“Now the fun begins!” shouted Andrew.
* * * * *
March, 1910, Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory.
Rebecca Harding heard the guns. They were a long way off, but she could hear them distinctly despite the northwest wind blowing the sound away. Guns down around Albuquerque, she guessed. The word had come that morning that an attack might be in the offing. Everyone had been scrambling since then to get ready. The hospital was quickly in order and soon treating a few men who’d managed to injure themselves in their haste.
But that only demanded the attention of a few people. The rest could only wait for the inevitable influx once things got going. From the sound of it, that was going to happen soon.
“Did your aunt and uncle get out?”
Becca turned and saw that Sam had come up beside her. The man had been in an absolute funk for days after he talked with Major Comstock and Becca was worried that he’d run off, but he seemed to be better now. Still quirky, like a spooked horse, but able to do his job.
“I don’t know. I got a message from my uncle, but it was hard to know what he meant. Readin’ it one way it sounded like they were goin’ to leave. But it could’ve meant just the opposite. I haven’t had time t’go check the house.”
“I hope they made it.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“All the firing seems to be away south. Nothing close at all to here.”
“Not yet.”
“Wonder what they’re up to?”
* * * * *
March, 1910, Albuquerque, New Mexico Territory
“What are they up to?” demanded Bill White.
“Looks like they’re just probing our lines,” answered Andrew, still needing to shout to be heard above the roar of the artillery. “Testing our defenses, I guess.” He looked closer. “Huh, I’d swear that some of those tripods are smaller than the others. Hard to be sure at the distance, though. I hope we can get a closer look at them after this is over.”
“After they’re dead, I assume?”
“That would be best, yes.”
It had been nearly an hour since the ‘attack’ began, but so far the Martians had just made tentative advances against the army’s lines and then fallen back again. The sun was well to the west now.
“But we are hurting them, right?”
“Yes.”
And indeed they were. At least two of the enemy tripods had collapsed in ruin when lucky shots had hit them. Many others had taken at least a hit or two but with no obvious ill-effects.
“They’re pin-pointing the position of our guns,” said Andrew. “I’m worried that they’re getting ready to use some of their long-range black dust rockets like they used against the British in the first invasion. Keep your mask handy!” There had been no evidence of that weapon being used during the current war, but Andrew was very worried about the possibility. Unlike the smaller version they used from time to time, which could blanket an area about a hundred yards across, that other weapon could cover miles of territory with a terrifying lethal cloud. Despite their precautions, such a thing could take half their force out of action.
“Looks like they’re advancing again, sir!” cried Conner.
Andrew took up his field glasses and yes, another batch was moving closer. They’d been dancing around at the extreme range of the field guns, but from time to time a group would come closer. If they did like before, they’d come in and then fall back. These did exactly that, but as they turned to withdraw…
“We got one! Hey! We got one!” One of the observers shouted and pointed. Yes! A tripod was spewing smoke and turning in circles. The guns started zeroing in on it and explosion erupted all around the stricken machine. The other Martians turned back and…
“Hey! Look out! They’re firing!”
A dozen heat rays stabbed out and swept across the defenses and across the buildings. One struck the next block and swung toward them. “Get down, sir!” shouted McGill.
It’s got to be every inch of six thousand yards. It can’t hurt me. It can’t hurt me.
He stood his ground, hands clutching the parapet as the ray passed over him. It wasn’t any worse than standing a few yards away from a fire in a fireplace, a breath of heat on the skin of his face. It actually felt good after the cold breeze he’d been standing in all day.
And then it was gone. The others got up and stared at him like he was a crazy man. But he just said: “Looks like we’ve got that one.” The guns hadn’t stopped and they had the crippled tripod ranged in now. In rapid succession a half dozen shells plowed into it and it crashed to the ground in pieces. He could hear some of the gunners cheering.
“Looks like they’re giving up!” exclaimed White.
