“We did hijack a ship.”
“Yes, we did, didn’t we? And the 71st New York never forgave us for taking theirs. And all during that mess, six determined Spaniards with pop-guns could have routed the lot of us.” He took in a breath and straightened his back. “So we need a new commander out west. Who do you think General Bell will recommend?”
Wood sighed and shook his head. “That’s the other thing, Theodore. I… General Bell isn’t taking this well.”
“Well that’s to be expected! I’m not taking this too well!”
“That’s not what I mean. Theodore, the Chief of Staff of the United States Army is not taking this well!”
“You mean he’s cracking up?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. He’s been under tremendous strain for a long time, Theodore. This may have been the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’ve just been to the War Department and things are… well, things are like they were on that dock back in Key West in ‘98.”
“Damnation. So we are going to need a new chief of staff, too.”
“Yes. Now, my personal recommendation would be Bliss. He did see some action in the last war and he’s an able administrator.”
“Leonard…”
“Or Scott might not be too bad. He’s the commandant at West Point at the moment, but I’m sure we could pry him out of there without too much trouble. Unless you’d rather go with Wotherspoon…”
“Good God, no! He’s practically at retirement age—and he’s been acting like he’s already retired for the last decade! We need someone younger, someone with some fire in his belly! And…”
“Well then, I’d stay with Bliss—unless you want to go with someone much younger, but there’d be a lot of grousing if you jumped someone that young over all those officers senior to him.”
“Leonard,” said Roosevelt, fixing him in his gaze. “You’re overlooking the obvious choice.”
“Oh? Who?”
Roosevelt snorted like a bull. “Why yourself, of course! There’s no one better qualified!”
Wood had known it would come to this, indeed, he’d been counting on it, but the forms had to be followed. “But Theodore! You can’t pick me.”
“And why not? You have seniority.”
“Well… well, I’m not a West Pointer. I came into the army as a contract surgeon, for God’s sake!”
“And since then you’ve fought Indians, helped track down Geronimo, raised the regiment of Rough Riders, commanded a brigade of cavalry in Cuba, commanded a division fighting insurgents in the Philippines…”
“But…”
“And you have a Medal of Honor—something I never got.” The sour look on the President’s face told Wood that he still hadn’t forgotten or forgiven the political opponents who had kept him from receiving that much-deserved medal. “You’ve earned this, Leonard.”
“But we’re friends!”
“Indeed we are,” said Roosevelt, smiling at him fondly. “Why should that disqualify you?”
“People will say it’s favoritism! The ‘spoils system’ at its worst! Congress will never approve!”
“You let me worry about Congress. I am the Commander in Chief after all; I ought to be able to pick my own chief of staff.” He paused and his gaze became piercing. “You are confident you can do the job, aren’t you, Leonard?”
Wood stared back at his old comrade. Somehow the man had the ability to make the most outrageous idea seem completely reasonable. Like when he convinced him to help raise the Rough Riders. And once you agreed to do what he wanted, the notion of then failing the man was simply unthinkable. It was a gift that few men had, but Theodore Roosevelt had it in spades. Yes, he had no doubt that Roosevelt could bend Congress and the public to his will on this—just like when he fought to get him his second star. And the truth was that he did want this very much. All those years of having the West Pointers look down their noses at him… Vindication!
“Well?”
Wood jerked his head in an awkward nod. “I can do it, Theodore; it would be my honor.”
“Good! Now who are you going to replace Sumner with?”
“Fred Funston.”
“‘Fearless Freddy’,” said Roosevelt nodding. “He was fighting in Cuba before any of us! Competent man, but doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. I had to reprimand him back in ‘04 for that. Ha! Talk about the pot calling the kettle black, eh? And he’s not a West Pointer, either, Leonard.”
“No, but he’s got enough fire in his belly for any two men. He’s in charge of the Service School at Fort Leavenworth right now, but I know he’d give his right arm for a combat command.”
