Breakthrough

by Scott H Washburn

  After about a half hour there were some shouts and shortly after that the masts of the German ships were visible on the horizon. Andrew had been lent a very powerful set of navy binoculars and he trained them where everyone else was looking and yes, he could see the tops of the German ships. Minute by minute, they crept above the horizon and eventually he could see their hulls, too. They appeared to be headed right for the American ships.

  “Mr. President,” said Rodman appearing with a scrap of paper in his hand, “we’ve identified the German ships. There are three battleships, the Westfalen, Schleswig-Holstein and Lothringer. The Westfalen is larger and…”

  “She mounts twelve eleven-inch guns, although she can only bring eight of them to bear in any one direction,” interrupted Roosevelt. “The other two are older ships with only four eleven-inchers apiece in their main batteries. But do go on, Admiral.”

  Rodman paused and then smiled and shook his head. “Yes, sir. There are two armored cruisers, the Roon and the Yorck; and two light cruisers, Emden and Kolberg. They also have four torpedo boats.”

  “So, not as powerful as your squadron then, wouldn’t you say, Admiral?”

  “It would be a close match, sir, but we do have the edge. But we’re here to fight Martians, not Germans like we almost did in ’02, correct, Mr. President?”

  “Oh surely! Forgot you were here with Dewey for that one! And where are the Martians?”

  “Signal from Birmingham, sir!” shouted an ensign. “Enemy sighted, south-southeast!” A dozen sets of binoculars swung off to the right. Andrew scanned the distant coastline, but didn’t see—wait! Sunlight reflecting off metal drew his eyes back and there they were! Tiny shapes moving in the distance, barely to be seen.

  “How many do you think?” asked Roosevelt.

  “Hard to say at this distance, sir,” said Rodman. “I’ll signal Birmingham to make a count. But sir, we’ve got two independent squadrons here and we don’t want them running into each other. How are we going to organize our attack?”

  “Good question, Admiral. What would you suggest?”

  But before Rodman could reply, another signal was received, this time from the German admiral. Rodman took it, read it, and smiled. “He says: ‘Believe Roosevelt senior officer present. Do lead on, sir’.

  “Ha!” cried Roosevelt. “All right then! Would having the Germans fall in astern of us and extending our line of battle be appropriate, Admiral?”

  “Entirely, Mr. President. I will see to it at once.”

  The American ships turned slightly more toward the coast while the German ships adjusted their course to pass the Americans to seaward. The distance was closing at almost forty miles an hour so they didn’t have to wait long. As the German ships came abreast, about five hundred yards away, Roosevelt stepped out onto the left bridge wing and doffed his hat as the German flagship sailed past. A small figure aboard the Westfalen did likewise. Andrew studied the German ships as they passed. They were broader and lower and, in Andrew’s opinion, distinctly uglier than the American ships. The American armored cruisers, in particular, were some of the most elegant warships he’d ever seen. When the leading German ship neared the end of the American line it put its helm over and turned sharply to follow along. Each of the other ships did the same thing, one after the other. Finally, both squadrons were in a single long line, except for a few of the smaller ships out on the flanks.

  “Nicely done,” said Rodman. “Von Rebeur-Paschwitz has a well-drilled command.”

  They stepped back inside the main bridge and were met by several sailors carrying life jackets and steel helmets. Andrew took his and so did Ted, but the older Roosevelt waved them away. “I don’t need those!”

  “Sorry, Mr. President,” said Rodman, putting his own on and then taking a set and personally offering it to Roosevelt. “Regulations, sir. If you refuse, I’ll have to ask that you go below.”

  The President stared for a moment and then laughed and put them on, tucking the strap on the helmet under his chin. Andrew looked and blinked. For some reason, Roosevelt wearing the bulky life jacket and helmet made him look just like an old salt-shaker his mother owned. He shook his head to get rid of the image.

  “You’ll also want these,” said Rodman offering wads of cotton. “It’s going to be very loud, sir.” Everyone stuffed the cotton in their ears.

