Breakthrough

by Scott H Washburn

  Colonel Berg arrived and found Dolfen and the infantry officer - a captain. “What’s your situation, Captain, uh…?” demanded Berg.

  “Greene, sir. I have two companies from the 109th, sir. We were sent out here yesterday afternoon with orders to defend the pass. Seems like there’s a hell of a fight going on down by Albuquerque. Or there was, it’s quieted down for the most part now.” Dolfen could see the man peering anxiously into the dark. “Uh, what’s going on, sir?”

  “We’ve got nine Martian tripods a half-hour behind us. They’re coming this way fast. I’m sure they want to get through the pass, but we are going to stop them, Captain. What sort of support do you have?”

  “Uh, a couple of heavy machine guns, but that’s all, sir. Nine?”

  Berg cursed. “You’d think they’d have sent something to…! Oh well, we’ll do it with what we have.”

  While they were talking, the squadron commanders came up and then Colonel Thaxton of the 10th with several of his staff. Berg addressed them all. “Gentlemen, we have arrived. The Martians will be here presently and we must arrange a warm welcome for them. The road leading up to the pass is narrow and will provide us with many opportunities for ambush. There’s no room to deploy all of us at once and frankly we wouldn’t want to even if there was. So we are going to establish a string of squadron-sized roadblocks from here up to the pass.

  “Colonel Thaxton, you and your troopers have been belly-aching for the last two weeks about not getting a crack at these bastards, well, you’re going to get your chance! You’ll be in front, Captain Greene and his men will be next, and then the 5th, understood?”

  Everyone answered in the affirmative. “Captain Greene, do you have communications with the rear?”

  “There’s a telegraph, sir, but the folks back in Santa Fe don’t seem to answer very much. Busy with all the other things goin’ on, I guess.”

  “Well, get on the wire and demand they send us some help. Use my name.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Okay, we don’t have much time and we’ve got to do this in the dark. Get to it and let your people know we must hold the pass!”

  The officers headed back to their commands. Berg came over to Dolfen. “Frank, your squadron’s the most experienced but also the most beat up. I want you as our last reserve. Take your men up to the top and wait there.”

  Dolfen wasn’t even tempted to argue. “Yes, sir.”

  “And let’s pray we don’t need you today.”

  * * * * *

  March, 1910, Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory

  Major Andrew Comstock reined in his horse and looked back. There was just enough light seeping over the eastern mountains to finally see something. What he saw didn’t look good. Santa Fe was almost two thousand feet higher than Albuquerque so he was presented with a commanding view of the disaster.

  That was the only word for it, really.

  They had galloped like hell away from the dying town, through the fragments of the disintegrating 5th Division. Men and horses were streaming east and north, trying to get away from the Martian tripods, some of which, were actively pursuing them. The 5th was made up of regular army units, but they ran just the same as National Guard or new volunteers. Andrew couldn’t really blame them; trying to reform a line to face this unexpected threat, in the dark, would have broken just about anyone.

  So they’d kept riding. Andrew had been hoping to find a telegraph station which still had a connection to Santa Fe, but the next division in the line, the 78th, was in nearly as great a state of confusion as the 5th. The Martians hadn’t hit them yet, but someone had seen what was going on and issued orders to pivot the line back to face south. No one Andrew asked could tell him where division headquarters was, so they’d continued north.

  It wasn’t until they crossed the corps boundary and reached the 77th Division that they found any sort of order. The division headquarters was still there and they had a telegraph to General Menoher in Santa Fe. He’d composed as succinct a message as he could manage and sent it off with a postscript that he would continue on to Santa Fe himself. He had no idea if it would get through or if anyone would pay attention to it if it did, and he didn’t wait around to find out. He gave his opinion of the situation to General Duncan, commander of the 77th, got fresh horses, and set out again.

  The next division in line was the 28th.They were up and alert, but didn’t seem to have orders to do anything. Going to their headquarters would have meant a detour of several miles, so Andrew just kept heading north. It was all steeply uphill now and they had to go slowly to spare the horses. He would have abandoned them for a train if any had happened by. They’d been following the tracks since leaving Albuquerque, but the rails were strangely deserted.

  And all the while the noise from behind was building again. After the absolute bedlam in Albuquerque, things had seemed almost silent; but now the sounds of combat were growing and Andrew stopped to look back.

  From this height, the battle looked to be a considerable way off. There was a long, low cloud of smoke punctured by flickers of light fifteen or twenty miles away. He guessed that was the new position of the 78th. Or perhaps they’d already been destroyed and it was the 77th he was seeing, he couldn’t tell. Closer, he could see troops moving from west to east in an orderly fashion. He was pretty sure that was the 28th. Maybe his message to Menoher had gotten through and orders had gone back out to get the troops moving.

  “Are they still coming on?” asked Bill White.

  “I’m sure they are. The bastards don’t seem to get tired.” Unlike us. He hadn’t slept in a day and half and he’d just ridden fifty miles through the night. So had McGill and Kennedy. White, too, he guessed. They were all ready to fall out of their saddles.

