Stimson, a thin man about Wood’s age with a small mustache, looked troubled. He was ostensibly Wood’s immediate superior, but the pair had worked as a team since Stimson replaced Taft a little over a year ago. Stimson was a lawyer and a politician and he had ably taken over the administrative end of the War Department, dealing with budgets, suppliers, and politicians. He’d gladly left Wood to deal with the military issues. But now the President was asking him a military question. “I… Uh, I would hesitate to disagree with General Wood’s analysis of the situation on a strictly military basis. But it’s also clear that there are issues here that go beyond the military, Mr. President.”
“Yes,” said Elihu Root, pushing into the conversation. “Like the fact that these states you are so blithely planning to abandon are full of people—American citizens! By the last census there are more than five million people out there! And you propose to leave them to those monsters! Do I need to remind you what would happen to them under the Martians?”
“The people would need to evacuate as well…”
“You expect them to just pack up and leave their homes at the drop of a hat? In winter? How many would survive?”
Wood had considered all this and the notion of the civilians trying to flee east through bad weather, with Martians marauding everywhere, had given him nightmares. But if the armies were destroyed that would happen anyway and then there might be nowhere to flee to. “Winter is nearly over, Mr. Secretary. And if we lose those armies, there would be little to stop the Martians from continuing east for as far as they wanted to go. Even all the way here.”
Roosevelt turned away from his advisers and looked at the map again. He stared at it a long time. Finally, he said: “Leonard, where would you want the troops to fall back to?”
“I’m proposing that First Army pull back to a line along the Missouri River from Bismarck down to Kansas City. Third Army would be split, some going north to extend First Army’s line from Bismarck back to Lake Superior to guard the northern flank. The rest would form a new Fourth Army and create a line from Kansas City to Wichita and then along the Arkansas River to where it can link up with Funston.”
“That’s a much longer line that we currently have!” objected the President.
“Yes, but with rivers to defend I’m hoping that we can prevent the Martian raiding parties from getting into our rear. Once we’ve established a strong defense, we can think about taking back the lands we’ve given up.”
The President shook his head. “I’m sorry, Leonard, I can’t approve of this. At least not until we can get the people out. Start evacuating everyone you can. And then we’ll talk again about pulling the armies back.”
Wood bowed his head. He’d been expecting this to be Theodore’s answer. He’d had contingency plans made in case of this. It would take at least a month to even begin any meaningful evacuations and then only God knew how long to move that many people over the wrecked rail lines and through rampaging Martians. But he would put those plans into operation and pray for the best—while expecting the worst.
“Yes, Mr. President. I’ll see to it at once.”
* * * * *
March, 1910, Albuquerque, New Mexico Territory
“And there’s no doubt they’re coming on in strength?”
“Uh, yes sir, the cavalry scouts report at least… at least forty tripods and they say there may have been more behind them. They had to withdraw rather quickly.”
“Forty!” exclaimed someone.
“But there were at least a dozen in those raiding parties in our rear!” said another. “How could they have that many?”
“We don’t know for sure, but that’s what they’ve reported. I tried to get the aeronautical corps people to send one of their planes, but they’re overhauling their engines and won’t be ready until tomorrow.”
Andrew Comstock watched General Funston’s staff react to the news that had arrived. The general had given him permission to attend staff meetings as a courtesy, but he was normally there as an observer rather than a participant. The meeting was taking place in the very same mansion which the ill-starred General Sumner had occupied when he’d been here over a year ago. The place was looking considerably worse for wear, with much of the original furniture piled in a corner to make room for the large map table around which they were meeting.
The others were continuing to argue about the reliability of the scouting report, but to Andrew it seemed like many of them were trying to wish away the bad news. He decided it was time to add his own voice to the discussion. “General? May I say something?”
The debate died down and Funston turned his eyes to Andrew. “Yes, Major? You have something to add?”
Andrew straightened up and cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. As most of you know, I had the opportunity to take a look inside the Martian fortress at Gallup…”
“A lot of us got a look inside during the siege, Major!” snapped one of the other officers; a lieutenant colonel.
“Uh, yes sir, but when I saw it, I believe that the Martians had not yet built their underground facilities and their operations were taking place out in the open.”
“Your point, Major?” asked Funston.
“Yes, sir. I was able to observe that their manufacturing operations were already well-established even at that early date. They appeared to be largely automated and they were building defenses and tripods. That being the case, the limiting factor on their strength was not the number of war machines they had, but the number of Martians available to drive them.”
“Yes, go on.”
“Many people have assumed that the recent landing of the second wave of Martians was identical to the first in what it carried. We know from the off-course cylinder that we captured that in the first wave each cylinder carried only three Martians and a lot of equipment. So we assumed that this second landing of five cylinders near Gallup would only carry fifteen Martians and more equipment. With the losses we’ve inflicted on them, we should only be facing twenty or twenty-five of the enemy now. But what if these new cylinders carried more personnel and less equipment? If they knew that the Martians in the fortress could build all the tripods they needed, what if they sent ten or twenty Martians in each cylinder instead of just three? We could be facing a hundred or more enemy war machines now.”
