Counterattack

by Scott H Washburn

  “But…”

  “Do it!” He spurred his horse onto the sidewalk and pushed his way through the people fleeing the other way. Some were walking wounded, and others were stragglers of one sort or another. There were also an alarming number of civilians. The city was supposed to have been mostly evacuated, but clearly a lot of folks had stayed behind—until the Martians arrived. But Frank wasn’t paying much attention to them. He was scanning the hospital vehicles for any familiar face.

  Amazingly, he found one.

  There was Nurse Chumley, perched on one of the wagons. He’d met her a number of times when he’d visited Becca. At first, she’d made no secret of her disapproval of any soldier showing interest in one of her girls. That had changed a bit after he was made an officer, but she had remained a snappy old biddy. But she was there now and Frank was glad. He ruthless turned his horse across the traffic and pulled up beside the wagon. “Chumley! Where’s Rebecca?”

  The woman acted as though he’d grown up out of the ground. “Who…? Oh, Captain Dolfen! What are you doing here?”

  “Comin’ t’give the Martians a warm welcome. But is Rebecca with you?”

  “She’s with her sharpshooters,” she said and Frank’s heart fell. She could be anywhere then… “But they helped us evacuate. She ought to be bringing up the rear.” She jerked her head backward.

  “Thanks! Thanks a lot!” He turned his horse again.

  “Be careful! Those devils aren’t far behind!”

  Yes, that was for sure. He could see smoke and flames ahead and not nearly far enough away. He couldn’t see any of the tripods yet, but where there was smoke and flames, there were usually Martians. He reached the end of the block and looked west and he was gratified to see Lynnbrooke on the next street over urging along the squadron. Lynnbrooke spotted him, but Dolfen just waved him on.

  He kept forcing his way through the people headed the other direction and saw that he was nearing the end of the line of wagons and ambulances. If Becca was bringing up the rear she ought to be around here somewhere. But all the people on foot he could see were walking wounded, retreating soldiers, or civilians. Did Becca still have that fool horse with her? She’d be easier to spot if she were mounted, but he didn’t see any riders ahead.

  A trooper caught up with him. “Captain! Lieutenant Lynnbrooke says that he can see Martians ahead! Do you want to halt and deploy?” Dolfen stared ahead and yes, now he could make out tall shapes, dimly through the smoke. Maybe a half mile ahead. But where was Becca? Could he have missed her in the crowd? Maybe just her, but there were supposed to be a group of them. Women in silly uniforms with rifles, he couldn’t have missed seeing all of them. So were they still up ahead? Closer to the Martians? Maybe there had been stragglers with the wounded that they were helping. Damn, he couldn’t just keep marching right toward the bastards, his command would be slaughtered. They’d have to deploy and hope Becca could get here ahead of the enemy. If she’s even out there. She might have taken some other street and I’ve missed her completely.

  “Yes. I’ll come.” He turned down a side street and made it over to where Lynnbrooke had the squadron. He signaled a halt as soon as he saw Dolfen coming. The squadron was still in pretty good order and the officers gathered quickly.

  “All right,” he told them, “we are going to set up a blocking position here, along this cross street.” He spotted the street sign. “Along Jackson Avenue. We’ll take position here and the next two main intersection to the east. This one… Manassas, the next one over is Ayres, and I don’t know what the next one over is, but you can see that big red shop sign on the corner. The armored cars will wait in ambush along Jackson. You can pop out and fire down the streets at the tripods when they get closer and then scoot on across behind the buildings before you become a sitting duck. Understood?” Lieutenant Buckman, commander of the armored car troop nodded.

  “A and B Troops will dismount three sections each and get them into the buildings on each side of the streets farther up the block. The rest will stay mounted and get into these alleys between the buildings, so that they’ll be ready to come out and hit them while they’re busy with the armored cars and the dismounted troopers. Gregory,” he turned and looked at Lieutenant McGuiness, the commander of D Troop, “get your heavy machine guns set up inside buildings where they can support everyone else. As for your mortars, I leave that to you.” He swept his gaze across everyone.

