And coming under fire was definitely a possibility.
Wichita, two hundred yards ahead, suddenly fired its forward turret; a few seconds later the rest of her guns fired as well. Drew focused his binoculars in the direction they were shooting and tried to see the targets. The base of the mountain was shrouded in smoke, but he thought he could see some tall shapes moving there. The mountain itself blocked most of their view to the north where the attack would be coming from. They needed to go farther upstream, where the river curved a bit, to get a clear line of fire. He passed the word to the gunnery officer that they’d be going into action shortly.
As they moved, they were passed on their left hand side by one of the converted riverboats, the Arkansas Queen. She was a stern-wheeler and the paddle threw up a huge amount of spray. She’d once been a passenger and cargo hauler, but most of her upper works had been clad in sheet iron. Several modern field guns had been mounted, but she also carried an antique monstrosity on her foredeck which must have been a relic from the Civil War. Someone stuck his head out of the pilothouse and waved to Drew as they passed.
“What the hell’s his hurry?” asked Mackenzie, who’d come back to the bridge.
“Guess he wants to get some licks in. Hasn’t had much chance so far with all the long range fire we’ve been doing.”
“Damn fool.”
The Wichita moved ahead another half-mile and then signaled to hold station. Drew turned to Mackenzie. “What do you think, Lieutenant? About a hundred revolutions to hold against the current?”
Mackenzie studied the brown water flowing past. “Yup, about that. Maybe a hundred and five; the currents a bit faster this side of Big Rock.” Drew sent the order down to the engine room and carefully judged the distance to the ship ahead to make sure they were maintaining their spacing; the thrust of the propellers balancing the river’s current.
“I can see the enemy, sir!” cried Hinsworth, pointing. Drew brought up his binoculars. Yes, there were several dozen tripods moving forward, firing their heat rays against the defenders who couldn’t be seen at all amidst the smoke and flames. He studied them in a sort of horrified fascination. They were nightmare things that moved with a gracefulness totally at odds with their appearance.
“Sir, can we open fire, sir?”
There was no use trying to direct fire against specific targets; the situation was changing too fast. “Instruct the guns to commence firing, Ensign. They may choose their own targets.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
“Oh, and Ensign, tell the eight-inch crews to save five rounds per gun.”
“Yes, sir!”
Wichita was already firing, and a moment later, Santa Fe joined in. The eight-inchers in the turrets shook the whole ship with deep, throaty roars, while the four-inchers in the casemate mounts made sharper cracks. Thick clouds of dirty smoke rolled away toward the shore to join the smoke already there. Rapid fire was impossible under the circumstances, and the gun-layers had to wait until they had a clear view before firing again.
A strange, almost bell-like sound made Drew turn his head. A new cloud was rolling away from Arkansas Queen; its antique had fired a shot. Not a chance in hell that it had hit anything. He turned back and studied the view through his binoculars. Were they accomplishing anything either? Hard to tell…yes! The smoke cleared for an instant and Drew saw a tripod suddenly topple over, a large chunk of it thrown skyward. “Got one!” he shouted.
“Did we? Did we get it?” asked Mackenzie.
“Sure did!” answered Drew, though in fact it might have been a shot from any one of the ships or even the army guns. No need to tell Mackenzie that, though. The success seemed to pump the man up.
They continued to fire for another ten or fifteen minutes. The forward turret reached its five round limit and ceased fire. The after turret fired a couple more times, but Drew couldn’t see any targets now and stopped the fire of all the guns.
“What’s happenin’?” asked Mackenzie. “Did we drive ‘em off?”
“I don’t know…”
“Sir! Sir!” cried Hinsworth. “Up there, sir!”
For a moment, Drew didn’t know what the ensign was talking about, and then he saw it: up on top of Big Rock Mountain. Tiny figures were moving, right up to the edge of the cliff. Then, suddenly they were burning! Some dissolved in fire, but others, some of the others tumbled off the cliff, trailing flames all the way to the ground, far below. “Oh God!” groaned Drew.