“Well, by all means then, let’s give him one!” said Roosevelt, smiling broadly. “Of course, I am commander in chief, maybe I should go myself!”
Wood realized that—for once—he was joking. “Theodore, no president has commanded an army in the field since Madison tried it at Bladensburg. I don’t need to remind you how well that turned out.”
Roosevelt laughed. “No you don’t! All right, all right, I’ll stay here and be good! Now go across the street and send Bell over to see me. I’ll let him down gently and find some safe posting for him—if he still wants one. Then you get to work and clean up the mess out in New Mexico.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned to go.
“Oh, Leonard, wait a moment,” said Roosevelt. He was looking very serious now.
“Yes?”
“You know that both of my older boys, Ted and Kermit were commissioned months ago. They’ve both requested postings to line regiments, but for some reason their transfers have been hung up in red tape. I’ve refrained from interfering in internal army affairs like that, but this has gone on far too long. Can you break the log-jam and get things moving?”
Wood stared at his old friend and forced himself not to shake his head in disbelief. Most fathers would be asking him to find some safe spot, far from the fighting, to put their sons. But not Theodore! In his mind this was the ultimate test of manhood. He’d been ashamed his whole life that his own father, a pacifist, had stayed out of the Civil War. And Theodore had pulled every string imaginable to make sure he got into the war with Spain. Now, here he was, making sure his sons had the same opportunity. Not everyone is indestructible like you, my friend. He sank into the chair facing Roosevelt.
“You… you’re sure about this, Theodore?”
“Of course! They nag me about it every time they see me! Just itching for a fight! And in just a couple more years Archie and Quentin will be nagging me, too! Although God willing, this will all be over before they are old enough. You’ll take care of it, won’t you?”
“Certainly, Mr. President.”
“Oh, and let’s try and keep things quiet as long as we can, eh? About the bad news from New Mexico, I mean.”
“That might take some doing.”
“Yes, well, let’s try anyway.”
“Yes, sir.”
Wood got up from his chair, took a deep breath, and made his way out of Roosevelt’s office. Part of him was still shaken by this turn of events, but another part was looking forward to the challenge ahead. The idea of actually being in charge was a seductive one.
He passed out the gate and started across the street toward the State, War, & Navy Building, mentally composing what he was going to say to General Bell. A newsboy was standing on the corner and shouting:
“Extra! Extra! Army destroyed in New Mexico! Martians on the march! Extra! Extra! Read all about it!”
* * * * *
February, 1909, Southwest of Thoreau, New Mexico Territory
“Didn’t have any trouble finding ‘em,”said Captain Tom Selfridge. “Or finding one of ‘em, anyway. The things are tall as a windmill and all metal and you can spot ‘em ten miles away.”
“Yeah, we’ve seen them, Tom,” said Andrew. The pilot was sitting up on the cot and looking considerably better than when they’d found him the day before. The burn on his face looked painful,
but not dangerous. He had another burn on one of his hands, but that was bandaged up now. It was impossible to ignore the fact that they’d found Selfridge alone. The other man who had gone up with him had not been there. Bill White was sitting on another chair with a pencil and note pad. “So, I assume they hit you with a heat ray?”
“Yeah, like Icarus. Got too close to the sun and it melted my wings,” he said sadly, shaking his head. He took a sip of coffee. “When we first spotted it, I swung wide to the north to keep my distance. It clearly saw us, but just watched as I went on west; to see if we’d spot any more. But we didn’t see anything except the torn-up railroad. I was running low on fuel so I had to turn back. Then I made the mistake of passing by the Martian to the south this time. There was a strong cross-wind coming off the mountains that pushed us north—right toward it. Nothing I could do. I got too close to the damn thing and it fried us.”
