It was an unacceptable situation. Not only were they in danger of annihilation, but their status among the other clans had dropped drastically. Qetjnegartis had been forced to ask - plead! - for aid from Group 33 to the north. And while the aid had been promised, it had not so far materialized. Even when it came, Qetjnegartis was uncertain what the end result would be. Would the leader of Group 33 demand to take charge of Group 32? It was a distinct possibility.
The fighting machine reached the surface and Qetjnegartis pushed those distant problems to another compartment of its mind and focused on the immediate problem. The other three machines, piloted by Ixmaderna, Namatchgar, and Utnaferdus, were waiting and they all moved off toward Sector 9, the spare machines in tow. The rampart in that zone was wreathed in a cloud of smoke and dust. Explosions erupted from time to time, but it was clear that the prey-creatures’ bombardment was tailing off. This was the usual pattern: fire until a gap had been created and then send forward the warriors. It didn’t understand why the prey-creatures didn’t continue their bombardment while the attack took place. Perhaps for fear of hitting their own warriors? That was a possibility, but it made little sense to Qetjnegartis. They had so many warriors, why would they worry about sacrificing some? The behavior of these creatures was still a mystery. No matter. If they chose to make it easier for Qetjnegartis to defend the holdfast, so be it! They reached the new line of defense towers and halted to wait developments. They were not long in coming.
“The prey-creatures are advancing,” reported Zastranvis. “Swarms of the foot warriors in front and the gun-vehicles following. Commander, some of the vehicles look different than the usual ones.”
“Relay the image to me.” Its subordinate complied and Qetjnegartis studied the information that one of the surviving defense towers was gathering. For the most part the attack was developing just as the previous ones had, but as Zastranvis had said, there were some unusual vehicles following along behind the main line. It was difficult to see clearly through the smoke and dust, and Qetjnegartis could not determine what function the vehicles served. They appeared similar to the armored gun vehicles, but they had no obvious weapons mounted on them, although one had some strange device projecting from the front. They would have to be watched carefully when they got closer.
The prey foot-warriors neared the base of the ramparts and passed out of sight of the defense towers. This blind spot was annoying, but it was assumed that the enemy would begin to climb the slope. The outer face had deliberately been left a jumbled mass of loose rocks to make this as difficult as possible. The armored gun-vehicles could not negotiate the slope at all, and halted farther away where they could still be seen. But those other, strange vehicles continued onward until they too, disappeared into the blind spot beyond the curve of the ramparts.
“Ready the defense turrets in the second line to fire as soon as any of the prey appear,” commanded Qetjnegartis. Zastranvis confirmed that all was ready.
A considerable time passed, but nothing appeared on top of the ramparts. “What can they be doing?” asked Namatchgar.
“I do not know,” replied Qetjnegartis. “But it is important to find out. Ixmaderna, you will take your machine and cross the rampart. Cross in Sector 11, well away from their heavy weapons, and then move south and east until you can get a clear view of the outward face of Sector 9.”
“At once, Commander.”
“Take no risks. If you cannot reach a good position in safety, return. You cannot be spared.”
“Yes, Commander.” Ixmaderna moved off immediately, the long legs of the fighting machine carried it quickly, and before long it mounted one of the ramps leading up to the rampart; then it vanished beyond.
“In the meantime, Namatchgar, use the eradicator against the area where they are massed.”
“Yes, Commander, but it is unlikely to have much effect; the prey creatures have developed measures to protect themselves.”
“I know, but it may interfere with whatever they are doing.” The eradicator was a toxic chemical weapon which the first expedition had developed. Initially it had been quite effective, but the prey-creatures now had protective garments which mostly nullified its effects. Still, it was the only weapon they had which could hit targets which were out of a direct line of sight. Namatchgar readied the weapon, which was an unwieldy tube carried by its fighting machine, and then fired it off. The projectile flew in a shallow arc and disappeared behind the rampart. A moment later a black cloud billowed up and then slowly dispersed.
