Great Martian War: The Gathering Storm Snippet #1

Okay gang, here is the first preview segment (known as a 'snippet' in the industry) of my next Great Martian War book, "The Gathering Storm".


Prologue





Excerpt from “The First Interplanetary War, Volume 1”, by Winston Spencer Churchill, 1929. Reprinted with permission.



Although few outside of Great Britain today remember, the First Interplanetary War can properly be thought to have begun in the spring of the year 1900. Although most people at that time considered 1900 to be the first year of the new century, it was, in fact, the last year of the old. And along with it, were swept out all of our preconceived and haughty notions of Man’s place in this universe. In that fateful season, the first cylinders from the Red Planet fell upon England’s peaceful countryside as unexpectedly as a lightning bolt out of a clear blue sky.



In fairness, it should be stated that there were a handful of scientists around the globe who were not taken completely by surprise by the arrival of the Martians. Astronomers had observed strange and unprecedented gas eruptions upon the surface of Mars in the months preceding the arrival of the cylinders. While they had no way of knowing what those events heralded, these men instantly realized the truth when news of the cylinders reached them.



The invaders, who we now know were a mere scouting expedition, first landed near the town of Woking about 20 miles southwest of London. Over the course of the next few days, nine more of their cylinders fell in the southern parts of England. The peace-loving English people, having no inkling of the hostile and indeed murderous intent of the invaders, were slow to respond, thus giving the Martians time to debark and assemble their formidable war machines. Further time was squandered in well-intended, but ultimately fatal attempts to communicate with the Martians.



By the time the authorities became fully aware of the danger, the Martians were ready for battle. Sadly, with the bulk of the regular British Army dealing with the Boers in South Africa, where I, myself, was also involved, the only forces available to confront the Martians were the Territorial troops. These men, although of undoubted bravery, were poorly equipped and not at all trained to deal with the crisis now at hand.



The initial battles went badly and the defenders of London suffered very heavy losses and were scattered by the Martian heat rays and their vile black dust weapons. It should be noted, however, that these brave men did destroy one of the enemy machines with conventional artillery. This accomplishment is often overlooked, but it was of great importance for it proved that the enemy was not invulnerable. Indeed, several more of their machines were later destroyed both by the Army and the Royal Navy before the Martians succumbed to the microbes which proved deadly to them.



In the immediate aftermath, many people felt that the demise of the Martians was an act of divine intervention and that our salvation or destructions was strictly in the hands of God. Even at the time I felt this overly simplistic and indeed an insult to the courage, skill, and tenacity of the British people. Since it had been proved that we could destroy the Martians, it was simply a matter of time before sufficient force was brought to bear to allow us to do so. Consultations with many military men of great experience has confirmed that they are of the same opinion. It was only the completely unforeseeable nature of the attack which made it so deadly.



There is no denying, of course, how deadly the attack was. Even with the short duration it lasted, dozens of towns and villages and large sections of London were laid waste. Over one hundred thousands of our citizens lost their lives either as a direct result of the Martian attack, or as a secondary effect of the panicked flight before them. Even the Royal Family was forced to evacuate, and many are of the opinion that it was this extreme stress which brought about the passing of Queen Victoria just a few months later.



As tragic as was the loss of life and the damage to property, which was later tallied at over one hundred million pounds sterling, perhaps the greatest blow was to the psyche of the English people. For it had been nearly a hundred years since the last serious threat of invasion, and close to a thousand since any invader had in fact set foot upon the soil of our island nation. For centuries we had lived in safety and security behind the impenetrable shield of the Royal Navy.



But despite the Navy’s one hundred battleships and hundreds of cruisers and lesser vessels, the invaders had landed unopposed. Men, women, and children had been roused from their beds and forced to flee for their lives with no warning, no notice. Their world, which had seemed secure and predictable, was suddenly proved to be neither. The dead could be buried, the rubble cleared away, and the buildings rebuilt, but nothing could ever give back that same sense of security.