“You’re lucky to be alive. The men I saw hit by the heat ray were consumed completely. Just burned up to nothing in an eye-blink.” Andrew shuddered. The sights and smells of the battle were coming back to him. It was odd: during the fight, he couldn’t remember smelling anything, but now he found the stink of burning flesh was in his clothing; the clothing of all the other men…
“I am, yes, but poor Gundersen, my observer, well, I think we must have been at the extreme range of the thing,” said Selfridge. “It swept the ray over us and I could feel the heat on my face.” He gingerly touched his left cheek. “I could feel the heat through my clothes, through my flying helmet. I guess my goggles saved my eye. But it wasn’t much worse than being too close to a bonfire. I think… I think Gundersen must have shielded me from the worst of it, ‘cause he started screaming. But at the time, I didn’t really notice that; I was a lot more concerned about the fabric of my flier. That caught fire almost at once. Not all of it fortunately, or we would have dropped like a stone. But enough that I knew we was going down. I somehow managed to crash it, more or less in one piece. I got clear of the wreck, but Gundersen didn’t move. I went back for him, but there was nothing I could do. His whole left side was all charred. Burned my hand trying to pull him out but…” He shook his head. “Then I ran because I saw the Martian heading my direction. Managed to make it into some rocks and get away. The thing seemed more interested in the wreck than in me. Good thing, too, ‘cause I was pretty beat up. Hid in the rocks that night; damn near froze to death. The next day I found the road and came here. Heard all the firing the other day. The next thing I remember is seeing you.”
Selfridge stared at Andrew for a moment. “So the army’s really wrecked?” They’d given him a brief account yesterday and he’d taken things pretty well.
“For now, I think. Plenty more troops back up the line if they can get organized. I don’t know if they can.”
“Damn. Lucky you got away.”
“Yeah. Lucky.”
“So what’s the plan now, Major, sir?” He grinned, although only the right half of his mouth curled upward.
“Get ourselves back to join up with the others. Not much else we can do. I’ve sent out some men to scout around. Hopefully, the Martians will move on and we can get out of here.” He patted Selfridge on the knee and stood up. “But you rest up for now. It’ll probably be a day or two before we go. And you’ll have a horse to ride.”
“That would be good. And thanks, Major.”
Andrew nodded and left the shack. Yeah, they’d been lucky so far. Most of them were still alive and they were out of immediate danger. The miners’ shack had been well stocked with food and the stove kept the place pretty warm. It wasn’t really built to accommodate fifteen men, but it could in a pinch.
So what the hell do I do now?
The answer he’d given Selfridge about future plans had come out of his mouth automatically, but was that really what he was going to do? He was in command. It was his decision and his responsibility. But what was he supposed to do? He walked slowly around the small canyon and eventually sat down on a barrel to think.
He’d been given orders; he had a mission. Several missions, actually. His mission to observe the Martian machines and their capabilities was accomplished—all too well! He’d seen them in action and saw what they could do. So he ought to get back and report what he’d seen. Of course, anyone who had survived the battle could report exactly the same thing. Not much of a success to bring back.
His mission to collect any salvaged Martian equipment was now out of the question. He did have a few of those fascinating hexagonal metal flakes, but there was no hope of hauling away anything else. Even if they could get back to the wreck unseen and undisturbed, the wagons were gone and they couldn’t hope to carry much of anything on their backs or on their few horses. His camera and his sketching tools had been on his horse and he had no clue where that was, even if it had survived. So all he had was what he could remember. Again, not much of a success.
One last mission was to observe how the new tanks performed in action. Well, they hadn’t been in action yet—as far as he knew. Perhaps they were back up the line this very minute preparing to go into action. Or maybe they were already burned-out hulks, destroyed by the Martians. No way to know until he got there to see. Okay, there was a mission he could still carry out. And fortunately, the only way to carry it out was also the only sensible course of action anyway: move east and link up with what was left of the army.
Andrew let out a long sigh and felt a little better. Decision made; now he just had to carry it out somehow. Well, they wouldn’t be moving today in any case. He had to wait until the scouts got back, and besides, they could all use another day of rest.
