The resources expended were truly enormous. Each tube was 15 quel wide and almost 180 telequel in length, from the underground loading breech, where the transport capsules would be inserted, to the muzzle, which projected almost completely above the planet’s thin atmosphere. Almost a hundred secondary breeches angled off the main tube at intervals, each one holding additional propellants to further accelerate the capsule. Each capsule would be flung away at a velocity that would allow it to escape the gravity of the Homeworld. The launch angle would also be in almost exactly the opposite direction in which the Homeworld orbited the sun. Once free of the planet’s gravity, each capsule would begin a long slow fall sunward—until it intersected the third planet slightly more than a quarter of a cycle later.
Assuming all went well.
All should go well, of course. The calculations had been checked and checked again. Qetjnegartis, itself, had checked them and found them accurate. And the other clan had succeeded in reaching the third planet. Despite their ensuing failure, the launcher and the capsules had worked as anticipated. They worked before, and they would work again.
It was nearly time. The first salvo would be launched shortly. Qetjnegartis’ capsule was in the second salvo, which would not be launched until the following day. The reloading process was lengthy and since the launch had to take place when the planet was pointed in the proper direction, only a single salvo could be launched each day. Thus it could linger here to watch the first salvo. A small group of the clan had also gathered there.
At the proper moment, a noticeable tremor passed through the structure that went on and on until a dazzlingly bright flash appeared far up the mountain. Moments later, a concussion thumped against the observation port. Dust boiled up all along the length of the launcher and an enormous plume of gas billowed outward as though the long-extinct volcano had come back to life.
There was a short wait while the final checks of the next gun were made, and also to allow the high-altitude winds to pull the first gas plume away. Then the procedure was repeated and another flare and plume appeared.
Qetjnegartis did not wait to watch the rest; things were clearly going as expected. It needed to get to its own capsule and make sure all was in order before it entered hibernation. It turned and made its way to the elevator.
* * * * *
November 1907, Washington, D.C.
It was very late by the time they reached Washington. They were lucky to find a cab willing to take them from Union Station to the State, War, & Navy Building; a huge Second Empire-style structure just across the street from the White House. There were a few small sleeping rooms in the basement meant for the use of visiting officers, and Andrew had stayed in them before on previous visits. Still groggy from trying to sleep on the train, he flopped down on the narrow bed and was asleep immediately.
The next morning, he helped Hawthorne collect all their notes for the upcoming meeting with General Crozier, which was only a preparation for a joint meeting with the Navy Ordnance Board in the afternoon. Ultimately, whatever reports were generated would go on up the chain of command to the Chief of Staff and the President. In the six months he’d been working for Colonel Hawthorne, Andrew had slowly become acquainted with the way the bureaucracy worked in the War Department. At the top, of course was the President. Beneath him was the Secretary of War and reporting to him was the Chief of Staff, technically the top military officer. Assisting him was the General Staff, which, among other things, was in charge of planning. And beneath this were all the various bureaus: Artillery, Infantry, Engineers, Quartermaster, and all the rest of the things an army needed to function, including Ordnance.
Up until a few years ago, all of those bureaus were quasi-independent organizations, ruled like medieval fiefs by their various chiefs, and they in turn were ruled by the Adjutant General. They cooperated with each other and with their supposed superior, the Commanding General, if and when it pleased them. All of the bureau chiefs, and the Commanding General, had gained their posts based strictly on seniority, rather than merit. Andrew could remember his father complaining about it at dinner on numerous occasions. Apparently, the system didn’t work very well and this became all too obvious during the war with Spain and then in the panic after the first Martian invasion.
Reform had been attempted, first by McKinley and later by Roosevelt. Elihu Root, a lawyer, had been made Secretary of War. He had diligently educated himself in military matters and been won over by some reform-minded officers to the merits of the German staff system, which was the envy and model for the rest of the world. Root had slowly and carefully attempted to introduce the system to the American Army. The Commanding General at the time, Nelson Miles, had fought him every step of the way. It wasn’t until Miles had been forced into retirement that change was finally accomplished.
But then, before Root’s reforms could really take hold, the President decided he needed him more urgently as Secretary of State and William Taft had taken over at the War Department. Taft was also a lawyer, but he had far less interest in military matters and he did not press the Root reforms. Things began to backslide and the bureau chiefs now had nearly as much independence as before. The Adjutant General, Major General Fred Ainsworth, had reasserted his dominion over the bureaus and the Chief of Staff, currently Major General J. Franklin Bell, had little control over what they did.
The only bright spot was that nearly all of the bureau chiefs were more than willing to embrace President Roosevelt’s Preparedness agenda as it meant more money coming to their departments. Or at least more money coming to the War Department—which the bureaus chiefs could then fight over.
From what Andrew could tell, the Ordnance Department had made out pretty well in the scramble for funds. Congress and the American People viewed any further expansion of the army with great suspicion, but they were far more willing to accept the development of new weapons. So, in the years since the end of the Spanish War and the Insurrection in the Philippines, the Ordnance Department in the army and the navy’s corresponding department had been using their resources to create weapons capable of dealing with another Martian invasion—which would also be perfectly effective against human foes if the Martians did not appear.
