“That’s me.”
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Mexican Ambassador to the United States of America, Enrique Creel. Your reputation precedes you, General.” Lang looked sharply at him, but he didn’t seem sarcastic. There had been criticism after Albuquerque from people with no right to open their mouths about it...
Funston returned Creel’s bow. “Are you here for the music, Ambassador?”
“Yes. The Philharmonic is remarkable. I have traveled to New York to patronize them a few times.” Creel edged them all aside from the crowd’s flow without visible effort. “General, may I speak to you as one music patron – as one man – to another?”
“Very well.”
“I have heard of your tremendous energy in defending Texas – and I admire it. All men must fight these dreadful invaders. However, there may come a time when a military situation arises that you may judge requires you to move forces across the border into Mexico. And we both know there are certain men now residing in San Antonio and Laredo who might take action of their own. These are delicate matters. The... lines of communication between your governor’s office, your military command, and my own office may need to be strengthened, so that we may work as one. Perhaps your aide,” he nodded to Lang, “and my junior secretary might strike up a correspondence? I would not trouble you yourself, General; you must have many duties.”
“So does he,” said Funston neutrally, “but we’ll consider it.”
“Excellent! It will be a relief to me to know this. I have family in Chihuahua province, you know – the Terranzas. Their safety, and that of their many properties there – and their American counterparts; we work together as one – concern me at all times. And I may say that even President Diaz himself would welcome another protector, a military protector, into the fold of our prosperity.”
“Well, thank you, Ambassador. That’s interesting.”
Creel beamed. “So I’d hoped. Good evening, gentlemen.” He merged with the crowd.
Funston glanced at Lang. “I think that was the slickest bribe I’ve ever heard. Agreed?”
“Oh, yes. What happens when we don’t take it?”
“That will be interesting. Although I suspect they will have their hands full in the south for some time.” Funston smiled wistfully. “Willard, you do have a peculiar opportunity here. I could let you confer with these men – I trust you not to jeopardize any of our own war effort or shirk your duties – and it would be a remarkable connection for you if you do become a lawyer some day. Movers and shakers abound here in Washington. I don’t see you as a career Army man, and that’s fine. But you might do better than just practicing law in North Texas.”
Lang shook his head. “No, thank you, sir. It’s true, I don’t wish to have your job...” I couldn’t sleep with your job. How do you? “But I'll stick with mine, and with Texas. If that means that prosecuting claim jumpers is the peak of my career after – after the Army, well, I’ll be happy to be alive and free.”
“Good fellow. Still, the ambassador does have a point. If we confine our efforts to simply protecting what’s within our own borders, whether state or national, and wait for the Martians to attack us...” Funston’s face darkened. “Are you familiar with Napoleon’s maxim on defensive war?”
“No, sir.”
“The inevitable conclusion of a defensive war is surrender.”
* * * * *
Their last task in Washington was to call on Harry Ward, the owner of the Ward Leonard Electric Company, one of the few contacts that Governor Colquitt had been able to make within the federal effort to exploit Martian technology. They located a hastily constructed set of buildings on the eastern outskirts of the city; the cab dropped them off in front of a clapboard office. Lang considered the horse-drawn vehicle clopping away down the dirt road and wondered at the task of prying out secrets from machines that had crossed from another planet. Well, dammit, if they can learn to do something, we can. Texas needed its own weapon industries – new ones, if the old ones couldn’t be supported – and they’d have to accomplish in months what might normally take years...
They found Harry Ward inside by a drafting table; he brightened when they approached and tossed aside a metal triangle. “You must be General Funston!”
“Yes, and this is my aide, Lang.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m glad we could catch you here,” said Funston.
“Sure do meet more people in Washington. I’m usually back at the main company offices in Bronxville, the town in New York that nobody’s heard of. What can I do for you?”
“The governor was wondering if you’d had a chance to consider his offer to come work for us in Texas.”
