The Texas Front: Salient

by Jonathan Cresswell

  As the prey advanced through the zone where Taldarnilis had ordered a simulated eradication, it tracked their motion with great attention. Indeed, the two large groups there were slowing relative to others. The prey had chosen to pass through the zone, and its use of clumsy protective measures – indicated by this lessened efficiency – could be factored into the exterior temperature. It estimated probabilities, and decided.

  “Groups Three, Four, and Two, advance at the center. Concentrate at this position. Apply wide beam rays to the vehicles there as a preliminary measure, then attack them at close range.”

  April 1912, IX Corps HQ, Alice, Texas

  At four o’clock in the afternoon, Funston ordered Lang outside for a break. He blinked in the brilliant sunshine, sat on an overturned shipping box, and closed his eyes. A hot day for April – he couldn’t help but think of what the tank crews were enduring. His own former outfit, the 304th, had been rebuilt from almost nothing after its losses at Albuquerque; but it was in VIII Corps, far away from this fighting. This wouldn’t be the only Martian offensive, though. They’d be bound to fight at some point.

  Lang seriously considered asking for a transfer back. It was strange to issue orders, hear reports, and try to form the ‘big picture’. At least in a tank, you could see what you were shooting at...

  The distant guns had become sporadic. Some of the smaller Mk I tank cannon were barely audible at this range. He listened for the deeper boom of the howitzers, but he heard none. He sighed, levered himself to his feet, and walked back inside the building.

  He knew immediately from Funston’s expression that something was wrong. “Sir, what is it?”

  “Cronkhite’s had heavy losses in the center of the advance. Some of the crews are collapsing from the heat. The Martians are cutting them down like grain. How could they know that would happen? They’re not human!”

  “Maybe they just got lucky.”

  “General,” said Prendergast hesitantly, “if we disengaged the 80th until dusk, it would cool off.”

  “No, Otto – a night battle’s no better for us. Signal the 83rd to move up. We’re committing the reserve.”

  Cycle 597,845.1, Minefast 31.01, South Texas

  “Commander, we are suffering very high losses,” signaled Arctilantar. “I propose we carry out the interdiction early. If –” Its communication broke off for a moment. “If we wait until darkness, it may be too late.”

  Taldarnilis checked its display for the updated total and clenched involuntarily at the controls. Eighteen machines lost. Almost half their force at the minefast. “I understand. Quernit! How much data have you collated from the drone pickups?”

  This was their last measure. While the fighting berms scattered across the prey’s line of advance had proved useful to shelter their fighting machines, their other purpose was to simply be heaps of dirt on the landscape that the prey would not suspect. Buried under several of them were drones, three per mound, with only vision pickups showing. The prey force had proceeded past them, continuing their advance, while the drones waited and watched. Four had been destroyed unknowingly by the prey’s projectiles, but twenty-three were online.

  There was a brief pause while Quernit, one of the three combatants remaining at the minefast, prepared its report. “I have identified eleven prime targets so far within view, Commander. Six unprepared assemblies of the projectile-throwers and five large collections of their projectiles, all two telequel or more behind the current zone of fighting.” Its tone was calm, unlike the members of the Race engaged in furious combat. “Do you wish me to activate the drones?”

  “Not yet. But –” Taldarnilis spotted two armored vehicles emerging from the smoke of a burning one. It targeted the nearer and fired on maximum intensity until the vehicle erupted in flame, then danced aside while its heat ray cooled. The second fired a projectile that clipped the armor of Taldarnilis’ machine and staggered it. It circled further to one side where the weapon would not bear, checked the ray temperature, and fired, destroying the vehicle before it could pivot. But there were nine more close behind that one. It gave ground rapidly, dodging more projectiles. The machine’s energy reserves were drawing down; even if it avoided destruction, another tenthday of combat would exhaust it, and they had no reactor to replenish energy from – even if they would have time to. “But stand by. Commander to Group Two! Withdraw one telequel! Prepare for drone interdiction!”