  “Range to the enemy eight thousand yards, sir,” said the captain of the Michigan, speaking very loudly because of the cotton. “When do you want to open fire?”

  “Don’t shoot too soon,” cautioned Roosevelt. “Don’t want to spook them like a flock of quail!”

  “I believe we will commence firing at five thousand,” said Rodman.

  The Martians were clearly visible now, even without binoculars. With them, Andrew could see the machines marching eastward along the shore. They seemed oblivious to the approaching warships. The Martians were moving about ten miles an hour according to the gunnery officer, so the warships were slowly catching up and closing on a converging course. The lookouts on the ships had counted twelve of them. Seven thousand, six thousand, the range fell and fell. Almost time…

  “Mr. President,” said Rodman suddenly becoming very formal. “Would you care to give the command to fire?”

  “Why yes,” said Roosevelt, with a large grin. “I’d be dee-lighted to…”

  “Father! Get down!” Suddenly Ted grabbed the President and dragged him below the level of the bridge windows. Almost immediately the bridge was filled with a bright red light and Andrew felt heat, like that of an open oven, on his face. People cried out all around him and he ducked down to get out of the light.

  The awful red glow persisted for a few more seconds and then faded as the ray swept sternward. Andrew dared to pop up and look. The Martian machines were now spraying their heat rays out to sea. But the range was too long.

  “Mr. President! Are you all right?” asked Admiral Rodman.

  “Fine! Just fine!” cried Roosevelt, rising to his feet. “But by all means fire! Shoot the scalawags!”

  “Very good, sir! Signal to squadron! All ships commence firing!”

  There was a moment of intense activity with, it seemed, everyone shouting orders at once. Andrew peered out the window at the pair of immense turrets near the front of the ship. They swung slightly to the right and…

  Boom!

  An enormous concussion thumped into him as flame and smoke blossomed out from the muzzles of the guns. A huge roar rattled the bridge windows - and his teeth. A few seconds later there was a lesser noise as the ship’s secondary batteries fired. He trained his binoculars at the beach, but at first he could see nothing as the smoke from the guns swept back over the bridge. But then it cleared and he could see the Martians. Or he could see where they had been. They too, were now wrapped in smoke. An instant later there was a gentler double concussion as Pennsylvania and Delaware fired their broadsides. Seconds passed and then large explosions erupted on the shore in the midst of the smoke. Some bit of something went soaring skyward, tumbling end over end. An arm? A leg, perhaps? He couldn’t tell.

  More rumbles as the fire passed down the line. North Carolina and Tennessee and then the German ships. The roar became continuous. He was almost taken by surprise when Michigan let off another salvo and he nearly dropped his binocular. Smoke blotted out his view again and he dared to look away. There was the President, binoculars pressed to his eyes with one hand, but his other was balled into a fist which he was slamming rhythmically against the window frame. Other officers around him were cheering.

  He looked at the beach again and the storm of shells continued to churn up the landscape. The smoke drew aside for an instant and he thought he saw one of the Martian machines, but it vanished again as more explosions erupted. What looked like heat rays stabbed out now and then, but they were at random angles, hitting nothing. Michigan fired off a third salvo—or was it the fourth?—but her guns were now turned distinctly toward the rear. They had pass
ed the Martians and were drawing ahead.

  “Stand by to reverse course to starboard in succession!” shouted the admiral. They were going to turn around and hit them again. Several minutes went by before all the ships had acknowledged the signal. When all was ready, Rodman commanded: “Execute!”

  The little Chester was now in the lead and she turned sharply to the right until she was going the other way and passing down the line of ships in the opposite direction. Pennsylvania followed and then it was Michigan’s turn. The ship heeled noticeably as she swung around and Andrew had to brace himself. Then she straightened out and was heading west; North Carolina thundering past to the right, preparing to turn.

  A thrill passed through Andrew. The power, the… majesty of this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He looked toward the shore, where the Martians were still wreathed in smoke. You sons-of-bitches think you can build war machines? Well take a look at these!