“This situation of not being able to observe parts of our defenses is unacceptable,” said Qetjnegartis. “We need to take thought about inconspicuous vision pick-ups which could be planted beyond the rampart in places unlikely to be bombarded.”
“Or pick-ups mounted on some sort of flying device,” said Utnaferdus. “It is intolerable that the prey-creatures are able to fly and we are not.”
“No doubt they were inspired by some of the flying creatures native to this world,” said Namatchgar. “The Homeworld’s air is too thin for such things.”
The suggestion took Qetjnegartis by surprise. While it was true that the prey-creatures possessed some crude and flimsy flying devices, it had never occurred to it to try and produce ones as well. But before it could pursue the thought further, a report arrived from Ixmaderna. “Commander, the prey have directed some of their fire against me and sent some of their vehicles and animal-riders in my direction. So far I am in no great danger, but I do not know how long I will remain so.”
“Understood. Can you see what the prey-creatures are doing?”
“They are clustered around the base of the rampart, but I cannot… wait, they are moving away… retreating!”
“That is very odd. Why would they…?”
A sudden eruption of smoke, dust, and flying debris from beyond the rampart cut Qetjnegartis’ question short. A moment later a strong concussion slammed into its fighting machine.
“They are trying to breach the rampart!” exclaimed Utnaferdus.
And so it appeared to be. Once the smoke had cleared and the dust settled, Ixmaderna was able to transmit a clear image of what was happening. Fortunately, despite the size of the explosion, only a relatively small crater had been blasted in the outer face of the rampart in Sector 9. But the prey-creatures were swarming over the area again, probably planting more of their chemical explosives. If they were permitted to do this repeatedly…
“Commander, if they can create a passage through the rampart for their armored vehicles, this could be very bad,” said Utnaferdus. “We must prevent it!”
“Yes, that is so. The explosives they are using must be held in those new vehicles. If we can destroy them, it will foil their plans. Ixmaderna, you will make a feint toward the enemy’s large projectile throwers and try to draw off some of their forces. Again, you are to take no undue risks. Zastranvis, you will have two of the constructor machines bring defense towers into a ready position. If the prey-creatures’ bombardment on the rampart ceases you will have them start repairing the gap in the defenses. The rest of us will move to the top of the rampart and destroy those new vehicles.”
Everyone acknowledged the orders and began to move. Qetjnegartis advanced, flanked by Namatchgar, and Utnaferdus. The five slaved machines followed along—they would probably be needed. They reached the base of the ramparts and paused to position themselves. The inner face of the rampart was steep, but in addition to ramps at intervals, there were carefully designed steps which would allow a fighting machine to move to the top very quickly. Speed was going to be critical.
“Very well. Attack.”
Qetjnegartis piloted its machine to the top and the prey-creatures’ army was spread out before it. Thousands of the creatures on foot or riding animals and scores of vehicles covered the ground beyond the rampart. A number of the riding animals were lying dead, victims of the eradicator, no doubt. Close by, the vehicle with the mysterious projection was revealed to be some sor
t of drilling machine. It was working in the crater the first explosion had created, black smoke pouring from the tube on its back. Drilling a hole for more explosives! The other different vehicles were, as it had suspected, transports to carry the explosives. Some stood with open doors and their cargoes being unloaded by the creatures.
Almost instantly, the prey began to fire their smaller weapons and the steady rattle of impacts on the skin of Qetjnegartis’ machine filled the control chamber with noise. “I will destroy the drill. You two fire at the cargo vehicles.” Three heat rays lashed out almost simultaneously. The two firing at the explosives produced huge balls of flame, but oddly, no explosions - had it been wrong about what these were? No matter. They must destroy all that they could. Namatchgar and Utnaferdus turned their rays against several more of the cargo vehicles which were still closed. Qetjnegartis’ own ray was focused on the drilling machine and quickly burned off anything flammable. The metal underneath began to glow, hotter and hotter.
