Counterattack

by Scott H Washburn

  “Come, Leonard, it’s so blasted hot, let’s take a dip.”

  There was no escaping it, so Wood swung off his horse and followed. Roosevelt was stripping off his clothes and dropping them on the bank of the creek. Well, at least it’s not November!

  Roosevelt’s excursions to Rock Creek were famous - or infamous in some circles. In the early years of his presidency he would lead parties of senators, congressmen, ambassadors, and just about anyone who wanted to talk to him out here and then, in all weather, strip buck naked to wade or swim in the creek and climb the cliffs on the opposite bank. People wanting to gain his ear - and his respect - had little choice but to follow suit. Wood had managed to avoid most of those trips, but he did remember one frigid March day where there was ice floating in the creek…

  He peeled off his sweat-soaked uniform and followed his leader into the water. He had to admit that it did feel good on a day like this. Major Butt was standing on the bank looking very uncomfortable. The man watched Roosevelt, looked back at the smirking cavalrymen, and then shrugged and started unbuttoning his coat.

  “Oh, this is splendid!” said the President, submerging himself up to his chin. “It’s been too long since I’ve done this!”

  “We’ve all been a trifle busy,” said Wood. “I’ll be up until midnight catching up from this little jaunt.”

  “Don’t try to make me feel guilty, Leonard! It won’t work!”

  “Oh, I know it won’t. Never has.”

  Roosevelt laughed and rolled over on his back in the water. “But you know, the idea of Martian assassins sets me to thinking.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, sometimes I wonder just how much they know about us. Do they have any notion about how our governments work? Who our leaders are? If they ever had the opportunity to assassinate me - or the Kaiser, or the Tsar - would they even go to the effort?”

  “Well, they surely must know that we are organized in some fashion. We have cities and armies and navies. Things like that don’t just happen spontaneously. And they must have some sort of government of their own.”

  “True, true, but they might think themselves so superior that they don’t even consider how we do things. I mean do we worry about who is the leader of a herd of cattle or a flock of chickens? To us they are just a resource to be exploited.”

  “Hmm…” grunted Wood, not much liking the comparison.

  “And their complete refusal to try and communicate indicates the Martians feel the same way toward us.”

  Wood had to admit that it certainly could be true. There had been some attempts to communicate with the invaders. All had failed - often with fatal consequences to those making the attempt. Parties advancing under flags of truce had been reduced to ash. There was a report out of Russia of a group of Orthodox Bishops, marching forward with icons held high, being vaporized. More cautious attempts, using blinking lights from a distance or the new radio signals, had been ignored. It was plain that the enemy had not come to talk.

  “So, it will be a war of extermination.”

  “From our point of view it will have to be,” said Roosevelt. “There’s no choice. But from their point of view…” he shrugged. “If they do just think of us as cattle…”

  Both men fell silent. There was no longer any doubt that the Martians did feed upon humans—and other large warm-blooded animals. But whether that was just an expediency forced upon the Martians during the initial phase of their invasion or a long range policy was unknown. Although reports from scouting missions into Martian held territory in Asia and Africa told of huge pens holding human captives, far more than would be needed for immediate food supplies. It was an unsettling thing to think about.

  Major Butt joined them in the water. “You do have a reception tonight, Mr. President,” he said diffidently.

  “Yes, yes, I know. We’ll be back to the White House in plenty of time, Major.”

  “Well, at least the Canal is open,” said Wood, trying to bring up something good.

  “Yes!” replied Roosevelt, brightening. “Wish I could have been there. Just so blasted much work here, I can’t get away.” His expression quickly darkened again. “And not just running the war; the politics have become downright suffocating!”

  Wood nodded. Yes, the massive wave of patriotic fervor in the first year or so, when Roosevelt could get anything he wanted out of Congress, Wall Street, or the people had long since disappeared. When it came to wars, Americans were notoriously impatient. They didn’t balk at making sacrifices or risking death on the battlefield, but they wanted to get on with it! Get it done with so they could go back to their regular lives. They wanted ‘splendid little wars’, like the ones with Spain or Mexico. When they got a long, bloody one, like the Civil War - or this one - they tended to get angry and lose confidence in their leaders.

  As they were now. Millions of people had been forced to flee the states and territories in the heartland. Except for a few fortified outposts in places like Little Rock, Kansas City, Omaha, and Sioux City, which could be supplied by river, the Great Plains had been overrun. The farms which had produced such bounty were abandoned and food prices were soaring. Mines and factories were working around the clock, so everyone had a job and wages were also on the rise, but everything cost more and wartime necessity had seen many of the worker safety and child labor laws, championed by Roosevelt in his early years, suspended. Conditions in some places were very bad. More and more women and children were being pulled into the workplace as the men were sent to the army. The factory owners were making fortunes, but the new taxes needed to pay for the war were mostly falling on the middle class. The fabric of American society was being strained as never before.

