Andrew had to remind himself that this wasn’t really for Victoria and himself - or at least not completely. Colonel Hawthorne, his father-in-law - that would take some getting used to! - had explained that the President’s advisors felt that this would be a good boost to public moral. After so much bad news from around the world, the sight of an army hero getting married would be a welcome change. He still had trouble thinking of himself as a hero, but if this could help the effort against the Martians, why not? And Victoria was certainly enjoying it!
“Quite a day, isn’t it, Mrs. Comstock?” He had to nearly shout to be heard.
“Oh, it’s so splendid, Mr. Comstock!” she shouted back. “Something to remember always!”
The ride was short, just a turn around Lafayette Square and then into the grounds of the White House - where the reception was being held. Mrs. Roosevelt loved to entertain, he’d heard, and apparently she wasn’t passing up this opportunity. He vaguely remembered all the hoopla when her step-daughter, Alice, had gotten married back in ’05—before the Martians returned.
Unfortunately, before they could retreat to the cooler confines of the White House, photographs were demanded outside and this required nearly half an hour in the sweltering heat and humidity of August in Washington. Andrew could feel the sweat dripping down inside the wool of his coat. But finally they were released and the President escorted them inside where they were offered ice water before being forced to stand in a receiving line for another hour.
He only knew a handful of people who came past them for handshakes. The vast majority were there for Roosevelt; senators and congressmen (despite Congress being out of session for the summer), judges and cabinet members, foreign ambassadors and diplomats and high-ranking military personnel. General Wood, the Chief of Staff, his head bandaged from a recent operation, was allowed to jump to the head of the line. “Congratulation, Major,” he said shaking his hand. “Oh, I have something for you and…”
“Now, now, Leonard!” interrupted the President. “Don’t spoil the surprise! That will come later!”
Wood smiled and rolled his eyes. “Very well, Mr. President. We all know how you love surprises.” He kissed Victoria’s hand, and moved on.
“What was that all about?” whispered Victoria.
He shrugged and shook his head. He had no idea.
Eventually, they had greeted everyone and moved into the East Room for the reception. The huge room was breathtaking with its cream walls, four marble fireplaces (thankfully unlit), parquet floors, and three immense crystal chandeliers. They were seated at the head table, of course, along with Victoria’s parents and Andrew’s mother who was still wearing the look of stunned astonishment that she’d had ever since she’d been told what was going to happen today. He was glad she had been able to come. She’d been a virtual recluse ever since his father’s death. Victoria’s maid of honor was there, too, but Roosevelt had rather ruthlessly supplanted Andrew’s best man, an old Academy friend, from his traditional position. Hawthorne said it was probably because the President had something important to say.
And so it proved. They hadn’t been seated more than a few minutes and the waiters had barely been given time to fill the champagne glasses of all the guests before Roosevelt got to his feet. The man’s commanding presence got him almost complete silence in just a few moments. “My friends!” he said, his high-pitched voice carrying easily to every corner of the large room. “My friends, I have three things to say to you today. First, of course, is to wish the new Major and Mrs. Comstock a long life, children, health, and happiness!” He raised his glass and everyone else did likewise in the toast. Victoria was blushing and Andrew knew that he was, too, but fortunately, he wasn’t expected - or given the opportunity - to say anything in reply. Roosevelt was already moving on. “Secondly, I want to acknowledge an American hero! Most of you have heard of the exploits of Major Comstock in the recent campaign. Caught up in the disaster of General Sumner’s army, instead of fleeing like most men would, he rallied his command and pressed on to carry out his mission. Armed with little more than his wits, he destroyed a Martian tripod, learned vital information about the enemy’s activities, and then led an enemy force into an ambush masterfully set by General Funston. Such heroism must be recognized!” The guests broke into spirited applause and Andrew was blushing again.
“In the past,” continued the President, “the only award we had for heroism was the Medal of Honor. This had to be approved by Congress. But the war we now find ourselves in will produce heroes in such numbers that I fear Congress, with its already so busy schedule, will find itself overwhelmed!” Roosevelt grinned and the crowd laughed. They knew that he was getting in a dig at the legislative body for taking the summer off.
“So! Working with the Secretary of War and the Chief of Staff, we have devised a new set of awards which can be given out by the army without legislative approval. I’m pleased to announce that the very first of these, the Distinguished Service Cross, will be bestowed on Major Comstock today!”
More applause, and Andrew was in a daze. He found himself propelled forward to where General Wood was waiting. Wood already had a Medal of Honor for his own exploits in tracking down Geronimo. He held up a bronze medal on a blue ribbon with red and white stripes on the edges. The medal was indeed cross-shaped, with an eagle with outstretched wings in the middle. Wood pinned it to his tunic and said a few words, which Andrew entirely failed to hear. He mumbled something back but could never remember what. More applause and eventually he was back in his seat with Victoria clutching his arm. She squealed in delight, but Roosevelt was speaking again.