“Major?” He turned and saw McGill coming up. “The boys found somethin’ interesting.”
“What?”
“Come take a look, sir.” The sergeant led him to a small shack, about the size of an outhouse, tucked away in a corner of the canyon. Several of the men were standing there, looking in the door. They parted to make room when Andrew got there. Inside were a stack of wooden boxes. The label on the side read:
“Dynamite. For the mine, I guess.”
“Detonators an’ fuses, too, sir. I’m thinkin’ this might make more of an impression on those tin giants than rifles and pistols, sir.”
Andrew blinked. “Yes, I suppose it would. You’re thinking about making bombs, Sergeant?”
“That was my thought, yes, sir. Some of the lads have experience with explosives. If we can attach a bundle o’ these to one of the thing’s legs, maybe we could bring it down.”
“Take a hell of a good man to get close enough to do something like that, Sergeant.”
“Good or lucky, that’s for sure. Still, it’s better than nothing.”
“No arguing with that. Fine, get to it.”
“Very good, sir!” They started hauling out the boxes and breaking them open like kids with their Christmas presents. Well, maybe these kids could come up with something useful. He left them to it and headed back toward the shack. He idly wondered what had become of the miners who owned the place.
Before he got there, he heard the sound of a lot of hooves approaching; the clatter of horseshoes on rock echoed off the canyon walls. Cavalry? Some detachment that had escaped? But no, a single rider—one of the scouts he’d sent out—came into view and he was towing a long line of horses all tethered together. The noise attracted all the other men and they gathered to secure the beasts.
“Where’d you find all these?” demanded Andrew.
“They were all clustered around a little pond, drinking, sir. They seemed glad to see me! I figured we could use them, so I brought ‘em back.”
“Good thinking. And good work! With this lot we’ve got nearly enough for everyone.”
“All cavalry mounts,” said McGill, looking them over.
“How’d the horses all escape if the riders… if the riders are gone?” asked another man. The image of a heat ray sweeping along, too high to hit the horses, but just low eno
ugh to decapitate the riders, came to Andrew’s mind.
“Poor sods probably dismounted to try and fight on foot,” said McGill. “When they got burned, the horses probably bolted.”
“Yes, that seems likely,” said Andrew, shaking the image from his mind. “No rifles on any of these. The troopers took them with them.”
“How we gonna feed ‘em, sir? Not much to graze on up here.”
“No. But we aren’t going to be staying here much longer. Once we hear from the other scouts we’ll get moving tomorrow. So be ready to move out.”
This brought a general brightening of faces. He knew the men were worried; hell, he was worried, too! But the thought that they’d soon be back in friendly territory was exactly what they wanted to hear. Now if they could just get there! He left the men to their packing and their bomb-making and went back in the shack to see Selfridge. He was now in one of the chairs and White was curled up on the cot, sleeping.
“So, what’s the situation?” asked the pilot.
“Looking better. We’ve got enough horses for everyone now, so we ought to be able to make good time. We just need to scout out a route that will let us slip by the Martians and link up with friendly forces. Are you going to be able to ride?”
“Oh, sure. Just tie me to the beast if you have to. Anything to get out of this dump!”
“Yeah. But you’re sure, Tom? We may have to ride like hell if they spot us.”
“Given the choice of riding like hell or staying here, I’ll ride like hell, Major!”
“Good man. And when we’re alone, you can call me Andrew. Still not used to this ‘major’ business.”
Selfridge chuckled. “All right, Andy…”
“Andrew. I hate ‘Andy’.”
“Oh, okay. But how far do you think we’ll have to go to get to friendly territory?”
Andrew shrugged. “No idea. The Martians pursued the wreck of the army as far as we could see them the day of the battle. No telling where they went after that. Hell, they could be in Albuquerque by now if they just kept moving.”
The Great Martian War Page 20
