Counterattack

by Scott H Washburn

  “We got it! We got it!” screamed Sarah Halberstam, her voice just barely audible in the bedlam.

  But then her scream became a wordless shriek and Becca turned and saw that the woman was on fire. A second spider had emerged from the smoke and turned its heat ray on Sarah. The small ray devices carried by the spiders weren’t powerful enough to reduce a person to ashes, but they were still deadly. Sarah’s clothes were burning and she rolled toward Becca trying to put out the flames. The spider was twenty yards away and followed her with the ray. Becca grabbed the woman and dragged her behind the wheel of the gondola, out of the line of fire for the moment. She beat on Sarah’s clothes with her leather-gloved hands to try and put out the flames. She was still screaming and thrashing almost uncontrollably. Her left shoulder was a blackened ruin.

  At last the fire was out and Sarah collapsed in her arms, moaning. Becca peered around the wheel and saw the spider moving forward, around the end of the car. In a moment it would have a clear line on them. She grabbed her rifle and worked the bolt, but the magazine was empty. She fumbled for a clip, but each pouch on her belt that her frantic fingers came to was empty, too. The spider was coming…

  A massive rumble shook the earth beneath her and a loud explosion echoed across the rail yard. It came from the west and she tore her eyes away from the spider-machine for an instant to look that way. But all she could see were burning vehicles, dead men and…

  …the city walls.

  A cloud of smoke was rising up from just beyond a stretch of them, just to the right of the big disappearing gun. What was that? Some new Martian attack? The final blow? But when she jerked her head back to look at the spider-machine, it seemed to be as transfixed by this new development as she was.

  Another series of explosions made her look at the walls again and new clouds were rising up and then… then a whole long section of the wall seemed to be leaning, leaning away, leaning outward. With a roar of shattering concrete they crumbled to pieces and fell in a huge swirling cloud of dust. What was happening?

  She sat there, frozen, cradling Sarah Halberstam and her useless rifle in her arms, watching the dust. A dark form began to take shape within the cloud. At first all she could see was a dark mass atop long rods, and for an instant she was sure it was a tripod. But no, the shape on top was square, not round like a Martian machine, and it was perched on something even larger…

  As she stared in astonishment, a huge green shape emerged from the cloud. It was bristling with guns and from a pole on the top flew the Stars and Stripes. In white letters across the prow was written the word:

  Albuquerque.

  * * * * *

  July, 1912, Memphis, Tennessee

  Colonel Andrew Comstock whooped in delight as the section of city wall toppled outward into the ditch, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

  “That did it, Major! Let’s get moving!”

  “Yes, sir!” said Major Stavely. “Driver! Full speed! Steer for the hole! All guns prepare to fire!”

  The Albuquerque lurched into motion and rumbled its way up the bank and toward the gap in the walls. Andrew hoped they hadn’t killed anyone in making that gap, but he supposed it was possible. Anyone looking out should have immediately understood what was going to happen and gotten the hell out of the way. But with the battle raging, maybe they hadn’t looked out. Or were too confused to understand.

  But there hadn’t been any choice, none at all.

  They had to get into the city where the battle was and the only way to do it that wouldn’t include a thirty mile detour was to go through the walls. Against a fortification built to withstand an attack by humans it would have been hopeless. Walls thirty feet high would have also been thirty feet thick to resist the impact of rifled artillery. It would have taken them days to blast their way through. But the Martian heat rays had no impact when they struck. They burned or melted their way through objects, but concrete was the ideal material to resist the rays. Walls a mere six or eight feet thick had proved perfectly able to resist the rays. In the rush to build as many walls as possible, they were made as thin as practical to save time and materials. Which also meant they were vulnerable to heavy artillery.

  The land ironclads had plenty of that.