For although we had been spared once, be it by an act of God, a force of natural science, or the belated might of the Army and Navy, there was nothing to prevent it from happening again. Mars was still there in its unalterable orbit, which every twenty-six months would bring it in close proximity to Earth. And even though we knew where the enemy lay, we could not blockade his harbours or strangle his trade or intercept his invasion armadas as we had done to keep us safe in centuries past. They had come once and could come again if they so chose.



With eyes cast fearfully skyward, the people demanded that measures be taken. The members of Parliament, the Ministers in their councils, and indeed, our new sovereign, Edward VII, could do naught but agree. The army in South Africa was withdrawn, the Boers given the independence they demanded (little good that it did them a few years hence), and our strength brought home to defend the island against the possibility of another invasion.



I came with them, arriving in Southampton in June of 1900. Although the bodies had been buried by that time, the work of reconstruction had barely begun. By a happy chance, my ship arrived the same day as the famous aid ship from America, organized and accompanied by Theodore Roosevelt. Roosevelt was then the governor of the state of New York and that very month would be nominated for the vice presidency in the election to be held that November. But his great sense of compassion—and it must be said, outrage—had caused him to organize an outpouring of aid from the citizens of his state for their cousins across the sea. Through certain family connections, I was invited to dine with Roosevelt and I found the man to be a veritable dynamo of energy. I have no notion of what he thought of me, and as a very young man with only a few notable accomplishments to my name, he can be forgiven for paying small note of me. Little did either of us realize at the time how our destinies would become entwined in the future.



The next day I walked through the devastated streets of London with Roosevelt and we were as thoroughly thunderstruck as every other returning soldier, and vowed, as many of them did, to see that this could never happen again. Entire neighborhoods had been reduced to ashes, just a few blackened piles of bricks marking where homes had once stood. I was especially stricken to see that even Nelson’s Column had not been spared; the noble statue had been melted into an unrecognizable lump and the column itself toppled.



Roosevelt, and indeed, I, too, were dumfounded when we discovered that we were not to be permitted to examine the Martian war machines close up. The spots where the machines had halted when their operators were struck down had been cordoned off and no one, not even an important dignitary like Roosevelt, was allowed through. We could see the tripod machines from several hundred yards away, but no closer. The Ministry of War had ordered this. The reason given was that there were fears of the deadly Martian black dust weapon being present and as this was not an unreasonable concern, Roosevelt made no protest, though his disappointment was profound.



Tragically, this turned out not to be some temporary expedient for safety reasons, but a long-term policy to deny access to the Martians’ wondrous machines to everyone except ourselves. While there was some small justification in the reasoning that since the British paid the price in acquiring the equipment, the British should reap the benefits, the inevitable long-term effects were so severe and so detrimental to our relations with the rest of the world that this foolish policy should never have been adopted.



The European Powers, especially our closest neighbor, France, became convinced that we intended to use the Martian science against them in a bid for world domination. I’m embarrassed to have to admit that there was more than a little justification to their fears. High-ranking members in the government and the military did indeed have visions of an invincible military imposing a Pax Britannica on the world. And even if this did not prove possible, it was deemed that the technical knowledge needed to be kept out of potentially hostile hands at all costs. Prime Minister Lord Robert Cecil, was convinced of the necessity of this policy by his cabinet, even though it eventually led to the downfall of the Conservative Party.



I was elected to Parliament from Oldham that fall and joined the Conservatives as was expected of me, being my father’s son. The primary issue facing Parliament, indeed the whole nation, was what preparations needed to be taken to meet another invasion. For most of us were unwilling to stake the fate of our nation and our people on the totally unsubstantiated notion that the Martians, having been defeated once, would not try again. There is no doubt that many in England and around the world believed that very thing, but this was wishful thinking at its very worst.