  “We haven’t got much time, but scout out routes to fall back along. We aren’t going to be able to hold here very long, I don’t think, and we will have to fall back from position to position. Our mission is to hurt and delay these bastards as long as we can without getting shot all to hell. There are reinforcements coming, we just need to buy time for them to come up.

  “One last thing: the Martians have got those spider-machines with them, so be on alert. But… there are still people trying to get away out there! Be certain you don’t kill any of ‘em by mistake! Questions?” There weren’t any and Dolfen nodded. “Okay, let’s get to it.”

  His officers ran back to their men, and in moments the squadron was in motion. Horsemen, their mount’s hooves clattering on the cobblestones, trotted off to take up positions. Some dismounted and had their horses taken to sheltered areas in the block south of them. Motorcycles, their engine roars echoing off the surrounding buildings, did the same, although there was no way to take the bikes to the rear; they were parked in alleys or on sidewalks. Troops scrambled into the buildings, all carrying bombs and some - not enough - with the new stovepipe rocket launchers. The armored cars formed three groups, near each of the intersections, ready to dart out at the right moment. The machine gun crews, straining under their heavy loads - the fifty-caliber Brownings weighed a hundred pounds even without their tripods or ammunition - as they lugged them into position. Dolfen didn’t know how the mortars were going to be placed or directed, but he left that to McGuiness.

  It was all done very efficiently and he was proud of his men, especially since this urban setting wasn’t one they had trained for. But damn it, where was Becca? He pulled out his binoculars and looked down the street. The Martians were about four blocks away, at least four or five of them on Ayres Street; and from the smoke, at least that many on the parallel streets. Their heat rays were in almost constant use, blasting the buildings along the streets as they advanced. Most of the smoke was rolling to the east, but the smell of burning was heavy in the air.

  Artillery fire was coming down around them intermittently, although he had no idea where it was coming from or who was directing it. There were aircraft circling far overhead, so maybe they were the ones calling it in. And speaking of aircraft, where the hell were Selfridge and his boys? He knew that several hundred aircraft had been assembled around Memphis to help in the defense. They would surely be a help now.

  “Sir? Captain?” It was Lynnbrooke. “We’re about ready, but our flanks are wide open. We’re blocking three streets, but it looks like they’re coming down every one of them from the north. They’ll move right past us on the east and west, sir.”

  “I know, I know, but there’s nothing we can do. There are more troops moving up from the bridge, we’ll just have to hope they can fill in on our flanks. In any case we need to be ready to fall back on a moment’s notice. We might be in a city, but we’re still cavalry.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The enemy drew closer and Dolfen cursed when he realized that they were simply setting fire to every building they passed whether there were any humans in evidence or not. His troops in the buildings here would have to evacuate or fry - and before they could hope to do anything to the Martians. Unless we give them something else to worry about…

  The only thing he had to work with were the armored cars. Their guns, though small, had a range comparable to the heat rays. If they started shooting, maybe they could draw the Martians close enough for the others to strike. He ran over to where Lieutenant Buckman was standing atop his comm
and vehicle. “Change of plans! We need to sucker them in to let the boys get a crack at them.”

  “And you want us to be the suckers, sir?”

  “That’s right. Move into the intersection, fire a couple of shots, and then run south to the next street. Take cover and then do it again. No more than three blocks, though. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir, got it. Give me a minute to get it set up.” Buckman sent a pair of runners off to relay the order to the more distant squads while he instructed the one that was with him. While this was being done, Dolfen peered down Ayers Street with his binoculars. The tripods were just two blocks away now and still burning everything along their path. If the armored cars weren’t able to grab their attention and get them to chase them, he was going to have to pull his men out and… wait!

  A sudden motion at the end of the block, caught his eye. A group of men were running down the sidewalk toward him. No, not men - women! It was Becca’s sharpshooters, desperately trying to stay ahead of the pursuing enemy. Not that the Martians seemed to be chasing them in particular, but they’d be just as dead if they caught up.

