“Everyone’s working too hard.”
“Like you.”
The arrival at the hotel saved him from having to answer that one. They checked in, and his driver helped carry the bags again before he dismissed him. The room was nice enough, and they got settled before taking a stroll. It was a beautiful day, but Andrew noticed his wife wrinkling her nose. “What’s wrong?”
“The coal smoke! It’s so thick!”
“Really?” he replied, sniffing deeply. “All the new factories, I guess, I hardly notice it anymore.”
“I guess it’s because there aren’t many factories in Washington that I notice it more.”
“That’s true. But Philadelphia is a huge manufacturing center. And now that you mention it, after one day last winter, the snow was gray, and by the next it had turned black. All the soot from the factories.”
Their stroll took them past Independence Hall and there was a large crowd of people gathered in the open space in front of the old building. There was a band and many of the people carried signs and placards. As they got closer, Andrew realized that it was a political rally in support of Presidential-aspirant Nelson Miles.
A banner close to the building had a list of names of cities which had been lost to the Martians. Salt Lake City, Denver, Bismarck, Omaha, Des Moines, Albuquerque, Santa Fe… Andrew winced. The list went on and the last two names were in red: Kansas City and Little Rock. The banner than asked: How Many More??????
A speaker on the steps was shouting angrily. “… and Roosevelt has the gall, the unmitigated gall to ask the American people to give him another four years! Four terms in office? God in Heaven, Washington himself only wanted two! And Washington won his war! Roosevelt is losing this war! How many more cities will the Rough Rider lose? How many more of our precious boys will die? I say no to Roosevelt! He’s had his chance! It is time for a change! A time for Nelson Appleton Miles! Miles for President!”
The crowd took up the chant: Miles! Miles! Miles!
The band struck up a patriotic march and the crowd cheered and chanted. Andrew steered his family onto 6th Street and away. Victoria looked back with concern on her face. “Do you think Miles will win?” she asked.
“Unless something changes, I’m afraid so,” said Andrew. “Most people still don’t understand what we are facing in this war. They hear about the defeats and the retreats and the cities lost and they can’t accept the fact that it’s because the Martians are more advanced than we are, and that we have a lot of catching up to do. They figure it must be because somebody made a mistake.”
“So they blame the President? From what you and Dad have said - and from what I saw on the trip to Panama - if it weren’t for him we would have lost the war!”
“You’re right. But people don’t listen to reason. And now General Miles comes along and his supporters are all but promising that he’ll win the war and win it quickly if they make him President.”
“What could he do that President Roosevelt isn’t already doing?” snorted Victoria.
“Not much. But the people are tired of the war and I guess they think that any change is better than no change.”
“I’m tired of the war! But it doesn’t mean I’m going to vote against the best man! Not that I can vote, of course.”
Andrew wasn’t going to get drawn into that subject again. So he said: “Come, I didn’t ask you here to talk politics! Are you hungry? There’s a very fine restaurant a few block from here. It’s called Bookbinders and General Clopton introduced me to it.”
“Well, yes, I am hungry, but what about Arthur? He’s being very good, but I don’t know how long he’d keep that up in a restaurant.”
“They have private rooms upstairs. We can get one of those. It’s early yet and they should be available.”
“All right.”
They made their way to the restaurant and Andrew was pleased that it, indeed, was not crowded. The head waiter looked at Arthur doubtfully, but the boy was being on unusually good behavior and they were led upstairs to a cozy room that looked out on Walnut Street. Andrew ordered a bottle of wine and placed their orders. Arthur started getting fussy once they stopped moving, but the little fellow was so worn out by the trip that he soon dozed off in his mother’s arms and they settled him down on a side chair.
They sat and held hands across the table and smiled at each other. “Missed you,” said Andrew.
“Missed you, too.” Victoria’s smile faltered. “But where are you off to now?”
Andrew started in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you obviously aren’t coming home any time soon or why would you have sent for us? From your letters I know that the land ironclads are nearly complete and that ought to finish up your need to be here. So if you are not coming home, where are you going?”
Andrew sighed. Yes, Victoria was a smart woman. Too smart sometimes. “Yes, you’re right, I have a new assignment and I will be gone for a while longer. I’m sorry.”
“Where? What will you be doing? And for how long?”
“You know the old saying that the reward for a job well done is a tougher job?”
“Yes?”
“Well, it appears I did my job here too well. I learned about the land ironclads so well that General Clopton wants me to stay on as his second in command to make sure the darn things keep running properly. I’ll be heading west with the squadron in a few days.”
“West? You mean to the Mississippi Line?”
Andrew nodded.
“A combat assignment? But… but you’re a staff officer!”
“The policy now is to rotate officers between staff and the line. So people don’t get stuck in a rut and so each side understands the problems of the other. Clopton went straight to General Crozier and twisted his arm to get me. It’s a compliment, really.”
“But it will put you in combat.”
“Being a staff officer hasn’t been too terribly effective at keeping me out of combat so far.”
