The Great Martian War

by Scott Washburn

  “Yes sir,” he sighed. Great, just great!

  He set up his dog tent outside the captain’s tent and then he had the men build a little ‘outhouse’ for the girl’s use with a couple of blankets on sticks for privacy. She managed to use it and then came back to her blankets and was asleep in moments. After that, he saw to his own supper and that of his men. It was fully dark by then and stepping away from the light of the campfires, he looked south. There were a number of red glows in that direction, reflecting off the low clouds. It wasn’t long before a cold rain started falling and the night became very dark. He retreated to his own tent and wrapped himself in his wool blanket with the gum blanket around that. He should have fallen asleep immediately, but he lay awake for a while listening to the rain on the canvas. He thought he heard a moan or two from the girl. Eventually he slept.

  It was still raining the next morning and Dolfen was soaked nearly through. He roused his men and spoke through the canvas of the girl’s tent. “Miss? Miss Becca? Are you awake?”

  After a few moans and groans, she answered: “Uh, yeah, I’m awake… what’s happening?”

  “We’ll be moving soon, miss. We have some breakfast for you.”

  “All right, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “It’s raining pretty hard. Let me know when you’re ready and I can hand your breakfast in to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Several minutes passed and then when she said she was ready, he handed a tin plate and cup full of tea in to her. The girl seemed to be recovering quickly from her ordeal. At least she seemed able to function. Hopefully she’d be able to ride on her own when they moved out. He ate his own breakfast and saw about getting the horses saddled. They had a spare horse ready for the girl, transferring her own saddle to it, and a pack horse to carry the supplies they’d need to get back to Wingate. They also had her own horse ready to lead along—he knew she’d make trouble if they tried to leave it behind. He wasn’t sure if it would make it. Dolfen was still angry at being made nursemaid to the kid, but he supposed someone had to do it. She couldn’t go along to hunt Martians and they couldn’t just turn her loose out here. Still, he wished he would be going with his troop. He looked to the south, but in spite of being well after dawn, the thick clouds and heavy rain made it impossible to see more than half a mile or so.

  Finally the girl emerged from the tent and he offered her a rain poncho to go over her coat. Her wide-brimmed hat would have to do to keep the rain off her face. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I’ve got orders to take you back to Fort Wingate, miss. That’s up north a few days ride and…”

  Two faint gunshots interrupted him and he whipped his head around to look south, but he couldn’t see anything. Several more shots came and then a bugle, sounding recall.

  “Sounds like it’s from the picket line, Sarge,” said Urbaniak.

  A moment later the bugler in the camp sounded assembly and the men began scrambling for their horses. Dolfen saw Captain Bonilla and ran toward him.

  “Sir!”

  “Sergeant,” snapped his captain. “You will carry out your orders and get that girl out of here! Now move it, soldier!”

  Dolfen halted in his tracks and said: “Yes, sir.”

  More shots were coming and then a new sound: a strange buzzing, like an angry bee. He looked south and there was a red flare of light, glimmering through rain and mist. “Shit!” he hissed. “They’re coming!” He ran back to his squad. “Get mounted! Miss Becca! Get on your horse!” The girl looked around in confusion, so Dolfen seized her and lifted her bodily onto the animal. He swung up onto his own mount.

  “Hell’s Bells! Look at that!” cried one of his men.

  Emerging from the mist, maybe a half mile away was a tall, dark shape. A bulbous head sat atop a small body from which three long legs descended, Several arms waved about it. A single red eye glowed faintly in the center of the head. As Dolfen looked on in amazement, a beam of light sprang out from one of the arms. A blast of flame erupted from the ground and a cloud of steam nearly obscured the strange machine for a moment.

  They didn’t wait for us to go find them—they came to find us!

  “There’s another one!”

  “And another off to the west!”

  Two more had appeared and they were all coming on—fast! They moved with an awkward gait, unlike anything Dolfen had ever seen from man or beast, but somehow the long legs were eating up the distance very rapidly.

