The Texas Front: Salient

by Jonathan Cresswell

  “I cannot argue with that. Are you with IX Corps?”

  “Not really.” Mitchell scowled. “They kicked me out of Washington when I became a nuisance and sent me out here. Then I was assigned to the 1st Texas Guard Division – that’s what we call the National Guard, they sort of play at being soldiers on weekends. You can imagine how many aircraft they have. I even tried hiring a private pilot to fly reconnaissance, but the poor fellow crashed on me. Hutchings – Brigadier-General Hutchings, in charge of the 1st Guard – he says aircraft are playthings. Well, perhaps he’s right, but that’s all we have right now! He thinks that if it cannot wear a Stetson, it can’t scout. But by God, with this big offensive about to kick off, I could show them a real bit of scouting. And perhaps that’s all I need to get people to listen.”

  “It can be difficult when you do not have anything to show them.”

  “Well, not yet. They’ve written me off in Washington, but I’ve been speaking to manufacturers here in Texas that could build aircraft – well, most of an aircraft – if they only had the budget to get started! And they like things big in Texas, so it could be my natural habitat. Even if they can only build a handful of bombers, perhaps Washington will follow suit. But it’s been very difficult thus far.”

  Henri considered this. “Do you have any aircraft available right now?”

  “A couple of Curtiss trainers. Two-seater deathtraps, but if you’re careful, you can get some range out of them. But, trust me, once the shooting starts, no one bothers to pick up a little bit of paper with a report written on it.”

  “Ah. Regarding that, Colonel... The 118th bataillon frappant véhicule is joining this assault. Four of their – tanks – are equipped with spark radios. I believe they have one or two spares, which could be placed in...”

  Mitchell guided him into a corner. “You think they could fit in an aircraft?”

  “Just so.”

  “Well, it’s not a bomb load, but it’s a start! Show these Texans they’re wrong about air reconnaissance, and they might listen about air power. It’s infuriating, Gamelin. Why is there so much... inertia... when we’re fighting for our very existence?”

  “I understand, Colonel. I too have a project that is difficult to persuade people to recognize. Perhaps if we...” Henri spotted General Huerta entering the main area with the civilian beside him; they stopped to talk with a major, who seemed quite deferential to a mere civilian in the midst of this frenetic activity.

  Mitchell followed his gaze. “Well, well. Sherburne Hopkins. I’ve crossed paths with him in Washington a few times. He’s what we term the ‘fixer’ type – a political operative. While I was getting a cold shoulder, he got virtually everything he wanted... Now, Lieutenant Gamelin, we don’t have a lot of time. The offensive starts in a few days. Are you prepared to really do something?”

  “I am. I can introduce you to Colonel Estienne at once.”

  “Marvelous.” Mitchell grinned. “It’ll be revolutionary! And our revolutions always go better with a bit of French help.”

  July 1912, Hidalgo, Northern Mexico

  “Careful with that!” shouted Willard Lang. The two privates flinched but managed to control the swing of the wooden crate they had slung between them as they stepped across the road. “Set it down easy.”

  “They’re not really that delicate,” said the corporal accompanying them – Cooter Stimson, that was his name. “Sure, the valve set is, but the rockets just have solenoids in ’em.”

  “And a warhead with the kick of a five-inch shell. Let’s stick with careful.” Lang directed the shifting of the crate toward a growing pile. Fifteen miles northwest of Laredo, the village of Hidalgo on the Mexican side was going to be the LRSC’s staging area. A couple of boxcars’ worth of munitions and supplies had been laboriously ferried across the Grande. Neither Lang nor Funston was willing to risk the entire output of Texas’ production within an hour’s stroll for a Martian tripod. One thing at a time. First catch your rabbit...

  Outriders from the LRSC had arrived two hours previously from the south and were directing the rest of the unit to its encampment – and it seemed they’d brought friends. White-uniformed Mexican soldiers were riding alongside the LRSC cars and mounted soldiers with casual ease. Lang wasn’t sure about that, but he had more rockets than men at the moment.

  More vehicles of the LRSC drew up as the unloading finished. A couple of figures disembarked from one and approached him.