  The American people had the grit to take all of that, of course, but only if they could see that their efforts were paying off. At the moment, the payoff was hard to see. Discontent was rising and the congressmen and senators were listening to their constituents. Committees had been formed to look into how the war was being handled - Wood himself was spending an inordinate amount of time on Capitol Hill answering congressmen’s questions these days. Everyone had ideas on how it could be done better. Roosevelt was not getting his way nearly as often as he wanted and it only looked to get worse.

  And next year was an election year.

  1912 could see the most important presidential election since 1864. Maybe the most important ever. Roosevelt’s third term in 1908 was unprecedented. A fourth term in 1912 might prove unacceptable. The opposition was already on the move.

  “Did you see that letter of Miles’ in the Post yesterday?” asked Roosevelt suddenly - as if he was reading Wood’s mind.

  “Yes. Yes, I did,” replied Wood. General Nelson Miles had been a hero in the Civil War and more recently had been the Commanding General of the U.S. Army. Roosevelt had forced him to retire in 1903 so that the post of Commanding General could be abolished to make way for the current system with the Chief of Staff in charge. Miles had never forgiven Roosevelt and had tried to win the Democratic nomination for President in 1904. He’d lost that fight, but now he was back and with much wider backing. He’d written a letter that was savagely critical of Roosevelt - and Wood - and the way the war was being run. It was being reprinted in papers all over the country.

  “His hat is in the ring for sure now,” said Roosevelt sullenly. “You’d think he’d be too old for this sort of thing. He’s what? Seventy-two?”

  “Seventy-one, I think,” said Wood. “Still hale, though. Remember when he rode ninety miles in one day just before you retired him to prove he was up to the task?”

  “Yes, the show off. But he’ll be the Democrats’ choice for certain. I mean who else do they have? Bryan’s been a pacifist his whole career and Wilson doesn’t have any military credentials at all. They need a fighter.”

  “Well, he’s certainly that.”

  We’ve got a fighter - what we need is a victory!

  “By George! Look at that!”

&nb
sp; Wood spun around, but saw nothing. Butt was looking for assassins and reaching for the pistol on his hip—only to realize it was on the pile of clothes on the bank.

  “What?”

  “I think I saw a cave swallow! They’re rare in these parts. I think it landed somewhere on the cliffside. They sometimes make nests in crevasses.”

  Wood relaxed. Roosevelt and his damn birds! He was a noted expert on them and had written several books.

  “Let’s take a look, shall we?” The President paddled toward the far shore.

  Wood sighed and followed.

  A victory, we need a victory - and soon.

  Chapter One

  Cycle 597, 844.8, Holdfast 32-2

  Qetjnegartis found Ixmaderna where it had expected: in its laboratory. While Ixmaderna never balked at any task assigned to it, construction, combat, or production, it had always been clear to Qetjnegartis that its greatest interest was scientific in nature. Now that they had the time to build a proper holdfast, with a well-equipped laboratory, and that every clan member was not so urgently needed for other tasks, Ixmaderna had the freedom to indulge its interests.

  “Greetings, Commander,” it said when it caught sight of Qetjnegartis. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

  “As it is you.” Ixmaderna was unfailingly courteous and Qetjnegartis often found itself mimicking the behavior. “I have just arrived back from Holdfast 32-4. Is all well, here?”

  “Yes, it is. Resource gathering is going as planned, and production is at nearly full capacity. There have been no attacks on this holdfast and our scouts report no significant prey-creature military forces within three hundred telequel.” It paused for a moment and then continued. “I have heard the news of the attack you led against the prey-creature city, Commander. An unfortunate setback, but hardly critical.”

  “No,” said Qetjnegartis, “But it is still irritating. Attacking the enemy in one of their cities which they have had the time to fortify is much more difficult than in the open field. I am concerned because our observations indicate that the cities are far more numerous - and far larger - the further east we advance. We are going to need new techniques to overcome this problem.”

  “New techniques and new equipment, Commander,” said Ixmaderna. “We are not the first clan to encounter these difficulties. Others have reported the same thing, and the engineers on the Homeworld have been working to develop machines which may help us overcome them.”

  “Indeed? Have they come up with anything?”

  “We just received a transmission today. It contained the construction template for an interesting device. Here, let me show it to you.” Ixmaderna moved to a large display screen and activated it. The image which appeared was very similar to a machine commonly used in mining, but with some significant modification. Qetjnegartis immediately noted the scale and realized the size of the device.

  “It is not piloted?”

  “No, it is far too small for that. It would have to be controlled remotely. There are also instructions for adding the necessary devices to our fighting machines—or the holdfast controls—to do that.”

  Qetjnegartis considered this. “It will take training to employ these properly, but I can see how they could have been used to good effect in the recent battle. And being unpiloted, they would be completely expendable. We will need such devices in future operations. Very well, you have my authorization to begin construction. I will take thought on when and how to deploy them.”

  “Very good, Commander,” said Ixmaderna, clearly pleased. “It shall be as you command.”

  “Are there any other things you wish to discuss?”

  “Actually, yes, if you have the time, Commander.”

  “I do. Proceed.”

  “I have been studying the intelligent prey-creatures,” said Ixmaderna.

