The Texas Front: Salient

by Jonathan Cresswell

  Other minds blossomed on the link. They belonged to several varied clans, but had all budded on this world and referred to themselves – although never to an elder – as those of Planet Three. The combined signals were jarring, incoherent. Taldarnilis braced its mind and spoke over the tumult. “All Threeborn group members! We are presented with a problem. Our existence is at stake. Without further shipments, our energy supply will be finite and diminishing rapidly. Traditional methods of finding more supplies have failed. We must devise new ones.”

  The minds vibrated with stress and confusion. Taldarnilis summoned its own to a strength and pitch it had been unaware was possible. “All of you were bred upon this world! It is your destiny to survive here, and you will! Did not you, Raqtinoctil, sense the prey-creatures’ minds and make possible the alternate food supply? Did not you, Arctilantar, devise the tracking system to allow these goodprey to carry out tasks outside the holdfast? Do not accept limitations in your thinking! Now, begin.”

  Chapter 5

  September 1911, El Paso, Texas

  The locomotive’s whistle blew three times. Captain Willard Lang shouldered his haversack and set off past the shouts and turmoil of soldiers preparing to board their train cars. He headed down along the length of the train which extended well past the simple platform. Two passenger cars were filling with men; next, four flatcars carried two steam tanks on each. Two more flatcars held four strange-looking contraptions: the lower chassis of a tank topped with a boxy metal compartment and an A-framed crane. These ‘armored recovery vehicles’ could pull a wrecked tank right out of a ditch, or lift a boiler out of one. Lang reflected that some men deprecated such vehicles because they couldn’t fight. But having seen a tank battalion lose half its numbers to breakdowns, he knew such equipment was worth its weight in gold.

  Lang’s pace slowed as he reached the next flatcars. Loaded on these were automobiles: the fruit of Governor Colquitt’s leverage, civilian coupes and tourers that had been stripped down, modified, fitted with solid tires, and painted a motley assortment of whatever each of a dozen garages in Dallas and Houston thought was ‘light tan’. He spotted what was left of a Peerless tourer and suppressed a grin. Thank you, Senator. We’ll take good care of her.

  He stopped, studying the vehicles. Most of the cars had a fifty-caliber heavy machine gun mounted on a pintle. Some had two. The soldiers assigned to the Long Range Scouting Company had been given a free hand with the new cal-fifties, and they had taken full advantage. The big-barreled guns looked threatening, but Lang knew how badly they were outclassed by a Martian heat ray. The small sheet-metal gunshield on each mount almost seemed like a joke.

  The last six flatcars were empty, waiting to be loaded with salvaged material. That was the ostensible mission of the LRSC and the elements of the 325th Tank Battalion attached to it: proceed toward Albuquerque along the Second Army’s line of retreat, remove or extract as many tank cannons and artillery pieces as possible, and bring them back. The LRSC would scout out to a distance and provide warning of any approaching tripods; the regular tanks would provide security for the ARVs. At least that was the theory. None of this had ever been tried before.

  As the last soldiers boarded, Lang unobtrusively checked his watch. Two and a quarter hours? That was too long. The cranes mounted on the ARVs could easily lift an automobile, so loading those hadn’t taken long. The ARVs themselves lifted one another on, then the last one was very carefully driven up a ramp.

  They might have to load up a lot faster next time. Maybe if they rebuilt the flatcars so the vehicles could drive along them...

  Metallic clinks sounded from inside the Peerless. Lang hopped up on a step and banged on the car’s sheet metal – the small amount that remained. “Eddie! Come on out.”

  Eddie Painewick wriggled out from under the dash. “Almost done here, Cap. Clutch is still a bit tight.”

  “We’re about to move out.”

  “I can come up later. I want it just right.”

  “Well, don’t fall off. That’d break my heart.”

  Eddie scratched his neck. “Uh, Cap – Captain Lang. Thanks for getting me out of the stockade. I really appreciate that. It was just a misunder– ”

  Lang lifted a palm. “I don’t want to know. I didn’t even look at the papers I signed. But when the general said I was going on this little vacation, I didn’t want some random driver who mightn’t know left from right, never mind how to read ground. What are the rules, Eddie?”