Some of these efforts had been directed at improving existing types of weapons, principally artillery, while others had been focused on innovative ways of using the weapons, like the balky ‘tank’ being developed by Baldwin Locomotives. Working in parallel with this were groups of inventors and scientists around the country trying to unravel the secrets of the Martian machines. Sadly, the Americans were hampered by the fact that the British had been extremely reluctant to part with any of the devices they had captured after the invasion, for fear that other countries might use the knowledge gained against them. The Americans, thanks to the huge outpouring of help they had given the British in the aftermath of the invasion, had been given much greater access to the devices and the discoveries of British scientists than had other countries, but it was a poor substitute for having the devices here in American laboratories. American scientists were obliged to travel to England for any first-hand information. Andrew still felt considerable resentment that his father was killed in one of those expeditions.
Colonel Hawthorne was General Crozier’s chief liaison between the Department and all of those scientists and industrialists. That meant a lot of traveling about, visiting laboratories all over the country, and then reporting back to General Crozier. Andrew found it interesting work. He also found it a bit thrilling to be included in some of the high level meetings that took place. Even though he never had to say anything or do much besides have copies of reports handy, he was rubbing elbows with generals and admirals and sometimes high-ranking civilian officials. Yes, definitely more interesting than drilling infantry in North Dakota!
The morning’s meeting was routine. Major Waski reported on the successful test-firing of a new high-velocity cannon at the Sandy Hook Proving Grounds and Captain Phillip
s updated everyone on the program to develop armor-piercing ammunition for the rifles and machine guns. Colonel Hawthorne’s report on the steam-propelled armored gun tractor was met with considerable disappointment on the part of General Crozier.
“Do you think they’ll ever get it sorted out, Ben?” he asked.
“I’m sure they will, sir. I plan to stop there again next week on our way up to Long Island to talk with Tesla. I hope the Baldwin people will have the thing running by then. They really have made quite a bit of progress.”
“For what we’re paying them, they should be. Oh, that reminds me, do they have any figures yet on the coal and water consumption of the darn contraption? The Quartermaster Department is wanting to know what they’ll be expected to supply if we ever manage to deploy any of these things.”
“Not yet, sir. We’ll need to make some tests once we have a working prototype.”
“Well, keep on them about it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The morning meeting wrapped up and they had lunch and then walked over to the navy wing of the building, where they met with Rear Admiral Nathan Twining and his staff. Twining was the head of the Navy Ordnance Bureau. For this meeting, Andrew had no real duty at all beyond helping serve the coffee. He shared this with a navy ensign, Drew Harding, whom he had met before.
General Crozier summarized the things they had discussed that morning, glossing over the problems with the tanks. Andrew stifled his yawns and tried to stay awake. He perked up a bit when it was the navy’s turn. Admiral Twining let one of his subordinates make the presentation, which had mostly to do with a new type of aiming system being pioneered by the British which would allow the guns on a moving ship to hit a moving target at unprecedented ranges. Twining, himself, commented at this point that if the system was a success, it would need to be installed in the coastal defense forts. He also hinted that perhaps those forts ought to be under navy control as was the case in most European countries. This produced a rumble among the army officers. Colonel Hawthorne had told Andrew that this argument had been going on pretty much forever, but the army clung to its coast artillery with a very tight fist.
They also mentioned a new 14-inch gun being considered for future classes of battleship and an improved design for the 5-inch guns. Then there was a bit of stir among the navy types and a large portfolio filled with drawings was produced. Most of the drawings were for proposed classes of monitors and river gunboats which could operate in very shallow water, allowing the navy to project force far up the country’s waterways.
“We can’t assume that the Martians will be so obliging as to confine their invasion to areas near the coast,” said Twining. “These ships would allow us to operate on the Mississippi, the Missouri, the Ohio, and a number of other smaller rivers.”
General Crozier’s response was politely non-committal, but Andrew suspected that he didn’t particularly like the idea of the navy expanding its role into what ought to be army territory. But if the gunboats disturbed the Ordnance Chief, what came next was even worse. A new set of plans was laid out on the table and Andrew craned his neck to try and see what they were. At first glance they looked like another gunboat or maybe a small cruiser, but wait, what were those things on the bottom? They sort of looked like…
“What is this, Admiral?” asked Crozier.
“We’re calling it a land ironclad, General,” replied Twining proudly. “As you can see, it is much like a standard warship, but it also has two sets of huge caterpillar tracks, which will allow it to travel over land, as well. An amphibious creature, as it were.”
“You can’t be serious!” exclaimed Crozier.
“Entirely serious, I assure you. Vessels such as these could travel easily by water to the point nearest the enemy and then move overland the rest of the way. Naturally, we would operate in cooperation with any army forces in the vicinity, although we are looking into the possibility of strengthening our Marine landing parties to provide whatever escort is needed.”
