He was already wearing his gauntlets, so his hands were protected. He took his handkerchief and started brushing away the grains he could see, being careful to stand upwind of her. Shoulders, back, front…
“The mask, Frank, get the mask off!”
“Uh… right, right…” There wasn’t much dust that he could find on the mask. It was a rubberized canvas material that was as smooth as the buckskin. He dislodged a few grains from the edges of the round eyepieces. He could see her eyes dimly through the glass, which was partially fogged up with moisture. He worked his way down to the neck area and grimaced. Where the cinch cord pulled the bottom tight around her neck were creases and folds that had caught a lot of the dust. “Hold still, this is gonna be tricky.”
He brushed away as much as he could with the neck tight. Then he very carefully loosened the cord…
“Captain, I’ve got the men resting and…” It was Lynnbrooke.
“Lieutenant, are the Martians hitting us again?” He asked without looking away.
“Uh, no, sir, not yet.”
“Then you can handle things for the moment. Leave us be.”
“Uh, right, sir.”
He loosened the cord and pulled the bottom of the mask out a little, revealing more grains of dust. He brushed them off and then repeated the process until he had the bottom as loose as it would go. “Ready?”
“More than ready! Do it!”
Okay, how best to do this? Slow or fast? Fast might dislodge any hidden dust, so slow. “Don’t move and don’t breathe.” He grasped the top of the mask and slowly lifted it upward. Inch by inch he pulled it over her head. Every moment he expected her to start screaming as some grain he’d missed fell on her bare skin. But she didn’t and finally the mask was clear. He moved it aside and tossed it away.
“Thank God!” gasped Becca. She started to reach for her canteen.
“Don’t move, dammit!” snapped Dolfen. “I need to check around your collar.”
“Well, hurry!” she snapped back.
“Yeah, yeah…” He looked closely around the collar of the jacket, but he didn’t find anything. She reached for the canteen again, but he slapped her arm back. “Wait!” He inspected the canteen and frowned when he saw a few grains of dust on its cover. “Here, take mine.” He gave her his own canteen and she gulped it down. Her face was a bright rosy red, covered with sweat, and beautiful.
“Oh… oh that’s good,” she gasped. “Thank you, Frank.” She looked intently into his eyes. “Thank you, Frank.”
He found himself blushing. “Uh, you’re… you’re welcome. But you’ve still got dust on you from the waist down. You need to be careful.”
“I will be.”
“And let me find you a helmet and another dust mask. They could use it again.” It only took a short search to find what he was looking for. There was discarded equipment all over the place. He found her a spare canteen and a rations pack as well.
He had just gotten her settled back with the other women when Lynnbrooke reported that the Martians looked to be forming for another attack.
“They’re coming again?” asked one of the women, her face twisted in dismay.
“Yeah, ma’am, this ain’t over yet.”
* * * * *
Cycle 597, 845.2, City 3-37
“Resistance has stiffened, commander. The direct routes to the bridge are blocked by fallen buildings and the prey-creatures are well dug-in among the ruins. It will take much time to fight our way through. Heavy losses are to be expected.”
Qetjnegartis regarded the tactical display in his fighting machine and had to agree with the report of its subordinate. The attack had lost momentum and the enemy had managed to assemble enough force to block the direct route to the vital bridge. Perhaps they could just smash their way through, but at what cost? They had to have enough force left to hold the city once they took it. Reports from the battlegroups pushing along the eastern line of defenses indicated that a new enemy force was assembling in that area, and if it attacked while the bulk of Qetjnegartis’ forces were still engaged in the city, the situation could become very precarious. They needed to finish things here as quickly as possible so they could redeploy to meet the new threat. But how?
An indicator light on its control panel notified it that Ixmaderna wished to communicate. This was hardly an opportune time, but Ixmaderna was well aware of the current situation; it would only try to communicate if it was an urgent matter. Qetjnegartis opened the channel. “Yes?”