  Acknowledgments flooded in, some relieved in tone. Even the Race could not fight indefinitely without exhaustion, mental more than physical. The fighting continued; the remaining defenders fell back; the prey, unrelenting, pressed onward. Who indeed is the prey now? thought Taldarnilis; then it chided itself. One side in this battle must break, and it would not be the Race that did so. “Group Two, are you clear and able to operate the drones?”

  “Yes, Commander.” Group Two was the sole unit that had not suffered a loss as yet; three members could easily control the available drones.

  “Groups Three, Four, and One, attack across the entire area of contact. Do not retreat until the enemy force does. Group Two, carry out the interdiction!”

  Across the battlefield, well behind the advancing prey forces, twenty-three drones burst forth from their concealing dirt mounds. Taldarnilis echoed the image from two of them on its screens. Lurching and skittering, the viewpoints sped across the ground, passing the surprised prey, seeking out their planned targets. In moments, an assembly of the projectile-throwers appeared on one screen, ranked in unprepared rows. The drone passed down them, firing its small heat ray at their mechanisms without pausing to observe the results. Small prey weapons began firing toward it, but it made a difficult target of its own. As it swung around the end of the row, two of the projectile transports appeared ahead. It fired at one without effect for a moment; then the view jolted crazily, flipped over and over, and stopped. The drone lurched upright, then limped in another direction, still operational, although the sidebars indicated minor damage from the explosion.

  Taldarnilis checked the other screen. That drone was approaching a large group of prey and vehicles, including one of the rod transport cars. At the sight of heaped projectiles, Taldarnilis involuntarily gave a cry; although it did not hear, Quernit also saw the opportunity. The drone opened fire, closing, ignoring the spatter of small projectiles striking it. Its heat ray played upon the piled objects, but their metal casings refused to melt quickly enough. The drone collapsed to the ground as its limbs were disabled; part of the vision pickup went gray; still it fired. There was no sign of any effect–

  The pickup went dead.

  April 1912, IX Corps HQ, Alice, Texas

  The floor of the building trembled; Lang looked startled at Prendergast. Then they heard it: a jolting rumble that lasted for several seconds.

  “My God, that’s an ammo dump!” said Prendergast. “But they’re nowhere near the fighting...” He ran to the telegraph desk. Other explosions sounded in turn, lesser, but still far more than artillery fire.

  “What are those devils doing?” said Funston. Lang joined him as he ran outside. To the west, several columns of smoke towered over the lesser clouds that the battlefield had been shrouded in since that morning. They returned indoors silently.

  In a few minutes, he had his answer as a shaken Prendergast summarized several reports. “The 83rd was moving up through the supply area when they were attacked by small versions of the tripods. We’ve had reports of fifty, but I think those are exaggerated – maybe thirty. The ones that weren’t knocked out have fled. They went after artillery parks and ammo dumps. Serious losses near those – probably several hundred. I’m afraid the ammunition shortage for the engaged divisions is now critical.”

  “But where did they come from?” demanded Funston. “That whole area was taken by the 49th and 7th hours ago! No one reported anything like this. They can’t have been invisible!” He blinked. “Could they?”

  “I wouldn’t think so. They’d have used t
hat on larger machines, surely... Sir, those shells were meant for the line artillery. They’ll be using up their basic loads by now.”

  “Then send more up!”

  “That will take several more hours. It will be nightfall by then.”

  Beside Prendergast, another aide stepped forward. “General, there are fresh Martian attacks reported on both the 7th and 49th division fronts. Two of the 7th’s leading tank battalions have been destroyed, and the Martians are advancing into the gap.”

  “Well, why aren’t the infantry picking them off with those stovepipe rockets?! They’ve claimed enough knocked out already! They ought to be cutting them down!”

  “I believe most of the stovepipes have been expended, sir. There were quite a few tripods reported destroyed, but it seems the Martians have brought up fresh tripods to replace those. They may be committing a reserve.”