  They had turned toward the river bank, and when their tracks had touched ground they jettisoned their flotation modules and hauled themselves ashore. They had to crush or shove aside some wooden piers and a few small boats along the waterfront, but that didn’t hinder them in the slightest. Some sheds and other buildings had to go, too. People were gathering all around waving. Whether in welcome of the ironclads or in protest of the property damage Andrew wasn’t sure. The city walls, just ahead, had thick concrete platforms to mount the big disappearing guns built at intervals, and they didn’t want to try and blast through there. Fortunately, the walls projected out at those points and they were easy to spot. Clopton directed the squadron to concentrate on a single one-hundred-yard section of wall about a quarter mile south of the bridge.

  The first salvo, five twelve-inch, four seven-inch and ten five-inch shells, exploded all along the base of the wall. This close, they could aim very precisely. Huge chunks of concrete were gouged out and flew off in all directions. A couple of the twelve-inchers had punched all the way through. The five-inch guns got off a few more shots before the big guns were reloaded, but then they all fired off again.

  The next salvo had brought the whole section of wall down, exactly as they had hoped. Not only did it open a gap in the wall, but the debris had nearly filled the ditch which lay in front of it. The path was now clear.

  Albuquerque led the way with the others following close behind. The gap was probably wide enough to go two abreast, but they were going single file. None of them knew exactly what they’d be facing on the other side, but the smoke and flames and noise indicated that the fighting was very close. They had to be ready for anything as they drove into the cloud of dust.

  The ironclad’s huge tracks crunched over the rubble in the ditch and then climbed up over the broken-off stub of the walls. Andrew had to steady himself as the machine pitched and jerked over the uneven ground. The other people on the bridge, Stavely, Hornbaker, several enlisted men, and the inevitable Major Bridges did so as well.

  Up, over, and through. The wind pulled the dust away like a curtain and they were in Memphis.

  They were in what looked to be the rail yards. Tracks filled with cars, sheds, engine houses, mounds of coal, water towers, control towers, and all manner of other things covering several hundred acres. Most of the things seemed to be on fire. The open spaces were crammed with troops and steam tanks, wagons and horses. Many of them were on fire, too.

  On the far side of the yards were what they had come for: Martian tripods.

  A dozen at least were in sight, and from the heat rays emerging from the smoke in the distance, there were surely more coming. But the nearer ones were motionless, not moving, not firing. Why?

  “I think we surprised the blighters,” said Bridges.

  “I think you’re right! Well, let’s take advantage of it! Major Stavely, fire at will!”

  “Yes, sir! All guns, commence firing!”

  The main turret swung slightly to the left, steadied, and then fired. A gout of flame and a cloud of black cordite smoke erupted from the end of the barrel. In the instant before the smoke hid the view, Andrew saw a tripod simply disintegrate; head blown to flinders, arms and legs flying off in all directions. A moment later, the five-inchers joined in, although he wasn’t sure what they were firing at.

  Albuquerque continued to move forward, clearing the way for the others to follow. Tulsa was behind them and swung out to the right, Omaha was next and would go left. By the time the twelve-incher was reloaded, the view had cleared enough to pick a new target; and a moment later, another tripod was annihilated. Hornbaker was shouting like it was a football game.

  But now the enemy was beginning to react. Heat rays stabbed out to hi
t the ironclads and Andrew tensed. The forward armor ought to be able to stand up to them, but would it? The bridge shutters had been lowered and the steam lines pressurized if a defensive cloud needed to be released.

  A ray blazed around the bow and another played along the main turret. But there were no explosions, no sudden alarms, and a moment later the guns roared out again and claimed the attackers. “No damage reported!” cried Stavely jubilantly.

  “Looks like you’ve gotten their attention, though, old chap,” said Bridges, pointing.

  Andrew looked through the thick quartz view block and saw what the Britisher was talking about. Six tripods were moving into position in front of them. “Major Stavely, I think we have a target for Professor Tesla’s cannon! Tell them to get ready!

  “Yes, sir!”