  While the ships turned, the fire had fallen off to almost nothing. The front of the line was re-aiming its guns to the opposite side and the rearward ships couldn’t fire because the leaders were now in their way. The smoke on shore was dispersing and Andrew tried to see what had been done to the Martians.

  It was hard to tell. There was still smoke and flames and mangled shapes on the ground that he hoped were Martian tripods. But there were two—no three—machines still on their feet. Not for long!

  “Signal the squadron to resume firing as their guns bear,” said Rodman.

  “Sir! Wait!” cried another officer. “Look!”

  “What? Why…? Oh for the love of God! What’s that idiot think he’s doing?”

  “What is it, Admiral?” asked Roosevelt.

  “One of the damn German torpedo boats! It’s charging the Martians!”

  Every eye turned to look toward the rear of the line. Sure enough one of the small sleek craft was knifing through the water toward the shore. A small gun on its bow popping away.

  “Wants to get his licks in, I guess,” said Roosevelt.

  “He’s going to block our fire!” snarled Rodman.

  “And he’s getting way too close to the Martians!” exclaimed Andrew. “They aren’t all out of action!”

  “Signal the Germans to get him the hell out of there!”

  As Andrew watched through his binoculars, one of the Martians fired its heat ray. He didn’t see any damage to the ship, but the men manning the gun disappeared and a few puffs of smoke appeared only to be whisked away by the wind. But whoever was in command seemed to get the message because it started to turn away. The tiny vessel swung its bow away from the shore and back out to sea.

  But then the Martians fired again.

  Not a heat ray this time, but some sort of projectile flew away from their machine in a lazy arc through the sky. Andrew feared he knew what it was. “Turn you idiots! Turn!” They tried, but the projectile arced back down and burst a hundred yards in front of them. A black cloud billowed up and the German ship charged right into it. It emerged again a few seconds later and continued its turn out to sea.

  But it kept right on turning.

  It moved in a long arc that barely missed colliding with the tail end of the German line and them it curved right around and headed toward shore again. But at least it was out of the line of fire.

  Rodman muttered a curse and then ordered the ships to open fire.

  The guns roared out again and the Martians disappeared under a whirlwind of flame and smoke. The long line of ships steamed past the point of land where the enemy was clustered, each vessel in turn pounding away with every gun it had. Andrew expected to see Martians trying to escape, but if any did, they were concealed by the smoke. After the second run, the scouts signaled that they could not see any more of the enemy and the combined squadron drew off-shore to about five miles and most of the ships stopped their engines and dropped anchor. The unfortunate torpedo boat circled several more times and then ran aground, its engines still going at full speed.

  Then, to no one’s surprise, Roosevelt insisted on going ashore.

  For form’s sake, the admiral tried to talk him out of it, but it was clear he realized it was a lost cause. He did at least get the President to agree to allow the marines to go in first to secure the area.

  Andrew, daring to tread even where Admiral Rodman had feared to go, also made some demands on the President. “Sir, we know the Martians had at least one of their black dust weapons. If they had any more and they were broken open by our bombardment, the area could be covered with the stuff. You - and any men we send ashore - must be wearing appropriate clothing and no one should try to pick up anything at all they find there until we can confirm that there is no dust present.” Roosevelt grumbled, but when Ted sided with Andrew, he gave way. Tall rubber boots were found and handed out.

  Every Leatherneck in the squadron was assembled and put into boats and sent ashore. Fortunately, the standard marine equipment now included the same anti-dust gear as the army. The Germans did the same with whatever passed for marines in their fleet. Altogether there were nearly five hundred men. They landed without incident, except for one boat which capsized in the surf, and spread out to scout the area. It was two hours before they signaled the area was safe - two hours with an increasingly restless Theodore Roosevelt pacing the bridge.

  But eventually they were allowed to go ashore. Roosevelt tried to jump out of the boat into the surf, but Andrew stopped him. There could be dust floating in the water despite the fact the marines had found none so far. So they waited until the boat was pulled up onto the beach and they debarked dry-shod.

