Counterattack

by Scott H Washburn

  It was nearly noon before Drum could stuff him into a staff car and head back to headquarters. On the ride back through the mercifully undamaged streets, Drum was babbling on about the battle, but Wood was trying to decide what to do next. The Martians had been hurt, hurt very badly, he believed. The obvious thing to do was to launch a counterattack. Could that be done? What forces did he have left? What forces could be brought up? What…?

  “General? General, we’re here.”

  Wood jerked awake and looked around in confusion. They were outside the Hotel Jefferson. Asleep. He’d fallen asleep. Shaking himself awake, he emerged from the car. There was a swarm of other cars on the streets and a large crowd near the entrance, talking excitedly. Wood slowly made his way through to the doors…

  “Well, Leonard, I hope you’ve had your fun!”

  A familiar voice drew him up short and he spun around. The crowd parted to reveal a very familiar figure. Eyes sparkling behind his pince-nez glasses, the mouth was drawn into a grin, exposing those enormous teeth.

  “Not very fair to sneak off and direct a battle without me, you know. But well done, Leonard! Bully!”

  Wood just gawked for a moment before he could find his voice.

  “Roosevelt!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Cycle 597, 845.1, Holdfast 32-4

  Qetjnegartis stared at the communications display and forced its tendrils into immobility. When the alert came from Clan Mavnaltak asking for contact, it had assumed it would be Commander Braxjandar, telling of its latest victory and demanding to know why Qetjnegartis had not launched its own offensive. But it had not been Braxjandar…

  “This is truth? Braxjandar is slain? How did this come about?”

  Kalfldagvar, one of Braxjandar’s subordinates and now, apparently, the leader of Clan Mavnaltak on the target world, waved its tendrils in agitation. “A great calamity, Qetjnegartis. We launched our attack and all seemed to be going well. We crushed the prey-creature’s outer defenses as we expected. They fought hard, but they could not stop us. But then there was another line of defenses, much stronger than the first. Their large projectile throwers were in operation in numbers never before encountered. Our losses mounted, but we breached the second line and pushed forward.

  “We slew thousands of them, but then we encountered more of the miserable creatures and more of their armored vehicles. There seemed to be no end to the things! At that point we also saw that there was another defensive line constructed of the cast stone material. I… I advised Braxjandar that we should withdraw, but it was convinced that this line of defenses was the last, and if we could pierce them, the enemy would collapse. So we attacked. Braxjandar led it personally.”

  “And this attacked failed?” asked Qetjnegartis, even though there could be only one possible answer.

  “Yes. We took heavy losses just reaching the walls, and then we could not get over them quickly. We began to tear them down. The drones performed well and it looked as though victory could still be achieved but then… then…” Kalfdagvar faltered.

  “Then what?”

  “Something none of us thought possible! We were suddenly fired upon with heat rays! Our own heat rays! Firing out from the walls! A score of us were destroyed before we even realized what was happening. Braxjandar was among them.”

  Qetjnegartis was stunned. “How is this possible? Could you have been mistaken? Could it have been some new, primitive weapon of the prey-creatures which just had the appearance of a heat ray?”

  “No! Analysis proved that is was identical to our own weapons. We speculate that they have somehow devised a way of using salvaged ray projectors, taken from destroyed war machines. Or at least we hope so. The only other possibility, that they have built these from scratch, is too terrible to contemplate!”

  “Even the possibility that they have managed this much is terrible enough, Kalfdagvar! This would indicate a reasoning ability far above anything we credited them with.”

  “Yes. But in any case, with the loss of Braxjandar and the others, the attack faltered and I had no choice but to order a retreat. Less than fifty of us survived to reach the nearest holdfast.”

  Fifty! Braxjandar had boasted that its attack would have nearly five hundred fighting machines! Such a loss…

  “What will you do now, Kalfdagvar?”

  “I have reported this news to the Colonial Conclave. They have ordered that the offensive continue. Obviously it will be some time before my own people can attack in any strength. We shall make what small probes we can to keep the enemy off balance. The Conclave has demanded that Clan Novmandus to our north stir itself to make a major effort and they have agreed. But it is now more urgent than ever that you attack boldly Qetjnegartis. Surely the prey-creatures must have concentrated most of their strength against us to deal such a blow. The opportunity for you to establish a hold across the great river might never be better. You must attack!”

  There is no evidence to back up your claim, Kalfdagvar, thought Qetjnegartis. But aloud it said: “We will do what we can. You have our condolences for your losses.”

  Kalfdagvar appeared to have no interest in condolences, but made no more demands and ended the communications. Qetjnegartis sat there for some time assimilating this new and unexpected information. The situation was very complex—and very dangerous.

  Group 31 to the south was in disarray. They had been inadequately supported by their clans on the Homeworld and were now divided by the need to hold what they already had and to assist an offensive against a heavily fortified zone which separated the third continent from the fourth. There would be no help from there. The groups to the far north were only now beginning to render any real assistance.

