,” said Roosevelt. “And I have every intention of honoring our procedures and chain of command.” He glared at the President. “I created many of those procedures myself.”
Wilson stared at his visitor for a long moment. “Why are you so anxious to go to war, Mr. Roosevelt? Does violence hold so much fascination for you?”
“I abhor violence and bloodshed,” answered Roosevelt. “I believe that war should never be resorted to when it is honorably possible to avoid it. But once war has begun, then the only thing to do is win it as swiftly and decisively as possible. I believe that I can help to accomplish that end.”
“Mr. Roosevelt, may I point out that you are 58 years old, and according to my reports you have been in poor health ever since returning from Brazil three years ago?”
“Nonsense!” said Roosevelt defensively. “I feel as fit as a bull moose!”
“A one-eyed bull moose,” replied Wilson dryly. Roosevelt seemed about to protest, but Wilson raised a hand to silence him. “Yes, Mr. Roosevelt, I know that you lost the vision in your left eye during a boxing match while you were President.” He couldn’t quite keep the distaste for such juvenile and adventurous escapades out of his voice.
“I’m not here to discuss my health,” answered Roosevelt gruffly, “but the reactivation of my commission as a Colonel in the United States Army.”
Wilson shook his head. “You have my answer. You’ve told me nothing that might change my mind.”
“I’m about to.”
“Oh?”
“Let’s be perfectly honest, Mr. President. The Republican nomination is mine for the asking, and however the war turns out, the Democrats will be sitting ducks. Half the people hate you for entering the war so late, and the other half hate you for entering it at all.” Roosevelt paused. “If you will return me to active duty and allow me to organize my Rough Riders, I will give you my personal pledge that I will neither seek nor accept the Republican nomination in 1920.”
“It means that much to you?” asked Wilson, arching a thin eyebrow.
“It does, sir.”
“I’m impressed by your passion, and I don’t doubt your sincerity, Mr. Roosevelt,” said Wilson. “But my answer must still be no. I am serving my second term. I have no intention of running again in 1920, I do not need your political support, and I will not be a party to such a deal.”
“Then you are a fool, Mr. President,” said Roosevelt. “Because I am going anyway, and you have thrown away your only opportunity, slim as it may be, to keep the Republicans out of the White House.”
“I will not reactivate your commission, Mr. Roosevelt.”
Roosevelt pulled two neatly-folded letters out of his lapel pocket and placed them on the President’s desk.
“What are these?” asked Wilson, staring at them as if they might bite him at any moment.
“Letters from the British and the French, offering me commissions in their armies.” Roosevelt paused. “I am first, foremost, and always an American, Mr. President, and I had entertained no higher hope than leading my men into battle under the Stars and Stripes — but I am going to participate in this war, and you are not going to stop me.” And now, for the first time, he displayed the famed Roosevelt grin. “I have some thirty reporters waiting for me on the lawn of the White House. Shall I tell them that I am fighting for the country that I love, or shall I tell them that our European allies are more concerned with winning this damnable war than our own President?”
“This is blackmail, Mr. Roosevelt!” said Wilson, outraged.
“I believe that is the word for it,” said Roosevelt, still grinning. “I would like you to direct Captain Frank McCoy to leave his current unit and report to me. I’ll handle the rest of the details myself.” He paused again. “The press is waiting, Mr. President. What shall I tell them?”
“Tell them anything you want,” muttered Wilson furiously. “Only get out of this office.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Roosevelt, turning on his heel and marching out with an energetic bounce to his stride.
Wilson waited a moment, then spoke aloud. “You can come in now, Joseph.”
Joseph Tummulty, his personal secretary, entered the Oval Office.
“Were you listening?” asked Wilson.
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there any way out of it?”
“Not without getting a black eye in the press.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Wilson.
“He’s got you over a barrel, Mr. President.”
“I wonder what he’s really after?” mused Wilson thoughtfully. “He’s been a governor, an explorer, a war hero, a police commissioner, an author, a big-game hunter, and a President.” He paused, mystified. “What more can he want from life?”
“Personally, sir,” said Tummulty, making no attempt to hide the contempt in his voice, “I think that damned cowboy is looking to charge up one more San Juan Hill.”
Roosevelt stood before his troops, as motley an assortment of warriors as had been assembled since the last incarnation of the Rough Riders. There were military men and cowboys, professional athletes and adventurers, hunters and ranchers, barroom brawlers and Indians, tennis players and wrestlers, even a trio of Maasai elmoran he had met on safari in Africa.
“Some of ‘em look a little long in the tooth, Colonel,” remarked Frank McCoy, his second-in-command.
“Some of us are a little long in the tooth too, Frank,” said Roosevelt with a smile.
“And some of ‘em haven’t started shaving yet,” continued McCoy wryly.
“Well, there’s nothing like a war to grow them up in a hurry.”
Roosevelt turned away from McCoy and faced his men, waiting briefly until he had their attention. He paused for a moment to make sure that the journalists who were traveling with the regiment had their pencils and notebooks out and then spoke.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “we are about to embark upon a great adventure. We are privileged to be present at a crucial point in the history of the world. In the terrible whirlwind of war, all the great nations of the world are facing the supreme test of their courage and dedication. All the alluring but futile theories of the pacifists have vanished at the first sound of gunfire.”
Roosevelt paused to clear his throat, then continued in his surprisingly high-pitched voice. “This war is the greatest the world has ever seen. The vast size of the armies, the tremendous slaughter, the loftiness of the heroism shown and the hideous horror of the brutalities committed, the valor of the fighting men and the extraordinary ingenuity of those who have designed and built the fighting machines, the burning patriotism of the peoples who defend their homelands and the far-reaching complexity of the plans of the leaders — all are on a scale so huge that nothing in past history can be compared with them.
“The issues at stake are fundamental. The free peoples of the world have banded together against tyrannous militarism, and it is not too much to say that the outcome will largely determine, for those of us who love liberty above all else, whether or not life remains worth living.”
He paused again, and stared up and down the ranks of his men.
“Against such a vast and complex array of forces, it may seem to you that we will just be another cog in the military machine of the allies, that one regiment cannot possibly make a difference.” Roosevelt’s chin jutted forward pugnaciously. “I say to you that this is rubbish! We represent a society dedicated to the proposition that every free man makes a difference. And I give you my solemn pledge that the Rough Riders will make a difference in the fighting to come!”