By then, there were some moans and groans coming from a few of the tents, so she knew she wouldn’t be totally alone. Of course, she wouldn’t have been completely alone even if every last sharpshooter had deserted. She looked over to where Ninny was picketed and smiled. She’d managed to spirit her horse away from the hospital after she’d told Miss Chumley that she was leaving to join the sharpshooters full time. It hadn’t been an easy decision, and she was wondering if she’d made a mistake. Chumley hadn’t been happy, but she had no real means to stop her from leaving as all the nurses were volunteers and Becca had never signed any papers or sworn any oaths. She had told Becca that she could still come back if she wanted to.
A shout from across the way caught her attention. Sergeant Leo Smith was calling his own company together for morning roll call. She had been copying Smith’s actions whenever possible in running the sharpshooters, so she got up from the fire and walked down the rows of tents, whacking the poles with a stick. “All right! Up and at ‘em, girls! Wake up! Get up! On the street for roll call!”
More moans and groans answered her, but eventually about two dozen women were lined up in front of the tents. It was more than Becca had expected, but still pretty disappointing. The woman who was supposed to be the company first sergeant was among the missing, so she appointed Sarah Halberstam, one the most reliable people in the group, to fill in. She read off the roll, dutifully repeating the names of the absent twice, and then marking them as ‘not present’. When she was finished, she saluted Becca and said: “Twenty-five present for duty, Lieutenant.”
Becca returned the salute. “Thank you, Sergeant. Get the girls to breakfast. We’ll police the camp afterward and then do some drill.”
“Yes, m-ma’am.” Halberstam, nearly twice her age, looked about as comfortable ma’aming her as Becca felt being ma’amed, and after a few seconds, they both grinned.
“Takes some gettin’ used to, doesn’t it?”
“You’re doing fine, Becca. It’s not easy for any of us, I guess.”
“Yeah. But make sure the girls who are still here know how proud I am of ‘em, okay?”
“The others will be back. Well, some of them, I’m sure.” Halberstam smiled, but she couldn’t keep the doubt out of her eyes. She nodded and went back to the rest to get breakfast cooking. At least they had some fresh stuff and weren’t depending on hard tack and salted pork.
Becca went back to her own tent and washed her face with some water out of her canteen. Camping out seemed like second nature to her. As a child on the ranch, she’d done it all the time. Then there was the long months during the siege of the Martian fortress at Gallup. But most of the women in the sharpshooters were upper class ladies from Memphis’ finest families. They’d lived in nice houses with servants their whole lives. This must seem like a real hardship to most of them. It was hard to blame them for slipping back home at night to sleep in a soft bed.
She was pleased that nearly a dozen of them did return before breakfast was over. They looked a little sheepish, but she decided not to make an issue of it. If she did, they might not come back tomorrow. The fact of the matter was that she had no real authority over them at all. They could walk away any time they wanted to. Just like I walked away from the hospital. That was a thought which was intruding more and more lately. She had left a job where she was undeniably doing good to take another job where she might well not do any good at all. Was her obsession about fighting just a childish tantrum? She’d get back to that question - after the battle.
She was just about to order the company to fall in when a carriage clattered up. She recognized it and the driver; they came from the Oswald mansion. Was Theodora coming today? She walked over to the carriage with Sarah Halberstam, but as she got closer, she saw that the driver, an elderly colored man named Moses, was alone.
“Hi, Mo,” she said. “What brings you here?”
Moses climbed down from the carriage. The usually jovial man didn’t look happy. “Mornin’ Miz Becca,” he said. “Got a message from Missus Oswald.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“Well, she an’ Mister Oswald took out real early this morning, fore it was even light, in their motor car. Took all sorts of bags and boxes with ‘em. Wouldn’t say where’s they were goin’, neither. But the Missus told me to tell you that she…” he hesitated as if recalling her exact words. “She has the… ut-most… con-fi-dence in your… ability to command the sharpshooters.”