  “Don’t get drunk. Don’t steal anything that isn’t Martian. And drive like a sonofabitch.”

  “See? Easy.” Lang hopped down and walked back to the passenger cars. Two other captains and Major Plainview were shaking hands in turn with a small man in a general’s uniform. Lang smiled and joined them.

  “All ready, Lang?” asked General Funston.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Remember, Plainview. This is a routine salvage operation. The fact that you happen to have other units sharing the same transportation should never be interpreted as a reason to attack the enemy if they are encountered. That’s official.”

  “I understand entirely, General,” said Plainview.

  “Lang, I’ll need to know everything about how these ideas are working out in practice. But I need a live staff officer more than I need a dead hero. Be careful.” Funston nodded to him and walked off.

  Lang climbed aboard the car and pushed past two men. “Was that General Funston?” asked one.

  “Yes.”

  “And he came here to see us off? Personally? This ain’t no salvage operation, is it?”

  “Nope,” said Lang. He moved forward, looking for a seat open on the wooden benches.

  Major Plainview caught sight of him and waved him over, then motioned to the man seated beside him. “Captain Lang! I’d like you to meet Frederick Burnham. The governor sort of attached him to us. He’s got some wonderful stories.”

  The man stood up to shake hands with Lang rather than salute; he wore a civilian bush jacket and not a uniform. He was about Lang’s own size, maybe fifty, with pale blue eyes that had a distant look. “Pleased to meet you. Frederick Russell Burnham.”

  “Willard Lang. Are you...” he tried to find a courteous phrase for what the hell are you doing here?

  “Ah. We haven’t met before. I’ve become involved with the LRSC on and off as a sort of consultant. Things are awfully quiet right now in this war, so this seems like the best place to be in order to... contribute.”

  “That’s admirable,” said Lang. “Would you excuse us a moment? Major, I have a question about the flatcar loading.” He propelled Plainview down the crowded aisle to a quieter spot.

  “Major, why is there a civilian coming along on this? We don’t have much space for supernumeraries.”

  “That’s what I told General Funston about you,” said Plainview dryly. “Burnham is a personal friend of President Roosevelt. And John Hays Hammond, who owns a lot of mining concerns in this part of the continent and is richer than God. Burnham’s keen on this idea of ‘motor scouting’ and wanted to get in on it. And he didn’t come empty-handed. How do you think we got twenty of the new heavy machine guns when every soldier in America is screaming for them? Burnham pulled some strings.” Plainview smiled at Lang’s expression. “Really, Lang, he’s spent plenty of time in Arizona and northern Mexico. Learned to scout against Apaches. Fought in the Boer War for the British.”

  “That’s all before the Martians – ancient history. Can he handle a cal fifty?”

  “He demonstrated the first one for us.”

  “Huh.” Lang considered. “I suppose he’ll do. But... hang on. How did he and Roosevelt and Hammond all know about the LRSC in the first place?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” said Plainview.

  * * * * *

  The train clattered north for most of that day, following the east bank of the Rio Grande. Each hour they traveled closer to Albuquerque – and to the Martians th
at had reportedly occupied the town. Major Plainview ordered a halt at dusk while they were still over a hundred miles away; the risk of running into a tripod in the dark was too high when they would be at a disadvantage. The men camped close by the rail cars, ate, slept, and nervously whiled away the time.

  In the morning, Plainview sought out Lang, who was drinking coffee by the embers of a campfire. The air was cool enough now that the cup was welcome. Plainview waved away an offer. “Let’s get one of the cars unloaded,” he said. “I’m going to proceed along the roadway a couple miles ahead of the train and scout. Want to come along?”

  “Yes, sir. I know just the vehicle.”

  Lang chased down Eddie and one of the ARV commanders. They managed to get the Peerless unloaded in half an hour; it was already stocked with fuel, ammunition, and water, and they tossed in their personal gear, mounted up, and drove out.

  Despite the visible road to follow paralleling the railway, there were plenty of ruts, and by the time they’d gotten a mile ahead of the train, the car had bottomed out its suspension several times. At the next lurch and jolt, Plainview barked, “What the hell are you doing there, driver?”