  And Group 33, the Mavnaltak Clan, was defeated. This was entirely unexpected. Up until now, Braxjandar had been the acknowledged leader on this continent. It had produced nothing but victory. Everyone - including Qetjnegartis - had expected this to continue to be the case.

  But now, now the hopes for a final victory on the third continent were resting on Qetjnegartis. In some ways it was a very satisfying situation, especially after all of Braxjandar’s condescending behavior. But in other ways it was very unsettling. The other clans were now expecting it to produce the victory they wanted.

  Can it be done?

  The news about the prey making use of captured devices was very alarming, but it made the need for a quick victory all the more vital. If the prey were so clever as to accomplish this, then they must be given no time to accomplish more. The river needed to be crossed and a new holdfast established as quickly as possible. But where? And how?

  Qetjnegartis reactivated the communicator and contacted Kantangnar, commanding Battlegroup 32-4. It answered immediately. “Report your situation. Do you continue to advance unopposed?”

  “Yes, Commander. Except for a few small garrisons and light scouting forces, we have encountered no significant resistance. We have advanced three hundred telequel south of the confluence of River 3-1.4 with River 3-1, destroying all that we have seen. Unless the situation changes, we could push all the way to the ocean.”

  “Have you discovered any locations where a crossing of the river might be easily done?”

  Kantangnar hesitated for a moment. “None that seem exceptionally favorable, Commander. While it is true that the large cast-stone fortifications are fewer here than to the north, the river grows steadily wider as we progress and much of the land along it is very low-lying and saturated with water. Some areas have proven virtually impassible and we were forced to detour many telequel west to get around them. One city on the far shore stands on high ground and was very heavily fortified. Also, the enemy water vessels have been seen in great number and have been following us. Any time we get close to the river they fire upon us, and we have taken some minor damage. Attempting a crossing so far from our holdfasts would be… difficult.”

  “I understand,” said Qetjnegartis. “Very well, continue as you have for as far as
you can without putting your force in danger. Report to me regularly.”

  “Yes, Commander.” The connection was closed.

  Qetjnegartis considered the situation. Crossing the large river and establishing a strong holdfast on the far side was essential. The crossing itself would be difficult, but it seemed likely that establishing the holdfast would be even more so. The prey-creatures would certainly see the danger such a thing would pose to them and make every effort to prevent that happening. Up until now, every holdfast had been established either in a sparsely populated region or in areas which had been swept clean of prey-creature forces following a major victory. In each case there had been no immediate opposition. The construction machines were much more vulnerable to damage than the war machines, especially in the early stages of construction before the underground areas could be started. If the prey-creatures were to bring up powerful forces, especially their large projectile throwers, building a new holdfast might well prove impossible. Qetjnegartis recalled the siege of the first holdfast and how nearly it had been overrun. If the prey had brought such forces to bear earlier, it probably would not be alive contemplating the problem now.

  So yes, we can probably force our way across the river, but then what?

  It could see no easy answers. So, as it often did when in need of counsel, Qetjnegartis opened a communications channel to Ixmaderna in its lab in Holdfast 32-2. It was one of only two others who had arrived with the initial landing force and still survived. It was a being of long experience and considerable wisdom. Once the communications link was established, Qetjnegartis explained the problem, including the information from Kalfdagvar.

  “I find it most interesting that the prey-creatures have learned how to make use of our technology, even in so simple a way as this,” said Ixmaderna.

  “You consider using our most potent weapon simple?” asked Qetjnegartis.

  “As a device it actually is, Commander. A matter of supplying sufficient power and turning it on. Far less complex than operating one of the fighting machines. Even so, for them to have puzzled out all the particulars so quickly does come as a surprise. Although after working with their young, I suppose it shouldn’t have been.”

  “You consider them intelligent, then?”

  “More intelligent than we expected before coming here, surely. Still, it is not as if they constructed a heat ray on their own - or at least so we must hope.”

  “I find the situation very disturbing. Is there anything we can do to render our technology inoperable in the event it is captured?”

  Ixmaderna waved its tendril in contemplation. “Perhaps. It may be possible with certain devices. I shall give it thought.”

  “And what about the strategic situation? What are your thoughts on that?”

  “I see only two possibilities which give a great chance for success with an attack that must be launched soon. One is to somehow arrange for a battle which utterly devastates the enemy without ourselves suffering too great a loss in the process. We would then have the strength to defend the new holdfast before they could assemble a new attack force.”

  “If I had the power to guarantee such a result, we would not be in the present situation,” said Qetjnegartis. “The other possibility?”

  “You must force your crossing in an area which is either so isolated that the enemy cannot quickly bring its forces to bear - such as was the case with our first holdfast - or an area which has naturally strong defensive features to give the construction operation protection from attack.”

  “And an additional factor is that the location cannot be too far from an existing holdfast,” said Qetjnegartis. “After what happened to our reserve fighting machines during the attack on city 3-118, I am extremely reluctant to bring the construction machines along with the attack force. But to have to bring them from a holdfast later would take too much time if the distance was great.”