  * * * * *

  Cycle 597, 845.2, City 3-37

  Qetjnegartis absorbed the status reports and was pleased. Victory was within its grasp. The flanking movement had succeeded perfectly. The prey-creature defenses had been thrown into confusion and they had retreated in disarray back toward the vital bridge. Now they were penned into a narrow space with the clan’s fighting machines closing in from three sides. Once they were destroyed, the enemy on the bridge could be similarly disposed of. There were still the dangerous water vessels on the river, but the enemy’s own defensive walls would provide cover for the war machines and they could be destroyed or driven off by heat ray fire from the shores. Other battlegroups could be sent to the eastern perimeter to deal with the new enemy force assembling there.

  Losses had been heavy, but not so crippling that the city could not be held. Once a link-up with Tanbradjus’ forces on the western shore was made, construction machines could be moved into the city and a proper holdfast constructed. The base on the eastern shore would be secured. Raiding parties could be sent out to disrupt the prey-creatures’ transportation systems and the manufacturing facilities which surely must exist in the east. The way would be opened for the final conquest of this continent. Success. The Colonial Conclave and the elders back on the Homeworld would be pleased…

  “Commander! Commander Qetjnegartis! Respond!”

  It was Davnitargus, commander of battlegroup 32-8. It sounded very agitated. What could be wrong? “This is Qetjnegartis. What do you want?”

  “Commander, we have reached the bridge, but are under attack by… by…”

  “By what?”

  “I do not know! War machines of some sort. Huge war machines! Much larger than ours! The heat rays seem to have little effect on them!”

  “Relay an image.”

  The image was difficult to interpret. Smoke obscured much of the details, but it could see a very large object… no, several very large objects. They were somewhat similar to the armored gun vehicles the prey-creatures used, but much larger. Projectile throwers in rotating cylinders studded their surface. Other objects of unknown purpose projected above. As Qetjnegartis watched, a war machine’s heat ray struck the forward surface with seemingly no effect until the war machine was destroyed by a single shot from one of the enemy weapons.

  “Davnitagus, concentrate your forces against a single enemy and destroy it. I will be on the scene shortly.”

  “Understood,” said the bud.

  Qetjnegartis was not far off. It had followed along behind the main advance, coordinating activity rather than directly engaging in combat. Now it set its machine in motion and quickly came forward to a spot with a clear view. The tall buildings ended on the edge of a large open space filled with burning structures, prey-creatures, war machines, and the newly arrived devices.

  Just as it halted, six of the war machines opened fire on the leading vehicle. The heat rays struck various locations on the thing with no immediate effect, but then all six rays converged on a single point at the front. The metal quickly turned bright yellow and started to melt. Yes, this is the proper way to deal…

  A blindingly bright light sprang from one of the cylinders. It wasn’t a beam of energy, like a heat ray, but a jagged, twisting blast like a static charge jumping from point to point. It leapt out and connected to the nearest fighting machine, but then jumped to the next and the next until all six were connected. The bolt writhed and twisted, and all the fighting machines jerked spasmodically as they sent out showers of sparks and gouts of smoke. After, a moment the bolt vanished and the six machines collapsed to the ground.

  “Commander!” said Davnitargus over the communicator. “Did you see that?”

  “Yes, I saw.”

  “What was that?”

  “I don’t know.” It tried to formulate a more useful response but nothing came.

  “What are you orders?”

  Even as it tried to reach a decision, the enemy giants came forward. There were five of them, and their weapons smashed machine after machine.

  “Commander?”

  “Fall back. We must fall back and regroup so we can concentrate and destroy these things.”

  “Yes, Commander, at once.”

  * * * * *

  July, 1912, Memphis, Tennessee

  Rebecca stared in wonder at the enormous machines. They were like ships mounted on big caterpillar tracks like the steam tanks used. They had guns, big guns, all over them. And they were olive drab and they flew the American flag.