  “I don’t get it, sir,” said Eddie. “It wasn’t like this back in El Paso. It’s like there’s six people in here. Big people.”

  “Well, the gun mount weighs a hundred pounds...” Lang turned and clambered carefully back along the open body then poked through the supplies. At the bottom, he glimpsed rows of wooden ammunition boxes. “Here it is. There’s a thousand rounds back here! Three hundred, four hundred pounds?”

  “That’s too much weight. We’ll have to lighten things later. Just go slower there, Painewick.”

  Eddie obliged and the car labored less; in a few more minutes, they slowed to the train’s speed anyway and it began pacing them. They proceeded along the bank, beginning to see foothills to the northeast. By midmorning, Brushy and Timber Mountains loomed in the distance.

  “There’s not been much worth even looking at so far,” said Plainview. While there was detritus left behind by any army on a retreat, there had only been a few abandoned trucks and cars.

  “Well, any tank that didn’t get loaded on a train car wouldn’t have made it more than forty or fifty miles before it broke down. The pickings will get better soon, sir.”

  And indeed once they crossed a bridge over the Grande onto the west bank, more wrecks appeared. Wagons, trucks, even a boxcar that had been heaved off the tracks. Then the first tank sat desolately near the railway.

  “Not worth setting up for one,” muttered Plainview. He studied the map spread out on his legs. “But we’ll have to stop soon. A lot of flat open ground past Elephant Butte, and I don’t want the train visible from twenty miles off. These guns aren’t effective beyond a few hundred yards. We must get something better, Captain!”

  “There is work being done on that, sir.”

  “Wasn’t there a remote-operated automobile in the works? Able to rush a tripod and destroy it using a bomb?”

  Lang shook his head. “I saw the trials for that two weeks ago. It was a disaster. They could barely drive one of those things underneath a water tower they were pretending was a tripod – as though it would stand still – and twice the wires broke. Then the general insisted he wanted to see how powerful the explosion was. It did make a nice bang, but the look on their faces when they destroyed their prototype... It sort of made it all worthwhile. I think that file is closed.”

  “Don’t you think the idea of steering a weapon to its target is useful?” asked Plainview. “We waste so many shells trying to hit those damned tripods.”

  “It would have to be something faster. Much faster.” Lang glanced ahead. “Sir, look!”

  They were coming into a positive acreage of abandoned material. Lang could see three tanks already, as well as artillery pieces and ammunition limbers. The nearest still had two equine skeletons harnessed to it. None of the wrecks showed scorching from Martian attacks, but they had a forlorn quality just the same. He pictured the ugly scene: foundering horses being shot, boxes heaved off carts and trucks, soldiers shoved out to march on foot – perhaps wounded. He remembered his crew, most of them killed in their tank. He remembered Funston’s rage...

  “Sir, how about there? Good cover in the arroyos and open roadways beyond.”

  “Yes. I think that’ll do to start. Driver! Get us up on that ridgeline. I want a look well around.” They veered off the roadway and accelerated up the mild slope, scrub bushes scraping under the chassis. Eddie halted them at the top; Plainview and Lang both stood up and scanned the horizon with binoculars, slowly, carefully.

  “No sign of ’em, sir.”

  “Good. We’ll set up here.” Plainview retrieved a green flag from under the seat and waved it. Below, the train’s brakes keened and brought it to a gradual halt. Eddie turned and drove back down the slope to where the work would begin.

  Plainview did not waste a moment. In half an hour, the salvage train was boiling with activity. ARVs trundled along the roadway in both directions to seek out their prey; Lang, supervising the reluctant offloading of half the ammo load of his cars, saw one of the ARV crewmen emerge from a nearby wrecked tank, drop to the ground, and vomit. I know what he found in there. He had his own duties; the LRSC cars were to fan out and find good spotting and hiding positions several miles to the west, north, and east. Plainview felt there was lesser risk enough from the south to not spare vehicles to cover it; Lang concurred. They would have to reconcentrate fast if more than one tripod showed up. The eight line tanks – Mk IIs and IIIs – took up positions within a mile of the train; there weren’t enough to push out further. LRSC cars began pulling out. “Whenever you like, Eddie.”