Andrew looked out from the vantage point. The setting sun was almost directly in his eyes now so it was hard to see clearly. But, yes, it wasn’t just the group which had advanced that was falling back. The entire line was retreating, marching west, up the near ridge. They reached the crest and then went down the other side, the red sun glinting off the metal of the machines. In ten minutes they were all gone.
The cheers of the gunners who had killed the tripod were now swelled as men all along the defense lines joined in. The artillery fell silent, which made the cheers seem all the louder. But Andrew wasn’t cheering; he took his glasses again and focused on the ground leading up to the farther ridge. It was empty. And it stayed that way.
Bill White was scribbling down some notes on a pad and then he came over and slapped Andrew on the back. “Well, that was easy! Guess we were too tough for ‘em, eh?”
“I don’t know. They’re still out there, behind that ridge. They aren’t leaving.” He lowered the glasses and then shaded his eyes against the sun. The red disk was just touching the distant hills.
“I don’t think they’ve given up at all. And it will be dark soon.”
* * * * *
Cycle 597,844.1, East of Holdfast 32-1
“Subcommander Qetjnegartis, we have begun our attack on the southernmost enemy habitation,” said Valprandar. “We have probed their defenses and we shall begin the final assault in approximately one tenthday.”
“I understand, Commander,” replied Qetjnegartis. “What do you wish us to do?”
“I expect to crush the defenses here and then drive north to attack the other habitation. From what our scouts have discovered of the landscape, if your force were to travel southwest you will be able to cut off the prey-creatures’ retreat and complete their destruction. Those are your orders.”
“I will obey, Commander.”
“Very well.” Valprandar cut the communications link.
Qetjnegartis consulted its map. It was still frustratingly incomplete, but it could see the route Valprandar expected it to take. Qetjnegartis’ raiding force had reassembled about a hundred telequel south of where it had first split up. An enemy force riding draught animals was nearby, but had made no move to attack. They would have to bypass that force and move quickly toward the mountains and the route into the enemy rear. It was clear that Valprandar was expecting heavy combat to occur and if the enemy was desperate to escape along the route that Qetjnegartis’ force was blocking…
“Attention, all units. We have our orders.” It activated the communicator to all its subordinates. “We will proceed southwest and engage in battle. However, I do not wish to needlessly endanger the two of us in the transport capsules. Both pods will be attached to Davnitargus’ machine. Davnitargus, you will take these two back to the holdfast by the same route we used to reach this point. Understood?”
They all acknowledged the order. But a moment later, Davnitargus contacted it on a private circuit. “Progenitor, I do not wish to be separated from you.”
“Your wishes are irrelevant. You shall do as I command.”
“But could not one of the others take the capsules…?”
“Davnitargus! You will obey! I find your behavior very disturbing!” There was a long pause and the
n Davnitargus replied.
“I am sorry, Progenitor. I will obey.”
“Good! Now let us all carry out our orders.”
* * * * *
March, 1910, Near Watrous, New Mexico Territory
“They’re movin’ southwest again, sir,” reported the scout. “All of ‘em, and movin’ fast.”
Lieutenant Frank Dolfen sat in Colonel Berg’s tent with the 5th’s other squadron commanders and also with Colonel Thaxton, commander of the 10th Cavalry. A scout had just come in with some alarming news.
Dolfen was still having trouble adjusting to the fact that he was the acting commander for the 1st squadron. After that awful fight at the bridge he was the only officer left who could still ride. Captain Pendleton had been killed, as had Lieutenant Ingram of B Troop. The other two troop commanders had been badly injured. He’d expected the colonel to appoint some officer with higher seniority from one of the other squadrons to take command, but so far he had not. Of course maybe it was the fact that the 1st Squadron was little bigger than a troop now. They’d lost a hell of a lot of good men there - including Jason Urbaniak. The loss of his sergeant - and his old friend - was hard.
