The Texas Front: Salient

by Jonathan Cresswell

  He also noticed that Burnham listened far more than he spoke and had a knack of steering conversation to topics he chose. He wondered at the man’s purpose... and then forgot completely about it midday on the second day, when Burnham shouted, “Two tripods in view, heading south!”

  Lang grabbed the second pair of binoculars seconds before Eddie and scrambled onto the car bonnet. “Start her up,” he said as he scanned the horizon to the north. “I see them, Burnham.” The objects were mere nicks on the horizon. In minutes, they grew to the swaying tops of tripods, heading south – directly toward them – and a third appeared behind. “Don’t think they’ll see us yet, but we need to go.” They dropped back into the Peerless and Eddie swung them in a spurt of dust. “Not too fast! Don’t leave a plume, they’ll spot that.” They descended the low rise he’d parked on, putting it between them and the Martians, and headed south – first at an infuriatingly slow pace while their dust might still be sighted, then a faster one that brought them within sight of the salvage train in half an hour.

  Lang fired a red flare and pandemonium broke loose. By the time they pulled up by the locomotive, running men and moving vehicles had brought the landscape alive with activity. Major Plainview jumped down from the locomotive cab; smoke was already curdling from the stack as it worked up steam. But that would take time... He ran up to the car’s side. “How many?”

  “Three sighted, sir. There might be more, but we came back immediately.”

  “That’s fine. One we could try and fight off; three is already bad odds. We’ll pull out. Train’s near fully loaded with salvage anyway...What ground have you got to the north?”

  Lang knew what that would mean, but he kept his voice steady. “Good ground, I think, sir. Arroyos to the west, and if it comes to that, we could risk going into the river floodplain to the east – there’s a fair drop there to the bank. It might not even come to a fight. They’ve been pulling up the rails five miles north of here, so perhaps they’ll just keep doing that and not push south today.”

  “I’d like that,” said Plainview, “but we can’t assume it. I’m going to leave two tanks deployed in cover until the last minute, and we’ll load some of the rest skewed on the cars, so they might get a firing angle as we pull out. I’ve already sent two cars out to recall the other scouts. We’ll load up all but three. Those will join you as soon as they can.” He hesitated a moment. “Obviously there won’t be time to load you four, or those two tanks, if this gets hectic. Play it by ear. If the tripods are in range of the train, try and draw them onto the tanks. I sure don’t want to leave them, but we may run out of time. If we do, pick up the tank crews as best you can time it, and drive alongside the train as we leave. Clear?”

  “Yes, Major. Come on, Eddie, let’s go see.” They swung out and proceeded back north, leaving the bustle behind. Soon, another pair of cars appeared, angling over from the west as they found routes that suited. Another came up from behind, overtaking steadily but leaving a tall dust plume. Lang cursed, but there was no way to warn them – and it was hard to be angry with someone rushing to get in a fight. “Pull up here,” he ordered instead. The two cars arrived in a minute; the last braked in a skid of dust and soil. Eddie sniffed audibly at the rough technique.

  “We’ll go on together,” shouted Lang. “Not so fast!”

  The group had covered perhaps another mile, driving in close order but avoiding one another’s dust, when they came over a rise and saw the oncoming tripods four miles off – all three of them, and closed up in a bunch. If they’d come to scavenge rails, they weren’t looking for that any more.

  “Damn it,” said Burnham. “They saw our tracks! They knew those weren’t there on their last visit!” He racked the bolt on the cal fifty, unasked.

  Lang cursed his own curiosity. Might make us the cat... First let’s be a mouse. He called out to the other cars. “Open out when I wave! We’ll outrun them through the west arroyos and try to buy some time! But we’ll have to sting them first, make sure they keep coming! Don’t waste ammo, but if you think another car’s in trouble, knock on that thing’s tin can and get their attention!”

  The other crews waved acknowledgment.

  “Eddie, I’ll give you routes, but if for whatever reason I can’t, then don’t get within a mile of one of those bastards.”

  “Got it, Cap.”

  “If a heat ray gets onto us, try and shield your eyes.”

  “Ah,” said Burnham. “That reminds me.” He tugged out a small metal strip with a fabric strap attached to its ends and passed it to Lang. “This may be useful. It’s adapted from goggles the Eskimos use against sun glare.”

