The Great Martian War

by Scott Washburn

  As they neared New York City, their car clattered past one of the new camps. A sea of canvas tents filled a muddy field. Troops were out drilling in the cold and Andrew didn’t envy them. Dozens of such camps had sprung up all over the country. Men were flocking to the recruiting stations, factories were gearing up to produce the new weapons which would be needed, and everyone had been gripped with a patriotic fervor. There were rallies and parades and recruiting drives. John Phillip Sousa had composed a new march titled: ‘Solid Humans to the Front’, and a popular tune called ‘The Martian Three-Step’ was sweeping the dance halls.

  And just as during the war with Spain in ‘98, the government had authorized the raising of separate volunteer regiments. The President, of course, was famous for his exploits with the 1st United States Volunteer Cavalry, the ‘Rough Riders’, and had been all in favor of the idea. The army was less enthusiastic since many of these organizations, while high on enthusiasm, were of questionable military utility. Many were brain-children of politicians and businessmen who were more interested in the publicity than in actually commanding a unit in the field. The results had ranged from good to ridiculous.

  On a more serious note, the General Staff was refining its plans, and troops were being moved to assembly points. Earthwork fortifications were being built around cities big and small. Most of these were the initiatives of the local authorities and their military value was questionable. Much more formidable concrete structures were also being built and fitted with artillery. The army had always maintained a powerful series of forts and batteries protecting the coasts from seaborne invaders, but now forts were planned to protect the landward approaches as well. Nothing like this had been seen since the Civil War.

  Baldwin Locomotive Works had finally gotten their tanks running and several prototypes were at Sandy Hook being fitted with 3-inch guns for firing tests. Assuming all went well, they would go into full production. It was hoped that several battalions would be ready before the September date when the Martians were expected. Baldwin was also working on the first designs for a land ironclad for the army. The navy was moving ahead with theirs as well. As a stop-gap until the tanks were ready, a new program to develop some armored cars using commercial automobile chassis was in the works.

  There were problems, of course. The states were wrangling over the exact provisions of the Dick Act, as the Militia Act of 1903 was usually called. The army wanted full control over the National Guard units and the governors didn’t want to give it to them. Congress was debating how to pay for everything and stalling several important appropriation bills. And the army was quite capable of creating its own troubles, too. There was a savage fight going on between the Chief of Staff and the Adjutant General over jurisdiction. Even the new tanks were causing problems. Both the Cavalry and Artillery branches were laying claim to them and Andrew had no clue who would win that battle; he could see both points of view.

  Not much of that affected him personally. He was busy doing interesting and important work; what more could a person want? Granted that it was tiring; he probably didn’t spend more than one night a week in his tiny room in the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters at Fort Myer. But the colonel made it a point to get home to his family on Sundays whenever possible and he often had Andrew there for dinner. That was very pleasant because not only was the food good, but the colonel’s daughter, Victoria, a sweet girl of sixteen, had been making eyes at him for months now. The colonel’s wife seemed to be encouraging this, but he wasn’t sure exactly how Hawthorne felt about it. Well, nothing much could happen on that front until the Martians were dealt with.

  “Andy,” said the colonel, jolting him out of his ruminations.

  “Sir?”

  “I’m going to send you off to Dayton by yourself next week. Crozier wants several reports finished and there’s no way I can do both. Do you think you can handle it?”

  “Uh, yes, sir,” replied Andrew. “The meeting with the Wright brothers?”

  “What else is in Dayton? Yes, of course. Take a look at their latest flying machine and report back.”

  “Yes sir, I can do that.”

  “It should be an easy mission, Captain.”

  Andrew blinked. “Sir?”

  “Brevet promotion, effective on Monday. Crozier approved it.” Hawthorne was grinning.

  “Thank… Thank you, sir!” He glanced at his lieutenant’s bars. “Do I…?”

  “You wear the rank. They haven’t decided about the pay yet.”

  “That’s wonderful, sir.”

  “Well, don’t throw away your old bars. Brevet rank can disappear as fast as it comes. If this crisis blows over, you’ll be a lieutenant again before you can blink.”

  They changed trains in New York and Andrew was so bemused over his new rank, he nearly fell off the platform. Captain! And him not even a year out of the Academy! Of course it wasn’t unprecedented, not in the least. In war time all sorts of strange things could happen. During the Civil War, there had been men his age who were colonels commanding regiments. George Custer had been jumped from captain to brigadier general in one day. Hawthorne was right, of course, the rank wouldn’t last much longer than the war. Of course, who knew how long the war would last?

  The following week found him on a series of trains taking him to Dayton, Ohio, home of the famous Wright brothers. There were a lot of other men in uniform on the trains now, quite a difference from the journeys he used to make with Colonel Hawthorne. It felt very strange being on his own, but the captain’s bars on his uniform gave him more confidence than he expected. He’d started growing a mustache to try and look older, but so far it just looked like he’d forgotten to shave.

  Several times his train was forced onto a siding to make way for other trains moving troops or munitions. The call up of the National Guard was requiring a great deal of shuffling about. The widely scattered Guard companies were being shipped from their local armories and drill halls to regimental assembly areas, and the equipment they would need had to be sent there, too. Materials to build those assembly areas and the new fortifications were also on the move, and except for those close to rivers, it all had to go by rail.

