Counterattack

by Scott H Washburn

  “Yes, sir, right away. Uh, what about General Rochenbach’s tank divisions, sir? Maybe they could…” He pointed at a blue block at the eastern edge of the table.

  Wood looked at it and shook his head. “No, they’d never get there in time. And even if we had them at the front, they’re too slow and too prone to breakdowns to send them out on a relief mission. Still… they’ve completed their training. Have the 1st sent to Cairo and the 2nd to Jackson. We’ll keep them in a ready reserve.”

  “Yes, sir.” Drum moved off to one of the multitude of communications stations arrayed around the perimeter of the room. Wood dragged a chair over to the table and sat down, after sending an enlisted man for coffee. God, he was tired. An ache was growing in his head and he firmly told himself it was just the stress on top of lack of sleep and not the damn tumor again.

  He stared at the map. Outside, the morning was coming, but no hint of that reached the windowless situation room. Drum circulated between the communications operators and occasionally brought over items of interest. Wood continued to stare. He’d done everything he could to strengthen the defenses, but no line was impregnable. If the Martians hit somewhere that wasn’t quite strong enough, got across the river in strength, and spread out to destroy the railroads as they had done out in Colorado and the Dakotas… it could be a disaster of incredible proportions. In his mind’s eye he could see raiding forces sweeping through the army’s rear areas, destroying supplies, scattering reserves, and then moving on to the cities where the factories were located. Smashing the means of production, interrupting the rail lines which supplied food and raw materials. Splitting the country into smaller and smaller chunks. No, he could not let that happen! Suddenly, just sitting there was intolerable…

  “General?”

  Drum had come up next to him and startled him out of his dark thoughts. “Yes?”

  “A signal from General Duncan in Little Rock, they are under attack.”

  Wood nodded. Yes, the Kansas City attack wasn’t just a lone operation; this was the great offensive, beginning at last. “Send a message to General Dickman at 3rd Army. Have the VII Corps send out its cavalry, same orders as the ones for Pershing.”

  “Yes, sir,” Drum turned away.

  “And Hugh?” Drum looked back.

  “Sir?”

  “Get a train ready. I’m finally going to take that trip to St. Louis.”

  * * * * *

  April, 1912, near Forrest City, Arkansas

  “Come on! Keep moving!” shouted Captain Frank Dolfen, 5th United States Cavalry. At times like this, the sergeant in him always came to the fore. He trotted his horse up and down the column urging his men onward. “It’s a long way to Little Rock and those boys there need help! Move it!” A few of the men waved at him or made some sort of encouraging remark, but if any of them actually moved any faster, Frank couldn’t see it. The main thing, he supposed, was to make sure none of them went any slower.

  The word had come shortly after dawn: Little Rock was under attack again and this time the Martians really seemed to mean it. The whole regiment, not just Frank’s 1st Squadron, was ordered to move out, and as they trotted across the bridge from Memphis, they were joined by the 9th Cavalry, creating a small brigade. When Dolfen had first reached Memphis after the long retreat, he’d been told that all the cavalry was being formed into an actual division, but up until now, the cavalry had all been used in small groups. This was more like it!

  The 9th was a colored regiment and initially there were a few insulting remarks among the 5th, but when Frank heard one, he would stomp on the culprit making it. He’d seen the 9th’s brother regiment, the 10th Cavalry, bleed to death at Glorietta Pass; and if anyone ever doubted the bravery of those colored boys, Frank could straighten them out!

  They’d ridden hard all day, horsemen, motorcycles, armored cars, trucks, and all, but as night drew on they weren’t even halfway to Little Rock. Forty miles was considered about as far as you could expect cavalry to go in a day. They’d gone farther than that, but they still had a long way to go. From time to time flights of aircraft had passed overhead heading west or coming back east. Dolfen wondered if any of them were Selfridge and his boys.

  The Englishman, Major Bridges, wasn’t with him this time. He’d gone to Washington to consult with the military attaché there and wasn’t certain if he’d be back at all. Dolfen found that he missed the man’s almost endless chatter.