“Finally, I want to announce some other very good news. After months of preparation, tomorrow General Funston will launch his final attack to destroy the Martian fortress in New Mexico!” This brought cheers, not just applause. Many people got to their feet and shouted in joy. “Yes, we are at last to see the turn of the tide! Up until now the enemy has had it almost entirely their way. They overrun our lands, destroy our cities, and kill our people. And let’s be honest: other countries have suffered far worse than our own. The Martians have seized vast stretches of our world and while we have at some points checked their advance, at no point have we managed to roll them back—until now! The destruction of the New Mexico fortress will be a sign to all—human and Martian alike!—that Earth shall not fall to the invader! Yes, we’ve all heard that more of the weasels are on the way, but the Martians can be beaten and we will beat them!”
The room erupted and Andrew and Victoria joined in the cheers. The President surely knew how to inspire a crowd! But as he’d been warned by his father-in-law, sometimes he didn’t know when enough was enough. The President went on for at least another twenty minutes with his inspiring oratory, even though everyone could see the waiters clustered nervously in the doors, unable to serve the food while Roosevelt was speaking. But eventually he did finish up and sit down and things proceeded more or less normally from there, although the first two courses were cool and a bit congealed.
Still, it was all splendid and many toasts were drunk to all sorts of things. Later, members of the Marine Corps Band provided music for dancing. Victoria and Andrew danced first, of course, but then she danced with her father and Andrew danced with his mother—although he practically had to drag her out onto the floor. After that, more couples spilled out onto the floor and things became very merry.
At one point, Andrew, to his surprise, found himself dancing with the President’s oldest daughter, Alice Roosevelt Longworth. The woman had been a famous beauty in her early days in the White House and was still very attractive. She seemed to be looking him over with a keen eye. “The medal suits you very well, Major,” she said.
“Uh, thank you, ma’am. It was quite unexpected.”
“I’m sure it was, but it does suit you. Very well indeed. A shame we are both married,” she ended with a slightly wistful sigh.
“Uh, I, uh, don’t think it’s a shame a
t all,” Andrew choked out.
Mrs. Longworth laughed. “No, I suppose not. But the thrill will wear off, believe me!” The dance finished and Andrew fled back to Victoria.
The wonderful day drew on and people started to leave, but Roosevelt pulled him aside. “So Major, it’s none of my business, but what sort of plans do you have for your honeymoon?”
“Oh, well, we have a room booked at a hotel here in town for tonight. But that’s about all, sir. What with my duties and all we couldn’t plan for anything longer. Maybe someday we’ll go up to Niagara Falls—assuming Tesla hasn’t burned the place down.”
Roosevelt guffawed and actually slapped his thigh. “Ha! I hope you can get there! But I’m thinking I can do a bit better by way of a wedding gift!”
“Sir?”
“I’m off to Panama next week to inspect the work there. I asked General Crozier for a man to look at the fortifications being constructed and he gave me several choices.” He looked at Andrew with a shrewd eye. “How would you and your lovely bride like to take a little honeymoon cruise?”
“V-Victoria, too?”
“Of course! Wouldn’t be much of a honeymoon without her, would it? But we’ll be going on the Mayflower. She’s got plenty of accommodations for women. Edith and I have taken several cruises aboard her. We won’t be gone long, maybe three weeks. So what do you say?”
What could he say? “I… uh, we would be honored, Mr. President!”
“Bully! Bully!”
* * * * *
August 1909, Near Fort Wingate, New Mexico Territory
The bombardment started before dawn.
The steady rumble and flicker of the guns, which had been a constant presence for weeks, suddenly became a roar, an earthshaking noise that went on and on without pause. The light on the outside of Rebecca’s tent was almost continuous, like the worst lightning storm she’d ever seen - except even worse.
She’d been waiting for this - everyone knew it was coming - and she was already dressed. The other nurses and Miss Chumley were awake and ready, too. They drifted out of their tents without a word and walked toward the guns. Becca led the way to her hilltop vantage point and the others followed. From there they could see everything. The artillery positions were already wreathed in clouds of smoke which slowly drifted east in the still air. As each gun fired, the smoke around it lit up like a lantern—and a dozen guns were going off every second. The light was bright enough to cause the women and the tree stumps to cast distinct shadows. The noise was even louder here, the concussions thumping against her chest and making her ears ring. Some of the shells shrieked like banshees as they wailed away from the guns.
But Rebecca was more interested in where the shells were going. The Martian fortress was looming darkly in the distance and it, too, was blanketed in smoke as the rounds slammed down and exploded with more flickers of light. Most of the flashes were muted by the smoke but sometimes they were clearer and sharper. After watching for a while there was suddenly a much brighter flare; an eye-aching blaze of brilliant blue light which lit up the entire countryside for a moment and left an after-image throbbing in Becca’s sight.
“What was that?” cried one of the nurses.
Becca remembered how one of the Martian tripods had exploded with a flash just like that during the Battle of Prewitt. That ordnance officer, Major Comstock, had said something about the power supply shorting out. Perhaps the same thing had happened here to one of the Martian defense towers. She didn’t really care so long as it was hurting the enemy.
“Dear God,” said another woman, pointing to the barrage, “I wouldn’t want to be under that!”
