Breakthrough

by Scott H Washburn

  Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer so he got up, took a piss, and then carefully went up to the top of the little ridge, crawling the last few yards. Urbaniak followed along. Everything seemed unnaturally quiet. From his position just below the crest, he peered out. The Martians were there, no more than a mile away, following the tracks and destroying them as they went.

  They’d noticed, while following them, that they didn’t destroy every bit of track. Rather, they’d destroy a few dozen yards and then leave an equal length untouched and then destroy another section. Watching them in action here, Dolfen could see why that was. The leading tripod would halt and use its heat ray to wreck a section of track while the other two kept moving. Then the new leader would stop and do the same thing. Leap-frogging forward in this fashion they smashed the railroad to uselessness, without significantly slowing their pace. No wonder they hadn’t been able to catch them.

  “Gonna be here soon, Lieutenant,” said Urbaniak.

  “Right. Tell the boys to get ready, but don’t mount up until I signal them.”

  “Yessir!” Urbaniak scrambled down the ridge. As he went down, a courier from Pendleton came up.

  “Lieutenant?” said the man. “The captain says for you to wait until you hear the bugle sound the charge.”

  “Okay, we’ll do that. Where is the captain?”

  “In the gully by the bridge, sir.” The man ran off.

  Dolfen turned his attention back to the Martians. They were about a half mile away now and still destroying track. Had they seen any of the troopers? They had to know that there were pursuers after them, didn’t they? Who could tell what was going on inside their minds?

  Half a mile, a quarter mile. Getting close now. Pray to God no one opened fire early. Let them come, let them come! Three hundred yards, two hundred… they were still burning the tracks… one hundred… Bang! Pow! A couple of shots rang out and Dolfen cursed. The Martians paused and the heads of their machines swiveled back and forth. But there was no more fire and the lead machine went back to wrecking the rails. The second one in the line advanced toward the bridge. They would no doubt want to destroy that. Fifty yards… another few seconds and the Martians would be able to look down into the gully. A few more and they might spot Dolfen’s troops beyond the ridge.

  A bugle blared, sounding commence firing. An instant later, fire erupted all along the gully and the Browning opened up. Dozens of men leapt out of the gully and charged forward, some of them shouting at the top of their lungs. The Martians were clearly taken by surprise and critical seconds went by before they reacted. The closest one finally fired its heat ray and burned a trench across the ground to the left, claiming the lives of a half-dozen men. But this allowed more to close in from the right. Dolfen saw one dynamite bomb go soaring up only to bounce off and fall to the ground. Several more did the same and then a series of explosions shook the air and the tripod disappeared in a cloud of smoke and dust. Some of the men had probably been killed by their own bombs, but everyone knew that was a possibility.

  The other two tripods began firing, killing more men. Still more charged out of the gully to join the fray. A few fleet-footed (or foolhardy) souls were running toward the more distant targets. The Browning kept firing and Dolfen could see sparks on the armor of the one it was hitting. The sharp smell of cordite and hot brass mixed with dynamite, dust, and burning bodies.

  He realized that the moment to charge was fast approaching. He leapt down the slope to where his horse was waiting. He led the troop forward a few dozen yards to the edge of the cut. He could hear the shriek of the heat rays, the stutter of rifle fire, and the crump-whump of the dynamite bombs. All that was needed now was the bugle call to bring him forward.

  But it didn’t come. Seconds ticked by and there was no bugle. Perhaps the bugler had been killed. He edged his horse forward so he could look through the cut. But the fire was dying down! What was happening? He stared as the wind blew the smoke aside and he could see that the three tripods were in full retreat, pulling away with their long strides. Damn! They’d lost their chance!

  But one of the enemy machines had been hurt. It was definitely limping and lurching awkwardly. Now the bugle did sound, but instead of the charge, it was sounding recall. The men still out in the open fell back into the gully. Dolfen dismounted and trotted through the cut in search of the captain. He found him by the bridge. “Frank! Sorry about that. But they turned and ran so suddenly I didn’t want to end up with you out there all by your lonesomes chasing those bastards.”