  The remains of Forrest City had disappeared in the darkness to the east when the colonel called a halt. Both regiments formed a defensive laager with the artillery deployed, pickets posted well outside the camp, and a quarter of the men on alert at all times. Once again they were in enemy country and there were too many of them to stay concealed, although campfires were all kept shielded to prevent their light giving them away. The shortest route from Memphis to Little Rock took them uncomfortably close to the Martian fortress. It was only twenty miles or so off to the north and they had encountered some very large patches of the Red Weed. When they moved on in the morning, the fortress would be in their rear. A ticklish situation for sure.

  While he was munching on the dinner Private Gosling had provided, one of his sergeants, a man named Burk, came up to him. “Evenin’, sir, got a minute?”

  “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

  “It’s those crazy new rocket launchers, the stovepipes. sir. We gonna get any more chances to practice with ‘em? Ain’t like shootin’ a rifle! Gonna take more practice to hit anything with ‘em!”

  Ah, yes, the rocket launchers. A half-dozen had been delivered to the squadron three days ago. The officer who brought them had given a very brief explanation of how to use them. Some of the men had been given the chance to fire off a few rounds and that was it. “’Fraid not. At least not until we get somewhere safer then here. You’ll just have to do your best, Sergeant.”

  “They aren’t expectin’ us to fire them things from horseback are they, sir? Critter won’t put up with that!”

  Dolfen chuckled. “No, I don’t expect they will. Better tell the boys to dismount before trying to use the things.”

  “Yes, sir.” Burk nodded and moved off.

  After dinner, Colonel Schumacher, who was senior, called all the officers of both regiments together for a conference. “We just picked up a radio signal,” he said. “Little Rock has been hammered hard all day, but they are still holding on. We have to get there and relieve some of the pressure on them. We’ll sleep now and get on the move again at three.”

  “It’s still at least another sixty miles, sir,” said the colonel of the 9th. “We won’t get there until dark and the men and horses will be worn out.”

  “I know, I know,” said Schumacher, a tone of irritation in his voice. “But that’s what we are going to do. See that your commands are ready, gentlemen!”

  Dolfen made his way back to his own unit. Both of the colonels were right, he supposed. Getting there too late to help was pointless. But getting there too tired to fight didn’t do any good either. And if they were too exhausted to escape if things went to hell, that was the worst of all. But he had his orders and passed them along to his troop commanders. Then he went to get some sleep.

  Private Gosling had his bedroll all laid out, but the man was standing still as stone, looking to the west. Dolfen came up and asked: “What are you looking… oh!”

  The western horizon was tinged with a red glow, bright flickers came at intervals like a distant thunderstorm. Dozens of his troopers were looking at it and there wasn’t a sound in the camp.

  “Looks like them boys in Little Rock are catchin’ hell, sir,” said Gosling.

  “Yeah, it sure does.”

  * * * * *

  Cycle 597, 845.1, near Enemy City 3-118

  “Report,” ordered Qetjnegartis.

  “Commander, the enemy’s defensive fire is much reduced,” said Kantangnar over the communicator. “I believe that the time has come to launch the main attack.”r />
  “Are you sure? The prey-creatures have tried to deceive us before, to lure us into a trap.”

  “There is no way to be certain, but we have verified the destruction of many of their heavy weapons, and we are pushing our drones very close to their trenches and they are encountering little resistance. The fire from the vessels on the river is much reduced; they may be running short on projectiles.”

  Qetjnegartis evaluated the situation. So far the attack had gone well. For over a day the clan’s battlegroups had probed the enemy; advancing, doing damage, and then pulling back before the prey-creatures could do serious harm in return. Twenty-two fighting machines had been lost, but so far only two pilots had been killed and four wounded. The other pilots had been rescued, taken to the rear, and given reserve machines so they could return to the fight. Qetjnegartis was determined that losses be kept to an absolute minimum. This was just the first attack in the great offensive, after all. They would need all their strength for the attack across the large river. Over a hundred of the drones had been destroyed, but they did not matter.