“Is that…? Are they…?” Mackenzie gasped.
“Yes.”
“Merciful God!”
And then there were other figures on top of the cliff. Much bigger ones. Heat rays stabbed out and buildings on the south shore of the Arkansas began to burn.
“Signal… signal from Captain Gillespie, sir,” said Hinsworth. The boy’s face was ashen. “Martians… the Martians are crossing the river south of Big Rock. We are to follow Wichita down to engage.”
“But… but we’ll have to sail right beneath those monsters!” cried Mackenzie. “Our guns won’t even be able to point at them!”
“No they won’t,” said Drew grimly. “Helm! Prepare to come about and follow Wichita! Everyone else, get below! Get below and pray!”
* * * * *
Cycle 597, 845.1, near Enemy City 3-118
“The hill is ours, Commander.”
“Well done,” replied Qetjnegartis. At last, the enemy’s defenses were crumbling. It had cost the life of another clan member, three more wounded, and fourteen wrecked fighting machines, but resistance in the city on the north side of the river was all but destroyed. The prey-creatures’ large projectile throwers there had been destroyed and the new drones were digging their foot-warriors out of their underground shelters and the above-ground buildings. The drones were proving extremely useful, although losses among them had been heavy. But that is what they existed for: to take losses instead of the large fighting machines and their valuable pilots.
“Continue the advance. Let none escape.”
* * * * *
April, 1912, northeast of Little Rock, Arkansas
“Column… Halt!”
The command was passed down the long line of horsemen and vehicles. No bugles were used because they were getting close now. Very close. Frank Dolfen got down out of his saddle, more collapsing than climbing. Damn he was tired! It was almost twelve hours since they had set out in the dark of the wee hours. They had stopped from time to time, but not often and not for long. Little Rock was just ahead, just on the other side of a line of ridges.
If there was anything left of Little Rock.
While it was still dark, they could see the red glow ahead; and after dawn, the clouds of smoke. Now they could smell it, too. The smoke clouds were rolling by overhead, and sometimes ash would drift past on the wind. But the fight was still going on; the low rumble of artillery, which had been audible since mid-morning, was now a continuous roar.
With the habits of an old cavalryman, Dolfen looked over his horse before he saw to any comfort for himself. The beast looked to be in fairly good shape - no worse than Dolfen himself - but he doubted it was up to any major exertion - like a battle - without some serious rest. The horse didn’t have a name; he’d stopped giving names to his horses years ago. Army duty was hard on horses and they rarely lasted all that long. No point getting attached to them. His tired brain suddenly thought about Becca and that crazy horse of hers. Somehow it had managed to last! Thank God neither of them are here now!
Or at least he sure hoped they weren’t. He’d looked and looked hard, but he didn’t think she’d been able to stow away again. The very short notice they’d been given to get moving made it unlikely she’d manage it, but that girl could be determined.
“So what now, sir?” He turned away from his horse to see Lieutenant Bill Calloway of B Troop standing there. “We gonna attack?”
“We didn’t come all this way to just watch, Lieutenant. How’s your troop?”
&n
bsp; “Good, sir. Four of the cycles have conked out, but that ain’t bad over a distance like this. The rest are ready to go - unlike your poor critters.” He pointed at Dolfen’s horse and grinned.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t rub it in. Someday you’ll run out of gas and then you try and feed your contraption on grass…”
“Scouts coming in, sir,” said Calloway suddenly, all levity gone. “Looks like they’re in a hurry.” Dolfen turned and saw a half-dozen troopers galloping their way, whipping their tired horses.
“Trouble, you think, sir?”
“More than likely,” said Dolfen “Better go see.” He stiffly walked over to where he saw the colonel and his headquarters group. He got there about the same time the scouts did. The leader, a sergeant from one of the other squadrons, jumped off his horse, saluted, and said breathlessly: “Martians, Colonel! Just up ahead! A whole passel of ‘em!”
“Calm down, Sergeant,” said Colonel Schumacher. “Where are they, and how many?”