“I know! Oh, Andrew!” She got up out of her chair with tears in her eyes. He automatically stood up and embraced her. At that moment, Arthur decided to wake up and start crying, and a few seconds later the waiter arrived with their food. They sprang apart, Victoria going for the baby, Andrew spinning to face the startled waiter. It took several minutes to get settled again, Victoria with Arthur on her lap and both of them seated again, picking at food they neither really wanted anymore.
“How long do you think?” she said quietly.
“How long until I go? We plan to make the first move down to Newport News next week. That will be the first real test of how the ironclads handle open water. If everything goes well - and I doubt it will - we’ll work our way down the coast from harbor to harbor until we get to New Orleans. Then up the river to wherever they need us. If there are any delays at Newport News I might be able to get up to Washington for a day, but I don’t know if…”
“I meant, how long until you come home?”
“Oh, well, there’s no way to tell. All the brass are hoping that the land ironclads will be the spearhead for the offensives everyone is clamoring for. So they’ll probably want us until… until…” He faltered and dropped his eyes.
“Until you win the war? That could be a very long time. Years.”
“That’s true for any soldier these days, love.” He stared at his cooling lobster. “But if things work well, the army will be building more of the ironclads. Maybe they’ll send me back here to work up my own squadron. I could be back east for months and months.” He looked up and gave her as hopeful a grin as he could manage.
She answered with a tiny smile. “As it happened, I have some news for you, too, Andrew.”
“Oh? What?”
In the half-second before she replied, he knew exactly what she was going to say.
“Andrew, I’m expecting again.”
* * * * *
Cycle 597, 845.1, Holdfast 32-4
Qetjnegartis s
tared at the image of Commander Braxjandar of Clan Mavnaltak in the communications display and tried to gauge its mood. The clan to the north had also fought a large battle recently and also gained a victory.
“My congratulations on your success, Braxjandar,” said Qetjnegartis. “I trust your losses were not excessive.”
“Excessive, no. But not inconsequential, either,” it replied. “The prey-creatures learn quickly and fight with greater tenacity than ever. Do you not find this to be true?”
“Yes. I fear they are more intelligent than we first gave them credit for.”
“All the more reason to crush them quickly and not give them the time to learn more,” said Braxjandar. “I propose to attack City 3-4 in six days’ time. Can I count on Clan Bajantus to attack City 3-37 at the same time to keep the enemy confused? This was agreed upon.”
Qetjnegartis waved its tendrils in the negative. “I am afraid that will not be possible. Despite crushing the enemy at City 3-118, our force of reserve fighting machines was destroyed. It will be at least thirty days before they can be replaced. I cannot launch a major attack without them. Can you delay your assault for that long?”
“Destroyed? How could your entire reserve be destroyed?”
“An enemy raiding force attacked from the rear. Several of the reserve machines had their power supplies explode and the other machines were caught in the explosions. A regrettable setback.”
“Did you not have a guard on them?”
“I do not have time to discuss my tactical decisions, Braxjandar! I can attack 3-118 in thirty days! Will you wait or not?”
“I will not, Qetjnegartis! The enemy is off balance and I will not give them time to recover. I will attack as planned. The Colonial Conclave will not be pleased to hear that you have failed to support me properly.”
Qetjnegartis held back its anger. The loss of the reserve machines truly rankled and Braxjandar’s arrogant attitude was not helping. Still, the opinion of the Conclave could not be ignored. “I and my clan face difficulties you do not. City 3-37 lies on the far side of the great river. Crossing it against the enemy defenses may be very difficult. We do not know the depth of the water, the strength of the current, or the condition of the bottom. Your next objective lies on this side of the river and can be attacked directly. Also, is not Clan Novmandus ordered to assist you from the north?”
Braxjandar waved its tendrils dismissively. “They are proving to be of little help. They have such a vast territory assigned to them, with almost no prey-creatures to contend with, that they are making little effort to construct an effective battle force. Their attention is on building new holdfasts to administer their territory. In time, of course, they may become very powerful, but for the moment all they can do is distract some of the enemy forces to the north. I understand that you have a similar lack of cooperation from the clan to your south.”
“That is true, although they do have serious prey-creature forces to contend with, and I have heard that they are also suffering from… internal difficulties.”
“Then it would appear that the conquest of this continent has been left to you and I, Qetjnegartis.”
It was surprised by this statement. Was this a peace-offering of some sort? Perhaps some gesture in return was wise. “That may well be true. I regret my inability to launch a full-scale assault at this time. But I will agree to send raiding forces north and south along the large river. This may spread alarm and confusion among the prey-creatures. At the very least it will allow me to gather information on the enemy defenses. Perhaps a better attack site will present itself. And I promise that our main attack will commence within thirty days.”
“Very well,” said Braxjandar. “I will attack on schedule. Perhaps my attack will aid yours, if nothing else.”
“So be it,” said Qetjnegartis.