  “I appreciate that sir. So what now?”

  “Well, I doubt they’ll come straight on again. If they veer off, I guess we go back to chasing them and…”

  A distant boom cut him off. They looked out, past the Martians, and saw a puff of smoke. An instant later, a small fountain of earth rose up between the Martians and them with a muffled explosion. Three more puffs came in rapid succession, followed by two more fountains and one solid bang on one of the tripods.

  “The field guns!” cried Dolfen. “They made it!”

  “Look! There’s the regiment!” Dolfen whipped out his field glasses, trained them in the direction the captain was pointing, and sure enough, there was a long line of men on horseback. They were deployed in an arc that was coming up behind the Martians and stretching out well to the east and west to cut off other lines of retreat. “They’re coming on! Gonna drive ‘em right to us!”

  And so it seemed. The Martians turned around again and were coming at them. “They’re gonna try to bust right through us, sir.”

  “Well, they’ll have to pay the toll if they want to get by!”

  “Yes, sir!” Dolfen ran back to his command. “All right!” he shouted. “It’s not over yet! Get ready!”

  He kept the men mounted and positioned himself so he had a good view through the cut. The Martians were approaching quickly, pursued by artillery shells and the regiment on horseback. They were back in range of their heat rays with shocking suddenness. All three blasted out and swept across the landscape. Frank realized he was right in the open and reined his horse backward just in time as a beam stabbed through the cut right in front of him. Steam boiled up from the ground and small bushes burst into flame.

  “Dammit, Lieutenant!” scolded Urbaniak, “That was a fool thing to do!”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know!”

  But now he couldn’t see. The Browning on the ridge opened up again and there was a crackle of rifle fire. Shouts and screams drifted back from the other side of the ridge. There was a cry from above and he looked up to see the machine gun crew outlined in a dazzling red glow before they disappeared in a gout of flame. Bombs started exploding and an errant shell from the guns shrieked overhead to detonate far to the rear. Smoke was billowing up beyond the ridge.

  And then there it was: a bugle calling the charge! It sounded once and then was suddenly cut off, but Frank had already risen up in his stirrups and waved his arm. “Come on! Follow me!”

  His horse knew what to do and sprang forward. In a few yards he was at a full gallop, thundering through the cut. A tripod was right there, crossing the little bridge only fifty yards away. The other two were right behind. He fumbled out his bomb and realized it was already too late to try and throw it at the first one. He’d go for one of the others. The tripods were spraying fire to the right and left as the dismounted troopers attacked, but they hadn’t been ready for this sudden attack from straight ahead. The men on the ground were still throwing bombs, and an explosion nearly knocked him off his horse as he rode right between the legs of the first enemy machine.

  The second tripod was looming up over him as he yanked out the arming pin on his bomb. He swung and threw it upward with all his might, but couldn’t stop to see where it went. He rode between its legs as well, suddenly realizing he hadn’t a clue about what to do next.

  That decision was taken out of his hands when a series of new bomb blasts erupted right behind him. His horse screamed an
d they were both going down. The ground came up and slammed into him hard, knocking the wind out of him. But his horse was thrashing in pain and Frank had the wits to pull himself free before the beast rolled on him.

  Gasping for breath, he scrambled away and then looked back. Two of the tripods were already through the cut, but the third was still on this side and clearly in trouble. Smoke was pouring from its body and one leg was missing a foot. It staggered toward the bridge with an awkward motion.

  Men on foot and men on horseback were swirling around it, shooting rifles and flinging bombs. More explosions erupted, killing men and further damaging the machine. But it was still fighting back. The heat ray incinerated men and its smaller tentacles swatted troopers away like flies.