  The beach and the land behind it had been blasted to bits. There were craters everywhere. Craters overlapping craters, craters inside other craters, and scattered inside the craters were bits and pieces of the Martian machines. Andrew had seen a number of wrecked tripods in New Mexico and except for the one which had been vaporized when its power plant exploded, they had all been more or less intact. Not this time. The machines had been… shredded, smashed, ravaged... Andrew searched for the right word and finally settled on pulverized.

  There were a few small items he recognized from the other wrecks he’d seen, but very few. The majority of the debris was unrecognizable. And the whole area was glistening with millions of those little metal hexagons that were left behind when the Martian armor was pierced. He didn’t see anything even vaguely like a Martian body. The tripod’s crews had been completely destroyed. He’d hoped to be able to determine how many tripods had been destroyed by checking the remains, but he saw that would be impossible. It would require a complete inventory and there was no time for that. Leave it to the Germans; it’s their problem now.

  “Well, we certainly took care of these rascals, didn’t we?” said the President after he’d walked around for a while.

  “Yes, sir,” said Andrew. “It’s a great victory.” And it was. They had surely hurt the Martians in this part of the world badly today. Now they just needed to do the same thing in a hundred other places - places where the navy couldn’t reach.

  There wasn’t much of a breeze on the beach and they were soon all sweating rivers. Despite this, Roosevelt insisted on hiking down to where the German torpedo boat was grounded. There was a crowd of Germans already gathered there. The ship had hit a rock about fifty yards offshore and that had flooded it sufficiently to drown the engine so it was just sitting there, rocking gently in the waves. There was no sign of anyone on board. No bodies, nothing. Some of the Germans were shouting in hopes of hearing a response, but there was none.

  “Beastly stuff, that dust,” said Roosevelt.

  “Yes, sir,” said Andrew. “And we are very lucky they only had the shorter range version of it here today. If they had any of the long-range rockets like they used in England, half our ships might have ended up like this. I should have insisted that we engage at a longer range.”

  “All’s well that ends well, Major. But yes, I need to talk to the admiral—and
the Navy Department as well - to see what we can do to protect our ships from this sort of thing.”

  Finally even the President had seen enough and they returned to the Michigan. They cleaned up, put on fresh clothes, and then were all taken over to the German flagship for a celebratory dinner. There were many toasts and Roosevelt and the German Admiral talked for hours in English and German. Their hosts had a small group of musicians to provide entertainment and they even played Sousa’s new march, The Glory of the Yankee Navy to honor their guests. Andrew was so tired he nearly fell asleep.

  The long, long day came to a close and they headed back to their own ship. The President came over and sat next to Andrew and Ted and said quietly: “Gentlemen, thank you for indulging an old man’s follies. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  “It was an honor to serve under your command today, Mr. President,” said Andrew, and he meant it.

  Roosevelt chuckled, leaned forward, and slapped Andrew on the knee. “But it’s time to go! Come, Major, let’s collect your pretty bride and go home! We have a lot of work waiting for us!”

  Chapter Eight

  September 1909, Washington, DC

  Leonard Wood, Chief of Staff of the United States Army, strolled east along F Street; the huge bulk of the State, War, & Navy Building was directly in front of him, silhouetted by the rising sun. A storm had blown through the previous night and he luxuriated in the cool morning air. It was a taste of fall, but he was sure the humid Washington summer wasn’t quite through with the city yet. He loved this time of day and always came in early to get some real work done before the inevitable interruptions found him.

  He bought a copy of The Washington Post from an urchin on the corner and trotted up the steps to his office on the third floor. His doctors probably would have scolded him for not taking the elevator, but to hell with them! It was so good to be well again! Aside from a fading scar on his head, there was nothing to show that anything had ever been wrong. He could walk or even run without a problem. He took a deep breath as he threw open the door to his office and said good morning to his aide, Captain Semancik. A steward had already brought coffee and he took a cup and went into the inner office.