  There was a narrow slot in the metal. “How –”

  “Just look downward if a beam passes by. Here, Mr. Painewick, I brought several of them. And, Mr. Lang, you may wish to roll down your sleeves.”

  They each donned them, Eddie steering with his knees as he did so. When he finished, he looked at the others and snickered. “We look like damn fools.”

  “Better than blind ones. As long as you can drive.” Lang cocked his head; the world was reduced to a narrow dark-edged slot, but he could see well enough, and the sky sure didn’t interest him right now.

  Two miles. The closing speed was remarkable, between the cars’ dusty rumble and the purposeful stride of the tripods. Lang marked an arroyo two hundred yards ahead, swallowed in a dusty throat, stood up, and waved.

  The vehicles drifted apart in their directions; two opened out to the east – did they figure they could navigate the floodplain? – and the third stayed fifty yards away from the Peerless. Just about a mile now. “Left, Eddie!”

  They swerved left just as the first heat ray opened up. It missed, then swung back to track them. Lang’s right side burned for a moment; he did not look around, but he watched the oncoming arroyo mouth. He smelled burning paint; the car’s ride suddenly roughened a little. Tires melting? Then the noise and heat stopped. He risked a glance back; they’d opened the distance slightly. One tripod still pursued them; the other two were turning south again. “Try the fifty on them, Burnham!”

  The gun hammered earsplittingly above his head. He looked again; it was hard to tell if any rounds were hitting, and they wouldn’t do much at that range anyway, but it was getting the Martians’ attention and that was what mattered. More fire arced in from the right as the other twin-barreled car joined in. If it gets them mad enough to draw ’em after us—

  All three came after them. Great. Burnham was firing short bursts, with pauses to cool the barrel. He did know his stuff... They drove around the arroyo’s first curve and the rising bank cut off the Martians.

  “Hold up, Eddie!” They braked. The other car joined them in moments, the crew wild-eyed but unhurt. “Back up til you see ’em, stop, and hit them again,” he shouted, “then go on to the next bend!”

  The commander nodded; both cars reversed in a spray of dirt. Two tripods came into view. “Stop, Eddie!” Painewick braked and shifted, ready to accelerate forward. “Fire!”

  Burnham opened up again. More than a mile was difficult shooting on a moving target, but he looked to be scoring hits from their stationary position. It would take a box’s worth to chew through that Martian armor even point-blank, though. One second, two...

  “Go!” yelled Lang an instant before the heat ray hit them again. Burnham grunted and dropped into the seats. They peeled around the bend, shaking off the beams in moments, and headed for the next one. Lang grabbed Burnham’s shoulder, but he shook off the hand.

  “I’m all right,” he said. “Just a bad sunburn. Had worse in South Africa – but it took much longer there!”

  At the next bend they repeated the maneuver: draw them on, pop out and shoot, duck away. They’d still escaped serious damage, although Burnham’s face and neck were indeed turning an angry red as he dragged out a fresh box of ammo and attached it to the gun. Lang doubted it would work a third time, though. If I were them, I’d be tired of this game
already. I’d go for high ground and pot-shoot us. If they get within fifteen hundred yards, they can kill us in seconds.

  He lifted off the goggles, scanned the ground ahead, and matched it in his head with the map. “Go in there, Eddie!” He pointed. They drifted right across the arroyo floor and approached the new gap.

  “They’re close behind!” shouted Burnham and opened fire. Lang looked back; the two tripods had crested the ridge. He whipped around, remembering to pull on his goggles, as the Martians returned fire. Burnham continued with short bursts as they pulled away. If the scout cars had driven along the existing curve, they’d have been within that deadly mile’s distance. One disabled car or incapacitated crew and that’d be it...

  They dropped into a deeper gully and broke contact again. Rocks chunked under the tires and the ride grew rough. “Follow this around to the south,” said Lang, his voice shuddering with the jolts, “and then climb up on the ridgeline!”

  Burnham fell into the seat beside him. His clothes and hat smelled of burned cotton, but he grinned at Lang under the metal goggles, flaking burned skin from his cheeks. “Clever folk, the Eskimos. I hit the closer one several times... Don’t think I hurt it much, though.”

