The Great Martian War

by Scott Washburn

  But it was a good thing they were up there, because around noon came the cry they’d all been dreading: Martians!

  Sergeant Dolfen ran to where the lookout was posted, and for some reason she couldn’t define, Becca ran after him. Well, she couldn’t exactly run, but she shuffled through the knee-deep snow as best she could. She scrambled up a ladder that gave access to the roof of the lookout building and found Dolfen already up there with one of his men.

  “Where?” he was demanding.

  “Out that way,” said the soldier, pointing to the southwest. “Wasn’t sure at first, but when I was, I gave a shout.” Becca looked and saw a cluster of objects in the far distance. “They look like they are getting closer, but I can’t really tell if they are coming directly this way.”

  “Damn,” said the sergeant. “Wish I had a pair of field glasses!”

  “My rifle has a scope,” said Becca. Dolfen whipped his head around to look at her in surprise.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked sharply. “You should have stayed inside!”

  “I wanted to see!” she insisted. “My rifle has a scope. You want me to get it?”

  “All right. Be careful on that ladder.”

  Becca snorted. “Yes, Uncle Frank.” She turned and went back down. She heard the soldier chuckling and Dolfen swearing. She hurried to the stable and opened up the padded pocket in the saddle holster and took out the small telescopic sight and then returned to the lookout post. She handed it to Dolfen.

  “Could have sworn that rifle of yours was an old Henry.”

  “It is.”

  “Huh, never saw a Henry with a scope.”

  “It was my Grandpa’s. He brought it home from the war. He had it modified special to take a scope. He and my Pa taught me to shoot.”

  Dolfen took off the protective lens caps and then turned the scope on the distant Martians. He watched for a while, muttering to himself. “Ten… Eleven… damn, fifteen of the stinkin’ things! And four others that are different!”

  “They coming this way, Sarge?” asked the soldier.

  “No, I don’t think so. Anglin’ off to the northwest, I’d say. They ought to pass a few miles west of us.”

  “Well, that’s lucky!”

  “Can I see, Sergeant?” asked Becca.

  He handed the scope to her and she squinted through it. The indistinct shapes sprang into sharp focus and she swallowed down a lump of fear in her throat. A swarm of the tall three-legged machines strode across the snowy landscape. Several other machines accompanied them. They were lower and longer and seemed to have more legs. They might have been bigger overall, but it was hard to tell. It felt very strange to be able to watch the monsters without an urgent need to run away,

  “Have you seen any of those other machines before, miss?” asked Dolfen.

  “No. I only saw the tall ones. But the others ones might have been down inside the holes Pepe and I saw at San Augustin.”

  “Huh, wonder what they are?”

  They watched the Martians until they were out of sight. Becca breathed a sigh of relief once they were gone.

  “So what are we gonna do, Sarge?”

  “Well, we’re sure not going to try and follow that mob!” replied Dolfen. “At least not right away.” He looked around the ruined town. “I guess we’ll stay a while.”

  * * * * *

  December. 1908, Albuquerque, New Mexico Territory

  The army had nearly moved out three times by Andrew’s count. Orders had been issued, the troops had been assembled, trains loaded, and then… nothing. The orders had been cancelled and the troops sent back to quarters. Everyone was getting pretty frustrated—and the cold, snowy weather hadn’t improved things. The only good thing about the delays had been that it had allowed Sergeant McGill to collect all the rest of their equipment, horses, and wagons.

  And some other stuff. Andrew had seen the requisitions that he had signed and McGill had used and there were definitely things on the forms that were not on his master list! He had no idea what McGill was doing with the other stuff, and some instinct told him it was probably smarter not to ask.

  Then, two days before the New Year, a garbled message had arrived from Fort Wingate. A report of Martians attacking the fort and the nearby town of Gallup. Shortly after that the telegraph line had gone dead and no further contact with the fort or points west could be made. Presumably the rail line had been cut as well.

  This had galvanized General Sumner into action. New orders were issued and the army prepared to move once again. Andrew hurried to pass the word to his men.

  “Get ready to move, men!” he ordered. “This time it’s for real!”

  Chapter Six

  Cycle597,843.4, North of Landing Site 32

  Qetjnegartis powered down the heat ray; there were no more targets in evidence. All the structures in the vicinity were either burning or reduced to rubble. Hundreds of the prey-creatures had been slain and the rest scattered. There had been little resistance. Its subordinates had reported that they had destroyed what appeared to be a military installation of some sort further to the east, but that resistance there had also been negligible.

  It released the controls and contemplated the situation. They had driven north from the landing site a considerable distance, destroying and driving all before them. Communications from the other landing sites reported similar occurrences. Nowhere had the prey-creatures been able to mount significant resistance.

  But the planet was vast; even with three-quarters of its surface covered by water, it still had as much land area as the Homeworld. The colonization force, as massive an effort as it was, could not begin to conquer, let alone control, so huge an area. So the word had gone out from the Conclave: consolidate, construct holdfasts, and bud off a new generation. Qetjnegartis and its subordinates had already begun the budding process, but a holdfast would be needed before they came to term.