  “Not sure how many of them are comin’ this way. There were seventy-three at Albuquerque that I counted. Or was it seventy-four? Can’t remember, but a lot. Don’t know how many we killed, but I’d bet ten or twelve, at least. So let’s say sixty left. Some will be chasing Funston and whatever he’s got left. If we’re lucky, they split evenly and we’re only facing thirty now. But maybe they’re convinced Funston’s beat and they’re sending most of their strength against us. Could still be fifty of them comin’. The 78th can’t stop that by itself - not in the mess they were in. The 77th and 28th might be able to slow them down. I don’t know, maybe in daylight…”

  “Come on, sir,” said McGill. “No use sittin’ here guessing. Let’s get to headquarters and tell our tale and maybe we can sleep for a bit.”

  “The sergeant knows what he’s talking about,” said White. “Let’s go.” Andrew nodded and kicked the horse into motion. His backside and legs were really starting to hurt.

  It was nearly full light now, and as they reached the outskirts of Santa Fe they could see that the place was all stirred up. If there was any concerted or deliberate action in the works it wasn’t readily apparent. Andrew knew where Menoher’s headquarters were and he managed to reach them without any real problems. Getting into the building wasn’t quite so easy and he had to put all his best growling into play before he managed it.

  But once he was inside and identified, General Menoher latched onto him like a leech, trying to drain information out of him like blood. He described what had happened in Albuquerque as best as his sleep-deprived brain could manage. “And then General Funston instructed me to contact you,” he concluded. “He wanted me to apprise you of the situation and tell you that he gives you full authority to withdraw your corps or stay in place as you see fit, but that he recommend you withdraw.”

  “He actually said that?” demanded Menoher.

  “Uh, yes, sir, that’s pretty much an exact quote except for a few of the pronouns.” He blinked and tried to stay alert. He was starting to babble.

  Menoher frowned and turned away, his hands clasped behind his back. But his chief of staff, a colonel named Hinckley, who had been listening to Andrew intently now, started speaking. “There, si
r, you see that you do have permission to withdraw. You should give the order immediately!”

  The general turned back. “Trying to funnel the entire corps and all its support through that pass is going to be a nightmare, Colonel. It might be better if we stabilize our position and then see about doing this in an orderly fashion.”

  “Sir! You heard what Comstock said about what happened in Albuquerque! The reports from the 77th indicate at least fifty tripods coming our way. They are going to do just what they did there: punch through our lines and then chop us up piecemeal! Right, Major?” Hinckley turned to face him.

  He was deathly weary and didn’t want to get involved in this, but what choice was there? “I think the colonel is right, sir. Our current tactics just aren’t able to cope with these mass attacks the Martians can launch. No army in history has been able to concentrate so much fighting power on so narrow a front. I’m afraid if you try to hold here the same thing will happen as did at Albuquerque.”

  “And we’re already cut off from supply here, sir!” continued Hinckley. “Even if we did manage to beat off this attack, our situation is only going to get worse. If the 77th can hold for a while and the 28th form a rear guard, we can get everything else through the pass and away. We ought to be able to hold them at the pass for long enough for us to withdraw east. But only if we act now!”

  Menoher wasn’t particularly old, but he looked very old at that moment. Finally he nodded his head. “Very well, issue the orders.”

  The headquarters exploded into action and under that cover Andrew withdrew. He found McGill and the others. “We’re done for now. The army’s pulling out, but it will be hours before they really start moving.” He pointed to an empty tent. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get some sleep.”

  * * * * *

  March 1910, Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory.

  The guns were much nearer now. The rumor was that the Martians had broken the lines at Albuquerque and were now moving north against Santa Fe. Some said the army would retreat, others said they were going to stay. All Rebecca knew was that wounded were starting to come in now in much larger numbers. Clearly, there was heavy fighting going on somewhere. It was mid-morning and she’d been at work since dawn.

  A new load arrived and she helped sort them and forward them to the proper place. There were the usual burn casualties, men who’d been brushed by a heat ray but not incinerated, but they were starting to see a much greater number of men with injuries caused by the bombs the infantry were now carrying; lacerations, broken bones, shrapnel wounds. The bombs could hurt a Martian machine, but often the men using them were caught in the blast. The troops seemed to think the risk was worth it. At least it gave them some chance to fight back.

  She finished writing down the information for this load on her lists when a new load arrived. The first man carried out of the ambulance was very tall and rather thin. Some might have called him handsome except he had half his face burned off. Becca looked closer and saw that the damage hadn’t been caused by a heat ray—at least not directly. There were bits of metal mixed in with the burns. And small burns all over his uniform. Then she spotted the tank corps insignia on his collar. Ah, right. He’d been in a tank when a heat ray had burned through it. Hot steam and melted metal flying everywhere.

  One of the doctors made the judgment that the man might recover and Becca opened his collar and pulled out his identity disk. Not all the soldiers wore the disks, but it made her job easier when they did. She wrote his name down on her list: Patton, George S.

  He was carried away and she started on the next one, but then there was shouting and an officer came up. “All right! We’re pulling out! Get those wounded ready to move!”

  She’d been half-expecting this, but it still came as a shock. The hospital erupted in activity with everyone scrambling to secure transport of the patients, load food, water, and medicine to get them wherever they were going, and make sure everyone was accounted for.

