Counterattack

by Scott H Washburn

  “Some of ‘em.”

  “You can never bring all of them through. Believe me.”

  “No, I believe you. Don’t make it any easier though.”

  “No.”

  “Frank, I need your help.”

  “Sure. What do you need?”

  “Come with me.” She led him through the smashed door of a dry goods store along the street. There was a stack of clothes on the counter. “I’ve still got some of the black dust on me. With all the dirt and soot and coal dust I’ve picked up, there’s no hope of getting it all off the way we did with my mask.” She looked him right in the eyes.

  “Frank, help me get out of these clothes.”

  He blinked. “Becca. Maybe some of your girls can help…”

  She stepped forward, grabbed him by the tunic, went up on her toes and pressed her lips against his. His eyes got wide, but he didn’t pull away. She tasted of smoke and sweat but still very good. He probably tasted the same to her. After a minute or so she stepped back.

  “Frank Dolfen, help me get out of these clothes.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  July, 1912, Washington, D.C

  “We’ve won two tremendous victories, Leonard,” said Theodore Roosevelt. “St. Louis and Memphis will go down in history with Gettysburg and Marathon. But they were both defensive victories. We can’t stand on our laurels or rest to lick our wounds. That was the error so many generals have made down the centuries. We need to counterattack! And right away!”

  “Yes, Mr. President,” said Leonard Wood. Both men were in high spirits and the light streaming in through the windows of Roosevelt’s White House office seemed brighter than it had in years. “I fully agree, but the question is where?”

  “Indeed it is,” rumbled Roosevelt, getting up from his chair and walking over to a map hanging on the wall. He poked a thick finger against a spot in western Missouri. “I have a lot of people urging me to liberate Kansas City.”

  “Yes, I know, Mr. President,” said Wood, frowning. Senators and representatives from Missouri and Kansas had been bombarding him with pleas, just as they had Roosevelt.

  The President turned and looked at him closely. “But you don’t agree?”

  “No, sir, I don’t. Kansas City would be a great prize, no doubt, but another error that past generals have made is to overreach themselves after a victory. Kansas City is too far from our nearest base in St. Louis. The forces there were badly battered and are still recovering from the fight there. And the Martians might be able to call on reinforcements from their forces up north facing our 1st Army.”

  “Pershing says he can do it.”

  “Only with massive reinforcements. That will take time and we could miss our opportunity.”

  “So you favor what MacArthur is clamoring for? A drive on Little Rock?”

  “Actually, sir, I favor a drive on the Martian fortress to the northeast of Little Rock. The fortresses are the key, sir. Not the cities. The cities are just piles of rubble now. Their strategic value is minimal.”

  Roosevelt snorted. “Don’t say that to anyone outside this room!” He glanced over at his son, Archie, and raised an eyebrow to make sure the boy understood that meant him, too. He nodded. “While you are no doubt correct, the people want their country back. To even hint that we don’t care about that would be… a very serious mistake.”

  A political mistake as well as a military one, eh? The election was fast approaching. The latest victories had pushed things slightly in Roosevelt’s favor if the polls were to be believed. But only slightly. They needed more and this could be it. Still, to make military decisions for political reasons rankled Wood.

  “I know that, Theodore. But to take the country back we must destroy the enemy strongholds. We do that and we automatically take the country back, too.” Wood came over to the map and pointed to the spot where the fortress in question was located. “We’ve never yet captured one of their fortresses—anywhere—but at this moment, this is the most vulnerable one. It’s relatively close to Memphis and that’s where we have the forces to strike. The land ironclads are there, and 2nd Tank Division was barely scratched in the battle and it’s there, too. To move them up to St. Louis for a drive on Kansas City, or even the Martian fortress that’s closest, would take weeks, giving the enemy too much time to get ready. We can strike here! Now!” He thumped his fist on the map.

  Roosevelt took a turn around the room, then halted next to Wood and slapped him on the back. “Thunderation, but you are right! We’ll do it. Send the orders right away.” He paused and then said: “You have no problems with putting MacArthur in command? I’ve heard a few… disturbing things about what went on during the battle.”

  “Yes, so have I, but he seems to be back in control now and there’s no denying his energy. General Dickman will be in overall command, of course, but I think MacArthur will have to be the one to command the assault.”

  “All right, I accept your recommendation. Get them on the move, Leonard!”

  * * * * *

  August, 1912, north of Maberry, Arkansas

  “Well, there it is, Gentlemen,” said Colonel Andrew Comstock. “Our objective.”

  He was standing on the bridge of USLI Albuquerque, as it rumbled its way toward the walls of the Martian fortress in the distance. With him were Major Stavely, commander of Albuquerque, his aide, Jeremiah Hornbaker, the British observer, Major Bridges, and his old friend Drew Harding.

  Poor Drew had lost his ship at Memphis and gotten several broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder in the process. He was currently on convalescent leave, but still faced an official hearing about the loss of his monitor. He was clearly very worried about that, although Andrew couldn’t see that he had much to be worried about. From what he’d heard, Drew and his command had done a lot of damage and slowed the enemy down. But you could never tell about the navy, they were so damned touchy about their ships. The army was so much more forgiving. Lose a tank, lose a gun, they just gave you another one with no fuss. Of course, no one had lost a land ironclad yet…. When he’d heard about Drew’s situation, he’d invited him to come along on Albuquerque. The man had accepted at once.

