Schumacher paused, took a breath and then went on. “Lastly, we’ve all been told in the past to try and kill any of the Martians we can find. We know that they can make machines faster than they can make more Martians. So our orders have been to finish off any downed tripods. Make sure the pilot is dead. That made sense when we were on the defensive; we didn’t want any of those bastards to be rescued and come back to fight another day. But the situation has changed. We are on the offensive now. And the ground we take we are going to keep! So this time, we are going to try and take prisoners. As far as we know, no one has taken a live Martian captive. But this time we are going to try. The brass wants to have a little word with them, I guess. So tell your men. No itchy trigger fingers. Fight when you have to, but if the opportunity comes to take one of them alive - do so!” He looked around. “Any questions? No? All right. Go brief your men and then try to get some rest. We form up at three. Dismissed.”
The meeting broke up and Dolfen headed back to the camp to have the men assembled. Men - and one woman. Becca was here; there had been no stopping her. Not after what had happened in Memphis. After all that had happened in Memphis. He still wasn’t quite sure he understood everything that had happened, but when the new offensive had been announced, Becca had simply shown up, said that she was coming along, and that was that. Technically, she was a medic, and she did have the knowledge and the equipment to fill that role, but she carried a rifle and clearly intended to use it. He saw her standing there at the rear of the formation. She was making no attempt to conceal her gender this time and the men seemed to accept her. He wasn’t sure how many of the men knew about the… change in his relationship to her, but no one had said anything to him—not that any of them would.
He passed along the information from the colonel and dismissed the men. Some bedded down immediately, but others drifted back to their campfires, probably too nervous to sleep. They were all veterans, but the battle tomorrow would be different than anything they’d faced before. Becca waited until all the others had moved off and then came up to him. “I’ll be coming along tomorrow,” she said.
“I know.”
She stared at him and cocked her head with a strange look on her face.
“What?” he said.
“Is that all? ‘I know’? You’re not gonna try and talk me out of it or anything?”
“Would it do any good?”
“Nope, not one bit.”
“So I won’t waste my breath. I’ll need it for tomorrow.” He reached out and touched her arm. “But promise me one thing?”
“What?”
“That you won’t get yourself killed.”
“I won’t if you won’t.”
“It’s a deal.”
“Good. Now let’s get some sleep. We’re gonna need it.”
* * * * *
August, 1912, north of Maberry, Arkansas
Commander Drew Harding woke up with the bugles that echoed throughout the army. He’d spent a terrible night, just like the other ones since leaving Memphis. His shoulder ached and his ribs, too, making it very hard to get any sleep. At least he rated a cot rather than sleeping on the ground like most of the other men. The army’s land ironclads had so little living space that nearly everyone had to camp out on the ground when they stopped for the night. The navy’s versions were going to be large enough for bunk space, from what he’d heard.
It was still dark, without even a hint of dawn in the east. But there were plenty of campfires and lanterns around and a number of electric lamps shining from the towering Albuquerque, along with the blue-white glare of the welders. There was a party of engineers welding something to the bow of this ironclad and the Omaha. He’d asked Andrew what it was, but he’d just grinned and said that he’d see when the time was right.
He pulled on his clothes, stumbled out of the tent, and found coffee waiting for him around the fire. Several of the land ironclad’s junior officers were there, along with Major Bridges. He found he liked the Englishman; he was witty and had an endless store of tales from his adventures in the far-flung corners of the Empire. “Morning, Commander,” he said. “I trust you slept well?”
“Not so well, sad to say. I miss my nice comfy bunk. You?”
“Oh, slept like the dead, old boy. I’ve got the happy knack of being able to sleep anywhere. In the mud, on rocks, even slept up in a tree a few times in South Africa. Lions, you know.”
“Really. Is the colonel about?”
“Over at Springfield conferring with General Clopton, I believe. Bacon?” He offered a plate and Drew took it. He sat, slurping coffee and munching the bacon with some hard bread. He missed the good food from a ship’s galley, too. Definitely made the right choice when I went to Annapolis.
Bridges was staring at him. “I understand you’ve known Colonel Comstock for quite some time, Commander.”
“Oh hell yes. We go way back. Before the war, I was in the navy’s ordnance bureau while he was with the army’s ordnance department. There were a lot of inter-service meetings there in Washington and we saw each other quite a bit. Became drinking buddies. A good man.”
“He certainly seemed glad to see you. I was just wondering why he treats me like a pound of week-old kippers. I pride myself in being able to charm everyone - damnation I even managed to make Kitchener laugh once - but I can’t seem to break through his armor. Any idea why?”
Drew frowned and chewed on his lip, unsure if he should say anything. As he sat there, a gun went off and a few seconds later a star shell burst in the direction of the Martian fortress. They’d been doing that all night to keep an eye on the enemy. Bridges looked at him curiously in the flickering light. “Well… It’s probably because you’re English.”
“You don’t say?” said Bridges, looking surprised. “What? Did my great granddad kill his great granddad at Lexington or something? I thought we’d gotten past all that rubbish.”
