The Great Martian War

by Scott Washburn

  “Yes sir.” He passed on the order and three men set out. Andrew turned back to the machine. It may have been wrecked, but McGill was right: what about the Martian inside? Was it still alive? To capture a live Martian would be a real feather in his cap! Although the thought of having to somehow restrain—and care for!—one of the hideous creatures had him hoping the thing would be dead. He looked into the hole that had been blasted into the face of the machine, but could not see anything. Searching further he discovered a place which seemed like it might be a door or hatch. But how do get it open?

  “Sergeant, see if we have a pry bar among the tools. I think we can…”

  Several bugle calls sounded off to the east, but they were instantly cut off by the buzz-saw snarl they had heard earlier. Andrew whipped around to look up at the ridge line. At first he couldn’t see anything except lines of troops silhouetted against the sky. But then smoke started billowing up and red light was flickering off it and the buzz-saws went on and on. The troops on the ridge halted and then started falling back. Some of them were shouting and waving.

  “What’s happening now?” asked White.

  “Got a bad feeling about this, sir,” said McGill.

  Then the cavalry came galloping back over the rise. Some of the horses didn’t have riders and a few of them seemed to be on fire. Officers were shouting and more bugles rang out. An armored car appeared on the crest, its eight wheels throwing up dust as it tried to retreat. An instant later it exploded. The nearby battery halted and the gunners started to unlimber their pieces.

  “Oh God!” cried Kennedy. “There they are!”

  Tall gray shapes were emerging from the smoke. Martian tripods! They’re attacking again! They came on with a terrible speed and were on the ridge in a moment, only four or five hundred yards away. They raised their arms and the heat rays lashed out with that buzz-saw shriek. Men and horses flashed to puffs of smoke and steam as the rays swept over them. The ray appeared to consume them completely, leaving nothing behind!

  Some men tried to fight back and a crackle of rifle fire erupted, but it had no visible effect on the foe and the heat rays exacted a terrible price for the men’s bravery. Hundreds died in seconds and a few, only grazed by the rays, ran back screaming, wrapped in flames, or rolled on the ground trying to put out the terrible fire. Ten of the machines now stood at the crest of the rise, killing countless numbers with each ungodly buzz. Andrew stood there, gripping his useless pistol and stared, frozen in place. He could hear Bill White saying: “Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!” Over and over.

  The battery in front of him was swinging its guns around, but far too late. The two nearest Martian machines turned their rays on the battery and in a moment explosions shook the ground as the ammunition caissons exploded, throwing men and debris skyward. Andrew was knocked backward by the concussion and nearly fell. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The wooden gun carriages burned up like straw and the gun tubes, glowing a dull red slumped down amidst the ashes. The men who had hoped to work those guns, and the horses who had pulled them, were obliterated, just… wiped away.

  All along the line it was the same awful story. The Martians concentrated their efforts against the artillery and in minutes all eight batteries had been destroyed. Andrew didn’t think any of them had managed to get off a single shot. The cavalry was already running to the rear as quickly as their horses could carry them and now the infantry line was collapsing. Their rifles apparently useless, the troops had no alternative but to fall back. But the Martians were faster than they were and the retreat almost instantly became a rout. The men threw away their weapons and ran.

  “Sir! We gotta move!” It was McGill, he was pulling him by the arm, back toward their horses; shaking him out of his stupor. “Mount up! Let’s move!”

  But it was already too late. The nearest tripod was striding down the slope and it was sweeping its heat ray in their direction.

  “Cover! Take cover!” he screamed. He pulled McGill and White back in the direction of the wrecked machine and they flung themselves into the covered space behind it. Some of his men did the same. Others found cover behind rocks or in depressions in the ground. Some tried to run. The horses broke loose and galloped madly away, except for those harnessed to the wagons; they were trapped.

  The ray passed over all of them, men and horses alike. The prairie grass blazing up wherever it touched, but the wrecked tripod shielded them. Choking smoke swirled around Andrew and he coughed and gasped for breath. Behind him he heard screaming men and screaming horses. Beside him, McGill was shouting something in Gaelic; cursing probably. White had curled into a ball with his face pressed against the ground.

  And then it was past. He looked out from the lee of the wreck and saw the tripod striding on down the slope, pursuing the ruin of the army. He watched it, slaughtering more men at every step, until it was a half mile away.

  “Sir… sir, we better get outta here. If they come back, we’re cooked for sure.”

  “Yeah… yeah… get the men up…” he was so dazed it was hard to think straight. A few minutes ago he was part of a victorious army and now… now… a nightmare.

  He looked around. The two wagons were just piles of burning wood; lumps of ash showed where the horses had been. Had anyone been in them? Men were emerging from their hiding places. At least some of them were. Andrew looked back down the hill; all the Martians were still moving east. But they were bound to come back here to check out their fallen comrade. He and the others had to get out before they did. White was still on the ground and he had to physically drag him up to his feet. The man seemed dazed.

  “Ready, sir,” said McGill.

  “How… how many are hurt?”

  “Well, no one is hurt, sir. Looks like we lost six men killed. An’ all the horses is gone. Dead or run off.” The stunned survivors were huddling together behind him. “Gotta move sir. Which way?”