  Now the enemy’s response was faltering. Had the probes done their job? Or was this a ruse to draw them into a killing zone? Qetjnegartis moved its machine forward to one of the hills which ringed the city to the north. It had a commanding view of the battle area. City 3-118 sat on both sides of River 3-1.4. The largest portion of the city was on the far side of the river, but once the northern bank was captured, the southern side would become untenable. On the western end of the city there was a tall hill, very close to the river, which dominated the entire area. The prey-creatures had heavily fortified it, but if it could be captured, their entire defense ought to collapse.

  During the previous attack, Qetjnegartis had avoided the northern side specifically because of that hill and the low, swampy ground to the east of it. It had crossed the river, which could be waded with little difficulty, and attacked the city from the south, thinking that their defenses would be weaker there. That had not proved to be the case and the attack had been repulsed.

  We shall not be repulsed this time!

  The clan had a vastly greater strength now, and while the enemy had improved its defenses somewhat, they could not possibly withstand what Qetjnegartis could now unleash. Still, it was cautious about simply relying on brute force. Victory was certain, but it could not afford heavy losses.

  The hill was clearly the key to the enemy defenses. Taken, they could fire down on the prey-creature positions and then roll up the trench lines in both directions. It would not make the mistake of trying to penetrate into the built-up sections of the city immediately, as it had the last time. Once the main defenses ringing the city had been cleared, a more methodical approach could be taken to obliterating the central areas. Yes, the plan was a good one. It activated the communicator.

  “Attention all battlegroups. We shall commence the main attack. Groups 32-2 and 32-6, you shall continue to probe along your fronts to distract the enemy. All other groups will converge on Sector Twelve. Groups 32-1, 32-4, 32-5, and 32-7 will attack the tall hill. All other groups will attack the low ground between the hill and the swampy area, penetrate the defense lines, and advance to the river. Avoid unnecessary losses, but press forward and do not stop until you have reached your objectives.”

  “Commander? Perhaps we should hold back a reserve?” It was Tanbradjus. “In case of emergencies?”

  “No, there can be no half-measures now. We will attack and finish this!”

  “As you command.”

  * * * * *

  April 1912, Little Rock, Arkansas

  “Signal from Captain Gillespie, sir!” shouted Ensign Hinsworth. “He wants us to move upstream of Big Rock Mountain! The Martians are attacking there!”

  “Acknowledged,” replied Commander Drew Harding. “Helm, bring us about, ahead two-thirds.” Santa Fe swung around to head upstream, following Captain

  Gillespie’s ship, Wichita. The two smaller gunboats, Evansville and Mount Vernon, did not follow; apparently, they had different orders.

  “Good God in Heaven, how much longer is this gonna go on?” Drew glanced at his executive officer. Mackenzie clutched the handrail and his face looked pale despite the smudges of coal and gun smoke on it. “They’ve been coming agin’ an’ agin’ since yesterday mornin’! When’s it gonna stop?”

  Drew looked closer; the man was clearly near to the edge. Ever since he’d first met Mackenzie, Drew had been a little jealous of the man’s superior knowledge of the rivers and resentful of his lack of military courtesy. He’d been hoping to have the chance to take him down a peg or two. But now, now that it was happening, he was sorry. Mackenzie had never seen combat and had been completely unprepared for the reality. Of course, there was a first time for everyone, and even Drew had never seen a combat like this one. Some men called up the courage to handle it. Other men… well, it looked like Mackenzie was one of the other men. But damnation, he needed the man!

  “Lieutenant Mackenzie, we’ve been ordered upstream farther than we’ve gone so far. Is there any danger we could go aground?” No reaction. He reached over and shook the man’s shoulder. “Mackenzie! Will we go aground?”

  “Uh… uh, we should be okay,” said the man, jerking in surprise. “With all the coal and ammo we’ve burned up, we’re probably drawin’ two feet less than when we set out. Should be okay…”

  “Good! But could you check the coal bunkers and see how much we’ve got left?”