  “We’re not tooled up proper for that... Here, Eddie! Go right!” They climbed the slope in a low gear, tires slipping at times, and reached the top. The two tripods seemed to glare at them from two ridgelines away.

  “Oh, do come out and play,” crooned Burnham.

  As if they’d heard him, the Martians started directly toward the two cars.

  Lang had a feel for the game now. The cat-and-mouse continued for a quarter hour, drawing the tripods further west and south, but eventually the Martians appeared to give up – and there was a limit as to how close Lang would drive to a potential ambush when he hadn’t sight of them. He waved over the other car. “We’ll drive straight to the train now. It’s been nearly half an hour; they ought to be about ready to move out when we get there.”

  “I could do the same myself!” called back the commander. His gunner was laid out across the seats; he stood at the twin mount himself. They headed directly cross-country but stayed low beside the ridgelines, not on top where they might draw the Martians on that they’d spent so much risk to draw off.

  No tripods appeared behind them, but they had to be out there, and probably coming on. Just before the cars reached the overlook of the train’s position, Lang spotted one scout car parked below it. He directed Eddie to pull up beside the other vehicle, noting as they did that, half its paint was burned off. Do we look like that?

  “There’s one of ’em down there!” said Hobbs, the car’s commander. Lang gestured to him and jumped down. They climbed up the slope and crouched the last few steps. The train was already gone.

  “Where’s Car Two-One?” asked Lang.

  “Bill got stuck in the floodplain,” said Hobbs. “That damn thing just walked up to them and roasted them. Nothing left. I kept trying to draw it off westward, but it wouldn’t have it! So I went up here. The tanks crippled it, just like the major said, but it got both of them, and it’s still ’live!”

  Lang lifted his binoculars. The train was already a mile south and picking up speed. He doubted the two mobile tripods behind him could catch it now... A fresh Mk II tank wreck directly below, and less than a mile north from it, a tripod sprawled on its shattered limbs close beside another wrecked tank, still firing its heat ray at the receding train. We’ll have to swing south and—

  Human figures moved on the near side of the wreck. “Survivors, Hobbs?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been trying to figure a way to grab ’em, but it’s awful close.”

  “Might do it with three,” mused Lang. “Let’s go back.” They shifted back to the three cars; Lang studied them for a few moments. “Right. Two cars to cover, one to drive down there. Eddie and I will pick up the crew. Burnham, take our fifty and shift it to Two-Two, they’ve got an extra pintle. That’ll give four guns. Spread out below the ridgeline, and when I drive over it, pop up and start hitting that bastard; then duck back if it starts hitting you... Eddie, go on up and have a good look. That’s quite a slope – let me know if you can drive it.”

  While the crews unshipped the gun and lugged it to the other car, Painewick squirmed to the top and spent some time there. He came back grinning. “Cap, anyone ever rolled a Priceless Peerless before?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “We might be the first. But I don’t think so. I’ll try it.”

  “Well, then. Ready, everyone?” They acknowledged, got in, and drove off, the two cars separating by a couple hundred yards and moving into their cover positions. Lang climbed in next to Eddie, leaving the rear seat open. He gripped the seat’s flange tightly with one hand, the door break with the other, and looked over at his goggled driver. We still look like fools. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Painewick revved the motor, shifted, and clutched in smoothly. They trundled up the slope, gaining speed – a lot of speed. Lang yelped involuntarily as the Peerless pitched over the ridgeline, back wheels catching air as the front tires crunched into the slope. They drifted for a horrible moment, Eddie countersteering expertly, and angled down the slope, accelerating to what seemed like fifty miles per hour. Gunfire sounded from the ridgeline, blurry with overlap from four weapons; Lang did not look away from the wrecked tank. Heat washed over him, searingly strong; he flinched, then it cut off as the tripod shifted fire to the stinging hornets on the crest. Eddie dodged a boulder in neat sweeps and sped up further. In the midst of the hammering, wind-rushing ride, Lang realized he’d never traveled this fast in his entire life. The tank loomed ahead; Eddie barely slowed, aiming to skim past it. The crew shrank back from the oncoming machine. Lang couldn’t blame them. Eddie still wasn’t slowing much. A hundred feet, fifty—

  The heat ray blasted them from the flank. Glass shattered in the left driving lamp, the sound lost in the ray’s shriek. Lang flinched down, head behind his arms. The Peerless caught fire – and skidded into the lee of the wrecked tank, banging Lang hard into the dash. The heat ray raved above them for a moment longer, prickling Lang’s scalp, then swung away as the covering fire opened up again.