“No, it’s more recent history than that, I’m afraid. You remember that big explosion you folks had in Liverpool back in oh-seven?”
“I do. What a bloody mess. I was in India at the time, but it was in all the papers. But what…?”
“His father was killed in the blast. He’d been invited there to observe whatever it was your scientists were trying to do.”
“And he holds me to blame for that?”
“It hit him hard. And he wasn’t even out of West Point when it happened. I guess he needed someone to blame.”
Bridges nodded. “Yes, some people deal with grief that way. I’ve seen it in others. Well, it’s a shame, but I guess there’s nothing I can do about it, eh?”
“I suppose not. Just don’t judge him too harshly. It’s not personal.”
“He certainly seems competent enough. And I guess you Yanks don’t hand out the decorations like he’s got for nothing.”
“No, we don’t. He’s earned every one of them.”
By this time, the whole army was stirring; companies of infantry falling in, steam tanks firing up their boilers, gunners screwing fuses into their shells. Albuquerque gave a short toot on its whistle to tell its crew to pack up and come aboard. Drew went into the tent he’d been given and packed up his valise. Fortunately, someone else would pack up the tent and the cot.
As he came out, he saw Andrew returning and they exchanged greetings. “Morning, Drew. Ready for the big day?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. So this is it?”
“Yup. The weather is looking good and we’ve gotten a radio message that the aircraft will be leaving on time. That was the only thing that might have delayed us. But it won’t, so we go on schedule. The artillery will start shooting at first light. But come on, let’s get aboard.”
There was a movable gangway which could be lowered down from the ironclad allowing access, but it was very steep. With him carrying his valise in one hand and his other in the sling, it was awkward getting up.
“Here give me that,” said Andrew, reaching down a
nd taking the valise. With a hand free to clutch the rail, Drew could pull himself up.
“Thanks.”
They made their way up to the bridge but then went out on the port wing to give Major Stavely room to get his vehicle in order. Bridges and Hornbaker joined them and Drew found himself acutely aware of Andrew and Bridges. He’d noticed the coolness between them before, but now every little glance and motion seemed to send signals. Stop it, it doesn’t matter right now.
“Is General MacArthur going to be aboard Springfield for the battle?” asked Bridges.
“Yes,” said Andrew.
“Well then, I’m glad I’m over here,” said Drew. “With his staff, there won’t be room to swing a cat over there!”
“He only had two people with him. I think most of his staff will stay on the ground to carry out his orders while he takes a look from up close.”
“He does seem to be the fearless sort,” said Drew, remembering him standing there in the middle of the street as tripods walked past.
“It’s a good plan,” said Andrew, “and I understand he devised it himself.”
“Brilliant and brave,” said Bridges. “Sounds like a dashed good combination.”
“Well, he was brave at Memphis,” said Drew. “Not so sure about the brilliant part.”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” said Andrew. With that, the conversation lapsed and they waited in the darkness until a faint blue line could be seen on the eastern horizon. A few minutes later, a white signal rocket soared into the sky and it was immediately followed by three quick shots from some field guns. Drew caught his breath and then the world was lit up with the fire of nearly two hundred guns.
* * * * *
August, 1912, near the Martian Fortress
Rebecca Harding looked on happily as the artillery opened fire. It was beginning! They were going to assault and capture the enemy fortress. They were going to kill the monsters, drive them away, and take back part of the land. She reminded herself that she’d heard that kind of talk before. At the Martian fortress where the town of Gallup had stood out in the New Mexico Territory. Not far from where she had once lived. They’d been supposed to capture the fortress there, too, but that had not happened. Instead, they’d been beaten and forced to flee. Step by step they’d fled all the way back to the Mississippi.
That’s not gonna happen again today!
No it wasn’t; today they were going to win. Today they were going to start on the long road back.
The guns hammered away, their flashes still overpowering the slowly growing dawn. Explosions sparked along the wall of the enemy fortress. There was too much smoke and dust to really see what effect it was having, but it seemed well-aimed to her with most of the shells landing right on top of the ramparts, where the enemy heat ray towers were located.
Her horse shied a bit at one especially loud bang, and she patted his neck to calm him. She had been so happy when Moses had come up, driving his wagon with her beloved Ninny in tow. She had had no idea if either of them had survived the battle, but Moses acted as though it had just been a Sunday drive in the park. Even so, he’d had no desire to come along on this new adventure.
Neither had any of the Memphis Women’s Sharpshooters. One battle had been more than enough for them. Indeed, after the fighting was over, they had nearly all melted away, back to their homes - or what was left of them. A few had said goodbye to her and thanked her, but most acted as though it had all been a really bad idea and the sooner it was forgotten, the better. Oh well, they’d done more than she’d expected.
And now she was part of the real army. Sort of. She was traveling with the army, she planned to fight with the army, and no one seemed to be trying to stop her. She wasn’t trying to disguise herself like the last time, and many of the men, including some of Frank’s superiors, had seen her and not said anything. Of course, she hadn’t signed any papers or sworn any oaths, and she doubted she would be paid like the other soldiers, but none of that mattered to her. She was here, with Frank.