“Oh,” said Becca. “I see. I guess… I guess she’s not comin’ back?”
“Didn’t look that way to me, no ma’am,” said Mo.
“Oh. Well, thank you for tellin’ me, Mo. What are you goin’ to do now?”
“Don’t rightly know, Miz. They locked the house up tight a’fore they left. ‘Cept the servant’s quarters, of course. Guess I’ll go back there an’ see what happens.”
“You’re welcome to stay and help out here, if you want, Mo.”
“Could I?” Mo’s expression brightened. “The carriage would be good for haulin’ stuff. An’ I kin take care of your horse, too, Miz Becca.”
“That would be fine, Mo. I can’t offer you no pay, but you can eat our chow.”
“Thank you, Miz! No pay is fine. I know how to shoot a rifle, too! If you can spare me one, I’ll get me a Martian!”
Becca laughed. “I think we can scare one up for you, Mo. Why don’t you park the carriage over there.”
Mo bobbed his head and got back aboard the vehicle.
Becca looked at Sarah and the older woman was smiling. “Well, looks like you are in charge, Becca. Everyone knew that was the case all along. But now it’s official, Lieutenant!”
* * * * *
Cycle 597, 845.2, East of Holdfast 32-4
Qetjnegartis maneuvered its fighting machine between the tall vertical columns of the native vegetation. It was almost completely dark beneath the dense foliage and it had to set the light-amplification on the vision pick-ups to nearly the maximum. The growths were of considerable height, and the main columns of the bigger ones were thick and strong enough to even block a fighting machine. In places where they grew closely together, it was impossible to find a path. Of course, it could simply use the heat ray to burn a way through, but the flames and smoke that would produce would be revealing - and that was to be avoided at all cost.
The long-planned attack was about to be launched and surprise was essential. For the last ten days, a screen of the smaller scouting war machines had spread out from the holdfast, driving back the prey-creature patrols. This would no doubt alert the enemy that something was going to happen soon, but there was no avoiding that, and indeed it could well prove to be an advantage - as long as they did not realize just what was about to happen.
The enemy’s air patrols were a more serious problem. Every day in which the atmospheric conditions were not unfavorable, the prey-creature flying machines were in the air, sweeping across the landscape. Fortunately, they did not fly at night. The prey-creatures could not see well in the dark, and while they had started using artificial means of illumination on the battlefield, their flying machines had rarely been encountered after nightfall.
Qetjnegartis had taken advantage of this to move its forces. The areas of dense vegetation, usually an annoying hindrance to movement, were now proving valuable. The growths were tall enough to conceal a fighting machine, and this particular area was now concealing almost two hundred of them. Another area a score of telequel to the north held a like number. Over a thousand of the new drones accompanied each group along with the novel… constructs devised by Ixmaderna. A great deal - far too much in Qetjnegartis’ judgment - was being staked on the success of these untested things. But there seemed little other choice. The attack must be launched and the river must be crossed.
It reached the main gathering point of the battlegroup commanders. Most of the commanders were older clan members who arrived in the second or third wave of transports, but a few were from the f
irst of the buds to be created here on the target world. Qetjnegartis’ own bud, Davnitargus, was in command of Battlegroup 32-8.
“The operation begins tonight,” it announced. “Tanbradjus will lead the two battlegroups and the reserve fighting machines which will create the diversionary attack. This is beginning as we speak. We will remain here, out of sight until tomorrow night, when we shall commence the river crossing. Are there any questions?”
“Do you have any estimates on how difficult the physical passage of the river will be, Commander?” asked Gandgenar, commander of Battlegroup 32-12. “Our success will depend much on that.”
“You are correct. Unfortunately, we have had no way to test the river bottom in the crossing area for fear that this will give away our intentions. Tests in other locations indicate that the conditions can vary significantly, so we will only know when we make the attempt. This is far from ideal, I know, but there is no other practical alternative. But whatever conditions we encounter, we must make every effort to overcome them and cross the river.”