“Commander, as you have directed, I have analyzed the images taken by the artificial satellite taken when it passed over your location a short time ago. I can transfer the data whenever you wish.”
“Excellent, do so at once.”
“Transmission commencing.”
The data arrived and immediately the tactical display was updated. The images from the satellite were very detailed and Ixmaderna had been able to interpret them to give at least an approximation of the location of the prey-creature forces. The satellite only passed over any given location on the planet about once per local day. It was fortunate that it had passed over City 3-37 when it did.
Qetjnegartis studied the information and saw that the enemy’s forces were still moving across the bridge from the fortified area west of the river. But as they arrived they were being fed directly into the areas under direct attack by the clan’s forces. As its subordinate had reported, the direct routes to the bridge were filled with foot-warriors and machines. But to the east…
To the east, their line ended at about the same point as Qetjnegartis’. There was a gap of nearly three telequel between the end of the prey’s line and the defensive structures guarding the eastern approach to the city. If it were to use the superior mobility of the war machines and suddenly shift the route of attack… Yes.
“Attention, all units. Battlegroups 2, 10, and 14 will maintain the pressure on our current front. Seventy-five percent of the remaining drones will assist. All other groups will immediately disengage and move east to the coordinates shown on your tactical map. From that point we will turn south and then west to outflank the enemy, surround them, and drive to the bridge. Speed is essential. Commence immediately.”
* * * * *
July, 1912, Memphis, Tennessee
“Well, we’re here. Now what the hell do we do?” Andrew Comstock was speaking rhetorically, but naturally Major Bridges felt compelled to answer. He always felt compelled to answer.
“Bit of a sticky wicket, eh, old chap?” He pointed to the burning city. “The battle is over there, and you’re on the wrong side of the wall. A pity there’s no gate big enough to let you through.”
“They didn’t know about the ironclads when they built the walls, Major.”
“There looks to be a big gate at the end of the bridge, there, but I’m damned if I can see any way for us to get up to it.”
“No. I don’t think it would be wide enough even if we could.”
The 1st Land Ironclad Squadron had finally arrived at Memphis only to find an unholy mess inside the city and on the river as well. Dozens of ships and hundreds of smaller craft were clustered in the vicinity of the bridge that crossed the Mississippi. The bridge itself was crammed with men and vehicles, but they didn’t seem to be moving at all. A few of the warships were lobbing shells into the city, but most of them were silent. In fact, many were tied up alongside other vessel, apparently replenishing their ammunition. If they’d been fighting for the last day, they were probably out.
The smoke from the city was a dense cloud drifting eastward and flames could be seen shooting skyward in many places. The land sloped up steadily from the river and it was possible to see things over the wall. What Andrew could see didn’t look good.
“Sir,” said Jerry Hornbaker. “General Clopton wants us to come alongside Springfield to confer with you. I’ve ordered our tow to bring us over there.”
The squadron was loitering just south of the bridge, not wanting
to get caught in the jam of vessels ahead. They slowly brought Albuquerque over next to the flagship. Clopton was on the bridge with a speaking trumpet. “What do you think?” he called over.
Andrew had his own trumpet. “The fight is over there, sir.” He pointed to the city.
“How do we get there, Colonel?”
“Sir, those walls are only six or eight feet thick. Enough to stop a heat ray, but not a twelve-incher! I suggest we take the direct approach!”
Clopton was silent for a moment; surprised perhaps. But then he nodded vigorously. “Let’s do it! The squadron will form line on the right! Let’s get ashore!”
* * * * *
July, 1912, Memphis, Tennessee
Becca Harding opened the bolt of her rifle and pulled a five-round stripper clip of ammunition out of her cartridge belt. She fit the clip in place and pressed the cartridges down into the magazine. She flicked away the empty clip and closed the bolt, loading a round into the breech. She’d done this what seemed like a thousand times in the last few hours. Only a couple of the other women were firing their weapons, but the rest were happy to keep Becca supplied with ammo from their own belts. She’d had to swap rifles a few times when hers got so hot the grease started dripping out of the stock.