“Just up ahead, sir!” the man turned and pointed. “In a little valley, just the other side of those trees! Not two miles from here! An’ there’s gotta be at least fifty or sixty of ‘em!”
A chill ran through Dolfen. Fifty or sixty? The brigade would be cut to ribbons—or burned to ashes more likely - by a force that size. Hell, the whole 2nd Army had been beaten by a force not much bigger than that back at Albuquerque! They were here to harry the enemy’s rear, not take them head on!
“Sixty tripods?” asked Schumacher. “You’re sure, Sergeant? Think, man, it’s important.”
“Sure as shootin’, sir! I’m not some green recruit, sir! I counted an’ there was at least fifty! You saw ‘em, Hadley, didn’tcha?” He turned to one of the other scouts.
“Yes, sir!” said the trooper. “A whole herd of ‘em, just like the Sarge said. All standin’ there like the regiment on parade!”
“Damnation,” muttered Schumacher.
“Hell, Colonel,” said Major Urwin. “We can’t take on a force like that! It’d be like the Charge of the Light Brigade—only worse!”
“No, no, you’re right.” He looked over the ground to the south and shook his head. “We’ll have to swing to the left, give this batch a wide berth, and come on Little Rock from the east.”
“It’ll be dark by the time we can do that, sir…”
“Well what else can we do…?”
The command staff began to debate, and then had to do it all over again when the colonel of the 9th arrived with his own staff. Dolfen waited and listened, too tired to do anything else. But as he stood there, something the scout had said tickled an old memory. Standin’ there like the regiment on parade… Standing there? Why would that many tripods just be standing there? Why weren’t they in the fight around Little Rock? If they were there as a rear guard, why weren’t they deployed for battle? It didn’t make sense…
Suddenly the memory crystalized and he was back on the rampart of the Martian fortress around Gallup. Lying on his belly on the hard rock with Major Comstock, looking at… Rows of tripods, standing like they were on parade!
“Colonel!” The cry was wrenched out of his mouth.
Schumacher turned to him, a look of surprise on his face. “Yes, Captain?”
“Sir! I think… I think things might not be what we think!”
“What do you mean?”
“Sir, let me go take a look! I can be back in twenty minutes and you can all rest in the meantime! Please, sir! If I’m right, we may have caught the bastards with their pants down!”
* * * * *
April, 1912, Little Rock, Arkansas
“Engine room! Give me everything you’ve got!” Commander Drew Harding shouted into the speaking tube and prayed that he could save his ship.
Santa Fe, which had already been vibrating strongly with the rapid motion of the pistons, took on a new feel, a new tone, as the engines turned the screws faster than they ever had before. Drew looked out the narrow slots in the armored shutters of the pilothouse, trying to gauge their speed. Fifteen, maybe eighteen knots… add in the current of the river and they were surging downstream at twenty-five miles an hour, maybe more.
But it wasn’t going to be enough.
In his heart, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. The Martians were on the cliffs, and as they passed beneath them, they could fire right down on them. Easy and effective range for their heat rays.
“It…It’ll be like shootin’ fish in a barrel,” whimpered Mackenzie, huddled beside him in the cramped compartment. “We won’t have a chance. We can’t even shoot back!”
No, they couldn’t. They were too close to the cliffs and the guns couldn’t elevate enough to hit the Martians on top. “We’ll have to try and get past them as quickly as we can.”
“Why? Why don’t we just stay where we were until…”
“Until what? The defenses of the city are collapsing, Lieutenant! We can’t go up river much farther, and sooner or later they’d come and get us. Down river is the only way out. And in any case, this is the navy, mister! We’ve got our orders and we’ll follow them!”
He turned away from the man in disgust and stared out the view slit. A moment later, Wichita fired her guns and Drew strained his eyes to see what she was shooting at. The message had said the Martians were crossing the river downstream from Big Rock Mountain; had Captain Gillespie spotted some of them ahead? But no, when the ship fired again, Drew saw explosions blossom out from the face of the cliffs.