  Lang chivvied away the soldiers and saluted, recognizing the second man by description. “Major. Good day, General. I’m Captain Willard Lang, and I speak for General Funston.” He wasn’t absolutely sure that this Villa character was truly a general, but he’d heard the man had a temper.

  Daniel Plainview returned the salute; General Villa did not, but he inclined his head and said, “I admire General Funston as a fighting soldier, Captain. I am sure he has sent his best. You could say that I am simply a man looking for a good fight. Perhaps you can assist me.”

  “I’d be happy to... I have something for you, Major.” Lang fished in his shirt pocket, pulled out an envelope. He passed it to Plainview, who tore it open and froze.

  “There’s eighty-two Wichita rocket trucks parked back along this road,” said Lang. “General Funston and I figure they’ll need a full colonel to organize them.”

  Plainvew stared down at the silver eagles. “I... well, I’ll be damned.”

  “Congratulations,” said Villa. “On your promotion, not your spiritual condition.”

  Lang watched Plainview closely as he pinned on the eagles; his face was tight and closed as he absorbed the change, but his hands didn’t shake. “Alright,” he said bluntly. “You didn’t drag me here just to give me presents, Lang. What does General Funston want?”

  “We are going to attack Laredo, drive out the Martian garrison there, and secure the north railhead so that fresh rockets can be shipped in. Then we dig in, and we hold. The general will drive the Martians out of Hebbronville and straight into us; the Martians need that bridge to move their ore train south into Mexico. We’ll stop them. Or at least try to.”

  Plainview considered it for a moment. “The new trucks are fully loaded?”

  “Yes.”

  “Four hundred ninety-two rockets. That’s a helluva punch, but I don’t have trained crews to launch a quarter of that. Unless you supplied those?”

  Lang shook his head. “The drive from Dallas to here was all the experience they’ve got.”

  “Then we’ll have to create a cadre. Bulk out each platoon to company strength, team up the inexperienced men with my crews. On a two-mile frontage I can’t put all the trucks up on the line anyway...”

  “Pull back the empty trucks, swap the firing crew to a fresh truck, move it up, reload the empty one. We’ll need muscle for the reloading and guards with small arms in case any of those damned spiders are around. General, I have no idea of the legalities once we cross back into Texas, and frankly, I don’t care. Will your men take orders from Maj– Colonel Plainview and his officers?”

  Villa nodded. “They will fight with you. And I can provide drivers as well.” Lang glanced at him, surprised; he shrugged. “It is a revolutionary army. I have men from farms who have never sat in a motor car. I have townsmen who can drive them. A few, at least.”

  “There’s also a new weapon that your crews haven’t even seen yet, Colonel.” Lang gestured at the growing stack of crates. “They’ll go on the cars, not on the big trucks.”

  “What are they?” said Villa.

  “Rockets. Much like the ones you have used already, but these can be steered to a target.”

  Villa’s weathered face crinkled into a broad smile. “How interesting. What is their range?”

  “There’s a mile of wire, so not much more than that.”

  “Wire?”

  “Look,” snapped Plainview, “my scout cars aren’t to be used for transporting rockets.”

  “Ah, not transport,” said
Cooter. “Shoot.”

  Plainview leaned around Lang. “What did you say, Corporal?”

  “We intend to mount a launch rail on each car, ah, sir,” said Cooter. “And a spare rocket. We’re calling it the Coyote.”

  “Pop off two rockets? What good’s that when you need twenty for a hit? Lang, who is this pipsqueak? I know his face...”

  “My name is Cooter Stimson, and I work for the smartest man in Texas. Sir. Once they launch, the operator will guide the rocket to hit its target. One rocket... one hit.”

  Plainview swiveled to look at Lang, who nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ve seen it tested.”

  “Tested,” said Villa. “So no one has used this weapon in a fight yet.”

  “No, General.”

  “Well, if you can mount them on a car, it’s a damn sight better than a cal fifty,” said Plainview. “We can shift those onto some of the trucks. Get on it, Corporal.”

  “Uh, sir?”