  “Uh… well, east’s no good, that’s where they all are. West’s where they came from. South… south, I guess, up into the hills there.”

  “Sounds good, sir. Least there’ll be cover there. All right! You heard the major! Get moving!” The thirteen stunned survivors turned and started walking and Andrew followed. Step by step they went south, climbing over progressively rougher terrain as the mountains drew nearer. Everyone was constantly looking back to see if the Martians were coming, but they were still getting farther away and the rasp of their heat rays was fainter now. After an hour or so they had put a few miles between themselves and the wreck and climbed at least three or four hundred feet in elevation. They paused for a rest and Andrew pulled out his field glasses and looked on the scene of the disaster. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold the glasses steady.

  He couldn’t see any details at this distance and that was probably just as well. Dozens of black pillars of smoke rose up as things burned. Houses from the little town, wagons, piles of supplies, everything was on fire. The smoke merged into one big cloud which the wind blew east, smudging the clear blue sky. The Martians could still be seen, striding back and forth. From time to time he would see a flicker of the heat rays and a new column of smoke would appear. There was no sign at all of any resistance.

  “Bad as it looks?” asked McGill quietly. Andrew just nodded.

  “How… how could this have happened?” asked White.

  “We saw how it happened,” said McGill. “But, we better keep going, sir. Another mile or two and it looks like we could find some cover.”

  “And then what?” cried one of the men. “What are we gonna do?” Some of the others added their voices to the question. A few looked close to panic.

  Andrew stood up, a strange feeling of dread and rage mixed within him.

  “The first thing we are going to do,” he said sternly, “is stay alive.”

  * * * * *

  Cycle597,843.5, East of Holdfast 32-1

  Qetjnegartis looked on in satisfaction. Victory. The prey-creature army had
been annihilated. All the large projectile throwers had been destroyed and many thousands of the creatures as well. As it had hoped, the large weapons could not move and fire at the same time. The sudden counterattack had caught them unprepared and they had all been destroyed before they could fire at all. Once that was done, it had simply become a matter of exterminating the rest of them.

  Many had escaped, it was true, but the survivors were no longer any threat and would serve to spread panic among the others. Qetjnegartis continued the pursuit until there were no large groups of the prey left in sight and then ordered a halt.

  Yes, this was excellent. The prey’s army had been utterly smashed. The threat eliminated. They could now return and finish work on the holdfast and complete the budding process. When the buds had matured sufficiently to operate the extra war machines, they could set out again; making new conquests; linking up with the other landing groups.

  But a great deal of energy had been expended. They would all need to feed soon. And a store for future needs should be accumulated. Fortunately, there was a good supply close at hand.

  “Begin the harvesting,” it commanded.

  Chapter Eight

  February, 1909, Southwest of Thoreau, New Mexico Territory

  “The damn things are roamin’ all over the place to the east o’ us, sir,” said Sergeant McGill. “No good tryin’ to head that way while they’re there.”

  Andrew Comstock nodded grimly. “I think you are right, Sergeant. But I don’t like the idea of just sitting here. There’s not enough cover. We need to get farther up into these hills and find somewhere to hole up for a while; until the Martians clear out.”

  “Yes, sir—assumin’ they do clear out.”

  “One step at a time. It will be getting dark soon and it’s going to get damn cold tonight, as clear as it is. We’ve lost nearly all our gear and we don’t dare build a fire out here. Up in the hills, maybe we can find a cave where at least we can have a fire. Let’s get moving.”

  “Yes, sir.” McGill shouted at the men to get on their feet and was answered by a chorus of groans and curses, but the men started to move. Bill White still seemed dazed, but Andrew gave him a shove and he moved along with the rest.

  The disastrous day was nearly at an end. It still seemed like a bad dream. The battle, which had started so well, had dissolved into flames and death. The army smashed to flinders before his eyes. There were undoubtedly survivors—like him and his men—but nothing like an organized military force remained. Fugitives—especially the cavalry—would be fleeing back along the rail line, spreading word of the defeat to all those still following. What would they do? Could they organize a defense before it was too late? Or would the Martians just keep advancing and smash every attempt? If that were the case then Andrew and the others were in truly a mess. Where could they go, on foot and with no supplies?

  No supplies and nearly no weapons. Andrew and McGill each had a revolver, but none of the men had anything at all, and White seemed to have dropped his pistol somewhere along the way, so that was gone too. Their rifles had been on their horses or the wagon and they were all gone. They’d seen some stray horses wandering around; they’d have to try and catch some of them if they could. Not just for transport, but in hopes that there might be food or weapons attached to the saddles.

  But no horses came close enough to grab before it was completely dark. Fortunately, the moon was nearing full and it gave enough light to see by as they scrambled higher into the hills. They were getting up into some much more rugged terrain, but despite being exhausted and chilled, Andrew drove them on until they found a really sheltered spot. Not a cave, but enclosed enough that they dared risk a fire. They collected fuel and soon had a blaze going. They huddled around it and tried to get warm. Their canteens were empty or nearly so and they didn’t have a scrap of food. Unlike the infantry, they hadn’t kept their haversacks on their persons. Most quickly fell asleep despite their parched throats and growling stomachs. Andrew dozed off quickly too, but didn’t stay asleep for long at a time. He woke up frequently, frozen on the side that was away from the fire. He’d twist around, check the position of the moon and then sleep until he woke up shivering again. The damn moon didn’t seem to be moving at all and the night lasted about a thousand years.