  He spent the night in a Dayton hotel and felt very important when he showed the desk clerk the document that allowed him to charge the room to the War Department. The next morning he rented a cab to take him to the Wrights’ demonstration area, which was an open field called Huffman Prairie, about a dozen miles north of the town. There was a small crowd gathered there and, to Andrew’s surprise, another army officer; a lieutenant from the Signal Corps’ newly formed Aeronautical Division, named Frank Lahm.

  “Good morning… Captain,” said Lahm. The man looked to be at least ten years older than Andrew and suddenly those captain’s bars on his uniform felt more an embarrassment than a confidence builder. “I didn’t know the Ordnance Department had taken an interest in aeroplanes.”

  “Uh, I’m just here to observe the flights, s-… Lieutenant. Like, you, I guess?”

  “Oh, more than just observe. Orville will be taking me up with him today!” the man grinned.

  “Really?” asked Andrew in surprise. “They can carry passengers now?”

  “Yes, their new model has two seats. There it is.” He pointed to a low shed at the near end of the field. A small group of men were wheeling out the flying machine. Lahm started walking in that direction and Andrew followed along. “I met the Wrights last year in France during the demonstration tour they made. Remarkable fellows, both of them. If today’s flights go well, the Signal Corps plans to buy a few of the machines.”

  Lahm was good enough to introduce Andrew to the Wrights, but the men, both around forty years old, seemed distracted by their machine and little interested in someone half their ages—even if he was a captain. Andrew wasn’t offended; he imagined he’d be getting a lot of that. He walked around the machine while Lahm pointed out its features enthusiastically. Andrew felt much less enthusiasm. It was the flimsiest
looking collection of wood, wires, and canvas he’d ever seen. It scarcely seemed capable of supporting its own weight, much less lifting people into the air! The only solid part of it was the gasoline-powered motor which turned the air screws.

  “Hard to believe this can really fly,” he said quietly.

  ‘Yes,” agreed Lahm. “Do you know that until they went over there and showed them, the Europeans thought the Wrights were frauds? Four years after they first flew at Kitty Hawk, the Frenchies still didn’t believe it! Their faces were as red as the trousers of their soldiers when the Wrights showed them! At least the French do know how to apologize properly.”

  It took nearly an hour of tinkering before the Wrights were satisfied that their machine was ready. Orville Wright and Lieutenant Lahm climbed aboard and several men yanked on the air screws, causing the engine to roar to life. And then, to Andrew’s amazement, the machine lurched forward on its launching rail and jumped into the air! He stood with his mouth hanging open as the craft rose to a height of about a hundred feet and then flew in graceful circles and figure-eights around the field. Then it straightened out and headed off to the north, until it was lost to sight behind some trees. The noise of the motor faded and died.

  The watching crowd had grown and they started chatting noisily. Andrew reclaimed his wits and managed to gain the attention of the remaining Wright. If the one flying was Orville, this one must be Wilbur. “Sir, how long can your craft stay up and how far can it go?”

  “The best we’ve done so far is a little over an hour and close to thirty miles,” replied the inventor. “But we are improving that all the time.”

  “And how much weight can it carry?”

  “Well, you see that it can carry the weight of the operator and a passenger.”

  “Could it carry any more than that, do you think?”

  “Perhaps another thirty or forty pounds. But we are improving on that, too.”

  “I see. Thank you, sir.” Wright moved away to talk to someone else and Andrew made a few short notes on paper.

  After what seemed quite a while, the noise of the aeroplane was heard again and then people began to shout and point at it coming back from the northwest. It circled the field several times, and as it flew overhead, he saw Lieutenant Lahm throw something down: a small object trailing a ribbon of some sort. One of the Wrights’ assistants dashed over and picked it up. He looked it over and brought it to Wilbur Wright. The man chuckled and handed it to Andrew. “It’s for you,” he said.

  Sure enough, it was a tiny bundle of paper with his name scrawled on it. He opened it up, detaching the ribbon and a small rock that had been added for weight. Inside was a short message:

  March 28, 1908

  10:35 AM

  No Martians Sighted!

  Lt. Lahm

  “What is it?” asked Wilbur.

  Andrew handed it back to him. “The first official scouting report by an American officer from an aeroplane.”

  They all had a good laugh over that, but quickly became serious as the machine descended to land. It got lower and lower and then touched down on its ski-like skids. It lurched to a rather abrupt halt, but machine and passengers appeared unhurt. Lahm came bounding over, his face flushed with wind and excitement.

  “So, what do you think?” he cried, reclaiming his message.

  “Amazing,” said Andrew honestly. “I could see it being very valuable for scouting.”

  “Yes! The view from up there is incredible!”

  “But not much use as a weapon, I’m thinking. It can’t carry very much, and the merest touch of a heat ray would send the thing up like a torch.”

  Lahm’s excitement wasn’t diminished in the slightest. “This is still all brand new! Give them time!”

  “We haven’t got much time.”