  “Damn it! How many more do they have in there? Did they slip more tripods in during some past night?” Funston was flushed and trembling with a familiar rage.

  “Sir...” Prendergast hesitated as Funston wheeled on him like a wolf at bay. “The 7th and 49th are cut to ribbons. The 83rd can move up, but they won’t get near the base before dark. The 80th can still advance, but their center has been taken out of the fight as well. And if their tanks do get to the base fortification, they won’t be able to fire over it or climb it.”

  “I know that, damn it! We have to get the howitzers up to there!”

  “Reports are coming in that some of the howitzers have been disabled by that surprise attack, and the shells still have to be brought up from the rear. Sir...”

  Lang saw a telegraphist twist round in his chair; he went over and took the slip. He read it, swallowed a sudden, bitter taste, and rejoined Funston.

  “General... Elements of the 7th are retreating. They’re falling back through the 80th and not stopping. General Halverston sends that the 49th is unable to advance beyond current positions.”

  Prendergast added, “General Cronkhite signals that he is willing to advance, but he only has two intact tank battalions left and about half the 315th. He estimates twenty-five tripods remaining in action. He says he may be able to reach the base wall, but he will have to expend the whole division to do so. He requests–”

  Funston chopped a hand at Prendergast. “Enough.” He walked to the map table and leaned on it. No one in the room spoke for several minutes; the telegraphs chattered; the distant guns boomed.

  General Funston straightened from the map and turned. His face was pale and set. “Otto. Pull them out. Tell Cronkhite to hold his positions to cover the 49th and 7th as they withdraw to the railhead. The 83rd will take over and dig in. Then Cronkhite can fall back into their positions and emplace his tanks defensively. We are not giving up ground that we’ve won so far.”

  The room sprang to activity. Funston shuffled over to Lang.

  “I won’t throw men away,” he said quietly. “But we’ve hurt them. We’ll reinforce, evacuate the wounded, bring in more ammunition... and keep fighting. We’ll have to create a sort of siege, I suppose.” He grimaced; Lang too recalled the siege at Gallup and how that turned out. “Dig in and move up, mile by mile... But if those cursed small machines can appear so quickly, we may need the 1st Texas Home Guard after all.”

  Lang nodded. “Every depot, every railhead, headquarters... they’ll all have to be protected.”

  “We were so damned close.”

  Chapter 14

  Cycle 597,845.1, Minefast 31.01, South Texas

  Taldarnilis surveyed the final reports and data from the previous day’s battle. Nineteen fighting machines destroyed, sixteen pilots lost. Twenty-two drones expended. The damage they had inflicted upon the prey forces was impressive, and perhaps the Conclave would consider it all a useful service to the Race; but fresh prey would soon be approaching. There were millions of them within this region and only twenty remaining within the minefast. The odds had not improved.

  One damaged machine had crawled back over the course of the entire night. Unfortunately, the occupant died shortly afterward, but at least the machine’s power cells could be salvaged. A few other wrecked machines’ cells had been scavenged as well, but the prey occupied the majority of the battlefield and no more of the Race could be risked doing so.

  There was no time to lose. Taldarnilis made contact with the main holdfast.

  “These losses are very high,” said Group Leader Vantarsilas once Taldarnilis had summarized the data. “Very high. This expedition should never have occurred.”

  “There were no alternatives, Group Leader.”

  “No, I suppose not. This wretched planet is against us at every tendril’s tip. Still, you have prevailed in the battle? The mine is safe?”

  “We have merely gained time. I propose to use it by advancing the first transport of compound 92-12 to two days from now. The transport cars are partially filled, and the return trip can bring fresh power cells–”

  “You would drain more resources from the holdfast, Taldarnilis?”