  “Oh, hell,” said Eddie quietly.

  Frederick Burnham walked up and waved cheerfully. “Mind if I come along?”

  “Be my guest, Mr. Burnham.” He vaulted aboard with easy grace despite the slung haversack he carried; the Peerless barely rocked. Good line of work for little guys, thought Lang. “Move her, Eddie. Due north about ten miles, then we’ll see.”

  Freed from the plodding train, Eddie drove with verve, and the Peerless responded splendidly. Fortunately, Burnham was either taciturn or had an instinct for when to keep quiet. The drive took less than twenty minutes – less than planned.

  “Hold up, Eddie!”

  Half a mile ahead, the tracks ended; rather, the rails did. Empty ties marched northward from that point.

  “Cap, that’s not good.”

  “I know. Let’s go have a look.” They pulled up at the rail’s end. Sure enough, Lang spotted the triangular imprints left by tripods.

  Burnham hopped down and stooped to examine them, brushing dirt loose from the print’s edge. “These aren’t fresh. It’s not like any vehicle track I know, of course, but at least a week old.” He bent closer and sniffed. “No odor to it. What do you suppose a Martian tripod smells like, Captain?”

  “Never gave it much thought,” said Lang, nonplussed.

  “Everything has a scent. That car does. Lubricants? Ozone? If the Martian occupant has a scent, the local birds or animals may react to it long before we could. I’m curious to find out.”

  “We’ll oblige you if we can. If they’ve used up those rails, they’ll be back for more.”

  They picked a spot within eyeshot of the tracks even at night, drove there, and set up camp beside the car; Burnham dug a ramped firepit that wouldn’t show the flame at a distance. While two of them busied with routine tasks, the third was always on watch, even when food was ready. Burnham seemed to eat very little, and Lang hadn’t seen the man drink anything yet. As dusk fell, with no hostile sign yet, Burnham sat cross-legged with his back to the fire – to preserve night-sight, he said – and recounted a few of the stories Major Plainview had been so impressed by.

  “I was prospecting near the Yaqui River in northern Mexico when the first landings happened. Didn’t hear about it for six months. In one of
those cosmic coincidences, I’d found a remarkable boulder carved with symbols – they call it the Esperanza Stone. Priceless artifact.”

  “If it isn’t portable, I’m not interested in it,” said Eddie from where he stood on the car’s bonnet.

  “Oh, not priceless for wealth, but for knowledge. Probably Mayan, but I had a notion it might have been left here by aliens! Can you imagine how foolish – yet vindicated – I felt when I learned they had really arrived here?” Burnham chuckled. “But then they began killing us, and what I felt hardly mattered any more... Mr. Lang, what affairs of yours were interrupted by their arrival?”

  Living to a ripe old age, thought Lang; but he only said, “Legal studies. I had hoped to pass the bar by next year or so, get married, argue each case with my wife, and develop that muscular jaw.”

  “Ah. Lewis Carroll. Well, an Army commission never hurts for that sort of career. I trust you can return to it.” Burnham glanced over diffidently. “I noticed that fellow in the dark gray suit loading some rather large cases onto the train at El Paso. I take it he doesn’t work for your state government?”

  “Nope. He’s from Washington. Doesn’t say much.”

  “I believe there’s a department of the Bureau of Investigation that handles this sort of thing now. He’ll want to obtain any piece of Martian equipment you fellows find.”

  Lang shrugged. “If they can figure out a better weapon from it, I’ve no objection.”

  * * * * *

  They spent the better part of two days camped at that location. While the weather was still mild – chilly nights, warm days – Lang found it difficult to rest fully with the constant strain of keeping a lookout organized. Four men would be easier; but more crew weight meant less supplies. He missed being free to load anything onto a twenty-eight-ton vehicle that caught his fancy. On the second morning, a scout car drove up from the south to check in with them. Plainview was finding rich pickings for his buzzards, they said, and the train would be fully loaded soon. Lang noticed that Burnham followed the report with the same focused intent that the famous scout directed at his surroundings.