  And they were catching up.

  The women were stumbling along, some supporting others, some had their dust masks on and others did not. But they were clearly exhausted and not moving nearly fast enough. He couldn’t spot Becca among them, but she had to be there. Come on girl, move!

  “Ready, sir!” shouted Buckman.

  He looked back at the waiting armored cars and cursed. If he sent them out now and the plan worked, the Martians would increase their speed and walk into the trap he’d set - and Becca and the women would be caught right in the middle of it. But if he waited… the women and his men might all get fried anyway.

  “Wait!” he commanded Buckman, holding up his hand. Then he ran out into the middle of the street, waving his hat and screaming at the women to hurry. They saw him and they did hurry up, Dolfen waited until they were halfway down the block, but he could wait no longer. He jumped back and told Buckman to go.

  The gas engines of the armored cars roared and the balky machines lurched out into the open. The sharp crack of their two-inch guns seemed very loud despite all the other noise. They fired off three rounds apiece in just a few seconds and then they gunned their engines and raced south down the street, their turrets swiveling around to fire a few more parting shots.

  Looking the other way, he was amazed to see the leading tripod stagger and come to a halt. A lucky shot hit something important? Another tripod maneuvered past it, but valuable seconds were gained. The armored cars made it down to the next intersection and the women made a last sprint to where Dolfen waited for them. “Quick! Get around the corner here!”

  The women, about twenty of them, turned the corner and collapsed on the ground. He still didn’t see Becca, but a number of them were wearing their dust gear and their faces were hidden. The shriek of a heat ray brought his attention back to the fight. He peered around the corner and grinned savagely. The plan was working, the fire from the armored cars had caught the Martians’ attention and they were advancing down the street, firing back at them and no longer blasting the buildings indiscriminately. Just a little bit farther and…

  A bugle rang out, its shrill tones audible above the roar of battle. Immediately, rifle fire and machine gun fire and stovepipe fire blasted out from the buildings along the street. Bullets sparked off the tripod’s armor and the smoke trails of the rockets ended in small explosions, ripping at the machines.

  The Martians, four or five of them, halted in mid-block and swung their rays across the buildings on either side; brick facades crumbled and flames erupted from the windows and burst through the roofs. Dolfen hoped his boys had the sense to get out before they burned.

  But while the enemy was firing into the buildings, more troopers, men on foot, on motorcycles, and on horseback were emerging from the alleys between the buildings. Some were flinging dynamite bombs, others were firing stovepipes, and as he watched, half a dozen of those madmen with the rocket-lances galloped out around the legs of the enemy.

  Explosions staggered the metal giants. Arms and legs were torn off, the lead machine crashing to the ground in a cloud of smoke. As Dolfen watched in wonder, a mounted trooper drove his lance into the knee joint of one of the tripods. The explosion blew the man off his horse, but it also blew the leg off the Martian. It swayed to one side, tried to regain its balance, and then toppled over right into the front of one of the burning buildings. The wall gave way and the machine crashed through, into an inferno, its remaining legs thrashing wildly.

  “That’s it! Burn you bastard!”

  And then it was over, the remaining Martians retreated as quickly as they could, one limping noticeably.

  “By God! By God, Captain! Did you see that?” Lynnbrooke had come up beside him and was pointing and almost dancing.

  “I did, Lieutenant. But I hope the boys on the other streets did as well.” He looked over the rooftops, but couldn’t see much. At least no Martians were turning the corners at the other intersections - yet. “But we can’t stay here celebrating. Look, they’re regrouping and I think there are some of those spider-machines with them now. We can’t stay here. Pass the word for the men to fall back four blocks south.”

  “Yes, sir!” Lynnbrooke dashed off. Private Gosling trotted up holding Dolfen’s horse.

  “We movin’, Captain?”