  “Nearly all the machines that had closely engaged the prey are down to one-seventh charge. The supply of spare cells here has been used. We must take advantage of this opportunity while the prey are recovering their strength. Additionally, the next engagement will take place closer to the minefast. I request the transfer of eight defense towers from Holdfast 31.1.”

  “That is – that is – Those are needed here!”

  “There is no known significant prey force within three hundred telequel of Holdfast 31.1, Group Leader. If we can hold the mine against attack for another five tendays, we can finish our work. Even merely sighting the towers may deter the prey until they have made additional preparations – which will take them still more time.”

  “But without a holdfast reactor, the towers have no energy supply.”

  “They can be fitted with power cells. Their expected period of function in a battle will be short in any case.”

  “And they will be retrieved afterward?”

  Taldarnilis chose its terms with care. “There should be several still functional even after a close engagement. They will not be wasted... Group Leader, has the Conclave issued any statement regarding our presence in this region?”

  “Several,” said Vantarsilas glumly. “They are ill pleased by it. But as you pointed out, they have little action left to discipline us with. I believe we are being regarded as a rogue clan and not included in central planning efforts.”

  “If you were to provide my report to them, it may help. I believe that for our numbers, we have inflicted a major defeat on the prey in this region. We know they have few forces along River 3-12 capable of facing us in another battle of this scale. It is probable that they will draw other forces here that currently face Group 32. That may be of interest.”

  “Indeed, indeed. This is a terrible gamble, Taldarnilis.”

  “I believe that one does not conquer a planet without risk.”

  “Was one not sufficient for us? I wonder... But I will consider detaching the defensive towers. Proceed with your transport of the energetic compound. Group Leader out.”

  Taldarnilis began planning immediately. Fresh defenses must be prepared. The goodprey must prepare the rod-transport unit for use. The single mind-adjusted goodprey would need to be instructed... It began issuing orders.

  April 1912, IX Corps HQ, Alice, Texas

  “Captain Lang?” asked the man in the gray suit.

  “Yeah, that’s me.” Lang laid down his pen. The ledgers and order books piled across his desk nearly smothered it; the process of rebuilding two wrecked divisions was a massive one. And he’d barely started...

  “Daniel Mulder, Bureau of Investigation. We’ve got a special train moving back from the railhead, but there’s too much other traffic blocking us. I need you to get things moving.”

  Lang cocked his head. “I’m a pretty small man to be picking up locomotives.”

  “You have General
Funston’s personal authority, don’t you?”

  “For carrying out General Funston’s orders, yes. And he figures that our trains carrying wounded or ammunition are also special.”

  “This is federal business, Captain. Very important. We have three boxcars of Martian salvage to get back to Washington so the eggheads there can pick it apart. You wouldn’t want to interfere with the war effort, now would you?”

  “Well, now. That’s different.” Lang fiddled with his ledgers as he got up, not wanting the Fed to see the gleam in his eye. “Lay on, Macduff.”

  “It’s Mulder.” The man led him outside to a Model T Ford; they mounted up and spluttered their way through the crowded base. Mulder was taciturn; that suited Lang, who was thinking furiously. He’d need help. He kept scanning the troops and vehicles around him as they drove; tanks, ARVs, trucks of all sizes, and there, a tan-painted touring car–

  “Hold up here!”

  Mulder braked. “What’s up?”

  “I need to talk to my... railroad adjutant clerk. He’s over there. Just wait a minute...” Lang jumped out and trotted over to the Peerless. Eddie was stretched out in the back seat, snoring loudly enough to be heard over the throng.

  “Sleeping on duty!” yelled Lang. Eddie convulsed upright. “That’s two weeks in the stockade, Private!”

  “Oh, jeez. Good to see you, Cap.”

  “You too, Eddie.” They shook hands; Eddie climbed out, unfolding his lanky height. “Look, Funston wants us to grab some of that Martian power cell wire. That guy in the Ford? No, don’t look around. He’s trying to move a trainload of it out of here. If I can keep him busy, can you get into one of the cars and, um...”