Breakthrough

by Scott H Washburn

  A loud and long whistle blast announced the arrival of another train. It was answered by a loud clatter of hooves and the rattle and creak of wagons. But rather than cargo wagons, these were enclosed and had large red crosses painted on their sides. The arriving train must be carrying casualties of the flesh-and-blood variety. Dolfen perked up and tried to catch a glimpse of the people riding the wagons, but they were too far away.

  He got to his feet. “Urbaniak, take charge. I’ll be over there if our new lambs arrive.”

  “Sure, Sarge,” replied the corporal, not stirring from his spot.

  Dolfen walked toward the siding where the train had stopped. Every one of the cars was painted the standard Army Green with ‘U.S.M.R.R.’ stenciled in white letters on the side. The government had finally gotten fed up with the chaos in the private railroads and reinstituted the United States Military Railroad system, last seen during the Civil War. Dolfen couldn’t say that he’d noticed any marked improvement, but he supposed it was a start.

  Swarms of ambulances were pulled up all around the train and already stretchers were being carried off and placed inside. The people doing the carrying were all men, but there were also a good number of women there too, most wearing the uniforms of the Army Nurse Corps. Dolfen was looking for one particular nurse. There was no guarantee she would be here; she might be in the large hospital that had been built to the east of town, but he was willing to bet otherwise.

  He walked down the line of ambulances, looking at the faces of the women. Most of them were much older than the one he was looking for and all seemed harried and tired. From what he’d heard, the army at Gallup was having a hard time of it, and while the Martian heat rays didn’t leave many wounded, there were still plenty of other ways for a man to get hurt or get sick. The nurses would have plenty to do.

  He was nearing the end of the line and was afraid she wasn’t here when he spotted her. Rebecca Harding was a tall, solid young woman with a deep tan and a dusting of freckles on her round cheeks. Her dark blonde hair was tied up and barely visible under her nurse’s hat. She wore a uniform not all that different from the one he was wearing: wool tunic and trousers and leggings, all far too hot and heavy for this climate. Add in her calf-length skirt and the white apron and it was a wonder she wasn’t on one of those stretchers with heatstroke, but she was a native of the climate and Dolfen had seen her riding and walking in far worse situations.

  She was standing next to one of the train cars and copying down the information for the patients as they were unloaded. Each man had a paper tag on a string around his neck, presumably with his name, rank, unit, nature of his injury, and all the other things that followed a man around in the army. Becca, as she liked to be called, peered at the tags and quickly scribbled in a ledger she was carrying. The bureaucracy at work.

  He stood a few yards away and just stared at her with a faint smile on his face. He remembered the first time he’d ever seen her, a worn-out scarecrow on an exhausted horse, fleeing from the Martians who had destroyed her home and killed her parents. A lesser person might have fallen apart, but not her. With just a little rest she’d given a good account of what had happened to her and the very next day, when they’d been forced to flee, she’d kept up and never complained despite the grueling pace. Then what happened later… yeah, she was a quite a girl.

  When the last stretcher was unloaded, she continued to write for a moment and then glanced around. When she caught sight of him her face broke into a huge smile. “Sergeant!” she cried.

  “Hi, Miss Becca.”

  She dodged around a pair of stretcher-bearers and came up to him and gave him a brief hug. “It’s so good to see you again! How have you been?”

  “Oh, fair to middlin’. Just came into town to pick up some more replacements. Saw all the ambulances here and thought I’d see if you were with them.”

  “Well, I’m so glad you did! It’s great seein’ a friendly face!”

  “Are you still stayin’ with your aunt and uncle?”

  The girl’s face fell and she frowned. “Yeah, for the time being.”

  “They still givin’ you trouble about bein’ a nurse?”

  “Yeah. My aunt says it’s ‘not proper’ for a young lady! Proper! How can she not understand what’s happening? We all have to do our part! The Martians don’t care about proper!”

  “Some people just can’t see a thing until it’s starin’ them in the face,” said Dolfen sympathetically. “I… I don’t think I really believed in the Martians ‘til they started murderin’ the 5th.” Becca’s face grew even grimmer at that. She’d been right there and seen it, too.

  “Harding! What are you doing?! Get over here!” A sharp female voice made them both jump. One of the other nurses, a hard-looking woman with graying hair was looking sternly at Becca and pointing a finger at the ground in front of her.

  “Gotta go. You take care of yourself, Sergeant.” She turned and scurried over to the woman, who glared at Dolfen, too, for good measure. He returned the glare for a moment and then turned and headed back to the replacement camp. As he neared the gates, he saw a body of men, loaded down with gear, being herded through. Corporal Urbaniak and the other troopers were pushing them into some semblance of a formation.

  “Oh, there you are, Sarge!” said Urbaniak, looking relieved. “I was just going to send a runner to find you.”

  “Everyone accounted for, Corporal?”

  “Forty-eight men on the list and forty-eight here. All the names match, too.”

  “Well, that’s a small miracle.” He walked up and down the line of men, looking them over. They were young and most seemed fairly excited. He wondered how long they had been stuck in the camp. Oh well, he’d turn them into cavalrymen. He stepped back and loudly said, “All right gentlemen, welcome to the 5th Cavalry.”