  Morning eventually came and brought at least a small improvement in their situation. A few horses, apparently attracted by the fire, or at least the smell of it, were standing around nearby, glumly nibbling at the shriveled winter grass. They had cavalry markings on their saddles, but more importantly, they still had their saddlebags and those bags had some food in them. Even better, one of them had coffee. A quick look around their campsite revealed a small stream trickling down from the mountains. So they filled their canteens, boiled some coffee, and ate the rations for their breakfast. It wasn’t much, and there was barely enough left for a meager lunch, but it still raised all their spirits. Bill White was in much better shape than he’d been the day before and even cracked a few jokes. Andrew had been afraid he’d be saddled with an addle-wit, but thankfully, that wasn’t the case—although a few of his troops still seemed pretty rattled.

  Andrew still wasn’t satisfied with their location. It was too exposed, especially from anyone looking down on them—like from a forty-foot high Martian tripod. So he got the men moving and continued heading south, up the slopes of the mountains. McGill insisted he ride one of the horses and they put the two men in the worst shape on the other two.

  After about a half hour, they encountered what looked like a road. Or a path, anyway. It was unpaved—like all the roads in this part of the country—but there were some wagon ruts evident and just as importantly, no sign of the Martians. While investigating the wrecked machine yesterday, Andrew had noticed that the sharply pointed feet of the tripod would sink a foot or two into the dirt, leaving a distinctive triangular hole behind. There were no such holes to be seen here.

  “So what do you think, sir?” asked McGill.

  “Well, we don’t want to go that way,” he replied, pointing north. “That will just take us back toward the main road where the Martians are. But this must lead somewhere in the other direction. Let’s go see where.”

  So they followed the road up into the hills. It was easier going than off the road, but still pretty steep. By mid-morning the slopes of the mountains were looming over them. There were patches of snow on the ground in the shady spots and the mountains themselves were still heavily covered.

  “Hey! There’s a shack up ahead!” cried the man who was in the lead. “A couple of shacks!”

  They hurried ahead and indeed, there were several crudely built structures standing in a little canyon that reared up on three sides. Off in the distance there was a dark opening in the rock wall, and a mound of broken rock piled off to one side.

  “Looks like a mine, sir,” said Corporal Kennedy.

  “Yes,” agreed Andrew. “Take a look around, but move carefully and make plenty of noise. If there are any miners still here, they might be a bit jumpy. And probably better armed than we are!

  His men spread out and Andrew followed the group heading for what looked like the living quarters. It was just a box with sheet metal walls and roof. But a stove pipe stuck up through the roof and that looked promising! He sure didn’t want to spend another night clustered around a campfire!

  Several of the men pushed through the door and almost immediately one of them shouted: “Hey! There’s someone here! A soldier!”

  Andrew came to the front and found a man in an army uniform lying on a cot. No one else seemed to be there. Looking closer, he saw that the uniform had scorch marks on it and the man’s face had a nasty burn on one side. The eyes were closed at first, but then he groaned and they opened. He stared for a moment and then focused in on Andrew.

  “Comstock,” he muttered. “About damn time you got here.”

  “Selfridge!”

  * * * * *

  February, 1909, Washington, D
.C.

  “And this has been confirmed?”

  “I’m afraid so, Mr. President,” said Major General Leonard Wood.

  Roosevelt grimaced. “When you start calling me that in private, Leonard, I know the news has to be bad. And Sumner? He’s really dead?”

  “Things are still pretty confused, Mister… Theodore. But it seems likely. The accounts we have said he was right there in the center, leading the army forward when things went to hell. There’s certainly been no word of him since then.”

  “Yes, that would fit Sumner: leading from the front,” said Roosevelt, shaking his head sadly. “A fine soldier. Remember when he was commanding the First Brigade of the Cavalry Division in Cuba? While you had the Second? Those were the days!”

  “That they were,” agreed Wood. “But we have a hell of a situation to deal with right now, Theodore. The army we had out there in New Mexico hasn’t just been defeated, it’s been destroyed.”

  “We have more forces in the region!” protested Roosevelt. “Just the other day the General Staff was complaining about how all the rail lines were clogged with troops and supplies!”

  “That is true. But they are all reinforcements for Sumner’s army. Sumner’s army is gone, so all those reinforcements are just random units of infantry, cavalry, and artillery. They have no higher leadership or organization. Not an army. We need to build another one. We’ll need a commander for it and he’ll need a staff. And we need them quickly. Right now, the Martians could push right through to Albuquerque and even Santa Fe if they wanted to. Without firm control, all those reinforcements on the rail lines would just be lambs to the slaughter. You remember what it was like trying to get the ships loaded to go to Cuba?”

  “Yes,” growled Roosevelt. “Pure chaos. We practically had to hijack a ship to get out of there…”