“I understand. We will not fail you, Commander.”
There were no other questions. The plan had been worked out in detail, and they had all studied it. “Very well. For now we wait.”
* * * * *
June, 1912, near Earle, Arkansas
“They’re comin’ for sure, Captain! Thick as fleas on a dog’s back!”
Captain Frank Dolfen looked at the face of the gasping scout in the light of a lantern.
“You’re sure? It’s not just another screen of their scouts?”
“No sir. There’s enough moonlight to see by and there were swarms of ‘em behind the scouts. Couldn’t count ‘em all, but three or four dozen at least!”
“And coming this way?”
“Coming this way fast, sir! Can’t be more’n four or five miles off now!”
Dolfen nodded grimly. They’d been expecting this for days. The 5th Cavalry and two other regiments of the 1st Cavalry Division had been spread out to the west of Memphis to give warning of the impending Martian attack. They’d been skirmishing with the enemy scout machines, on and off, for nearly a week. There had been too many of them to engage in a pitched battle, and they’d been careful enough not allow any ambushes of smaller groups. So the cavalry had been forced back mile by mile until they were less than twenty miles from West Memphis. If this new report was correct, the attack would happen very soon.
“All right,” he said, turning to his second in command. “Get the men up and ready to move. Get a messenger off to the colonel and another one straight back to headquarters. Tell them they’re coming.”
Chapter Fourteen
July, 1912, Memphis, Tennessee
“Holy cow! Wouldja lookit that!”
Rebecca Harding stared out from the city walls with hundreds of other people. The dark western sky was lit up with a continuous flickering glow. Closer at hand, artillery was blasting away, adding to the flashes and producing a noise it was hard to hear over. Leo Polk Smith was standing next to her and seemed to think the tremendous display of firepower was some sort of Independence Day celebration come three days early.
She had to admit it was impressive and rivaled, or maybe even exceeded, the one she’d seen back at Gallup. She tried not to think about how that one had ended up. But things were going to be different this time. That time at Gallup, the army had been attacking the Martian stronghold, and just when it seemed like victory was in reach, a new enemy force had arrived by surprise and smashed into the rear area, destroying the artillery and throwing the army into confusion. That couldn’t happen this time. The enemy was attacking the defenses of West Memphis across the mile-wide Mississippi. They had attacked the previous night and had been probing and probing all through the day, and now night had fallen again. The guns in the defenses, on the ships in the river, and the long-range guns on the eastern shore had hammered back, hopefully hurting the Martians.
Reinforcements had been streaming across the bridge into West Memphis all day. There had been rumors that the Women’s Sharpshooters would be ordered across to join them, but Becca refused to believe that. Few people knew they even existed and fewer would deliberately put them in harm’s way. She’d always known the sharpshooters would be keep in reserve and never be committed except as an absolute last resort. Before it had gotten dark, she’d seen some ambulances crossing the bridge in the opposite direction as the marching troops. They were bringing back wounded. Maybe she should have stayed at the hospital…
“Do… do you think the Martians will make it over here?”
Rebecca looked and saw that Abigail LaPlace had come up next to her. Abigail was the youngest of the sharpshooters, a few months younger than Becca. She was still amazed that her parents were allowing her to do this.
“Doesn’t look like it,” said Leo Smith, overhearing. “They’ve been attackin’ all day and don’t seem to be makin’ much progress.”
“Can’t tell nothin’ from that,” said Becca. “They’re just probing us. Testin’ the strength of the defenses and locating our artillery. They did that at Albuquerque. Then they hit us all at once when it got dark. They might be fixin’ to do that same thing here tonight.”
Smith jerked his head back, face skeptical in the flickering light. “How d’you know all that?”
“I was there.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, she’d been further north in Santa Fe, but she had heard what happened from the other soldiers during the retreat. Smith snorted, shook his head, and turned away. He clearly didn’t believe her, but she didn’t care. She turned back to Abigail. The girl was in uniform and carrying her rifle but…
“Where’s your dust mask, Private?”