“What’re they shooting at, sir?” asked Hinsworth.” Are they trying to collapse the whole cliff or something?”
That had been Drew’s first thought, but no, it would be impossible. The huge mass of the hill looked like the Rock of Gibraltar. But as he watched, the smoke and dust from the explosions was wafted up the cliffside by the southerly breeze. Up and up until it swirled around the Martian tripods at the top. “They’re trying to make some cover for us! Well, it can’t hurt, I guess.”
“Should we fire, too, sir?”
He thought about it. The only guns which could bear were the forward turret and the portside forward casemate gun. If they had to face more Martians downstream, he’d need the turret guns and they only had five rounds left… “Tell the Number One five-incher to join in, Ensign.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Hinsworth dashed away.
But before Santa Fe could open up with its single gun, there was more firing from close by. Arkansas Queen was shooting, and ironically, its two makeshift mounts using field guns could actually elevate enough to hit the top of the cliffs. A few puffs appeared near the tripods. The chances of three-inch shells doing anything was slim, but maybe they’d get lucky.
Closer and closer, the cliffs loomed up on their left and a half-dozen tripods stood there on top like executioners. One of them turned slightly and its heat ray lashed out to strike Arkansas Queen. The ship’s improvised armor was pitifully thin and didn’t even cover it completely. Almost instantly, fires erupted from a dozen points, and a moment later the ammunition of one of the field guns exploded, blowing the gun and its crew to bits. The ship turned away, toward the southern shore, but there was no escape. The fires spread quickly. A second tripod fired and the ray pierced through to the bowels of the ship and a huge gout of steam billowed up and out as her boiler exploded. Burning from stem to stern, it plowed into a mud bank and lurched to a halt. Drew saw a few men throw themselves into the water, but only a few.
We’re next.
He looked toward Wichita and saw it engulfed in a steam cloud. Were the Martians using the black dust? He couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter, the steam might provide some protection from the heat rays. He reached over and flipped the switch on the dust alarm. The howl of the siren was almost lost amidst the roar of battle, but everyone heard it and took the proper steps. Looking out again, he saw a heat ray strike the water just ahead and sweep toward them.
“Release steam!”
The view out vanished in a white cloud, but
an instant later the cloud turned pink, and then a red glare blazed in through the view slits. Drew could feel the heat from it and put on his mask. The helmsman was clutching the wheel, Hinsworth was frozen like a statue, and Mackenzie had slumped to his knees.
Drew looked up and saw that the metal roof of the pilothouse was starting to glow red.
* * * * *
April, 1912, northeast of Little Rock, Arkansas
Captain Frank Dolfen stared through his field glasses and sucked in his breath. Sixty tripods, just as the scout sergeant had said. Dolfen and the sergeant, a man named Findley, had ridden to the edge of the little valley and made their way on foot through a line of trees to where they could see. It was a sight to chill the heart of any man. But the Martian machines were just standing there in three rows, not moving. No, wait, there were a couple of them which were moving. How many? He looked closer and he could only see three of the machines which were moving. They paced around the others, for all the world like sentries guarding a line of horses.
That’s exactly what they are!
Yes, this was just like what he and Comstock had seen at Gallup. Tripods in storage, with no Martians inside. He remembered how the ordnance major had babbled on and on about the production capabilities of the Martians and how they could crank out machine after machine. They have more machines than they have Martians to drive them!
“Sir? Sir!” hissed Findley. “There’s another one! Over there!”
Dolfen looked and indeed, a single tripod was quickly approaching from the south. It was carrying something, it looked like a metal egg the size of a man. It walked up to one of the motionless tripods and halted. He squinted through the glasses and could just make out what was happening. The egg opened up and inside was a Martian, a hideous, leathery sack with tentacles. It was lifted up to where a hatch opened in the lower part of the standing tripod. It disappeared inside and the hatch closed. A minute or more passed and then suddenly the tripod came to life. It and the other newly arrived one moved away, heading south, back toward the battle.
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