  All during the journey north, Qetjnegartis had been evaluating possible locations to build a holdfast, but nothing had suited. A good source of raw materials was required and none had presented themselves. This settlement was the largest so far encountered; surely these prey-creatures also needed raw materials; perhaps they could be found in this area. The part of the landing force left behind would arrive in two of the local days, bringing fifteen more fighting machines and the four constructors. Was this the place to build the holdfast?

  As it pondered, one of its subordinates requested Qetjnegartis to attend it, as it had made a significant discovery. It moved its war machine to the indicated location. Sitting there was a large metal device of some sort. It had been smashed and its function could not be determined, but the amount of metal was substantial. Of even more interest were two parallel sets of metal tracks leading out of sight in both directions. They appeared to be mostly iron. The alloys used by the Race for the fighting machines contained relatively little iron, but it was still a necessary component, and many other vital devices used it in great amounts. This was indeed interesting…

  “Commander, something comes.”

  Looking to the west, Qetjnegartis saw a large object, spewing smoke and approaching rapidly. It was throwing up a cloud of the frozen water on each side of its path. What was it? They had encountered nothing like this before. It alerted the others and ordered them to converge on the intruder. It sent power to activate the heat ray.

  As the thing came nearer, Qetjnegartis realized that there were a whole series of objects trailing the first and that it appeared to be following the set of metal tracks. It thought of the destroyed machine it had seen earlier and concluded that this new machine was of the same sort. A primitive transport device, apparently.

  The machine suddenly gave off a loud, shrill noise and began to decelerate rapidly. But it had realized its danger too late. Five heat rays fired, almost as one, and the machine exploded in a blast of molten metal and steam. The following objects left the track and tumbled on their sides or end over end and
also burst into flames as the heat rays swept along them. A few of the prey-creatures escaped from the objects but were immediately annihilated. In just a few moments the entire assembly was destroyed.

  Qetjnegartis moved to examine the remains. Yes, a transport system which moved on the metal tracks. The first expedition did report such devices in use. Not unlike the systems built on the Homeworld after the canals ran dry. These prey-creatures must use it for similar purposes.

  If this was a major route of transport then perhaps this was not the best location to build a holdfast. The prey could use the system to mass its warriors. But no, why should there be anything to fear? These creatures were nearly helpless and posed little threat. And time was running short. There was no need to look for a new location.

  “Begin salvaging this metal,” it commanded. “We will construct the holdfast here.”

  * * * * *

  January, 1909, Washington, D.C.

  The President’s annual New Year’s Day reception in the White House was in full swing. Every year since he took office, Roosevelt had insisted on personally greeting members of Congress, the Supreme Court justices, his Cabinet, the diplomatic corps of foreign embassies, the military, and every private citizen who cared to brave the long wait in winter weather. Two years ago the weather had been so beautifully pleasant that the line to get in had stretched for many blocks and the President had spent hours with the crowd even though he was one of the fastest handshakers alive.

  This year the weather was not nearly so pleasant, with a blustery wind and occasional flurries of snow and sleet. And the mood was nearly as different as the weather. For the world was at war—most of the world, anyway. Europe alone had been spared the attention of the invaders, but every other continent was under attack and the reports of defeat and depredation were becoming alarming. The security in the White House was heavier than anyone could ever remember—as if Martian assassins might try to sneak in. The President’s two oldest sons, Ted and Kermit, newly minted officers from the Plattsburg Camp, stood near their father in uniform and never strayed far.

  Some had suggested that Roosevelt cancel the reception, or severely scale it back, but he had refused, of course. It was not in the man to retreat from any challenge, even an invasion from Mars. Others had felt differently and attendance was down more than could be blamed merely on the weather. But those who had shown up were all greeted personally with a handshake, and many received his legendary grin and trademark ‘Dee-lighted!’ Leonard Wood watched from across the Blue Room and marveled at Roosevelt’s stamina. Two years ago, the ushers had calculated that the President had shaken over eight thousand hands in the course of four or five hours. There wouldn’t be so many today.

  But while the preliminaries were much the same as previous years, what followed was not. Usually the visitors and well-wishers were simply ushered past the President and then back outside again where they dispersed. And while that was still true of the ordinary citizens, this time, many of the important persons—particularly the foreign diplomats—hung on, hoping for some more substantive conversation with Roosevelt.

  The President clearly wasn’t too happy with this change in tradition; he usually spent the rest of the day with his family in private celebration; but short of ordering the Secret Service to toss the visitors out, there was no avoiding them. He did, however, move to the downstairs reception space, which, although as magnificently renovated by Edith Roosevelt as the rest of the White House, was also extremely difficult to heat properly during the winter. Perhaps he felt a need to cool off after all the handshaking, or maybe he hoped the cold would drive away some of the hangers-on.

  Once in the large hall, the crowd began to coalesce into groups. Many sought out the Russian ambassador, Baron Roman Rosen, to try to get confirmation of a persistent rumor that one of the Tsar’s armies had been badly defeated in Kazakhstan. The stoic Russian would neither confirm nor deny the rumor, but the expression on his face did not inspire confidence.