Frank. She wasn’t entirely sure what those moments they had spent together in the abandoned dry goods store really meant. They had both been exhausted, filthy and smelly - not exactly the sort of thing girls dreamed about. But they’d smiled at each other afterward. It had to have meant something…
A bright blue flash from inside the smoke and a long rumbling boom that competed with and won against the other noise caught everyone’s attention, and a small cheer went up. One of the heat ray tower’s power thingy had blown up as they sometimes did. The guns were hitting things.
It was nearly dawn now and the troops were moving into their assault positions. The 5th rode a mile or so around the eastern side of the fortress and then halted again. The sun peeked over the edge of the world; long black shadows stretched out in front of them and the face of the enemy ramparts glowed pinkly—they were covered with that damn red weed. The artillery wasn’t hitting this part of the fortress as heavily, and further to the north there was little smoke and Becca could see some of the towers were still intact on the wall. They wouldn’t be going that way.
The bombardment was slowly dying and after a few more minutes it stopped entirely. The wind carried off the smoke and dust and revealed what the artillery had done. As everyone expected, the walls themselves were intact. But it looked like all the towers on the southern half had been destroyed. There might have been one or two which had escaped, and Becca could see officers peering intently through their binoculars. There was Frank a few dozen yards away looking and pointing and talking with his officers.
Off to her left she spotted the three huge land ironclads moving forward, their tall smoke stacks spewing black clouds into the morning sky. They moved up to a position only a few hundred yards short of the wall. Then their big gun turrets swiveled and fired a few times. Explosions blossomed atop the wall. They were picking off any towers which looked like they might still be able to work. When they were finished, they reversed and backed off a bit.
“Are they retreating?” asked a trooper close by.
“No, you idiot!” replied another. “Weren’t you listening to what the captain said? The bombers are on the way and they probably don’t want to be too close. Those crazy fliers aren’t particular where they drop their bombs!”
“Hey! Yeah, look! There they are!” shouted a third cavalryman. He was pointing skyward and everyone looked up.
At first, Becca couldn’t see anything, but then she spotted a swarm of dark specks off to the east. They approached at what seemed a crawl, but within a few minutes they were nearly overhead.
“Want to look?” Becca started at the voice at her elbow. It was Frank offering his binoculars. He was smiling at her.
“Why, thank you, Captain,” she said, taking the binoculars and looking up again. The specks now revealed themselves as airplanes. Large airplanes with two engines. There looked to be hundreds of them, flying in tight formations. As she watched, tiny black shapes started falling off them. “They’ve dropped their bombs, I think,” she said. She handed the binoculars back to him.
“Okay, hang on to your hats and pray they didn’t drop them short!” he said.
She’d lost track of the bombs when she looked away, tried to find them again, and then gave up and just looked toward the Martian fortress. After what seemed like far too long a time, there came a shrill whistling sound and then geysers of earth suddenly leapt up a few hundred yards in front of the walls, and then marched forward to engulf it. The roar from the explosions made the previous bombardment seem tranquil by comparison. The earth shook and Ninny snorted and shied, veteran though he was of things unnatural.
A half-mile wide section of the walls and the area to the front and rear was hammered by bombs, rocks the size of steamer trunks were tossed in the air to come crashing down again. The very air was shaking.
And then it was over. After a minute or two, the artillery started firing again, but her ringing ears could barely hear it.
The ironclads started forward once more, and then Frank was shouting to get ready.
“It’s our turn now!”
* * * * *
Cycle 597, 845.2, Holdfast 32-4
Qetjnegartis felt the impact of the explosives even in the deeply buried command chamber. It was annoyed when the tactical status display showed that four fighting machines had been destroyed and their operators slain. When the bombardment by the projectile throwers had ceased and the large new machines of the prey-creatures had come forward, it had assumed some attempt to breach or scale the walls was about to occur, and it had ordered the fighting machines forward to oppose it. But then the flying machines had appeared with no warning and there had not been time to pull the fighting machines back. So far, between this and the earlier bombardment, it had lost ten machines and six pilots slain or wounded. The other four had been carried back and transferred to new machines.
But what was happening now? The large machines were coming closer again and the bombardment had resumed. And this time it was not aimed at the defensive towers on the walls, it was landing in an arc behind the ramparts, apparently in an attempt to seal off the area where the large machines were gathering. Were they going to attempt to breach the walls at that point? What was the proper response?
At the same time, thousands of the prey foot-warriors were scaling the walls to either side of that area. They were taking cover on top. Meanwhile, groups of the armored gun vehicles were moving along the walls attacking the remaining defensive towers one at a time. The tactics of the prey were becoming increasingly sophisticated. Qetjnegartis dispatched six fighting machines to each side of the holdfast to oppose the vehicles attempting to destroy the towers. It was tempted to send more machines or perhaps drones up on to the walls to attack the foot-warriors gathering there. But no, hundreds more of the armored vehicles were poised to support them, and any fighting machine on top of the walls would instantly be brought under heavy fire. The losses could not be sustained and the foot-warriors were of little danger in an open battle like this.
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