  * * * * *

  June 1909, Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory

  Becca Harding watched Sergeant Dolfen walk away while dutifully nodding her head as Miss Chumley berated her for fraternizing with soldiers. She hadn’t been fraternizing with soldiers! She’d been saying hello to one specific soldier! Sergeant Dolfen was a friend, and he’d saved her life—several times. Chumley had never had anyone save her life. Chumley had probably never had a friend, either!

  Finally, she was released from the scolding and climbed aboard one of the ambulances as the convoy headed back to the hospital. One of the other nurses, Alice Findley, sat beside her. “What did you do to tick off Ol’ Iron-Corset?”

  “Oh, nothing,” replied Becca, not wanting to explain. “It doesn’t take much.”

  Alice laughed. “That’s for sure! But we might not have to put up with her for much longer.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “They’re saying that they may open up a forward field hospital much nearer to the fighting. A hospital with nurses. And Chumley would be in charge of them - God help ‘em!”

  “Huh,” said Becca, several thoughts popping into her head simultaneously.

  “They’re only taking volunteers,” continued Alice, “but who’s gonna volunteer when they find out they’ll be under her command?”

  Becca didn’t reply and the pair lapsed into silence, listening to the rattle of the wagons, the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves, and the groans of the wounded. When she had first started helping here, those groans had been like knife stabs to her heart, but after three months of it she had become numb to those feelings. She still tended the men with the same devotion and care as before and there were days when something would leave her in tears, but it was impossible to maintain the same sensitivity day after day without going mad.

  They reached the hospital, and she performed the exact same duty she had at the railroad, checking each man off her list as they were transferred from the ambulances into the wards—as if they could have lost any of them on the way here! After that it was back to her usual routine: assisting the doctors, changing bandages, cleaning up the messes, and generally doi
ng whatever she was told. She was slowly learning some basic medical skills, but she was still a junior member of the team and that meant she got the worst jobs. It was hard, often disgusting, work, but she told herself that she was helping in the fight against the Martians. She wished she could really fight them, but no one was letting women - or girls - fight Martians.

  Of course, she had fought them, even killed one of them, during that desperate flight from her lost home. That was more than all but a few of the men had done, but no one here would believe her if she told them that, so she’d never tried.

  Eventually her shift ended and she walked back to her aunt and uncle’s house. The other nurses slept in a tent, but she could go to a fine home with soft beds and indoor plumbing. She’d prefer the tent.

  The residential area of Santa Fe hadn’t been touched much by the war. A few high-ranking officers had established quarters in some of the fancier homes and as a result sentries had been posted to keep the other soldiers out of those areas. The sentry at the end of her street knew her and gave her a friendly ‘good evening’ as she passed. She trudged up the steps of the house, feeling very weary. It was a nice house, a veritable mansion compared to what she was used to. Apparently her uncle was pretty well off, although she had no idea how he made his money.

  They had a maid, too, and the woman relieved her of her tunic and tsk-tsk’d at the spatters of blood and - other things - that had escaped her apron. She went into the parlor and slumped down on one the chairs, too tired for the moment to go up the stairs to her room. Her aunt called out something from the kitchen, but she merely grunted in reply.

  After a while supper was ready and she roused herself and went into the dining room, realizing that she was actually quite hungry. Her aunt frowned and made some comment about the fact she hadn’t changed out of her uniform yet. The maid served the food and it was good. Becca felt a bit guilty about eating so well when the soldiers, the wounded, and her fellow nurses were living primarily on army rations. Her aunt complained about the rising cost of food in the town but then nattered on for the rest of the meal about some exhibit of Indian artifacts that the local School of American Research was putting on.

  “That nice Dr. Hewett put it together and they say it’s wonderful. We’ll have to make time to go see it,” she declared. “Especially since you won’t have time to do it later, Rebecca.” Becca looked up sharply to see her aunt smiling.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that I’ve finally gotten a reply from that school in Connecticut where your mother enrolled you! They still have a spot for you. You leave in two weeks!” Becca stared at her aunt for a long moment and then resumed eating.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean no, I’m not going.”

  “You most certainly are! Your uncle has agreed to pay for your tuition in the future.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not going. I have a job here.”

  “We will have no more of that talk, young lady!” snapped her aunt. “And as for that ‘job’ of yours, I did a little checking and I found out you told them you were sixteen! You’re only fifteen!”

  “I’ll be sixteen next week.”

  “That doesn’t matter! Your uncle has filed all the paperwork and we are now your legal guardians. You are going to school, and that’s that!”

  Becca looked from her aunt’s face to her uncle’s and struggled not to explode. She remembered when her mother had told her about the school almost exactly a year ago. Arguing then hadn’t done any good and she could see it wouldn’t do any good now, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  “Aunt Rosilee, Uncle Albert, there’s a war on! I have to help.”

  Her aunt made a sound of exasperation. “The war! I’m sick of that being an excuse for every outrageous thing people do around here! This used to be a nice town! A town with culture! Look at it now! It’s just a huge army camp filled with rabble!”