“But… but the cost…”
“Only slightly more than a conventional warship of comparable size. The naval secretary has already broached the idea to the President and he was quite enthusiastic.”
“Oh, God, he would be,” moaned Crozier before he could stop himself.
“Admiral,” said Colonel Hawthorne, “you do realize what a challenge those caterpillar tracks are going to be, don’t you? They are on a scale far beyond anything ever attempted. The strain on them would be stupendous. Considering the problems we’ve encountered with our much more modest gun tractors, you might find these insurmountable.”
Twining smiled. “The navy is quite used to large scale engineering, Colonel. There’s probably more steel in one of our battleships than in all the army’s artillery combined. We are quite confident we can make this work.”
There were some more half-hearted objections from the army officers in the room, but navy smugness snuffed them out.
“Battleships with wheels, eh?” whispered Hawthorne to Andrew. “I should have made you tell that idea to Crozier!”
“And I should have gone to Annapolis, sir,” replied Andrew.
“A wiseacre, just like I said.”
It was the navy’s turn to host the dinner that night, although Andrew doubted that many of the army men had much of an appetite. But they dutifully allowed themselves to be transported down to the officers’ club at the Navy Yard. Andrew found himself in a carriage with General Crozier, Colonel Hawthorne, and Major Waski. Crozier was fuming.
“Blast the man! How dare he spring something like that on us with no warning! And to take it to the President in secret! Damnation! Did you hear what he was saying about the Marines? If they’re allowed to build a fleet of those things, the army is going to be out of business, gentlemen!”
“I don’t think it’s that serious, sir,” said Hawthorne. “The navy is going to find it a lot harder to build those things than they believe.”
“Well, what if they accomplish it anyway? You know how Roosevelt loves big, grand ideas! He’ll look at the navy’s monstrosities and then look at our gun tractors and you can just bet which one he’ll like best!”
“You could be right, sir.” said Major Waski. “So what do we do?”
“What do we do? We damn well have some big, grand ideas of our own! Even if it’s just our version of the same land ironclad as the navy! So I want all of you to get to work on this. Ben, contact Baldwin and see what they can do. Waski, you make some quiet inquiries with the New York ship builders up your way and find out just what’s involved with constructing something like this.”
“Yes, sir,” they both answered, but then Hawthorne asked: “We aren’t giving up on the gun tractors though, are we, sir? Despite the problems we’ve had, they’ll be ready years before any of these behemoths.”
“No, no, we’ll go ahead on all fronts.”
They completed the trip in silence and then had to act pleasant with their navy hosts. But it was a fine dinner and the wine flowed freely. Andrew, having none of the weighty concerns of his superiors, was enjoying himself, sharing drinks with Drew Harding and drawing sketches of land-going battleships on a napkin when an officer burst into the room.
“Sir! Sir!” the man exclaimed breathlessly. “They’re coming! The Martians are coming again!”
Fortunately, they were in a private room rather than the main bar or who knows what sort of panic the man’s cry might have produced. Everyone was shocked, of course, but Admiral Twining took it very calmly. “What the devil are you talking about, man?’ he growled. “Pull yourself together and report to me properly!”
The young man, an ensign as young as Andrew, did as he was told. “Yes sir! Sorry sir! There’s a report from the Naval Observatory, sir! Gas eruptions on Mars!”
The silence in the room was like a living thing, clutching at the throat of each man. After over seven years of waiting, the hope had begun to grow in everyone that the Martians would not be ba
ck; that they’d given up. That the first invasion had been all they had the resources for. They had shot their bolt and that was the end of it. All those hopes dashed in an instant. Andrew felt a shiver go down his spine.
“Indeed?” rumbled Twining as if the ensign had just informed him that it was raining. “Well, let’s go and see for ourselves. Gentlemen?”
And so they bundled themselves into several motor staff cars and chugged up Massachusetts Avenue to where the navy had its observatory northwest of the city. This facility, like many observatories around the world, had been greatly expanded since the first invasion. The older telescope had been replaced with a new marvel with a diameter no less than fifty inches. There were bigger ones elsewhere in the world, but this was the biggest in the vicinity of Washington. As the last invasion had been launched during the time in which the two planets were relatively close in their orbits, the opposition as it was called, a special watch was kept on Mars at that time. Andrew vaguely recalled that the actual time of closest approach had been several months earlier.
The weather was typical for November and it was a crystal clear night. As they walked up the hill toward the observatory, Andrew noted that all the lights were on in all the buildings and people were dashing about and talking loudly. The admiral was the ranking officer present, so they managed to get a reasonably precise report from the head of the facility, a navy captain who also held a doctorate in astronomy.
“We observed the first eruption about an hour ago, sir…” he began.
“The first?” interrupted Twining. “You mean there have been more?”
“Yes sir, four more after the first…” A cry from a man who was at the eye-piece of the great telescope interrupted the captain again. “Uh, make that five more, sir. Mars will be setting soon and we’ll lose our view, but we’ve cabled other observatories further west to continue the watch.”
The Great Martian War Page 3