* * * * *
May, 1912, St. Louis, Missouri
General Leonard Wood eagerly stepped off the train in the huge expanse of St. Louis’ Union Station; Colonel Drum was right behind. Despite the top priority granted his train, it had taken three days to get here. There was a crowd of men in uniform waiting to meet him. Leading the group was John Pershing, commander of 6th Army. Pershing had briefly worked for Wood two years earlier as his assistant chief of staff, but the huge demand for officers with command experience had seen him made a division, corps, and now army commander. ‘Black Jack’, as he was sometimes called due to his time with a colored regiment, had grown into his new responsibilities well, and Wood was glad to be working with him. He returned his salute and stuck out his hand. “Hello, John, good to see you again.”
Pershing took his hand and shook it firmly. “And you, sir. Although you’ve picked a hell of a time to make an inspection! I’ve got Martians not thirty miles from this spot!”
“I know, John, I know. That’s why I’m here.”
Pershing’s welcoming expression turned to suspicion. “You’re taking command here, sir?”
“Technically I was already in command. Here and everywhere else, John. But do you mean am I relieving you? No. I’m here to observe. And to get the hell out of Washington for a while.”
Pershing smiled briefly but still looked wary. Wood could certainly understand the man’s uneasiness. No commander wanted the boss looking over his shoulder, but that was just too bad. Wood was very glad that Congress had finally stopped dragging its feet about re-creating the four-star rank and giving it to him. During the Civil War, it had taken them two years to even allow three star ranks, and that had meant a horde of major generals commanding corps and armies and all squabbling over who had seniority. They had been facing the same thing in this war with the lieutenant generals. But now he had four stars on his uniform and there was no doubt who was in charge. Still, they had lieutenant generals at both corps and army level. Perhaps there needed to be a five star rank…
“I see, sir,” said Pershing. He turned and gestured to several other officers with him. “This is my own chief of staff, Colonel George Marshall, and you know General Foltz, of course.”
“Of course! How are you, Fred?” The commander of XV Corps, which was charged with the defense of St. Louis, Lieutenant General Frederick Foltz, stepped up and shook his hand. “Fred was indispensable helping me sort out that mess in Cuba after the war,” said Wood to Pershing. “He was the supervisor of police and captain of the port in Havana, while I was the military governor of the island.”
“And now we’ve got another mess to deal with, sir,” said Foltz. “Scouts report I’ve got a couple of hundred tripods bearing down on me. They could hit us as soon as tomorrow.”
“Right, and there’s no time to waste. Let’s dispense with the formalities and get to work. Take me to your headquarters and brief me on the situation.”
Pershing nodded and they all made their way out of the station to the street where a group of staff cars awaited. They chugged off along streets almost devoid of civilian traffic, but crowded with military. “How has the evacuation proceeded?” asked Wood, nodding to the streets.
“Well enough, sir. Nearly all the women and children are gone, but there are still plenty of civilian workers in the factories and maintaining the utilities and other services. Still, the population is less than half of what it was.”
“What were you able to save from the Kansas City garrison?” It was a question he’d dreaded to ask, but he needed to know.
“Not much, I’m afraid,” said Pershing, frowning deeply. “The reports that made it back are sketchy to say the least. The enemy attacked in overwhelming strength and the defenses collapsed very quickly. Some of the riverine craft have made it back here carrying some survivors. Scouting aircraft report others on foot traveling overland. Whatever has made it out is no longer a usable military force - except for the ships, of course, I’ve added them to the city’s defenses.”
“Duncan?”
“No word.”
“Damn. Well, hopefully they took some of the bastards with the
m. From the reports we’re getting, the defenders at Little Rock made them pay.”
“That’s good to know, sir,” said Pershing, “but it doesn’t help us much here. Forgive me for asking, but can we expect any reinforcements besides yourself, General?”
Wood looked Black Jack in the eyes. “As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve had the 1st Tank Division sent to Cairo. They’re on ships and I can have them sent wherever you like.”
Pershing looked surprised. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting anything. “That would be wonderful, sir. The steam tanks are the best things we’ve got to stop the tripods.”
“Actually, we may have something better.”
“Sir?”
“I’ll tell you about it when we’re inside.” The motorcade had arrived at Foltz’s headquarters which was located in the Hotel Jefferson, a fifteen story building which had a good view in most directions from its penthouse ballroom. The elevator took them up.
St. Louis had been identified as a strategic point almost from the start of the war, so plans for its defense had been worked on for years. Since the disaster in 1910, those plans had been put into effect with much greater urgency and had now reached a very sophisticated stage. The penthouse headquarters contained a huge and beautifully made sand table map of the city’s defenses with hundreds of small blue flags stuck into it, which Foltz now explained in detail.
“We started with the defenses of the city, itself,” he said, using a pointer to trace an egg-shaped oval which fit into a bend in the Mississippi. “A line of concrete walls with emplacements for heavy guns was constructed from the river on the south and then around to meet the river again north of the city, a distance of almost thirty miles. We’ve also built some substantial works along the waterfront, although we’ve always assumed we’d have support from the navy to defend that approach.”
“Dangerous to make assumptions,” muttered Wood, “but for the Martians to attack from the river side would mean they have already gotten across, and that would be a disaster in its own right. Proceed, General.”
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