  “Excuse me. Sergeant. Grab a uniform jacket from Philbin over there for the stripes and get what you need.”

  “Yessir.” Cooter dashed away.

  Plainview watched him absently. “Coyote. Eggheads, I’m telling you... Open ground east of Laredo. Too flat to risk the trucks on. That doesn’t give us much depth for a defense.”

  “Perhaps we can use a distraction,” said Villa. “Give them something else to shoot at during a critical moment. And certainly if they want that train to reach Monterrey, then I do not want to allow that.”

  “Just remember,” said Lang, “our goal is to sucker in the Martians and trap them between us and General Funston. We can’t destroy the ore train—or the bridge—too soon, or the Martians will just slip off in any direction they want. I have to assume the Martians will slip in a spider or two to check the bridge. They could spot any explosives we rig and they’re smart enough to abandon the effort. And if I tell off a few rocket trucks or scout cars to hit that train, it could mean one less tripod knocked out.”

  “Of course, Captain, I understand. My men will be very busy as well. But perhaps we can add something... new.”

  Plainview grinned. “I’m guessing you have a trick up your sleeve, General.”

  “Oh, yes. I propose to send a picked group back southward to the town of Cameron, along the rail line the diablos use. There are train yards there, and my scouts have reported a locomotive. They will bring it up to just south of the Rio Grande and prepare it. We call it the máquina loca... We will need a large amount of dynamite.”

  “We can ship that in once we’ve taken Laredo.” Plainview glanced at Lang, who was nonplussed. “It means ‘crazy machine’.”

  Chapter 16

  July 1912, West of Hebbronville, Texas

  Emmet Smith held up a palm; even in the gathering dusk, Painewick noticed and stopped the crowded car. “This is as far as you go, Eddie.” Emmet knew this patch of country well enough. He’d been tricked and captured only a couple miles further east.

  “Yeah. About that...”

  Burnham looked up from the pack he was fastening. “Mr. Painewick, the car is simply too conspicuous. Our only hope is that the Martians are preoccupied with their own situation and assume us to be a working party of trusties. Such would hardly be driving.”

  “And you can’t exactly cover us,” put in Hicks.

  Painewick glanced over to the car’s empty pintle mount. “Shouldn’t’a pulled her teeth like that.”

  “Horse-trading was the only way to get through the 3rd’s picket line and refuel.” Emmet grinned momentarily, remembering a young lieutenant’s glee as he patted the massive weapon, still warm from Burnham’s demonstration firing. He’d drained two car’s gas tanks to fill the Peerless... “Come on, let’s get unloaded.”

  “But what if some of ’em can’t walk out?”

  “How many could you fit in and still outrun a tripod if you had to?” Emmet dumped his own pack to the ground and followed it out, hefting the Winchester rifle he’d obtained.

  “I’ve been considering that question,” said Burnham. “I think if the captives prove to be too weak to hike out, we can smuggle them in one of the train cars loaded with ore – provided the Martians oblige us by leaving within a few days. Sometimes the best way to escape is to sit tight while they search everywhere else... But that can’t be predicted. We may need to improvise.”

  Jovita Idar stepped down from the rear seat. “May need to? Dealing with alien monsters, madmen, and deluded criminals? Nothing can be predicted. But thank you, Mr. Painewick. You’ve gotten us this far.” She smiled impishly and patted her pendant. “I’ll make certain this gets to you... once I am rid of it.”

  Burnham checked through the vehicle. “Well, that’s the lot. We’ll see you soon.” He shook hands with Painewick, who muttered something and mounted up. The Peerless spluttered into life, swung into a bumping turn around the track, and headed west into what seemed an empty landscape.

  In a few moments, it became awfully quiet.

  “Let’s get some rest,” said Emmet a bit too loudly. “We’ll head out two hours before dawn. It’s easy going.”

  “Least I won’t be carryin’ you this time,” said Hicks. They got settled about; a fire would be too dangerous, but it was going to be a warm night. Tomorrow would be hot; a lot of their packs’ weight was extra water.