A heavy impact slammed into the fighting machine causing the ray to swing off target for a moment. The enemy gun vehicles were firing now and it was only a matter of time before they caused serious damage. This needed to be finished quickly so they could retreat behind the rampart again.
The boiler, which provided the steam to power the drill vehicle, ruptured and a cloud of steam enveloped it. The steam would disperse the energy from the heat ray, but the machine was clearly disabled. Qetjnegartis turned its attention to the remaining enemy. What else needed to be done to stop their attack?
At that instant, two massive explosions ripped through the packed enemy warriors. The cargo vehicles were carrying explosives and they had finally been detonated by the heat rays. Two columns of smoke and flame climbed skyward. Moments later there were a series of new detonations as the other cargo vehicles exploded, too.
Qetjnegartis looked on in satisfaction until it noticed a large piece of one of the vehicles tumbling end over end directly toward it. It tried to dodge aside, but it was too late. The wreckage slammed into the fighting machine and despite all Qetjnegartis’ efforts it lurched backward and fell off the rear of the rampart. Even with the padding in the control cabin, the impact was enough to stun it momentarily. Most of the machine’s systems suddenly ceased responding.
“Commander! Are you injured?”
Taking a quick internal check of its body, Qetjnegartis, replied in the negative. “However, this machine is disabled. I must transfer to one of the others. Stand ready to carry me.” It pulled itself toward the hatch, hampered somewhat by the fact the machine was now horizontal rather than vertical. The main power had failed, but the emergency batteries were enough to open the hatch at a touch of its tendril. It pulled itself into the opening and then waited for Utnaferdus to move into position to grab it with the manipulators on its machine.
Before it could do so, there was a sudden clatter of projectiles bouncing off the sides of the fighting machines. Something struck Qetjnegartis a stinging blow. “Beware! The prey are on the rampart!” exclaimed Namatchgar. Qetjnegartis tried to look in that direction, but the too-bright sunlight was blinding and an instant later Utnaferdus unceremoniously seized it with the manipulators, snatching it into the air.
Disconnected from its machine, Qetjnegartis could relay no orders, but its subordinates took the initiative admirably. Namatchgar fired its heat ray in a long sweep across the top of the rampart and a moment later Zastranvis, from the main control chamber, activated the secondary line of defense tower as well. Qetjnegartis could not see the results, but the enemy fire diminished noticeably.
They reached one of the spare fighting machines and Qetjnegartis awkwardly pulled itself aboard. It examined itself and determined that the wound was superficial. It wrapped its tendrils around the control interface and activated the new machine, but before it could take any further action Ixmaderna reported. “Commander, the enemy is retreating from the ramparts! I believe they have given up.”
Qetjnegartis permitted itself a long slow exhalation. “Excellent,” it said. “Continue to observe, to make sure they plan nothing else, and then return to the holdfast. Zastranvis, begin repairs on the defenses. You others shall safeguard the construction machines.”
Its subordinates began carrying out their orders, but Qetjnegartis remained immobile, thinking. That was far too close! The prey get more aggressive and more innovative day by day. How many more attacks can we survive
Chapter One
June 1909, Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory
First Sergeant Frank Dolfen, 5th United States Cavalry, led his detail through the streets of Santa Fe, heading for the rail yards. It was a typical late-June day in New Mexico, which meant it was hot as blazes and dry as dust. Dolfen had spent most of his adult life on one western army post or another and the weather, hot or cold, wet or dry, didn’t bother him anymore. The same could not be said for many of the people crowding the streets. Most of them were in uniform and they looked like they were going to melt right out of them. Either that, or pass out from the high altitude of Santa Fe. Easterners.
Dolfen had been an easterner once himself. Born in the coalfields of Pennsylvania, he’d joined the army and headed west almost twenty years earlier. The heat and the altitude didn’t bother him, but the crowds did. The wide-open—and empty—spaces of the west were what he loved, but sleepy Santa Fe was mobbed. The town of five thousand, bypassed by the main railroad lines, had been slowly dwindling away despite it being the ‘capital’ for the territorial government, but that was before the Martians had landed in New Mexico.