“Ah.” Ward leaned back against the table and crossed his arms. “You see, I have been giving it some thought. Problem is, I can’t leave my company right now. We’ve been called in to work for Edison’s team on the coil hysteresis problem.” At Lang’s puzzlement, he added, “The way the Martian power cells store electricity. Normally, when you stop charging a coil, the charge persists for a while. But with the Martian coils, it depends on whether the lengths of wire that had been adjacent in the original winding are still together or not. If they’re not, they behave differently – but that shouldn’t happen. We don’t know why it does yet.”
“Mr. Ward, we really need your help.”
“I appreciate that. Now, I did mention the idea to an old friend I’ve worked with in the past, Granville Woods. He’s about my age –” Ward looked to be in his fifties – “but not in the best of health, frankly. He came out to work with Edison last year, sort of coming out of retirement, but he had a stroke. Pretty bad one. At least we got him to a hospital right away. If he’d been alone in that New York City apartment of his, I don’t want to think... Anyway, he’s made something of a recovery, but there’s no place for him upstate any more since Edison replaced him. He’s here in the Washington plant, pitching in where he can, and I’d truly like to see him in a dryer climate. I think it’d do him good – not to mention his doing some real work again. He’s being overlooked.”
“What work has he done before?” asked Lang.
“Electrical engineering, same as me. But Granville – well, he figured out how to push a telephone signal over a telegraph wire... from a moving train. No one thought that was possible until he did it. If you’re trying for an angle on some Martian machinery, he ought to have a good chance to figure one.”
Funston considered this. “Do you think he’d be willing to go?”
“I talked to him this morning. He’d be happy to take my place. In fact, he can leave today.”
“Well, Mr. Ward, we’re kind of getting used to making do. If you’re vouching for him, that’s fine. Why don’t we go over to meet him and set up an arrangement? I’m sure we could find another ticket for him on our train back. There’s room in our compartment. If he’s ready to leave, no sense wasting time.”
“Ah,” said Ward. “Right. Ah, Granville won’t be able to ride with you. He’s colored.”
Chapter 6
October 1911, Tampico, Mexico
Henri Gamelin could not sleep.
That was unusual for him. He’d shrugged off the disjointing transfer from naval liaison in Veracruz to this assignment of first lieutenant of the gunboat Velocite – an amusing name for a shallow-draft gun platform that could just manage eleven knots. But the warm tropical nights reminded him of his time on the Mekong River. Too often, as now, he found himself topside at the small hours; and, as now, thinking of a certain girl in Saigon he’d left behind three months ago. The argument had been ferocious – and pointless. Could a lieutenant marry? Of course not. It was only a thing for the moment. But there was always another side to any affair between citizens of the colonizing power and the possession. Perhaps it was only about possession to begin with...
The night was utterly black; the shore twenty yards away almost invisible, only a hint of the mass of trees a
djoining the river. The soft slop of water and scent of vegetation were more definite. Velocite was moored five miles west of Tampico’s town and port, part of the inland defensive lines that linked together several miles-wide lakes and lagoons surrounding the port – those, perhaps, the only impenetrable defense against Martian tripods. Soldiers of II Corps’ 22nd Division manned the three miles of scrub and grassland to Henri’s left. To the right and north of the river, the 12th was interspersed among the lagoons and swamplands. It was unhealthy country; disease might kill more men than any Martian attack if they stayed for years.
At Tampico port, a few old British warships cluttered the river mouth. Velocite, though, was the only French vessel at the moment, and she was attached to the 22nd division in a peculiar arrangement; a dangerous liaison as their ‘riverine component’. As General Mangin had said, the French Navy must tread carefully in Tampico. President Diaz chose his allies carefully and often pitted them against one another, lest one grow too powerful; and while the French defended Veracruz alone, and manned Tampico’s inland defenses, the British were permitted to protect their oil interests in Tampico itself.