  “Uh, yeah, yeah, right away… sir.” Mackenzie turned and fled below. Drew couldn’t help but smile at the sudden use of sir, but wondered if he’d come back.

  “Mister Hinsworth, check the magazines. I want to know what we’ve got left there, too.”

  “Aye, aye, sir!” Hinsworth grinned and ran off. At least he didn’t seem to be having any problems. Apparently, this was all some grand pageant to the kid. The ship completed its turn, heading upstream, and Drew looked at the sun, barely visible behind clouds of smoke; it wasn’t quite noon yet.

  The Martians had attacked in the dark of early morning the day before. He had been awakened and stumbled up on deck to see the northern sky a mass of red, the buildings of the town silhouetted black against it. The army’s guns were already roaring and it wasn’t long before the navy had been ordered to join in. They had been tied up along the waterfront, but quickly cast off and moved out into the main channel of the Arkansas. The flotilla was commanded by Captain Ernest Gillespie aboard the Wichita, a sister ship of Santa Fe. The two monitors, two gunboats, plus a half dozen converted riverboats of various sizes with improvised armor and armaments, completed the force.

  At first they had just been firing at coordinates on the map, adding their metal to that of the army batteries. But as dawn came and the day went on, the Martians had become bolder and gotten close enough at times to be fired at directly. Drew thought that maybe they had destroyed one of them, but with all the smoke he couldn’t be sure.

  Night had fallen and by then the city north of the river - which someone told him was actually named Argenta, rather than Little Rock - was almost entirely in flames. Fortunately, the wind was from the southwest so the smoke was blown away and the buildings along the river had remained untouched But the Martian attacks continued. Drew had read stories - and Andrew’s letters - about the night attack on Albuquerque, and he was happy to see that the army had learned from it. They now had rockets and artillery rounds which would burst into a bright flare which drifted slowly down by parachute, lighting up the surroundings marvelously. He’d heard that the navy was going to receive similar munitions, but so far none had materialized. Santa Fe and some of the other ships mounted powerful searchlights, though, and they had been in use almost constantly. From time to time they’d catch a tripod in their glare and pump off a few rounds, but he didn’t think they’d scored any hits.

  It had made for a very long night. He’d grabbed a few minutes sleep during a lull just before dawn, but for the most part
he was running on coffee and sheer nerves. Now they were into the second day of the battle, and like Mackenzie, he wondered when it would end.

  Hinsworth returned and saluted. “Fifteen rounds per gun in the forward turret, twenty in the aft turret, sir! The four-inchers have still got around a hundred per gun.”

  “Thank you, Ensign,” said Drew frowning. He hadn’t realized they used up so much of the eight-inch ammunition. They had a supply ship with more tied up at the docks, but there had been no opportunity to replenish. When they went back into action he’d have to…

  “We should get a man at the bow with a lead once we’re past the cliffs, Captain.” Drew turned and was pleased to see Mackenzie was back. “An’ we’re down to about half of our coal, but nuthin’ to worry about yet.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Send someone forward with the lead.”

  “Right.” Mackenzie left again.

  Up ahead on the right was Big Rock Mountain. It wasn’t all that much of a mountain as such things went, but it was all alone and reared two hundred and fifty feet above the river, making it look immense. It was some last outlier of the Ozark Mountains, off to the northwest, Drew supposed. The side facing the river was a stone quarry and had been carved into an almost perpendicular cliff. The opposite side, facing the Martians, was the west anchor of the defensive lines north of the river. It was studded with gun emplacements and on top was the main spotting post of all the artillery. If the enemy took it… things could get sticky.

  They moved slowly past the mountain against the current, and the man in the bow was shouting out his soundings. It was almost impossible to hear him above the roar of the army’s guns, so another man had to keep running back and forth between the bow and the bridge to relay the information. Since Wichita was leading the way and drew just as much water as Santa Fe, there wasn’t much worry about running aground at the moment, but if they were forced to maneuver later on, it was good to have the system set up. Of course, if they came under fire, both the leadsman and the runner would be forced to take cover.