After the fight, they’d waited for the rest of the regiment to catch up and then they’d trailed the surviving Martians. They’d found a second machine abandoned with a smashed leg a dozen miles further on and that had made everyone feel good - they had really hurt the bastards. There had only been one left and if they could just catch up with it…
But then two days later, they saw that their quarry had been joined by four other machines. Five was a much more difficult proposition than one! So they’d waited for the 10th to catch up. But by the time they did, five more Martians had arrived and that was far too big a force for them to deal with. The Martians had spotted them and suddenly the hunters had become the hunted and the brigade was forced to retreat south. They’d managed to stay ahead of them, although they’d had to abandon one of the field guns when it broke its axle. Then a day ago, the enemy had stopped chasing them. The cavalry had made camp twenty miles farther south and sent out scouts to keep an eye on them.
“They’re coming toward us?” asked Colonel Berg.
“Uh, no sir, not directly anyway. They’re following the tracks - and not stoppin’ to wreck ‘em, neither.”
Berg chewed on his lower lip. The faint rumble of guns they’d been hearing on and off that afternoon from the southwest had finally died away, but what that meant, no one knew. But it had been clear that a hell of fight had been taking place somewhere along the Santa Fe-Albuquerque line. And now the Martians here were headed in that direction in a hurry.
“Do you think they’re trying to hit our folks from behind, Phillip?” asked Colonel Thaxton.
“Sure looks like it. If they came down through the Glorieta Pass, into the rear, it could really raise hell.”
“So I guess we need to do something about that, eh?” Thaxton grinned. He’d been peeved to have missed all the earlier fighting and looked eager.
“Yes, yes, but this isn’t the spot. Not on this flat ground and sure as hell not in the dark! We need to stay ahead of them and pick our ground. Maybe in the pass itself. If we ride like hell we can get there by dawn. Might be able to find some help there, too. But we need to get moving—now!”
The meeting broke up and Dolfen ran back to his camp. The bugler was already sounding ‘boots and saddles’ and the men were scrambling up from their cook fires and rolling up their blankets.
“Come on!” shouted Dolfen. “We’ve got a hell of a fight waitin’ for us!”
* * * * *
March, 1910, Albuquerque, New Mexico Territory
The light was nearly gone, but Andrew still waited on the rooftop. It was getting colder, despite the wind having died almost completely. Down below, the troops were coming out of the trenches and revetments and building up their fires to cook dinner. McGill was muttering something about finding dinner themselves.
“What are you looking for, Major?” asked Bill White.
“Not sure. They’re still over there, just beyond the first ridge. Damn, I wish we had a way to drop some artillery on them!”
“Can’t the big guns shoot that far?”
“They can, but they’d be firing blind. They’d have no way of knowing if they were even close to the enemy. If we had some observers with a line of sight and a telephone line, we’d be able to correct the fire, but we don’t.”
“So you think they’ll attack? At night?”
“They aren’t stupid, Bill. By now they have to know we can’t see that well in the dark. They’ve already pinpointed our guns. And they have to be waiting for something. Thank God we’ve got a good moon tonight.” He looked over his shoulder. The moon was five days from full and shining brightly in the clear sky.
“I sure hope you’re wrong!” The newspaperman peered out into the dark. The last glow of the sun was fast fading away.
But nothing happened for quite a while and McGill had Kennedy forage some food for them. The men in the observation post were relieved with a new group, who Andrew ordered to keep a sharp lookout. Eight o’clock came and Andrew was starting to suspect that he’d been wrong after all. White was ready to leave and McGill was getting cranky. Maybe they should head back to their tent… or maybe just find a spot in this building. It would be warmer…
“Hey! Hey! I see something!”
Andrew popped up and ran to the parapet. Off in the distance, dark shapes were moving on the ridge in the moonlight. And there were red, glowing lights in the center of each of them. He grabbed his field glasses and looked again. Yes, tripods, a lot of them, all in a group, and they appeared to be heading almost directly for him! He tried to count them by the red lights, but it was impossible with the machines passing in front of each other and blocking the view. But one thing was certain: the Martians were now all in one huge mass instead of spread out in a line, miles long. “My God,” hissed Andrew.