  Frank pulled himself to his feet and stumbled back toward the fight, his pistol in his hand, fully aware that there wasn’t a blessed thing he could do. The Martian reached the bridge and stepped across the gully. Another man on horseback rode toward the thing, swinging a pair of bombs on their strap. Even from fifty yards away, Frank could see who it was: Urbaniak! His sergeant brought his horse to within ten yards and then flung his bomb. It soared upward spinning end over end and then caught on the Martian’s hip joint. Yes!

  But as Urbaniak turned away, the enemy’s heat ray swung in his direction. “Jason!” screamed Frank. But there was nothing he could have done even if he’d heard him. The ray passed over horse and rider and in a blast of smoke and steam they were gone.

  An instant later, the bomb exploded and the machine’s leg was torn off and flung away in one direction. The rest of the machine toppled over the other way and crashed to the ground with an impact Dolfen could feel. The thing’s remaining legs and arms thrashed impotently. More men were flinging bombs and explosion after explosion tore at the downed monster. Finally, the machine stopped moving and an echoing silence fell over the field of battle. Dolfen caught a glimpse of the other two Martians dwindling in the distance.

  He limped up to the wrecked tripod. He glanced around in spite of himself, trying to catch some glimpse of Urbaniak’s remains, but there were dozens of scorched patches of earth and mounds of ashes all around. No way to tell which one had been his friend. He stood there feeling utterly drained. Alone.

  “Hey! Hey, sir!” cried someone. “It’s opening up!”

  Shaken back to his senses, he dragged himself over to where a small group of men were standing. A hatch had opened in the head of the machine. Smoke was pouring out of it and as he watched a cluster of gray snake-like tentacles emerge and grasped the sides of the hatch. These tensed and a moment later the body of the Martian emerged and tumbled to the ground. It lay there gasping and burbling like some mangled set of bagpipes.

  “God! Sure is ugly, ain’t it?”

  “Filthy monster! It killed my pard!”

  “Not so tough without its fancy machine, is it?” One trooper stepped forward and gave it a kick. No, just like the one Dolfen had seen outside Gallup, the thing looked pathetic rather than menacing. It was just a shapeless gray sack, smaller than a man, with two large black eyes, a parrot-like beak for a mouth, and a swarm of tentacles of various sizes and lengths waving feebly.

  “What do we do with it, sir?” The men looked to him.

  Dolfen glared down at the thing which had killed his pard. “A very wise young lady once showed me exactly what to do with one of these!” He raised his pistol and emptied it into the thing.

  * * * * *

  Cycle 597,844.1, East of Holdfast 32-1

  “I regret that I have failed to carry out your instructions, Subcommander. I allowed us to become surrounded by the enemy, and in breaking free, Kanastrad was slain. Jalnadnar’s fighting machine was so badly damaged it had to be abandoned later. I have Jalnadnar in a transport capsule now and am proceeding north.”

  Qetjnegartis listened to Ixmaderna’s report. This was not good, but it could have been worse. “Understood. Proceed to the rendezvous point at your best speed.” It cut the communications link.

  The loss of Kanastrad was annoying. They were still at a stage where personnel were precious. But so far, that had been the only such loss during the operation. One other machine had been crippled and its pilot transferred to a capsule, but of the fifteen fighting machines Qetjnegartis had started with, ten were still available.

  But it was time to report in to Valprandar. It established the communications link and relayed the facts. “In summation, we have covered a great deal of territory and done much damage, Commander. The transportation system in this entire region will be unusable for some time.”

  “You have done well, Qetjnegartis,” replied Valprandar. “The forces of Clan Mavnaltak to the north have suffered far worse. But now it is time to move on to the next phase of the operation. All the evidence suggests that our raids have left the enemy confused and in much disorder. There are reports from Commander Braxjandar that the prey-creature army it faces is beginning to withdraw and retreat east. It plans a major offensive against these forces, hoping to catch them on the move and annihilate them. Braxjandar has requested that Clan Trajnavzin to the north of them and our clan to the south launch simultaneous attacks in support of them. The Colonial Conclave has agreed and those are our orders.”