Henri paced slowly past the lookout and murmured a greeting. Velocite herself never slept. Others might trust in the western mountains to protect them, but Capitane de corvette Auphan kept his ship vigilant. Both of the 100mm guns, bow and stern, were manned at all times. It meant grumbling from a small crew, but Henri and his fellow lieutenant, Charest, dealt with that. Three weeks of discipline and organization aboard a moored ship; he was accepted, but not challenged. Given long enough, as the British said, they might run aground on their own empty food tins...
A red flare soared upward in the northwest. For a moment, something taller than a building loomed in the red glow, like a ship’s tripod mast that walked on land. Henri spun and rushed past the gaping lookout, threw open the bridge door and shouted. “Sound the general alarm!”
The alarm squalled through the gunboat, and Velocite woke to battle.
Cycle 597,844.9, Coastal Region, Mexico
“Commander! We have contacted the prey!”
Taldarnilis noted the report just as an illumination device spiked the night. Minor fortifications and projectile-throwers were visible a telequel ahead, well out of the prey’s range of sight in darkness, but a hidden group of prey must have observed their passage even so.
The expedition had been timed for the minimum illumination of this world’s enormous moon, which the prey were considered capable of seeing by. That had allowed them to probe stealthily as they approached the shoreline, avoiding the large bodies of water in their path and two defensive concentrations of prey, visible by enhanced starlight. The map was growing more complete as they worked southward, but now Taldarnilis faced an uncalculatable choice. Withdraw and probe again further south, hoping for a more open route but with the prey now alerted? Or follow the twisting riverbank? There was a smoothed track visible there which often linked the prey’s habitation centers, implying a good route with no risk of a tripod bogging. But the prey’s most dangerous war machines floated on water. A small one floated nearby; more, and larger, might be ahead.
We are not here to destroy – not yet. Taldarnilis activated all channels. “Follow the south river bank to the coast. Move at best speed. Conserve energy, fire only if attacked and do not stop.”
Acknowledgments buzzed in return. Taldarnilis set its machine in rapid stride, closing on the river. Concussions sounded from the prey’s lines, but it was a crossing target. The craft ahead posed greater threat; its weapon emplacements were turning. Taldarnilis targeted it and opened fire.
October 1911, Tampico, Mexico
Henri’s duty station was the aft 100mm gun. He jumped from the bridge ladder’s last step, turned, and began to run aft. He’d gone three strides when a heat ray shrieked out of the night and lanced into the gunshield. White-hot metal lit the deck, throwing stark shadows as the beam sawed sideways. Behind him, the forward gun fired in a flat bang, jolting the deck. Henri ran on, throwing an arm across his face; then the ready-use ammunition in the mount exploded.
The world shut off for an unknown time, resolved slowly into a stench of smoke and flickering illumination. Henri became aware that he was crumpled in the lee of the port boat davits. Empty ropes dangled across him. His body would not obey him yet. Looking out over the side, head resting on the deck, he could see stuttering gun flashes that made no sound. A tripod loomed over them, strobed by them, striding east smoothly, rapidly. In moments, it was gone from sight. It had killed his ship without breaking stride –
No! Henri pushed himself up from the deck, staggered to his feet. The aft gun mount was gone, the deck and hull torn asunder. Fires blazed in several spots, spreading, deadly. A wild-eyed crewman stumbled past; Henri grabbed his arm and jerked him to a stop. “Come on!” he shouted, his own voice tinny in his ears. “The number-two hose pump!”
He half-dragged the man to the pump station. The hoses seemed untorn; between the two men, they started the pump, wrestled the bulging hose aftward, and played the jet over the fires. The crewman – Joile, that was his name – seemed to gain composure as he worked; another joined them unasked.
Henri shouted in Joile’s ear, “Keep this up as long as you see anything burning!” He clapped Joile on the shoulder, staggered forward to the bridge deck ladder, and clambered up.