She leaned around the corner of the building she was hiding behind, spotted one of the damn spider-machines, took aim, and fired. The bullet hit it, causing a visible spark, but not affecting it in any other way that she could see. It swung its small heat ray in her direction and she dodged back. The ray swept across where she’d just been and the edges of the brick glowed redly for a moment. Cursing under her breath, she worked the bolt, loading another round, and tried to decide if she dared risk another shot. Sometimes the machines kept their weapon trained on the same spot, waiting for an unwary shooter to try again. She’d almost been killed several times that way, but so far she’d been lucky.
“Becca,” called Sarah Halberstam. “The soldiers are waving us back again!”
All right, that decided the issue, she wouldn’t chance it again. She turned and trudged along the alley, herding the women in front of her. She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure the spider wasn’t following. They made it through to the next street unharmed and followed a corporal’s direction to the new position.
Fall back, fall back. For the last two hours they’d been chased from one location to the next. They’d hoped that they could hold the strong position they’d built behind the collapsed buildings where Frank had helped her out of her mask. At first it seemed like the Martians had given up. They’d only probed half-heartedly with a few tripods and some spider-machines, which they’d beaten back easily. But then the word came that more Martians were attacking from the east, getting in behind the defenders; slaughtering them.
They had to retreat or risk being slaughtered, too. So the line bent back, swinging away from the Martians and toward the river. The Mississippi was at their backs now, only a few blocks away. She wasn’t sure where Frank was; at first he’d hovered around her and the other women like some mother hen until she’d tartly told him to go take care of his own company. This one was hers. So he had and she had hardly seen him since. She hoped he was all right. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut…
She and the others moved through another block of buildings and out onto a very wide street. In her fatigue, she stumbled over a set of railroad tracks and then looked around in surprise. The bridge across the Mississippi had been primarily for railroad traffic and there were several rail yards at its eastern end. In all the confused movements and retreats she’d lost track of where she was and didn’t realize they were on the edge of those yards.
There were large sheds and engine houses and lots and lots of box cars and flat cars, some of them piled with supplies, lined up on sidings. There were also great crowds of troops and steam tanks and horses and guns all jammed up around the large set of gates leading to the bridge. She’d heard Frank say that a lot of the garrison’s troops and equipment had been sent across the river to West Memphis because it seemed like the main enemy attack was going to be there. When the attack had really come from the north, they had to try and bring all those troops back across the river. She and the others had been fighting alongside many of those troops for the last few hours, but she knew from personal experience during the long retreat from Santa Fe in 1910 how long it could take to squeeze an army through a narrow choke point. It appeared as though an awful lot of those troops were still stuck on the bridge or on the far shore.
But at the moment it didn’t look like these troops were trying to get through to the battle anymore. The battle was coming to them and they were trying to get themselves sorted out into some kind of combat formation. Officers were shouting directions and Becca finally spotted Frank. He talked briefly with one of those officers and then waved to his men to follow him. They were nearly all on foot; all the armored cars and most of the motorcycles and horses were gone. They were infantry now. As she and her girls followed along, she wondered what had become of Moses and Ninny. Had they found some refuge or had they been caught up in the fighting? Her horse had survived so much since that fateful trip down to see where the shooting stars had landed, it would be a shame for him to get killed now. It would be a shame for you to get killed now, kid! Keep your mind on your business!
Frank led them over to a position by some large piles of coal, stacked railroad ties, and gondola cars sitting on the tracks. They were south of the bridge now with their backs to the tall concrete walls lining the river. She saw some of the gunners on one of the platforms with a big disappearing gun. They had turned the weapon as far as it could, but it was just facing along the wall’s length. It wouldn’t turn far enough to shoot to the rear.