  “Rabble?! They’re soldiers! They’re here to protect you and this fine house! The Martians are out there! They killed my father and my grandmother and my mother - your sister! - and burned my house to the ground! The soldiers are the only thing keeping them from coming here and doing the same thing!”

  “Martians!” snorted her aunt.

  “I’ve seen them! Seen what they do!”

  “No more of your wild stories, young lady! And I’ll have no more back talk! You are going to that school and that’s that!”

  Her uncle had not said a word, but she could see she’d get no help from him. She got up from the table and went upstairs to her room. A year ago she might have thrown a tantrum and cried herself to sleep. But a year ago she’d been a different person. Well, maybe not that different. She’d gone and found the Martians in spite of her parents’ commands. She’d done what was right instead of what she’d been told. It hadn’t done any good then, but it had still been right. She had no doubt what was right now. She began gathering her things.

  Miss Chumley will be looking for volunteers.

  * * * * *

  June 1909, Washington, DC

  “The wedding is going to be lovely. I just wish we had more time to make all the plans!”

  Major Andrew Comstock smiled at Victoria, his fiancé, and put his arm around her. “More time?” he said in mock dismay. “I wish we could have it tomorrow!”

  Victoria looked scandalized for a moment, but then she smiled and snuggled closer in the back of the carriage. “So do I,” she giggled. The mere fact that they were alone together - well, except for the driver - showed what a difference being engaged was from courting. Just a few months ago, before he proposed, there was no way this would have been allowed. Sadly, the carriage was taking him to the railway station for the start of another inspection tour instead of some secluded romantic location. Philadelphia to talk to Baldwin Locomotive about plans for new steam tanks and then Niagara Falls to see Nikola Tesla. And then, hopefully, back to Washington. The carriage was approaching the Capitol Building and would soon turn left on Louisiana Avenue and the station was just a few blocks from there. Not much time.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said. “And then I’ll help with the wedding plans.”

  Victoria gave a snort of not-quite laughter, making her dark curls bounce. “You men have it so easy! You and Papa can just wear your uniforms! No decisions at all!” She paused and brushed a hand across the chest of his tunic. “But you do look so splendid in your uniform. Mama heard some rumors that they may give you the Medal of Honor for what you did out west. That will look fine on your uniform!”

  Now it was Andrew’s turn to snort. “Well, if they do they better cut it into four or five pieces! I didn’t do it alone!” Involuntarily his thoughts turned back to the nightmare that Victoria couldn’t begin to understand. The destruction of General Sumner’s army, the desperate flight of Andrew and his surviving men, stumbling on the Martian stronghold, destroying one of the tripods with dynamite they’d found at a mine, and then running again, and only by accident leading their pursuers into a trap which became a ‘great victory’. None of it seemed especially heroic to him. They were just trying to stay alive, but his superiors had been pleased. They’d made his brevet promotion to major permanent and given him new responsibilities. Most importantly, his immediate superior, Colonel Hawthorne, had given him permission to marry his daughter. Everything seemed to be moving so quickly—and he was only twenty-three!

  The carriage reached the station and slowly made its way through the mobs of people there. Washington was the heart of the war effort and the number of people coming and going was immense. Andrew thought fondly back to his first summer here, just after he graduated from the Point - and before the Martians arrived - when Washington became a ghost town during the summer heat. Congress and the President retreated to cooler refuges until the fall. No more! The country - indeed, the entire world - was at war. Now, the city never slept.

  They got as close to the
station building as they could and then Andrew debarked and helped Victoria down. The driver put his valise beside him and then retreated to give them as much privacy as the crowds would allow. Andrew didn’t give the crowd the slightest heed and kissed Victoria.

  All too soon they had to pull apart. “I have to go, Love. I’ll write. And I’ll be back soon.” Victoria nodded and tried to smile, but she didn’t say any more. He picked up his valise, leaned forward to kiss her for a moment more, and then headed for his train.

  * * * * *

  June 1909, Washington, DC

  “How are you, Leonard? You don’t look well.”

  General Leonard Wood, Chief of Staff of the United States Army, looked across the desk at his old friend, Theodore Roosevelt, President of the United States, and decided he would lie to him - again. “I’m fine, Theodore, it’s just this heat.”

  “Yes, it’s especially bad this year, isn’t it? But ha! Listen to the two of us! It’s not half as bad as Cuba in ’98! Now that was hot! We sound like a couple of old men!” The President flashed his famous grin.

  We’re not as young as we were in Cuba. Wood was only 49 years old and Roosevelt two years older, but the truth was that Wood was not a well man. He had a brain tumor and needed an operation. Only he and his doctor knew this and he was determined that as few others as possible found out. He’d been named Chief of Staff only five months earlier and if it became known how ill he was, he could lose that and it would probably be the end of his career. I can still do my job! I just have to be careful.

  “But as we were saying,” he said, trying to turn Roosevelt’s attention back to business, “Funston feels that he only needs to make one more big push to capture the Martian fortress near Gallup. We need to give him as much support as we can.”