  “I thought you were focusing your studies on the non-intelligent creatures of this world?”

  “So I was. But the life on this world is all of identical construction and there is little of significant interest at a strictly biological level—except for the dangerous pathogens, of course, but other groups, more capable than I, are pursuing those lines of research.”

  “You insult yourself, Ixmaderna, You are as talented a scientist as anyone I have met,” said Qetjnegartis.

  “You are kind, Commander. But in any case, I turned over the routine cataloging of the non-intelligent life to an assistant, and I began to explore ways of controlling the larger non-intelligent creatures which I thought might be of use as food-animals. I hypothesized that if we could develop ways of easily controlling these animals, we could dispense with any need for the intelligent prey-creatures in that role. We could exterminate them completely and rely solely on the non-intelligent beasts.”

  “An interesting idea,” said Qetjnegartis. “Using the intelligent ones as a food source has always posed problems. If we simply confine them, as we did at first, then the challenge becomes one of feeding them until we require them. Unconfined, they are dangerous and will try to flee. Can what you suggest be done?”

  “At first I was optimistic, Commander. We have observed the prey-creatures controlling large numbers of them seemingly with ease. My attempts have been far less successful. The non-intelligent creatures are panicked by the sight, sound, and smell of us and our machines. Some grow so terrified they injure or even kill themselves in their desperation to escape. Even ones born in captivity have proven uncontrollable. Perhaps with time that will change. But I have had some new thoughts and that brings us back to my study of the intelligent prey-creatures.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes, I began studying their young ones and what I’ve found is truly remarkable.”

  “How so?”

  “The prey-creatures reproduce sexually, as all the lower creatures do, of course. The embryos develop inside the female and are then expelled when sufficiently matured to survive.”

  “That is not remarkable, Ixmaderna, most lower creatures do the same.”

  “True, Commander, but what is remarkable is the length of time it takes these young creatures to fully mature. From my observations, it takes approximately fourteen of the local cycles for them to reach sufficient maturity to reproduce, and then another four to reach their adult size.”

  “Really?” asked Qetjnegartis in surprise. That was an extraordinarily long period compared to life on the Homeworld. “But how can you be sure of that? We have only been on this world for two cycles—four of the local cycles.”

  “That is true. I have not been able to observe any single creature grow from birth to maturity. But by dividing the creatures into groups, sorted by their size and weight and behavior, and then seeing how they develop over several of the local cycles, I have been able to extrapolate the total amount of time it would take one to go from the least developed group to the most developed. I may be in some small degree of error, but I am confident my observations are still valid.”

  “Why such a long time? Are all the creatures on this world like that?”

  “That is the other odd thing. No, they are not. The non-intelligent creatures develop much faster. They are born with a basic set of abilities and just a few of the local cycles bring them to adulthood. But Commander, the thing of greatest import is the fact that the newly born intelligent prey-creatures appear to be completely ignorant of… well, everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said, Commander. As far as I can determine, the newborns have only their autonomic functions. They cannot move, feed themselves, or even communicate with their parent, except in the most rudimentary fashion. They are utterly helpless and would not survive without help. Everything must be learned as they mature.”

  Qetjnegartis was very surprised. When the Race reproduced, it did so by budding off a new being. It would grow in a sac on the side of the parent’s body and when it had matured sufficiently, it would detach. Shortly before detaching, the parent would transfer a great
deal of basic information to the bud. From the moment it detached, it was capable of routine functions. While its intellect and advanced skills would develop later, as it experienced new things, it was a useful member of the Race immediately. But if these prey-creatures were a hindrance rather than a help for such a long period… “How could such a species even survive, let along become the dominant one on this world?”

  “It does seem unlikely, doesn’t it?” replied Ixmaderna. “I can only speculate that any potential competitors were even more primitive.”

  “Extraordinary. If this is true, our conquest of this world seems assured. But how does this relate to your earlier statement about controlling the non-intelligent creatures?”

  “I am only speculating at this point, Commander, but it occurs to me that if the infant prey-creatures are truly such a blank, then perhaps they could be trained—by us.”

  “Trained? To do what?”

  “Well, anything, I suppose,” replied Ixmaderna. “My initial thought was to use them to control the non-intelligent animals. Perhaps we could keep small numbers of trained prey-creatures to control large numbers of the non-intelligent animals. There might be other useful tasks they could be set to do, as well.”

  It took a few moments for the full implication of this to be processed by Qetjnegartis. “Could they be trained to fight other prey-creatures?”

  “I… don’t know, Commander. There may be some instinct against fighting their own kind, some sort of automatic loyalty…”

  “The level of armaments the first expedition encountered would argue against that,” said Qetjnegartis. “They reported warriors with weapons and powerful fighting machines on the oceans. Clearly they must wage war on each other.”

  “True,” conceded Ixmaderna. “It might be possible. Of course, considering the very slow level of development, it will be three or four cycles—six or eight of the local cycles - before we would know if we’ve been successful.”

  “I understand. But this is significant enough that I believe it should be pursued.”