Albuquerque to the south, larger and on the main railroad line, had become the central assembly point for the army besieging the Martian stronghold in what had once been Gallup, off to the west. The influx of men and materiel had quickly overwhelmed that town, so Santa Fe had been pressed into service as a rear staging area. Huge camps had grown up all around, right up to the towering Rockies just to the east. The army personnel now outnumbered the local inhabitants by at least ten to one and it seemed to Dolfen that every one of them was here, blocking the street.
“Make way!” he growled, urging his horse forward. While no one paid any heed to his command, they couldn’t ignore the horse and slowly he pushed his way through, followed by the other eight men of the detail.
The nearer they got to the rail yards the more crowded it became. Trains were arriving constantly and troops were debarking, forming up, and marching off to camps outside of town. At least most of them were. Some who arrived were not part of any unit; they were replacements for existing units. Those were the ones Dolfen was coming to get.
The 5th Cavalry had the dubious honor of being the very first American soldiers to meet the invaders in battle. It had not gone well. The Martian fighting machines with their deadly heat rays had proved more than a match for lightly armed cavalry. Most of the 5th had been wiped out. Dolfen and only a handful of others had managed to escape and then only because they’d been ordered to escort a civilian to the rear.
Not the whole regiment had been there, luckily. There was still enough of a cadre left to rebuild around, and that was what was happening now: rebuilding. Dolfen had orders to collect a new group of replacements and escort them back to the regiment’s camp north of town. This wasn’t Dolfen’s first trip to the replacement camp.
“Hey, Sarge!” called Corporal Jason Urbaniak from behind him. “Ya suppose any of this new batch o’ sods will know how to ride?”
“None of the last batch could, that’s for sure!” added Private Callahan from further back.
Sadly, that was the truth. Despite the fact that the mass mobilization of manpower was pulling millions of men into the army, and surely there had to have been a lot of men with riding experience among them, most of the men being sent to the 5th had never had their legs across a horse before. Turning them into useful cavalrymen was proving a challenge.
They finally reached the rail yards and the replacement camp that had bee
n set up next to it. The place was an absolute pigsty and Dolfen wrinkled his nose in disgust. The men unfortunate enough to be dumped here didn’t belong to any unit and whoever was in charge of the place obviously was making no effort to instill discipline in his temporary charges. Of course, it may have been a deliberate strategy: make being a replacement so awful that once a man reached an actual unit he’d be so relieved that he’d make no trouble for fear of being sent back here. An interesting theory.
There were a couple of dispirited sentries wilting in the heat standing by the gate in the fence that encircled the camp. The sentries were there to keep the men in, rather than an enemy out. One of them grumpily took the list Dolfen handed him off to the headquarters tent, and after quite a delay returned to announce that the men would be rounded up and delivered. Having gone through the routine before, Dolfen knew it could easily be an hour or more before the men could all be found. He dismounted and all his troopers did likewise, flopping on the ground in the little shade their horses could provide.
Dolfen sat at his ease, sipping from a small metal flask he always carried and watched the bustling rail yards. Most of the arriving trains carried either troops or the supplies for them. There was very little heavy equipment in evidence since most of that was sent straight to General Funston’s army at Gallup, but there was one string of flat cars on a siding that were loaded with the new steam tanks. They were strange-looking metal boxes on caterpillar tracks with a cannon mounted in the front and a boiler in the back. They had proved decisive at the battle of Prewitt, and from what Dolfen had heard, they were the only weapons the army possessed that could face the Martian war machines on anything approaching equal terms. But these tanks wouldn’t be matching themselves against anything for a while. They were all scorched and charred, with broken tracks or holes melted through them - casualties from some fight with the enemy. There was a repair and salvage yard in Santa Fe and they were clearly destined for it.
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