  Many more congregated around James Bryce, the British ambassador. The British, with their huge overseas empire and communications links had, perhaps, the best information on the scope of the Martian invasion. And the information which had been released was not good. As Wood had feared, the Martians had descended in remote locations where they would not be disturbed, and were now pushing outward into more settled regions. The British colony in South Africa was under attack, as was the German colony in East Africa. The French holdings in North Africa were reporting war machines moving north out of the Sahara. More of the tripods were in Australia and the Ottomans had sightings in Arabia. While nothing had been seen so far in the Himalayas, the British were understandably worried about India’s northern border. Word out of China and the Far East could only be described as confused.

  Of all the Great Powers, only the Austro-Hungarians were completely unconcerned, having no overseas possessions. The Japanese were also complacent, being secure on their islands and worrying only about their relatively small enclaves on the Asian mainland.

  But the biggest crowd that afternoon was surrounding Theodore Roosevelt. The diplomats from South and Central America were most in evidence. Early hopes that the Martians would ignore the Western Hemisphere had foundered as reports began to stream in from Caracas, Buenos Aires, Rio de Janeiro, Santiago, and Mexico City. The ambassadors from Paraguay and Bolivia were especially agitated since all communications from those countries had been cut off abruptly just two days earlier. All of them were asking—or sometimes demanding—American aid. Roosevelt had words for all of them, often speaking in Spanish, although he resorted to French with the Brazilian ambassador as his Portuguese was fairly non-existent. Sadly, words were about all he could offer. The United States’ military resources were already sorely stretched, and the mobilization of new forces was going painfully slow. Congress was still dragging its feet on a conscription act, although that wasn’t a huge concern yet; volunteering was still strong, and the shortage of weapons and equipment and training camps meant that they couldn’t use a bigger influx of recruits anyway. American industry was still gearing up to produce what was going to be needed. At least the War Bond Act had been passed to raise the necessary funds to pay for it all. J.P. Morgan had bought a hundred million the very first day they were available to pave the way.

  But the diplomats weren’t satisfied with excuses, they wanted assistance—now. Wood moved closer, eavesdropping, and heard the Argentine ambassador threatening to refuse coaling rights to the warships Roosevelt was sending to the west coast of Panama unless aid was forthcoming. The Chilean ambassador seized on the idea and made similar threats. Voices started to be raised, both around Roosevelt and also the British ambassador. Wood shook his head, thinking about how little cooperation or interest those same men had showed during the months leading up to the invasion.

  He could also see that the President was becoming uncomfortable. He’d always loved being the center of attention, but not of this sort! Mobs, even mobs composed of distinguished diplomats, made him uneasy, and when attacked, either physically or verbally, his nature was to strike back. Wood had seen him knock a man to the ground over some rude remark. What would he do now?

  It went on for a few more minutes and then Roosevelt raised his hands and called for calm. He stepped up on a chair and from there, a table, his hands still raised. Every eye turned toward him and the noise began to die away.

  “Gentlemen!” he cried in his high-pitched voice. “Gentlemen!”

  The noise stopped entirely and the men began to gather around the table on which stood Theodore Roosevelt, President of the United States. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, although his barrel chest and heavily muscled arms made him look larger than he was. Elevated on the table, he seemed to tower over them all.

  “Gentlemen,” he said again after a long pause. “We—and when I say we, I mean all of humankind—are facing a new and unprecedented challenge. And if I may be permitted to paraphrase Lincoln f
or a moment: as our case is new, so we must think anew and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves and then we will save our planet!” He paused and looked over the assembly; his eyes gleamed and it was as if he was addressing each man separately. Wood found himself smiling. This was Theodore at his best!

  “We each knew the danger, we each were warned, and we each knew that the threat affected every nation, every people. And yet we each acted alone, seeing to our own defense and ignoring what our neighbors were doing—or failing to do. We acted as we always had: as Americans, or Englishmen, or Frenchmen, or Argentinians! Gentlemen, we acted like the Greek city-states awaiting the arrival of the Persian hordes! That will not do anymore!

  “We must put the past behind us and move forward together. We must consolidate our forces and coordinate our efforts. We must work together for the greater good! And together we will gain victory!”

  The applause that followed started out as polite and then grew to enthusiastic. But Roosevelt waved it away. “Mere words are not enough, gentlemen! Action is what is needed! And act we will!” He looked around the crowd. “Root! Root, get over here!” He beckoned Elihu Root forward. “You all know my Secretary of State; in the following days he will organize a great international conference to analyze the situation and determine our best course of action, and how we can best use our resources for the common defense.”

  The look on Root’s face made it clear to Wood that this was entirely new to him; Theodore probably came up with the idea just minutes ago. And what an idea! Military cooperation on a world scale. Nothing like this had ever been contemplated before. Had Roosevelt overreached? But then, just last year, he had organized an unprecedented conference with all 46 state governors and hundreds of other experts to discuss the conservation of natural resources. The man had a way of making the outrageous seem completely reasonable. Maybe he could make this work, too.