  “They’re coming,” whimpered the girl.

  “Sergeant Dolfen! Get out of here! Now!” Captain Bonilla was screaming at him as the squadron formed up.

  “Sarge! We gotta move!” cried Private Urbaniak.

  Muttering a curse, he turned his horse and spurred it into a gallop. He looked behind to make sure the others were with him. The girl was right there, riding, like she was born in the saddle. A flurry of rifle fire erupted from behind him and he heard the angry bee again. More shooting and then, incredibly, a bugle sounding the charge.

  “Damn fools!” cried Private Jones. “They were just supposed to watch ‘em!”

  “They’re buying time for us! Keep going!”

  They thundered on for a couple of miles, the driving rain lashing them in the face, and then halted on a small hill. Dolfen looked back. There were three of the machines where they’d been camped. They were striding about, with their heat rays lashing out now and then. Flames leapt up from the remains of the camp.

  “Look! Some of the boys are coming back… No! The bastards have seen them! They’re chasing… Oh God!” The figures were just specks in the distance, but after the heat rays passed over them, there was nothing left to see at all. Dolfen clutched the reins of his horse, his lips drawn back in a snarl. Those were his comrades! And he was abandoning them! It took every ounce of willpower to keep from riding back.

  “Bastards! Oh, the stinkin’ bastards!” The boys were swearing. The girl covered her eyes with her hand and looked away.

  The Martians continued to slaughter the 5th Cavalry, but they were also moving steadily northward.

  Sergeant Dolfen looked for one moment longer and then turned his horse.

  “Come on, we have to keep moving.”

  * * * * *

  Cycle 597,843.3, North of Landing Site 32

  Qetjnegartis swung the heat ray in an arc and obliterated four more of the prey. It felt a distinct sense of satisfaction. This latest group clearly consisted of warriors of some sort. The earlier groups had made no attempt to fight and tried to flee as soon as they sighted the war machines. This group had been different. They had held their ground and even advanced briefly, firing their crude chemical projectile weapons.

  Of course they had died the same as the others, and that was a good thing. Reports from the first expedition indicated that once the prey-warriors had been defeated several times, the others tended to break up and flee like the non-warriors, and resistance would crumble. This group had probably only been a scouting party, so its destruction would have little effect. But it was a start. The last of the enemy within range had been destroyed and it was time to move on. These prey-creatures had come from the north. Perhaps there were more in that direction.

  Qetjnegartis gave the orders and they moved forward.

  Chapter Five

  December, 1908, Albuquerque, New Mexico Territory

  Dear Victoria,

  Well, we have finally arrived in Albuquerque. But without the tanks. As near as I can tell, they are back near St. Louis. Albuquerque is not what I expected. I suppose I was expecting something out of a dime novel western, a place overrun with cowboys and saloons with swinging doors. That sort of thing. But honestly, it’s like a lot of towns back east. Nice houses, hotels, a city hall, library, there’s even a small college up on a hill. The bigger places have electricity and running water. There’s even an electric street car system.

  The hotels are all packed due to the influx of troops here.
The higher ranking officers have grabbed all the best places, but I was able to find a room in a small boarding house near the college that isn’t too bad. I use my room here as my office as I have nowhere else to work. My men are lucky in that they are staying in a warehouse near the rail yard. Nearly all the other troops are in tents outside the town since there are nearly as many of them here as the usual inhabitants. The weather has been cold and wet, so I don’t envy them. Trains are arriving every day with more troops and artillery and supplies. No idea when we will be moving.

  I miss you very much, Vickie, and I hope I’ll be able to see you again soon. Please pass on my fond regards to your mother and father.