  “Get in!” yelled Lang, but the tankers were already scrambling aboard. He beat at the side panel with his sleeve – which was also in flames. Oh, hell. He tumbled out, rolled in the dirt, beat at his left leg until it went out. There were burns under the cloth; how bad he couldn’t tell yet. He twisted upright. “Eddie!”

  “I’m all right, Cap!” One of the tankers had thrown his jacket over Painewick and snuffed the clothing. “I looked down, just like Mr. Burnham said, and I had my arm over my face that last bit. Just braking, no shifting. Damned if them goggles didn’t work!”

  “Going to keep them, are you?” said Lang as he climbed into the now-crowded vehicle, favoring the burned leg.

  “Oh, hell, no. I’ll sell ’em. I can always make another pair. Maybe a lot of pairs...”

  “Just goddamn drive. And keep that wreck directly behind us as long as you can. We’ll all meet up two miles south and then catch up to that train.” He twisted around, hissing at the blossoming pain; but he was alive. “Welcome aboard, gentlemen.”

  “Damn glad to see you,” said the tank commander as they moved off, the left tires thumping rythmically– chunks had melted out of them. In a few moments, they left the wreck’s cover, and Eddie floored it. Everyone clung for dear life and flattened into the seats, but no fire stabbed after them. “We only had twenty rounds – no point in more, huh? – and shot all of them off while it was killing poor Tommy’s beast. Figured we’d at least try to bail out, but then we had nowhere to go that it couldn’t burn us before we got anywhere. I’m buying you both a steak dinner tomorrow and that’s for sure!” He squinted at Lang.

  “You boys kinda look like Martians yourselves!”

  * * * * *

  Cycle 597,844.9, Holdfast 31.1, Zacatecas, Central Mexico />
  The chime beside the door aperture pealed twice, giving permission to enter. Taldarnilis advanced its travel chair through the opening, skittered it in a formal bow, and addressed Vantarsilas while keeping its eyes lowered. “Greetings, Group Leader.”

  “Greetings. You may look up... Do you know that the chime is a different sound in this thick air than on the Homeworld?” said Vantarsilas. It stirred in its sling, motioning welcome.

  “Interesting. I had no idea.”

  “It sounds somehow wrong to me, yet not to you. Perhaps there is no right or wrong sound at all. I have contemplated on this a great deal in the last tenthcycle, since our betrayal by the Guljarnai Clan. I understand that several of the Threeborn which you represent have been contemplating on this as well.”

  The group leader’s den could have held five of the Race comfortably. Its curving walls were glazed in a continuous sweep of color ranging from orange down into infrared, with white overhead. Taldarnilis understood this to represent the Homeworld’s surroundings. Those originating there often reported functioning more efficiently when placed in such an environment.

  “I agree,” said Taldarnilis, sensing the concept that Vantarsilas had delicately placed before it. “As with many practices or actions, the methods laid down in the Race’s genes and established practices – while they are justly revered – sometimes cannot apply on this world. The practices of detecting and mining energetic elements such as 90 and 92, for example. The planetary structures, composition, and processes on this world – and in this region – are different enough that our mining efforts have not succeeded to date, and with so many of our heavy manufactory and transport units diverted south, they have no possibility of success in the time remaining before our supply of element 92 runs out. Therefore, I have consulted with Raqtinoctil and Arctilantar, our most... original... of thinkers upon this.” Taldarnilis brushed a tendril over the chair’s control bar to reassure itself that its compatriots were in neural link. Braced by their support, it continued. “They drew analogies between the salt flows on slopes on the Homeworld and the way in which large quantities of water on this world can carry dissolved elements over great distances. The water also cuts deep channels; thus, flows from a large area may be concentrated into a single channel. And all channels eventually proceed to the far larger, heavily salted water bodies. So it should be possible for machines equipped with detection gear to seek out such watercourses and determine if any traces of energetic elements appear in them.”