All seemed strangely intact here. Captain Auphan nodded to him from where he bent over the voicepipes. Henri walked forward and looked over the foc’s’le. The forward gun was wrecked, the half-melted barrel lying on the forepeak. Less damage to the hull from the explosion, but then, they’d fired off at least one shell... He remembered his duty and turned. “Damage report, Captain. Aft gun destroyed. Fires on aft deck, fire party is in action.”
“It is the same forward,” said Auphan. He looked haggard but calm. “The enemy has moved off east. I’ve ordered steam up, and the engine seems intact, but we are flooding both fore and aft. Lieutenant Charest and five men killed forward. Fires there nearly out. We are out of action, my friend.”
“But not sunk. Permission to form a work party to repair the leaks?”
“Granted. Clearly they are moving toward Tampico as fast as they can. I do not know what we can do there, but we must go!”
Henri set off, mentally ordering tools and materials.
Cycle 597,844.9, Coastal Region, Mexico
Taldarnilis’ fighting machine continued eastward at maximum speed beside the riverbank. The enhancement of its display panel also flattened the landscape somewhat, but it had learned to allow for that, and its stride was true to the ground’s visible solid areas. They had broken contact and nothing could follow them! The other nine machines followed, although they had drawn apart as some struggled with the terrain.
Ahead, the skyglow of a prey habitation was drawing closer. Taldarnilis slowed its pace and opened a channel.
“Raqtinoctil, consolidate your group. Northern group, consolidate upon me.” After a short time, the various machines drew together in two groups. “There will be many prey nearby when we reach the shoreline. Again, do not spend energy on attacks unless you are threatened. Raqtinoctil, when you return, I recommend you avoid this area by several telequel and find a new route back to the holdfast. I will do the same.”
“Understood, Commander.”
Taldarnilis disengaged and focused on steady movement. The river widened steadily as it curved from side to side. A habitation center appeared to the north side of it, speckled with lights. Floating machines in the river offered no threat as yet – but there, one large one mounted weapons. A tendril of light stabbed out from its upper area, brilliant in the enhanced view. Taldarnilis flicked its heat ray over it and silenced it. Onward! Concussions boomed out. A projectile rang stunningly on its machine’s armor; it lurched and pressed on. Had it chosen correctly? More of the armed machines were visible now. Enough of this fire could cripple and destroy their machines... The river swu
ng left, and ahead Taldarnilis saw a vast open body of water. We have arrived! The two groups approached the shoreline, projectiles exploding around them. They divided, Raqtinoctil’s group moving off south, fading into the darkness. Taldarnilis and the other two armed machines strode north, firing quick bursts along the floating machines. Another light-tendril was quickly snuffed out. The wide river mouth slowed their progress for a time; another machine staggered as it was hit, but then they were on solid ground again and leaving the concentration behind. The floating machines had not stirred yet.
“We have won free,” signaled Taldarnilis. “Proceed north one telequel, then machines Two, Five, and Six deploy detection apparatus. Let our work begin.”
October 1911, Tampico, Mexico
Dawn showed the port of Tampico buzzing with activity as Velocite drew up at dockside, low in the water, sluggish, but alive. Henri, exhausted from his night’s labors, supervised their mooring. Beside them, the Apollo-class cruiser HMS Brilliant towered over the battered gunboat; minor damage was visible in her upperworks.
“She has been in a fight, but not our sort of fight,” observed Captain Auphan when Henri reported back. “I feared those oil tanks downriver would be pyres by now. It’s strange; the monstres ran through without doing any real amount of damage. Clearly they were on their way to something.” His face darkened. “A pity they did not choose another route. Twelve dead, Henri. And she may never fight again.”
“She could be repaired. New guns. Underwater storage for the ammunition, we lift up only one round at a time...”
“Later, later.” Auphan studied him a moment. “Henri, I hate to ask it, but there is a message from shore demanding a liaison officer for the Navy. You are all we have in that regard. Could you...”
The Texas Front: Salient Page 9