  Qetjnegartis twitched in surprise and alarm. “Have any of your scouts reported similar withdrawals of the enemy in our area, Commander?”

  “No, but once they see their allies to the north of them in retreat they are sure to follow. They will not risk being cut off.”

  “I am not sure I agree with this line of reasoning. Were we not commanded to refrain from frontal attacks against strong…”

  “No matter! I have my orders and I will obey them. Your orders are to reassemble your detachment and stand ready to strike the enemy from the rear.”

  Qetjnegartis did not agree with this action, but it had no choice. “Very well, Commander. We will be ready.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  March, 1910, Washington D.C.

  “Leonard, you can’t be serious!”

  General Leonard Wood sighed. He’d known this was going to be a difficult confrontation and Roosevelt had wasted no time in confirming it would be. Wood wasn’t happy that it was going to take place in front of such a large audience. In a one-on-one meeting with the President he might have been able to convince him, but word of the proposed withdrawal Retreat! Don’t mince words!—had leaked out and in addition to Roosevelt, Henry Stimson, the Secretary of War, Elihu Root, the Secretary of State, and a small crowd of aides and other interested parties had all gathered in the room with the Big Map. Even more had wanted to be here, including representatives and senators from the affected states, but Wood had put his foot down on that.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. President, but I can’t see that there is any choice. The situation is quickly becoming untenable.”

  “Untenable? You have half a million men out there and you’re telling me they can’t run down a handful of enemy tripods?”

  “The Martians’ mobility is unprecedented, sir. Except in a few cases where we’ve been able to lure them into an ambush, they have simply run away from any attempt to engage them. Or, if we attempt to engage them with too weak a force, they just destroy it and move on. The space involved is too vast, sir. We can neither garrison nor patrol the railroads in sufficient strength to keep them safe. Right now, the First Army is virtually cut off. If we don’t withdraw it, and do that soon, we could be facing a major disaster. I’m sorry, sir, but those are the facts.”

  Roosevelt scowled ferociously and then turned to study the map. Wood had been studying it for days, but there were no good answers to be found there. “You said you were able to restore a rail connection from Topeka to Denver?”

  “Yes, we were able to repair a short section of track and then use a branch line to open up a path. But there’s no telling how long we can keep it open.”

  “Couldn’t you do that elsewhere, too? Create rail repair units with a strong escort
and drive along, repairing the track?”

  “We have tried that in several locations, sir,” explained Wood patiently. “The Martians simply side-step the repair party and destroy the track again in their rear. As I said, there’s too much room out there.”

  “There must be something we can do! How can we just abandon Montana, Colorado, the Dakotas, Wyoming, Nebraska, and Kansas?!”

  Wood refrained from mentioning that if things got as bad as he feared, they might have to give up Minnesota, Iowa, and Missouri as well. “Every day we delay depletes the supplies the armies have on hand, sir. General Bullard reports increased scouting activity by the enemy forces to the west. They may be planning a major attack. If we wait until the situation becomes truly desperate, we might not get any of those men back.” He didn’t add that two of those men were the President’s own sons, both attached to First Army.

  “What about Third Army?” demanded Roosevelt, pointing to a cluster of blue blocks back near St. Louis. “Can’t you push them forward? Create a sort of fortified corridor to protect the railroads all the way to the front?”

  “Mr. President, it’s eight hundred miles from St. Louis to Denver. Third Army doesn’t have nearly the strength for that. If we deployed them as you suggest, we could well lose them, too.”

  “What about Funston’s Second Army, do you propose to pull them out, too?”

  “Not at this time, sir, although they, too, have reported increased activity on their front. But they still have a rail connection to the rear through Texas and more defensible lines of retreat if they do need to fall back.”

  Roosevelt’s expression grew even darker. He turned to look at Stimson. “Henry? Do you agree with this?”