Funston looked very serious. “You think this is possible, Major?”
“Yes sir. I… I, uh, tried to warn General Wood about their production capability after I got back from here last year, but I’m not sure he understood.”
Half the people in the room started talking at once, some strongly disagreeing with Andrew’s conclusions, others apparently accepting it, but not at all happy. Funston let it go on for a few moments and then silenced it. “Gentlemen, whether we are facing twenty tripods or a hundred, our task remains the same: defend this position. That is what we must do and that is what we will do. Now, based upon this scouting report, how quickly could they attack us here?”
The same lieutenant-colonel who had snapped at Andrew, Funston’s intelligence officer, looked at the map spread on the table and calculated for a moment. “Well, they were spotted near the village of San Rafael. The patrol rode back to the telegraph at McCartys. Considering how fast they move… well, they could be here in a few hours.”
“Very well then. Put all units on alert. Warn them they could come under attack at any moment.”
As Funston’s staff scrambled to comply, Andrew studied the map. Funston’s army consisted of two corps; the II Corps under General Menoher was holding the line around Santa Fe, while the III Corps under General Wright was defending Albuquerque. Altogether there were nine infantry divisions plus a swarm of supporting units. Each division had a battalion of steam tanks and an attached brigade of heavy artillery, in addition to their organic contingent of guns. The corps had additional tanks, artillery, cavalry, and engineers at their disposal. With the influx of units from the east, it was a vastly more powerful force than
the one which had been besieging the Martian fortress near Gallup.
Even so, the total defense line enclosing the two cities on the south, west, and north was nearly a hundred miles long. Both ends of the line were anchored on the towering Rockies to the east. It was well dug-in with trenches for the front line infantry and log and earth bunkers for machine guns and artillery. The steam tanks mostly were kept in reserve, ready to shore up any point which might be threatened. On paper it looked like a strong defense. But would it be enough?
The meeting broke up and Andrew headed back to the tent he’d been given a block from headquarters. A small park had been taken over for the overflow of staff people. Fortunately, the weather was moderating; it was almost spring. He collected McGill and Kennedy and then rode to the western edge of town. One very welcome privilege he’d gained from being part of Funston’s staff was access to horses. Earlier, he’d found a good observation point on the roof of one of the taller buildings. If the Martians were going to attack today, he wanted to be able to watch.
As he neared his objective, a shout came from behind him. “Major? Major Comstock!”
He reined in his horse and turned to look back. A man was trotting down the street toward him. He was in civilian clothes with a tan overcoat and a black felt hat. He had a small bag over one shoulder on a strap. Who was this?
But as he got closer Andrew suddenly recognized him. “Mr. White? Bill White?”
“Yes! Yes, it’s me!” gasped the man, coming up to stop beside him. And it was him, the Kansas newspaperman who had shared some of his adventures the last time he was out this way. He was the same red-cheeked, slightly pudgy man, bright-eyed and perpetually interested in everything and everyone around him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, same as before: reporting on the war. Came down here to check out the situation and then got stuck here. I know I could get out if I wanted to, but only by traveling halfway around the world, so I decided to stay. Just heard you were here and thought I’d track you down. You make for good stories, Major! I won a lot of praise for the last story I got by following you!”
Andrew chuckled at that. “Well it’s good to see you again!” He dismounted and shook White’s hand.
“So, from all the bugles sounding and the way the place looks like an upturned anthill, I’m guessing something’s about to happen? Am I right?”
“Maybe. The scouts report a large Martian force headed this way from the west. We don’t know what they intend, but we need to be ready.”
“And where are you going?”
“Right over there.” Andrew pointed to his destination. “There’s an observation post on the roof of that building. It’s got a good view to the west.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
“Not at all. Glad to have you.”
They moved to the building, Andrew leading his horse so he could walk with White. The streets were bustling, but everyone was in uniform. The civilian population was mostly gone now, evacuated south. The building was a tall one, right on the edge of town at the corner of Gold and Bareles Streets. They left Kennedy with the horses in the alley behind the brick structure and then climbed four flights of stairs to the roof. There was already an observation post up there; a half-dozen men with binoculars and a field telephone commanded by a lieutenant. Andrew nodded to him. “Seen anything?”
“Nothing so far, sir,” the man replied. “But from all the bustle around here, I guess maybe I should expect to.”
“Those are the rumors. Keep your eyes peeled.” The lieutenant, Conner, was his name if Andrew remembered correctly, dutifully picked up his field glasses and scanned the western horizon. Andrew and White went over to the parapet which surrounded the flat roof and looked in that direction as well. It was an hour or so after noon on a bright, brisk day. The wind was from the northwest and rather chilly. Tomorrow was the first day of spring, but you wouldn’t have known it on that rooftop.