  On the long trip back to Washington, Andrew had plenty of time to think. He was seeing some amazing things, steam powered gun-tractors, Tesla’s lighting device, the Wrights’ flying machine, but they were all devices in their infancy. The Martians were going to arrive in less than six months. Would any of these things be ready by then? He doubted it. The war would have to be fought and won by the men and guns they had right now.

  The weeks and months that followed found him being sent off again and again to observe and report. He grew into his new rank and grew out his mustache; he scarcely thought about either anymore, although he was pleased when he started getting a captain’s pay. He didn’t see much of Victoria, but they began to write each other letters.

  The most exciting thing to happen that summer came in late June when a report from Russia indicated that a huge fireball had been sighted falling from the sky. This was followed by a stupendous explosion which was recorded on seismographs and barometers thousands of miles away. The obvious conclusion was that this was first of the expected Martian cylinders, even though it was several months ahead of the expected date. Newspaper headlines around the world shouted that the Martians were here, and many militaries began to mobilize. But after a few weeks it was determined that the explosion had taken place in an extremely remote part of Siberia and no additional fireballs had been observed anywhere else. The Russians dispatched a military expedition to investigate, but many experts began to suggest that perhaps this was some natural phenomenon, rather than the Martians. There were more than a few red faces, and after a few more weeks, the excitement died down and the troops went back to their barracks.

  In July, a major conference was held in Washington with all the high commanders and bureau chiefs, along with the Secretary of War and the President, to review the plans and preparations which had been made to repel the Martians—now only a few months away. Normally, Andrew wouldn’t have been included in such a high-level meeting, but Colonel Hawthorne was quite ill and General Crozier had grabbed Andrew to take his place. Washington was usually almost deserted this time of year due to the summer heat, but with the threat of war looming, the place was nearly as busy as ever.

  The meeting was held in a large room in the State, War, & Navy Building. The walls were hung with dozens of maps and a world globe sat in one corner. Stewards bustled about providing coffee, and junior officers, like Andrew, clustered in the corners and along the walls, carrying any documents their chiefs might want. Andrew’s friend, Drew Harding, now a lieutenant, junior grade, was there with the navy contingent.

  A few minutes after nine, the President bustled in, with the War and Navy Secretaries, and General Wood in tow. Andrew had seen the President at a distance on several other occasions and he’d always been dressed in appropriate fashion, but today Roosevelt was wearing an outfit that harked back to his days with the famous Rough Riders: a blue jacket, buff trousers tucked into tall boots, and a broad-brimmed hat. A holstered pistol hung from his belt. Everyone not already standing got to their feet.

  “Morning gentlemen! Morning!” boomed the President. “Please! Be seated, be seated!” He proceeded to shout greetings to nearly everyone above the rank of major, and Andrew was impressed that he could remember so many names—but the President’s amazing memory was legendary. The long, long table had the President at the head, naturally, flanked by his two secretaries. On the right was the Chief of Staff, Major General J. Franklin Bell, and then the General Staff officers trailing away in order of rank. On the left was Major General Fred C. Ainsworth, the Adjutant General, and then the various bureau chiefs, including General Crozier, Andy’s boss today. The navy people, under Admiral Robley Evans, seemed content to huddle near the far end of the table—out of the line of any possible fire between the feuding Bell and Ainsworth.

  “Let’s get started, shall we? So, are we ready, General?” he asked, looking to Bell. “Not much time left and we must be ready!”

  General Bell got to his feet and gave Ainsworth a little smile, clearly pleased that the President had addressed him first. “Yes, Mr. President, our preparations are well along and will be complete by the end of August.” He then proceeded to point to va
rious maps and charts and tables of organization showing how the Regular Army and the National Guard had been integrated into brigades and divisions and how they had been assembled to protect all the major cities in the east and midwest. “Our strategy is based upon the idea of rapid response, sir. During the first invasion, the British, being unaware of what they were dealing with or the danger it posed, reacted very slowly to the arrival of the Martian cylinders. This gave the Martians the time they needed to assemble their war machines. By the time the British did bring up their army, it was too late. We, however, will take full advantage of the Martians’ period of vulnerability after they land. The moment a cylinder is spotted, we will rush forces to the location and immediately attack.”

  “Bully!” cried the President. “Catch the rascals with their pants down!”

  “Yes, sir, that’s the idea.”

  “And how will you know where to rush your forces, General?” asked Henry Stimson, the new Secretary of War. “These creatures could land anywhere, could they not?”

  “Yes, Mr. Secretary,” replied Bell, “and that was a major challenge we had to deal with. But under the direction of the General Staff, the Signal Corps has set up a system of observation posts across large sections of the country—thousands of them. Some of these are manned by military personnel, and many more are staffed by civilian volunteers. They are maintaining a watch on the skies around the clock, sir. Each station has either direct telegraphic connections or quick access to a telegraph. The commercial telegraph companies are all cooperating with this effort. At the first sign of a landing, a warning will be sent to one of the six regional communications centers we have established. Once the sighting has been confirmed, it will be sent on to our headquarters here. We will then determine the forces closest to the site and dispatch them. We have tested this system and from the sighting to the dispatch of the force is less than one hour.”