  Most Sincerely,

  Andrew

  Brevet Major Andrew Comstock carefully folded the letter, put it into an envelope, which he addressed and sealed. Fortunately, by sending it through Colonel Hawthorne, he could put it in the military mail pouch and be sure it would get there quickly. He wasn’t sure that sending love letters to a girl by way of her father was the best idea, but he trusted that Hawthorne would not stoop to reading them. Sadly, the mail coming the other direction wasn’t finding him nearly as fast. He supposed that was to be expected; Washington stayed in one spot, while he was constantly on the move. Only one letter from Victoria had caught up to him so far. He took it out and read for about the thirtieth time, sighed, and then put it away. He really did miss her. When he got back from this trip, perhaps it would be time to ask her.

  But, he had no idea when he’d be getting back. Despite the build-up of troops in Albuquerque, there was no sign that they would soon be moving anywhere. General Sumner was having a meeting later in the day to discuss the situation. As the Ordnance Department’s official representative, Andrew would be allowed to attend. But that wasn’t until the afternoon and he had a lot of work to do before then.

  Or rather, he had a lot of work to try to do before then. He had rather abruptly discovered the other side of that shiny coin that had major’s oak leaves on the front side: He had a job to do and he had to do it himself. He had a party of men with orders to accompany the army to observe the Martian equipment and try to secure samples of it. How, exactly, was he supposed to do that? Well, first, they needed transport. They had taken the train to get to Albuquerque, and presumably they could take the train a bit further, but what happened when the army left the railroad behind? They’d need horses. Okay, where to get horses? The army was buying up every horse it could get its hands on locally to provide remounts for the cavalry and draft animals for the quartermaster’s supply wagons. Andrew had put in a requisition to General Sumner’s logistics officer, but so far he hadn’t gotten any horses. And then if he was going to bring back any captured Martian equipment, he was going to need wagons and more horses. Another requisition to the logistics officer. And then he needed men to drive those wagons since none of his ordnance men had any experience as teamsters. And he had to feed his men. And once they left their cozy warehouse they’d need tents and bedrolls and coffee pots and frying pans and canteens and… The list went on and on. The sad fact was that their day-to-day activities in Ordnance hadn’t prepared him, or his men, for duty in the field.

  If they had been part of one of the combat formations this wouldn’t be a problem. They could just put in the normal requests and eventually they would get what they needed. But they weren’t. They were an independent formation operating under orders directly from the Ordnance Department. And unfortunately, Andrew Comstock was the Ordnance Department in the territory of New Mexico.

  He hadn’t counted on that.

  Oh, he had copies of his orders and a letter from General Crozier requesting that General Sumner give him his full cooperation, and the general had promised him that he’d get that cooperation, but promises had not conjured up any horses or wagons or canteens. The general and his staff had a huge job getting their force ready to move and they really had no time to spare for some whippersnapper brevet major from Washington! So, after a few days of run-arounds and delays, he’d come to the conclusion that he had two options: he could send telegrams back to Washington asking General Crozier to fix his problems, or, he could fix them himself. The first option would be a lot easier, but he had a sneaking suspicion that option two would be a much better career move.

  With a sigh of anticipated frustration, he pushed himself up from the small table in his room that he used as a desk. He looked out the window to confirm it was still raining and took his rain slicker off the hook on the back of the door. A rainstorm had come up from the southwest two days ago and while it had brought a welcome rise in the temperature, it had also turned the unpaved roads to mud. He went down the steps, said goodbye to the woman who ran the boarding house, and proceeded out onto the street. The rain was much lighter than yesterday and the clouds looked to be breaking up. Good.

  He made his way down to the warehouse where his men were staying. This was by the railroad tracks, and even this early in the morning the place was bustling. Trains arrived at all hours and had to be unloaded and their cargoes sent off to the right place. Many of the box cars full of supplies were just shunted off to sidings prepared to follow the army when it moved. This particular morning there was a troop train unloading. Hundreds of soldiers were spilling out of the cars and lining up beside them. Sergeants were shouting at them to hurry and officers stood by watching. Andrew asked a captain who they were and he told him they were the 19th infantry, regulars, but Andrew could already tell that just from the professional manner of the troops. “Where you coming from?” he asked.