The view from there showed the Rio Grande River about a mile to the west. Despite the chill, the spring melts had begun and the river was rising. It was maybe a hundred and fifty feet wide, although Andrew suspected it wasn’t very deep. The banks were fairly steep and about another ten or fifteen feet high. The eastern side was lined with trenches, but the other bank just had some brush and small trees. He doubted the river would present much of an obstacle to any tripods determined to cross. Past the river, there were a few clusters of buildings and the land rose gradually to a ridge about five miles away. Beyond that, the ground fell, creating a dead zone, until it rose again to a much higher ridge ten or twelve miles off. With his field glasses he could see that distant ridge clearly enough that any tripods cresting it ought to be easily visible.
The town was built in a long bend in the river, which curved back east to the south of them where there was one of the two bridges across the river. The trenches followed the river for a mile or two, but when it turned due south again, the trenches continued on east until they ended on the lower slopes of Cedro Peak. To the north, where the second bridge was, the bend was more gradual and the river and the trenches eventually faded out of sight to the northeast toward Santa Fe. To the east of Andrew’s position was the town itself, which was bisected north to south by the tracks of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad. About a half mile to the east of the railroad, the town petered out and beyond that the ground rose sharply up to the Sandia Heights. There was a narrow pass there in a gap between it and Cedro Peak.
And everywhere there were the signs of the army. The trenches filled with infantry, bunkers housing machine guns and small field guns. He noticed a few larger positions with the new anti-tripod guns. The section of the line at this point was being held by the 33rd Infantry Division. They weren’t regular army, but they had been in service for over a year and Andrew hoped they knew their business. To the rear of the trench lines were revetments with more field guns and also the larger howitzers and siege guns. There were the tank parks, now all a-bustle with black smoke puffing out of the stacks of the vehicles as they fired up their boilers. And to the rear of that, it seems like every open space was filled with tents and shacks to house the troops. More men were still forming up in some of them, reserves to be sent forward as needed.
“A hell of a lot more strength that we had at Prewitt,” observed White. “We ought to smash the devils.”
“I hope you’re right, Bill. I really do.”
They watched for a while in silence. One of the enlisted men had a portable camp stove which ran on kerosene. He brewed up a pot of coffee and Andrew gratefully took a cup. The building also had indoor plumbing and Andrew went downstairs to make use of the facilities. It was nearly three o’clock now and he chatted with White.
“Oh, by the way, congratulations on the wedding and your medal,” said the man. “Read about it in the paper.”
“Thanks. Both came as quite a surprise.”
“The wife know what you’re up to here?”
“I write to her. She’s… she’s expecting.”
“Really? Well congratulations again!” He stuck out his hand and Andrew shook it.
“I hope she’s all right.”
White laughed. “You’re standing on the edge of a battlefield, waiting for the Martians to attack, and you’re worried about her?”
Andrew smiled and shrugged. “Guess that’s what it means to love someone.”
“Yeah, I guess it does. Sallie will probably have some words for me when I get home.” He paused and frowned. “I hope she’s all right, what with the Martians running around in our rear.”
“Emporia’s near Topeka, right? There aren’t any reports of anything nearly that Far East. I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Yeah. Well, as long as we stop ‘em here, they shouldn’t…”
“Sir? Major! I see something!” The cry from Lieutenant Conner spun both men around. The young officer was pointing. Andrew brought up his own field glasses and trained them where Conn
er was indicating. He swept the view across the far ridge… stopped… focused.
“Yeah… yeah, there they are.” A group of dark objects had appeared along the crest. As he watched, more and more joined them. One, two, five, nine, ten… He counted, lost count, started again. It was hard because they kept moving - and because more kept appearing.
“How many, do you think, sir?” asked Conner.
“At least fifty. Probably more.”
“Fifty!” exclaimed White.
“Definitely more. Better get that off to HQ, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir!” Conner got on the telephone. Bugles were ringing out from below. The word was spreading fast and the troops were taking their positions.
The first batch of tripods crested the ridge and started down the other side. More were following. Seventy at least. But they were starting to spread out. Some were angling north, and others south, creating a long line. After a few minutes they disappeared behind the nearer ridge. There were cavalry patrols on that ridge and it wasn’t long before he could see them mounting up and falling back, toward the town.
“Looks like they’re coming on,” said White, sounding nervous.
“Yup, shouldn’t be long now.”
But it actually was a while, nearly twenty minutes, before the Martians re-appeared. When they did, however, they were now in a long thin line that stretched for at least five miles. In that formation it was easy to count them. “Seventy-three,” announced Andrew. “Unless some are waiting in reserve behind the ridge.”
“Why… why aren’t we shooting at them?” asked White.
“Must be seven or eight thousand yards to that ridge. Out of range of all but the heaviest guns. Wait a few minutes.”
But only a moment later some of the big guns did begin to fire. A battery just a few hundred yards south of their position opened up with a roar. More guns along the line joined them. Puffs of smoke began to rise up among the Martians where the shells struck. But there weren’t any hits that Andrew could see. The enemy closed rapidly. And soon the lighter guns were firing too, and the noise became almost continuous.
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