  “It’ll be dark soon,” he said pointing toward the setting sun. “We’ll attack first thing in the morning.”

  “With just the three ironclads?” asked Bridges. “Do you think that will be enough?”

  “It will have to be. And we’re hardly alone.” He tried to sound confident, but in truth he was worried. All five of the land ironclads had survived the Battle of Memphis with relatively little damage, although he had cringed when he saw the spot on the front of Albuquerque where the combined heat rays had come within an inch of burning their way through. A heavy patch had been welded over the spot, but it was still a weak area. All five had started out on the offensive to capture the Martian stronghold, but only three had made it, Albuquerque, Springfield, and Omaha. Billings had broken down the first day out and Tulsa the day after. Both were being worked on, but neither would be here in time for the attack. Even the three which had made it were making some unpleasant sounds when they moved, and the engineers were worried about how much longer they could go without a major overhaul. The sad fact was that the ironclads were mechanically unreliable. Any hopes that they could just roll all the way to the Rockies were pipe-dreams.

  Sioux Falls was on its way, too. A set of the flotation modules from one of the other ironclads, no longer needed once they had crossed to the west side of the Mississippi, had been sent to Key West. But it would be another week arriving and would not be here for the attack, either.

  Still, the ironclads had a lot of support. The 2nd Tank Division was with them, although a third of their tanks had broken down on the way. There were also the equivalent of two infantry divisions - although cobbled together from about four different division—along with all the artillery, cavalry, and supply units that could be ass
embled in the short time they had. More troops were being brought into Memphis by rail to replenish the garrison and keep an eye on the force of Martians which had driven south along the river, breaking the connection with Texas and points west.

  A signal went up from Springfield and the ironclads creaked to a halt. They were about five miles from the enemy stronghold, a long rampart encircling an area about three miles across. Some of the tanks and infantry pushed on another mile or so to protect the artillery, which would be spending much of the night getting set up and ready for the bombardment which would start the show.

  “Excuse me, sir,” said Stavely, “I’m going below to check on the machinery.” Andrew nodded to him and the man left. Bridges decided he wanted a view from the observation platform while there was still light and climbed up there. Hornbaker went off to see about dinner, leaving Andrew alone with Harding.

  “So what do you think of it?” asked Andrew, waving his hand to take in the ironclad. “I asked you that when we started out, but what do you think now that you’ve had a chance to look at it?”

  Harding, whose left arm was in a sling, looked around and smiled sheepishly. “Well, sir,” he began - there were a couple of enlisted men in earshot, so he didn’t call him by name, “she - it’s - a hell of a beast. When I first saw them in Memphis, they were a sight for sore eyes, but now that I’ve spent a few days aboard one, I’d be lying if I said I’d fallen in love with it.”

  Andrew chuckled. “Even so, you almost called it a she. What’s with you navy guys and your boats?”

  Drew shrugged. “Beats me. Tradition, I guess. But seriously, while there’s no denying the effectiveness of the things, mechanically speaking they’re a nightmare. Our ships can sail around the world with just onboard maintenance. You’ve lost forty-percent of yours trying to go seventy miles. Still, it’s all brand new. With some improvements they might be what can win this war.”

  “The navy is building their own version, y’know. A little bigger than these to improve their sea-handling. Maybe you should see about getting command of one.” Andrew knew it was a mistake the instant he said it. His friend’s face fell and he shook his head.

  “Assuming the navy still wants me to command anything after this.”

  “Drew, if we’d lost the battle, you might have something to worry about. They’d be looking for scapegoats. But we won the battle. Everyone’s going to be a hero. So stop worrying.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Thanks for letting me come, sir. I would have gone crazy just sitting around back there.”

  “Glad to do it.”

  “So, are we going to win here tomorrow?”

  “Damn right we are. So get some rest. It’s going to be a long day.”

  * * * * *

  Cycle 597, 845.2, Holdfast 32-4

  “Commander, the enemy is taking up positions about six telequel to the south. There are three of the large new war machines, over two hundred of their usual armored gun vehicles, several hundred of the projectile throwers, and many thousands of their foot-warriors,” reported Tanbradjus. “Their flying machines have been seen in considerable numbers.”

  Qetjnegartis regarded its sub-commanders gathered in a conclave room in the holdfast. Although none were grasping tendrils to form a link, there was no ignoring the great sense of tension.

  “Only three of the new machines? Five were reported advancing in this direction. What has become of the other two?”

  “They have halted in two different location. We do not know why.”

  “We have observed that the prey-creature machines are very crude and unreliable,” said Davnitargus. “Perhaps they have broken down. Several tens of their smaller vehicles have halted along their route as well.”

  “But even with those losses, it is still an immense force,” said Tanbradjus, the second in command. “Considering our own weakened state and having found no response to the new enemy machines, perhaps we should consider abandoning this holdfast and regrouping farther to the west.”