  “True,” said Ixmaderna. “That limits the areas open to you - unless you found the ideal site and built a new holdfast in the vicinity on our side of the river.”

  “That would take too long. Our attack must come soon. And if the enemy guessed our plans, the ideal site could be fortified before we were ready to attack.”

  “That is also true. So your area of attack is limited to perhaps two hundred telequel of Holdfast 32-4. Do any locations recommend themselves?”

  “No. The principle feature is city 3-37. But it is heavily defended with an outer fortress on the west shore connected by a bridge. Considering what happened to Braxjandar’s forces recently, I am extremely reluctant to attack such a fortress.”

  “Then somewhere to the north or south of it?”

  “It is mostly flat, wet country with no dominant features to prevent an enemy counterattack. It would also appear that the tracks of their transportation system are far denser on the east side of the river. This would allow them to assemble their forces quickly. And they can also transport their forces using the rivers. The only easily defensible locale would be…” Qetjnegartis paused.

  “Yes?”

  “The city itself. It is ringed on all sides with walls and obstructions to deter attack. If we could somehow manage to seize the place without sustaining ruinous losses, we could put those defenses to our own use. Not as effective as our own, but they might suffice until we can build more.”

  “An interesting idea, Commander. And with the entire city available to salvage, we avoid the danger of picking some unsurveyed spot only to find it completely lacking in necessary resources.”

  “Yes, that was another danger which concerned me.”

  “But it comes back to capturing the city. Can you do that?”

  “A direct, frontal assault would be extremely costly, perhaps impossible with the river and the enemy water vessels to contend with. And yet clearly the prey-creatures fear exactly such an attack since they have constructed such formidable defenses. Perhaps if we made a feint, a diversionary attack against the section on the west shore to draw in their reserves, and then made a surprise crossing twenty or thirty telequel north or south of the city, and then quickly struck the city from the landward side. The defenses are not nearly so strong there. We could take the city, perhaps even capture the bridge across the river intact, and then move in our construction machines. Yes, if we could do this a success might be possible.”

  “The enemy water vessels could still pose a threat.”

  “Yes, we would need to establish very strong defenses along the river, north and south of the city to prevent their approach. Give some thought about how best to do that.”

  “As you command.”

  “The diversions can be done easily enough, but I am still very uncertain about the river crossing. We shall have to make some trial crossings with just a few machines to see if it can be done at all. Perhaps I will have Kantangnar make some attempts and send another force farther north to do the same. This may also distract the enemy. But it is the drones that worry me most. They will be essential for taking the city, but I fear we will lose great numbers of them to mishap if we try to walk them across the river bottom.”

  “Yes, that is a great risk,” said Ixmaderna. “But an idea comes to me.”

  “Yes?”

  “We have seen that the prey-creatures are capable of making use of our own technology. Perhaps we should make use of theirs.”

  * * * * *

  May, 1912, Memphis, Tennessee

  Things were busy again in the hospital. Wounded had started to stream in only a few days after the terrible battle at Little Rock, and the stream hadn’t stopped for the two weeks that followed. Even now, nearly a month later, there were still a few new arrivals coming in as the survivors of the battle reached safety. Rebecca Harding looked at their newest patient. He was a middle-aged man with bandages on his hands and knees. His ID disk said his name was Mackenzie and he was with the navy. Probably off one of the gunboats, she thought.

  “These burns, sailor?” she asked, pointing t
o the bandages.

  “Yes’m,” replied the man. He looked disoriented. She felt his head and it was feverish.

  Frowning, she gently cut and peeled away the bandages. The man twitched and moaned as she worked. Yes, as she feared, the burns on his hands had become infected. The ones on his knees looked to be healing, but the hands… Looking closer she saw that the burns weren’t actually all that bad, not like many she saw. Over the years she’d seen a lot of burns. These were probably secondary burns, made when the man touched something which was hot rather than as the direct result of a heat ray. Still, he was in danger. She cleaned up the wounds as best she could quickly and then called one of the doctors over to look at him.

  The doctor, who looked as exhausted as she felt, examined the patient and just shook his head. “Finish cleaning up the wounds, get fresh sterile bandages on them,” he said. “Then make sure he has food and water and rest. We’ll just have it let this run its course and hope he can pull through.”

  Becca nodded and went to work. Sadly, there wasn’t much that could be done for an infection like this. Either the man had the strength to fight it off or… he didn’t. Becca was glad that this doctor wasn’t one of the older ones who still prescribed bromine treatments. They were incredibly painful for the patient and didn’t do any good that Becca had ever seen.

  She spent nearly an hour using boiled water to clean out the wounds and then carefully covered them with gauze which had also been boiled. The patient cried out from time to time and she had to firmly hold on to his wrists when he tried to jerk away, but he seemed to be in a daze.

  As she was finishing up, she heard a voice a few yards off asking: “Excuse me, miss, I’m looking for one of my men, Caleb Mackenzie. I was told he is here.” Becca looked up and saw a man three beds down talking to Clarissa Forester. Mackenzie? She double-checked the ID disk and sure enough, it was him.