  “Charleston,” replied the captain. “We got orders to pull out of there a week ago and have been on these damn trains ever since. Damn shame, Charleston was a nice posting.”

  “Yeah, a shame the Martians couldn’t have landed there and saved you the trip and—Good God, what are they?” Andrew had caught sight of a new batch of… well, he supposed they were soldiers, getting off the train. They were wearing uniforms, but unlike any uniform Andrew had seen before. They were basically khaki, like the regulars, but they had red piping on the collars and cuffs, little chainmail epaulets like the British sometimes wore, red leather leggings, and all of it topped off by an Australian-style bush hat with one side pinned up.

  The captain turned and saw them and laughed. “Oh, those are the Charleston Fencibles.” His smile faded. “One of those damnable volunteer units they authorized. Made up of Charleston’s finest young men, you know. They were attached to our regiment so that we could get them trained as soldiers. We tried, but it doesn’t seem to be taking. Damn fools want to fight, but aren’t the least interested in learning how.”

  “Well, they better learn fast. They may not have much more time.”

  “Really? So are there any Martians around here, sir?”

  “That’s what they say. Haven’t seen any myself so far. But good luck—with everything.” He left the captain to his duty and pushed through the crowd to the warehouse he wanted. The warehouse was packed with stuff, but they’d found a small attic space that was barely large enough for the men. It was cramped but dry. Sergeant McGill had them all up and ready for him. McGill was a crusty old Scotsman twice his age, but he knew how to get things done. From what some of the other men had told him, McGill had deserted from a British regiment stationed in Canada decades ago, crossed the border, and enlisted in the US Army. It wasn’t that uncommon a thing, actually.

  “So what’s on the agenda today, sir?” asked McGill. He still had a bit of a brogue after all these years, but it was faint.

  “Well, Sergeant, I’ve decided that we’ll leave the horses and wagons until last. If we did manage to get them now, we’d just have to take care of them—and guard them—until we were ready to leave. Let’s concentrate on getting all the rest of our gear first.”

  “Yes, sir, although if we got some horses now, we could get some practice ridin’. Some o’ these sods have never had their legs over a horse in their lives.”

  “H
ave you, Sergeant?” asked Andrew with a grin.

  “Oh, a time or two, sir. A bit out o’ practice, though, I must admit.”

  “Well, we’ll see what we can do.” It was a good point, he realized. Most of the men probably didn’t have any riding experience. Andrew, himself, was a competent rider, having had instruction at West Point, but he’d never had to ride anywhere very far. This was going to be a challenge. “Let’s go and see what we can find, shall we?”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but it might be wise to leave a few o’ the lads here to keep hold of our claim to this place. We all go out an’ there might be someone else sleepin’ here by the time we get back. There were a couple o’gits snooping around here last night.”

  “Good point, Sergeant. Leave Gallagher and a couple of others. He’s big enough to scare off just about anyone.”

  So, they set out. Andrew realized it was slightly ridiculous for a major to be scrounging tents and blankets, but the truth was he didn’t have a blessed thing to do other than that. If his rank could smooth the path, then it was time well spent. Prior reconnaissance had at least revealed where they needed to go. They found the chief quartermaster’s office in one of the other warehouses and then waited and waited to see him. His men waited outside the building. When he and McGill were finally allowed into his office, the man looked extremely harried and though he feigned sympathy, he told them there was simply nothing he could do without a signed requisition allowing the release of the items they wanted. Andrew showed him Crozier’s letter and relayed the verbal promise of assistance from General Sumner and his logistics officer, but none made any impression on the quartermaster. Sadly, the man was a lieutenant colonel, so Andrew couldn’t even attempt to pull rank.

  “Well, I suppose I’ll have to go back to Sumner’s logistics officer and try to squeeze a signed requisition out of him,” sighed Andrew after they were ushered out. “God knows how long that will take. You may as well take the men back to their quarters.”