  “We defended the first holdfast against a heavy assault with fewer than ten war machines,” said Qetjnegartis. “We still have seventy machines in operation here, plus several hundred drones, and the fixed defenses. We cannot give up this place so easily. It would be a huge blow to our strategic capabilities and the prestige of the clan.”

  “But you received reinforcements at a critical moment that first time. What reinforcements can we expect?”

  “Nothing for at least three days,” said Davnitargus. “Holdfasts 32-2 and 32-3 are sending what they can, but it totals less than a full battlegroup. Kantangnar is returning with its battlegroup as quickly as it can from the south, but it will not be here for at least two days; and we have reports that the prey-creatures are sending water vessels up the river to the ruins of city 3-118. Kantangnar may have to make a wide detour to reach here.”

  “Can we delay the enemy attack?” asked Qetjnegartis. “Perhaps a sortie during the night?”

  “The prey are taking full precautions against such a thing, Commander. Their forces are concentrated and they are sending up the artificial illumination munitions at frequent intervals. It is doubtful that any damage we could do would balance the losses we might take in the process.”

  “So you see, Qetjnegartis,” said Tanbradjus, “We shall be overwhelmed before any help can arrive. We should withdraw this night.”

  “I think you are too quick to give up,” replied Qetjnegartis. “If we abandon this one, we will be reduced to a mere three holdfasts. The enemy will be emboldened and we might soon find ourselves facing this same situation at Holdfast 32-3!”

  “And if we try to stay here and are annihilated?” retorted Tanbradjus. “The other holdfasts will have little defense left at all!”

  “It is a risk,” admitted Qetjnegartis. “But if we succeed, the enemy will be forced to withdraw and we can rebuild our strength here.”

  “Also,” added Branjandus, “if we are to withdraw immediately, there will be little time to destroy this facility. The prey-creatures have shown the ability to learn from our own devices they have captured. What might we learn from this place?”

  A silence fell in the chamber. Clearly no one had given thought to this. Qetjnegartis had not and it was impressed that Davnitargus had done so.

  “We… we can set the main reactor to overload,” said Tanbradjus. “The melt-down would destroy much of the holdfast.”

  “Much, but not all.”

  “It is still better than…!”

  “Enough,” said Qetjnegartis. “I have decided. We shall defend this place. Return to your posts and make ready.” It could sense disagreement from some, but there was, of course, no further argument. The others began moving out of the chamber.

  “Davnitargus, remain a moment.”

  When the others had left and the chamber had sealed, Davnitargus looked to Qetjnegartis. “Progenitor?”

  “I want to defend this place if at all possible. But we should also be prepared for a rapid evacuation, for it is entirely possible that Tanbradjus is correct.”

  * * * * *

  August, 1912, north of Maberry, Arkansas

  “The bombardment will commence at first light,” said Colonel Schumacher. “It will be a short one because we have no huge stockpile of ammunition. The primary targets will be the Martian defensive towers. About one hour after the start, the artillery will pause to allow the bombing aircraft to make their attack. Following that, the land ironclads will use their big guns to try and pick off any towers which have survived. Once that’s done, the artillery will resume firing to cover the attempt to breach the enemy’s walls.”

  The colonel paused and looked over the faces of his officers by the light of the lanterns hung around his tent. Frank Dolfen returned his gaze steadily. He was glad Schumacher had survived the fighting at Memphis. He was tired of breaking in new colonels. Almost a third of the men hadn’t survived, but the regiment was still an effective fighting force. There had been
no time for much in the way of replacements of men or equipment, so they only had a handful of armored cars in the whole regiment. Many of the motorcycle riders were either now on horses or had been left behind. But from the sound of things, they would be fighting as infantry in this next battle anyway.

  “How are they gonna breach the walls, Colonel?” asked a lieutenant from the third squadron. Frank had been wondering that himself. “I’ve heard tell that it’s a lot easier said than done.”

  “I don’t have the details,” replied Schumacher. “It’s some device they’ve cooked up for the land ironclads is all I know. But while they are doing that, we, and the bulk of the infantry, are going to close up on the walls and climb to the top. Exactly where we’ll do that will depend on how well they’ve destroyed the defensive towers. We’ll try to go up where they ain’t.” That got a chuckle. Trying to scale the outer face of those walls with the heat ray towers shooting down on them would be suicide.

  “They are going to send a few of the tanks along to support us and take out any surviving towers, and we’ll just have to see how well that works. But in any case, we will get up on the walls somewhere. Once on top, we take cover and wait for the breaching. The brass seem to think that all of the enemy tripods will concentrate opposite where the breach is going to be made. We can hope they are right, but we need to be prepared to take on any that don’t cooperate.

  “Because our job is to get inside that fortress, gentlemen. We’re to leave the tripods to the ironclads and the tanks. The infantry - and us - are to take out any of the spiders we might see, but then find a way down inside and take the place! We don’t know what we’ll find down there, but we have several directives from on high.

  “One is to free any captives we might find. We have good reason to believe that there are a lot of our people down there. We’re to rescue them. Second, we’re to secure any machinery and equipment that we can. The eggheads back east want to get their hands on it. Maybe it will help them build more things like those ironclads.”