  “They’re ours,” she whispered. “They’re ours, Sarah.” She looked down at the woman in her arms. Her eyes were closed, but she stirred, moaned, and her eyes fluttered open.

  “Look, Sarah, they’re ours. And they’re killing the Martians. Look!” As she sat there, soldiers were coming forward, shouting, faces twisted with some terrible combination of fear, joy, and anger. One of them ran up to the still frozen spider-machine, strapped a bomb to it, pulled the fuse, and ran off. He obviously hadn’t even seen her there, only twenty feet away. She twisted around to shield Sarah as much as she could. The bomb exploded wrecking the spider. Some bit of shrapnel stung her cheek.

  One of the colossal machines rolled by, not a hundred feet away, its massive tracks crushing everything under them. “Look, Sarah, can you see it? Can you see?”

  Sarah Halberstam jerked her head in a tiny nod. Her mouth shaped I see it, Becca, but made no sound she could hear. They watched the behemoth pass by, its guns shaking the ground. Becca turned her head to try and see what was happening, but the gondola blocked her view. More troops streamed past. She couldn’t keep sitting there. She needed to see what was happening and get medical help for Sarah. God only knew where the hospital people were now.

  “Sarah? Sarah, we need to get you some help. Can you move?”

  But Sarah Halberstam didn’t move. Becca shook her gently, but she didn’t move.

  Her lips were quivering as she closed the woman’s eyes and gently moved her aside so she could get up. She pulled her under the gondola car where hopefully nothing would disturb her.

  She rubbed away her tears, grabbed her rifle, and went in search of ammunition.

  * * * * *

  July, 1912, Memphis, Tennessee

  “Major, there are men on the ground in front of us. What should I do?” The driver of Albuquerque looked toward his commander, seeking guidance.

  Andrew looked forward as well as he could through the narrow view slit. The rail yards were a mass of train cars, steam tanks, men, artillery limbers, and horses. And there were men on the ground. Dead? Wounded? Stavely turned to look at him. “Colonel?”

  He swallowed. “We have to pursue, Major, we can’t let the enemy regroup. Keep going.”

  “When I was commanding a company of steam tanks, sometimes we had to…” Stavely grimaced, nodded, and turned back to the driver. “Keep going, Sergeant.”

  The man didn’t look happy, but he said: “Yes, sir.”

  The ironclad continued to move at its top speed of about five miles an hour. Mercifully, it was impossible to see the ground directly in front of the machine, nor see what its huge tracks were rolling over. There were d
efinitely crunching sounds coming from below, but Andrew told himself it was from empty wagons and rail cars and not human bones. No choice. No choice.

  “Bloody sad thing, Colonel, but war is hell, as your General Sherman would say,” said Major Bridges.

  The enemy was retreating. Tesla’s lightning cannon had worked beyond anything Andrew had hoped for. Six Martians destroyed with a single shot! Granted, it would be ten minutes before they could fire it again, but the Martians didn’t know that. And it was clear that they had been shocked by what had happened. Just moments after it fired, the surviving tripods started falling back. General Clopton had ordered a pursuit and that is what they would do.

  Beyond the rail yards, the larger buildings of the city took over, creating narrow canyons on either side of the streets. The bigger avenues were just wide enough for an ironclad to move along. Well, almost wide enough; the ironclad was snapping off lamp posts and electrical poles and projecting signs as it moved. Andrew wasn’t sure if they could actually smash their way through a block of buildings, and hopefully they wouldn’t have to find out. Albuquerque steered into one of the streets, while the four others each took parallel routes. The remains of the other army troops in the area were rallying and following along.

  Most of the Martians, able to move much faster, had already retreated a half mile or more, but some of the spider-machines had been left behind. The ironclads had a dozen heavy machine guns able to shoot from armored mounts along the lower hull, and these were firing busily at them. Oddly, most that Andrew could catch sight of were just standing frozen as the bullets tore them apart. Some of them were simply crushed as the ironclad rolled over them.