  “Haven’t we gone through this before?” asked Clarissa Forester.

  “Well, at least this time the Martians aren’t already in the camp!” replied Becca. She stopped and looked nervously over her shoulder. “They’re not, are they?”

  “I think we would have heard something. Here, give me a hand with these boxes.”

  “No time for chatting, girls!” said Miss Chumley. “We’ll get everyone we can aboard the trains. We’ll keep as many wagons and ambulances empty as we can to pick up others en route. Miss Harding, you’ll ride that horse of yours to carry messages or whatever else we might need. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” said Becca, delighted she’d be with her beloved Ninny.

  “Snap it up! We haven’t got much time!”

  * * * * *

  March, 1910, Glorieta, New Mexico

  “What are they waiting for, sir?”

  Lieutenant Frank Dolfen lowered his field glasses and shook his head. “I don’t know, Sergeant. Nine of the damn things and they’re just standing there.”

  “Maybe they’re scared of the darkies,” snorted First Sergeant Barton.

  Dolfen scowled. He didn’t particularly like the man who was now his senior NCO. Hell, but he missed Urbaniak! “The colored troops are damn fine soldiers, Sergeant. And if they can scare off the Martians, then we need a lot more of them.”

  Barton shrugged and spat, but didn’t answer. Dolfen got the impression the man didn’t much like him, either.

  But what were the Martians waiting for? It was now nine o’clock and the cavalry brigade had deployed to guard the eastern end of Glorieta Pass which was the only practical route in or out of Santa Fe from the east. A battle had been fought here during the Civil War, which turned back the Confederacy’s attempt to seize New Mexico and points west. Would another battle be fought here today? Would the Martian’s attempt to hit the army in the rear be turned back, too?

  Dolfen looked around with nervous energy. He ought to be taking this time to sleep a little after the all-night ride to get here, but he couldn’t. He was sure there was going to be a fight today. Was there anything he’d left undone?

  The pass itself was well-suited for defense, that was for sure. The land was very rugged and mostly covered with pine trees, which even the Martian tripods would have trouble getting through. The trees were dripping wet, too, from the melting snow and maybe that would help keep them from burning. The only easy path was the one followed by the road and the railroad, which ran side by side; the road to the north of the railroad by a few dozen yards. From the east, the direction the Martians would come from, the path traveled northwest, rising nearly a thousand feet. At the top, there was a broad horseshoe turn that sent the road and rails back to the southwest where they descended about three hundred feet and then curved off to Santa Fe. The path varied in width from a few hundred feet to just fifty or so in spots.

  Colonel Berg had deployed his brigade in a series of strongpoints leading up the road. A squadron or so was at each, dug-in as best they could in the rocky ground, with machine guns positioned and the men’s bombs ready. The 10th held the first four strongpoints, then the two companies from the 109th, and then the three intact squadrons of the 5th. Dolfen’s troop-sized squadron was the final reserve, positioned maybe a half-mile downhill from the top of the pass. The tiny town of Glorieta was just to his left rear, nestled in a small valley adjoining the pass.

  There was a telegraph there and Dolfen saw Colonel Berg returning from it. He saluted as Berg came up to him. “All ready, Frank?”

  “I think so, sir. So what’s happening back there?” he motioned to the west where the sound of artillery had been growing by the hour. “We gonna get any help up here?”

  “It’s on its way. Or I should say the whole army is on its way. As near as I can make out, Funston got the holy hell beat out of him yesterday and what’s left will be coming through the pass here soon. They say they are sending some guns up to help us clear the way.”

  �
��So we might end up attacking down instead of defending up, sir?” asked Dolfen in surprise.

  “We can hope. But if help doesn’t arrive and they attack first, we must keep them from getting past us. Even a couple of those devils in position just below the top of the pass could bottle up the entire army for hours. If they are being pursued from the other side it would be a disaster.”

  “I understand, sir. We’ll hold ‘em.”

  “I know you will.” Berg slapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck to you.”

  * * * * *

  Cycle 597,844.1, East of Holdfast 32-1

  “You will attack immediately,” said Valprandar, its voice coming over the communicator.

  “Yes, Commander,” replied Qetjnegartis. “But the enemy holds a very strong position. We may take heavy loses.”

  “Your losses are immaterial!” said Valprandar sharply. “We have already lost fifteen of our people dead and another ten wounded in this attack! But if you seal off the enemy retreat it will be worthwhile. If we can complete the destruction of this army all these lands will be ours for the taking. Attack at once!”

  “Yes, Commander, at once.”

  * * * * *

  March, 1910, Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory

  “Sir? Wake up, sir!” Someone was shaking Andrew and talking much too loudly.

  “Wha? Wuzzat?” He tried to struggle awake, but his head seemed stuffed full of cotton. McGill was standing in the tent, next to the cot he’d commandeered.

  “Here’s some coffee, sir. Wake up, that colonel wants to talk to you.” A hot tin cup was pressed into his hands and he gulped down a couple of mouthfuls of a bitter black brew.

  “What colonel?” he coughed.