“What? What’s happening?” asked White.
“They aren’t attacking all along the line like before! They’re in a flying wedge! They must be trying to smash a hole right through us!” He put down his glasses and snatched up the field telephone the observer team was using. “Get me General Funston! Yes, dammit! This is Major Comstock! I’m on his staff! Get him on the phone!”
There was an infuriating delay and all the while the Martians were getting closer. Others had obviously noticed because there were shouts and bugle calls, and before long some of the guns were firing again. Bright flashes, like heat lighting, lit up the landscape as guns blazed and shells detonated. If the Martians had presented a concentrated target like this earlier, in daylight, with the guns ready, they might have taken dreadful losses, but now it didn’t look like they were being hurt much at all. No, wait, there was one going down, but the rest were coming on at top speed. The lighter guns were opening up now too, and even some machine guns.
The noise was becoming so loud he almost didn’t hear when he got through to Funston’s headquarters. “What? Yes! It’s Comstock! I need to talk to the general! What? Yes, I know he’s busy, but I need to tell him what I’m seeing! Yes, I’m at the OP on Gold and Bareles Street! What? All right, all right! Just tell him the Martians are all in a clump! Yes, one big mass! They are coming straight on, a little north of me! I think they’ll hit the river near the northern bridge. They’re gonna smash right through our lines! Have the general move all his reserves to that point! Yes! By the bridge! Hurry!”
The rip-saw shriek of the heat rays wrenched his attention away from the telephone. Damn, they were in range already? Beams of destruction lashed out from the leading face of the wedge, flaying the trenches and bunkers. Then, in the garish red light, he saw objects fly off from some of the tripods. Black dust!
“Get your masks on!” He dropped the phone receiver and fumbled for his in the bag hanging around his neck.
But the projectiles weren’t targeted on him; they
arced off and came down on the artillery revetments. Clouds of black smoke appeared, which were so utterly dark, reflecting no light at all, that they looked like holes in his vision. They knew just where they were. The guns stopped firing immediately. Even if their crews survived, they couldn’t see their targets. Andrew could barely see, himself, through the grimy glass eyepieces in his dust mask.
The Martians came on. They were less than a half-mile from the river now and they seemed to cross that distance incredibly fast. Dozens of heat rays were blasting the trench lines and some were now striking the buildings on the edge of town five or six blocks north of Andrew’s position. Flames erupted from windows and rooftops, adding to the hellish glow that seemed to be enveloping the world.
Now a new noise reached his ears, a noise he knew very well: the huff and puff of steam tanks. He looked over the parapet and there were a column of tanks heading up the street just below him, a cloud of coal smoke enveloped him for a moment as they chugged past. He leaned out and caught a glimpse of the pennant on one of the command tanks. Yes, it was the 304th tank battalion; they were attached to the 33rd division. If Funston could get the tanks from the 5th division just to the north to come south and then send in the corps reserve, maybe they could catch the Martians in a crossfire and shoot them to bits. But damn, they were going to have to move fast. The things were almost here!
They were going to hit the line maybe a half-mile north of where he was. He raised his field glasses and cursed when they clunked into the eyepieces of his mask. He tore it off and stuffed it back in its bag. There was almost no wind and the dust was heavier than air. None of it should be up this high. Using his glasses again, he could see that the Martians had reached the river by the north bridge. As he’d feared, it wasn’t proving any obstacle at all. The enemy machines were wading right across it and up the eastern bank. Their heat rays were still sweeping everything in front of them. Explosions began to erupt as they hit some of the battery sites. Stacked ammunition popped sharply like giant firecrackers, while loaded caissons blew up with roars that shook the air. The nearest buildings were all engulfed in fire, the flames leaping into the night sky.
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