“The Martians are under that!” she said fiercely.
The tableaux was mesmerizing; flash, flash, boom, boom. Rebecca felt she could watch it forever. But time was passing and she slowly realized that the darkness was receding. She glanced behind her and saw the mountain peaks to the southeast were touched with pink. The plain in front of her was no longer a featureless black. The lines of trenches could be seen now; the dozens and dozens of steam tanks in rows behind them. The guns were still barely to be seen in their smoke clouds, but from time to time a gun or a crewman or a truck carrying ammunition would become visible.
The wind was starting to freshen and some of the gun smoke was reaching her on the hill. The acrid metallic smell and taste of cordite and gun cotton tickled her nose and throat. It wasn’t pleasant, but right now she’d choose it over the finest perfume.
With a start she discovered they weren’t alone. Off to her left, just thirty yards away, was an observation post. Four men with field glasses and a telegraph. They’d been there all along and in the dark she hadn’t seen them. They must be spotting for the artillery.
As the sky started becoming blue she heard a new sound, a strange drone coming from behind her. Turning, she saw not one, but two flying machines. The flimsy canvas and wood contraptions had been flying around the camps occasionally for a few weeks, but she’d never seen them venture near the enemy fortress. Were they going to do so now? At the moment they were actually below her, but cruising in lazy circles higher and higher. Eventually they were well overhead and the pair straightened out and headed west—toward the enemy.
“Oh! I think something’s happening!” cried someone.
Becca quickly looked toward the army and yes, things were starting to move. Thousands of troops, just a brown mass from this distance, were emerging from the trenches, puffs of black smoke were coming from the stacks of the steam tanks and the metal boxes started to lurch forward. The assault was beginning!
The troops formed into a series of thin lines which marched forward, followed by the tanks which maneuvered through gaps in the trench lines. One of them broke down and momentarily blocked the passage of several others until it was ruthlessly pushed aside to clear the way. All the while the artillery kept firing. During previous attacks, the cannon fire slacked off when the assault began, but not this time; the firing maintained its same furious rate. Only when the troops and tanks neared the cloud of smoke and dust that marked the edge of the enemy fortress did the fire falter and only for a moment as the gunners switched to more distant targets.
The soldiers disappeared into the smoke. Becca wished she was with them.
“Come on ladies,” said Miss Chumley, barely to be heard in the din. “We need to get back. The wounded will be coming in soon.”
Becca didn’t want to leave, she wanted to watch. But she had a job to do. She turned and followed the others, casting back one last glance at the scene of battle.
* * * * *
Cycle 597, 843.8, Holdfast 32-1
The floor of the corridor was actually shuddering with the enemy bombardment as the travel chair carrying Qetjnegartis and Davnitargus moved quickly toward the vehicle hanger. Bits of debris were falling from the ceiling almost continuously and several bounced off them.
“This is by far the worst yet,” observed Davnitargus, using its tendrils to flick away a fragment of rock.
“Yes, the enemy is committing all their strength against us. Clearly they hope to destroy us with this assault.”
“Can they succeed?”
“If no help arrives I believe so. Or at least they may well destroy the holdfast. We must all be prepared to flee. That is why you will accompany us. You and all the buds.”
“I understand,” said Davnitargus, “but I fear that I may prove of little use in the coming battle. My mastery of the fighting machines’ controls is far from complete.”
“You underestimate yourself,” replied Qetjnegartis. “You have made great progress in just the last few days. I am confident you will do well.”
They reached the hanger and saw that the others were already there. The survivors of the Bajantus Clan on the target world: five adults and five buds. Zastranvis was there although its illness had become worse recently. It would be far better off in the main control chamber controlling the defense towers and the construction mac
hinery, but if they were forced to flee it would be trapped. It would have to do its job from inside a fighting machine.
Qetjnegartis helped Davnitargus into a machine and then boarded its own. It quickly powered up the machine and checked its function. All was well, of course. It then activated the long-range communicator. “Commander Braxjandar, please reply, this is Qetjnegartis.”
Unlike their last conversation, the reply came almost immediately. “Yes, Qetjnegartis, what do you want?”
“The enemy has launched its attack and I see little hope of resisting it. When can I expect your arrival?”
“We are fifty telequel northwest of your position. The terrain is quite difficult. I estimate two or three tenthdays to cover it.”
Qetjnegartis had feared that this would be the case. “I do not know if we can hold out that long.”
“Make your best effort. If you are forced to abandon your holdfast we will rendezvous with you, and if the situation permits, a counterattack can be launched. I can promise no more.”
“Very well, Commander, we will hold out as long as we can. When you near our position, please contact me again. I may be able to help with your tactical dispositions.”
“I understand, Qetjnegartis,” replied Braxjandar. There was nothing more to be said and the connection was broken.
Qetjnegartis switched the communicator to connect with the other nine members of the clan. “Now we must fight. Help is coming, but it will not arrive for some time. We must delay the enemy as long as possible without sacrificing ourselves needlessly. Follow me.”
It turned its machine and headed up the ramp to the surface. The others followed.
* * * * *
Breakthrough Page 9