  “Yup. But we need to help these women, they’re spent. Round up some more horses, or a truck if you can find one.” He pointed to where the sharpshooters were huddled. Damn it, he still didn’t see Becca! Had she made it…?

  “Frank?” A muffled voice drew his attention to one of them. One of the women came forward. She was wearing her mask, but the height and build were about right.

  “Becca?” He moved toward her, his hands out.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  That wasn’t the greeting he’d been hoping for. “Are… Becca, are you all right?”

  “I’m covered with the black dust! Don’t touch me!”

  Instinctively he backed off, but a dagger of fear pierced him. Dust! An uglier death was hard to imagine. But wait, she clearly wasn’t dying… “Did you get any on you?”

  “Not so far, but it’s all over me.” He looked closer and yes, he could see black specks on her leather jacket and skirt. Not a lot, but it only took one. “I can’t ride a horse, I’d kill the poor beast.” She pointed at where Golsing was bringing up some horses.

  “Well, we can’t stay here! They’re coming back.”

  “I know, I can walk. Let’s go.”

  The men of the squadron—a gratifying number of them, too—were emerging from the alleys and heading south. The other women were loaded on horses or put behind some of the motorcycle riders. Frank remained on foot and motioned Becca to move. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  July, 1912, South of Memphis, Tennessee

  “Looks like a hell of a fight going on, Colonel.” Andrew Comstock glanced at his aide, Lieutenant Jerry Hornbaker, and then back at what he was referring to. The whole sky to the north was a mass of black smoke. Memphis was burning. The view from USLI Albuquerque’s observation platform was both exhilarating and daunting. The city was obviously in trouble.

  But there was clearly a battle still in progress. The rumble of artillery could be heard clearly even from ten miles away. Ten miles; they had sailed all the way from Philadelphia, survived storms and river sand bars, and now here they were, only ten miles from Memphis. The five remaining units in the army’s 1st Land Ironclad Squadron would soon enter combat for the first time.

  He hoped.

  The ironclads were still being towed, as their tiny propellers would have made little headway against the flow of the Mississippi. They had made it to New Orleans with no further mishaps, but then there had been an infuriating delay to find new towing ships since the vessels which had brought them from Philadelphia drew far too much water
for the river. The ironclads themselves also drew too much water, but anytime they encountered a sand bar or mud bank, they could simply engage the caterpillar tracks and drive right over it. He’d lost count of the number of times they’d had to do that. But the towing ships couldn’t do it so they had to be powerful enough to do the job, but with a shallow enough draft to avoid getting stuck. The vessels had finally been found and they set out, but it was slow going, maybe five miles per hour at most.

  So, another two hours to Memphis. But what would they do when they got there? Where was the fight actually taking place? And would they be able to get from the river to the fight? He looked to the eastern shore and eyed the imposing concrete walls marching northward. They looked to be at least thirty feet high and with a ditch in front of them. There were gates at intervals, but there was no way a land ironclad could fit through them. If the fight was inside the city, they might be stuck on the wrong side of the walls. At least there were no cliffs along the shores like there had been at Vicksburg.

  “It appears we are in for a bit of a party, eh, Colonel?”

  The Englishman, Major Bridges, had climbed up into the observation platform and now crowded out Hornbaker from the viewport. Andrew hadn’t been happy being made host for the man, and he found that he didn’t like him at all. He was older, far more experienced in the ways of the world, and not shy about reminding everyone of the fact. He talked too much and too loudly, and laughed at his own jokes. The enforced close conditions of the ironclad didn’t help matters. He wished that Bridges would have gone with Clopton, but Andrew got the impression that Clopton didn’t like him, either.

  “Yes,” said Andrew shortly.

  If Bridges sensed Andrew’s dislike, he made no sign. “Any word from the general about what he plans to do?”

  Clopton had made his flagship on the Springfield but ordered Andrew to remain with the Albuquerque. After what had happened to Sioux Falls in the storm, the general decided that it was too risky to put the commander and his second in command on the same ironclad. It was sensible, but it made consultation difficult.