  “A great deal will change in the next while,” said Idar as they watched the sun's last light fade in a riot of colors. “There will be a tremendous battle to drive these Martians out. Entire armies are converging here... We seem like mosquitoes, next to that. A tiny jab against enemies who may never even feel it.”

  “Tilting at windmills, are we?” said Emmet.

  She looked over. “I didn’t know you read.”

  “Cervantes? He’s an old favorite. ‘Fortune is arranging matters for us better than we could have for ourselves – for look there, where thirty or more monstrous giants present themselves, all of whom I mean to engage in battle’.”

  “‘For this is righteous warfare, and it is God’s good service to sweep so evil a breed from the face of the earth’.” She chuckled. “For a governor’s lackey, you do surprise, Emmet.”

  “I’m cut to the quick.” Emmet couldn’t feel good about what awaited; but he felt better.

  Burnham tossed aside a handful of grass stalks he’d been braiding. “You’re quite right, Miss Idar. The scale of these things... Who has the biggest armies, the best weapons, who can build more of them? Napoleon said that God was on the side of the bigger battalions, but his whole army couldn’t scratch a single tripod. Well, I can’t build an army’s worth of weaponry, but by God I can try and find out what secrets they’ve got! So, once your captives are freed, I hope you won’t mind if I act independently for a time.”

  “Not at all. Your help’s been invaluable, even if I don’t know what it is you do.”

  Hicks laughed. “None of us ’r exactly in our regular jobs anyhow. I guess I’m still with the LRSC, but I bet that General Hutchings won’t see it that way if I get back in the way of his big ol’ war.”

  “Shouldn’t have gotten out of the car,” said Emmet.

  “Cars, machine guns... Rangers are gettin’ awful military nowadays. You start carryin’ that kind of metal, you get the itch to use it.”

  “Like Tomlinson? Yeah. I always felt there was a peaceable way to settle almost anything, if you just keep your nerve and look for it. Not many will stand up against a man who’s got right on his side and keeps coming. But that’s people, not Martians. No way to get through to them I can imagine, but for killing ’em.”

  “You found a peaceable way to take away my job,” said Idar. “Some day, I would like it back.”

  “Some day.” Emmet nodded in the gloom. “Well, we need to get there first. Try to get some sleep. We’ll need to be inside that base by first light.”

  July 1912, South of Laredo, Texas

  Lang wasn’t exactly surprised when the brigadier-general commanding the 3
rd Volunteer Division arrived on horseback.

  The LRSC itself was practically running on fumes; ever since they’d halted six miles southwest of Laredo to prepare for their attack, Colonel Plainview had men trotting about with gas cans, trying to even out the shortest-supplied vehicles. The 3rd was likely even worse off. Why waste gasoline on routine movements?

  Although when Brigadier-General Slater joined Lang and Plainview at the temporary command center – tarpaulins stretched between three trucks, maps on trestle tables – he didn’t look as though he was doing anything routine. Slater was tall and lean, with a face whittled by strain and fatigue. He swung out of the saddle and ducked under a tarp. “You’re Lang?”

  “That’s right, General. Here on behalf of General Funston.”

  They studied one another for a moment. Lang didn’t expect much of a welcome, but he did speak with Funston’s voice, and if Slater tried to get in his way...

  Instead, Slater offered a hand; Lang shook it. “Heard you fellas have some serious rocketry on these trucks. I guess you’re meaning to attack the Martians here with them?”

  “That’s right, sir. This is Colonel Plainview, commanding the Long Range Scouting Company – which is more of a brigade by now.”

  “Well, I don’t like how General Funston’s left things hanging out here, but if you fellas can hit ’em with those, I’ll see what I can do. Which isn’t much. We’ve got nothing hardly left that’ll even hurt ’em. They burned Laredo, killed half my boys, and wrecked near all my tanks – Funston won’t spare us a damn lug wrench to fix ’em – and they just sit there, sauntering around the ruins like lords of it all...” Lang recognized that sort of anger in men at being beaten by the Martians, but here it was incandescent.

  “How far out do they patrol, General?”

  Slater got back to business. “No more than three miles up and down the riverside, maybe four miles east. Just one or two of ’em, but the rest can come in a few minutes to back them up.”