“I… I left it back in my tent, ma’am.”
“If the enemy is close by, never go without carrying it. I gave orders about that.”
“Sorry, ma’am. But it’s heavy and the Martians are way over there and…”
“That’s no excuse. They move fast and they don’t always give any warning. We have to always be ready.” Becca looked out across the river. “This fight has just begun.”
* * * * *
July, 1912, West Memphis, Arkansas
“We will move out in one hour. We’ll stay as close to the river as we can until we’re past them, then we will turn northwest and head toward Clarkdale. Keep your advanced guard and flankers as close to your column as you safely can. We are to avoid all contact. It shouldn’t be too hard, the enemy doesn’t like our ships on the river and they’ve pulled in that flank. Once we reach Clarkdale, we’ll send out scouts and see what we can see.”
The assembled officers of the 5th Cavalry looked at Colonel Schumacher and listened gravely to his orders. The colonel had to almost shout to be heard above the nearby guns.
“What’s our objective, sir?” asked Frank Dolfen. “The men and horses are still pretty tired.” They’d been sparring with the Martian scouts for nearly a week and had finally fallen back inside the defenses of West Memphis. They were looking forward to a chance to rest a bit.
“Our objective?” replied Schumacher. He smiled. “Why, Frank, you shouldn’t need to ask. The generals are hoping we can pull off the same miracle as we did at Little Rock: find the enemy’s reserve tripods and destroy them. They’re sending us and the 9th out to the north and the two regiments in the other brigade out to the south with the same mission.”
The other officers began murmuring. One of them said: “Hopefully we can avoid blowing ourselves up this time, sir.”
“Yes, let’s extend every effort to avoiding that. But that is our mission and we will carry it out. Return to your commands and get them ready, gentlemen. That’s all.”
They all saluted Schumacher and he returned it. Then they dispersed. Frank was just nearing the area where his squadron was camped when the bugles started ringing out down the line sounding the assembly. If it had not been for the roar of the artillery, he was quite sure the bugles would have been answere
d by the moans and curses of the men, awakened from the first sound sleep they’d had in a week. The fact that they’d been able to sleep only a quarter mile behind the front lines in the middle of a battle showed how tired they were.
Tired or not, they got up. Dolfen passed on the orders to his own officers and in a commendably short time the troops commanders were reporting ready. Normally it would have taken longer in the dark, but there was an almost constant light from the flares and star shells the gunners were sending up. They were mostly a few miles away, but they were so intense they lit up the whole area brighter than a full moon. He hoped it wouldn’t give them away to the Martians when they moved out.
There were the inevitable delays getting two regiments ready to move, but in only a little longer than the hour the colonel had given them, they were on their way. The 5th was leading the column, and as 1st Squadron, Frank’s men were leading the 5th. He could tell they were tired by the general lack of grumbling, but they were veterans and knew they had a job to do. He was still rather appalled by the number of men in A Troop carrying those damn rocket lances - long poles with stovepipe rockets fixed to the end of them. They were bloody suicide weapons and everyone knew it. Even a few of the motorcycle riders in B Troop were carrying them now, although the bikes with sidecars tended to have the passenger carrying an actual stovepipe launcher if they could get one. The launchers were still in short supply, but the army, in its infinite wisdom, was shipping twenty rockets with each launcher; as if there was any hope that a man would survive long enough to fire more than three or four of the things.
They slowly made their way down streets already packed with troops and wagons. The local commander, General MacArthur, had been pouring troops across the bridge into West Memphis all day. Dolfen had been based in this area for months, and they’d been told that the plan was that West Memphis would not be heavily defended in the event of a major attack; but it sure seemed like MacArthur was planning to hold the place now. Dolfen approved: they’d already given up too much ground. Still, he wondered where all these troops were coming from.
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