They found cover in and around the gondola cars and behind the stacks of ties. They were very conscious of the fact that the coal and the ties would burn very nicely when touched by a heat ray. But the cars were mostly metal and that would help. The cavalrymen’s sole remaining machine gun was set up along with a pair of mortars. Becca found a spot under one of the cars where she had a good view to the east. Well, not a good view, but a clear line of fire extending a hundred yards or so. She scrounged a half-dozen clips of ammo from the other girls, who were mostly sheltered behind the big metal wheels of the cars, and tucked them into her belt pouches. Sarah Halberstam lay down under the car beside her. Frank came by, appearing very harried. He just looked over their position, nodded, and moved on.
Several of the steam tanks chugged up on their left and infantry clustered around and behind them. A squad of men came up, apparently thinking about occupying the spot Becca and her girls were in, looked at them in confusion, and then moved off to find a spot somewhere else. She had no idea what unit they belonged to, everything was all mixed up.
“How are the others holding up?” she asked Sarah.
“They’re scared, Becca. Worn out and scared to death.” She paused and then added: “So am I.”
“Yeah, yeah, me, too.”
“Really? You don’t look it. You never look scared; you look angry.”
Becca shrugged. “The mad hides the scared, I guess.”
Sarah nodded and then looked around. “Well, I guess our retreating is over. Nowhere left to run from here.”
“No, I reckon that’s true.” And it was; their backs were literally to the wall. “So we have to stop them.”
“You think we can?”
“We can try.”
Sarah smiled. “We did our best. So did you, Becca. You’ve done a great job. As the soldiers would say: it’s been an honor serving under your command today, sir.”
Becca blinked, her throat tight. “I… we are soldiers, Sarah.”
“Yes, I guess we are, aren’t we? - thanks to you.”
“Not sure if that’s a compliment, considerin’ the circumstances.”
Sarah laughed. “Well, it was meant to be. This is our home, Becca. We all ought to be willing t
o fight to defend it. You showed us how.” She held out her hand and Becca leaned over and grasped it.
“Well, those monsters don’t care that we’re women. Let’s show them what humans can do!”
“Yes… Oh God, here they come!”
The firing, which had died down a bit, suddenly rose to a high tempo again and the noise of the heat rays pierced the roar. Through the smoke she could see the dark shapes of the tripods stalking forward. She didn’t waste her ammunition shooting at them, instead she squinted through her sights, looking for the spider-machines.
Cannons were firing and she saw one of the tripods fall, but then heat rays were sweeping across the area. Shooting down from above, they couldn’t quite reach Becca where she was under the gondola, but the ground just in front of her blazed red, the far metal rail of the track turned a dull orange and the gravel gleamed like hot coals. She ducked her head to shield her face from the blast of scalding air which roiled around her. But then it moved on. Screams and an explosion came from her left where the steam tanks had been.
She looked up again, her eyes watering from the heat and the smoke. As she’d feared, the piles of coal were burning and she couldn’t see more than a few dozen yards now. A puff of wind from the west blew some of it away, but it was still bad.
The air shook as artillery fell much too close for comfort. Stones rattled down around them, banging off the top and sides of the gondola. This is it. Can’t hold nothing back now!
Squinting and coughing, she peered ahead looking for a target. Any target.
A shape materialized a little to her left and she swung the rifle toward it. A squat horror with multiple legs and arms was scuttling toward her. She aimed and fired and hit it. She worked the bolt and fired again. She thought Sarah was firing, too, but the noise had grown so great it was all mingled in one all-encompassing roar. She emptied the magazine and loaded in another clip. She fired again. The spider-machines had a small glowing red ‘eye’, just like the larger ones. She aimed at that and squeezed the trigger. The eye shattered and went out. The spider halted and seemed to turn from side to side as if blinded. Becca chambered another round and sent it through the hole where the eye had been. A few sparks shot out and the spider slowly leaned to one side and fell over.
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