The challenge was to decide what sort of preparations were needed. Throughout England’s history a serious external threat had almost always involved some rival navy and the countermeasures were obvious: strengthen the Fleet. But this time, the threat did not have to fight its way past the Royal Navy. Our battleships and cruisers could not intercept the enemy troop transports before they reached shore. If the invaders strayed too close to the coastline they might be brought under fire by the guns of the Fleet, but if they stayed inland, only the Army could engage them.



And so the Army had to be strengthened. New regiments had to be raised, new artillery batteries created and equipped, new fortified posts constructed, new warning systems devised and of utmost importance, new and better weapons invented. And it was not just the home islands which were at risk. Even though that was where the enemy had first struck, if they came again they could land anywhere. India, Canada, South Africa, Egypt, Australia, all were at risk and all had to be defended. The cost of this was, of course, enormous. There was no lack of eager recruits to fill the ranks of these new formation, but the facilities and equipment all needed to be constructed and paid for.



The government’s plan to raise the money involved significant duties on all foreign imports. This was an issue which had been a much-debated topic even before the first invasion. Many in industry and business favored such a move since it would help them against growing competition from Germany and the United States. Others in the government felt that since it would also protect the Commonwealth’s economy, it would help to bind the Empire into a more solid whole.



I immediately saw the folly of the idea. Combined with the strict secrecy over the Martian technology, this action could only serve to further alienate the Empire from the other great powers, and so it proved. By 1903 the structure of the European alliances had been profoundly altered. Each nation, now fearing and resenting Britain more than their traditional foes, changed their plans and policies to meet the new situation. The Triple Alliance of Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Italy softened its stance toward Russia and her ally, France. Russia reciprocated by making certain compromises over its policies in the Balkans, and France turned away from its obsession with avenging the insults of 1870 and recovering the lost provinces of Alsace and Lorraine—something which would have been unthinkable only a few years earlier.



Great Britain thus found itself with few friends in the world. Even the United States, though now led by Roosevelt, regarded us coldly. Of all the powers, only Japan looked upon us kindly, and this was primarily due to our sympathy toward them in the war that broke out between them and Russia in 1904.



Still the Conservative government, now led by Arthur Balfour, would not relent in its policies. I spoke out against them strongly, making many enemies, and eventually decided I could no longer support them. I crossed the aisle to join the Liberal Party in 1904. While I cannot take much credit for it, the Balfour government fell the next year and Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman became prime minister.



The new government attempted to rectify the mistakes of the old, but with only limited success. The tariffs were done away with and new taxes levied to make up the shortfall. But the policy of secrecy involving the Martian technology could not so easily be reversed. The hostility of the other Great Powers was now well established and it was feared that if the secrets of the Martians—the few we had unraveled so far—might now be used against us. A few concessions were made, but in general the policy of the previous government was continued—out of necessity now rather than stupidity.



I found myself appointed as Undersecretary of State for the Colonies in that same year. Lord Elgin was secretary, a man of considerable experience, having served as Viceroy of India and who also had headed a commission investigating the performance of the army both in South Africa and during the Martian invasion at home. Our primary task at this point was to evaluate the defense needs for the colonies, working in conjunction with the War Office. It was a task which I relished and I threw myself into it with great enthusiasm.



The latter half of 1905 and well into 1906 saw me travelling all around the world to the far reaches of the Empire. It was my task to meet with the colonial governments to determine what they would need to defend themselves from a second Martian invasion. A group of men from the Army and the War Office accompanied me. What we saw was daunting indeed.



Maps cannot convey the vastness of the British Empire at that time. The maps that every schoolboy sees in his books and hanging on classroom walls, maps with large areas of red upon them, denoting the boundaries of our vast realm, might instill pride, but they cannot truly teach the reality of it. I had done a fair bit of travelling in my youth, India, the Sudan, South Africa, but even I was taken aback by how much there was—how much that might need to be defended.



It quickly became apparent that there was no hope in trying to defend every square mile. Such a policy was being followed at home, but with the huge, but nearly unpeopled regions of central Australia, northern Canada, southern Egypt and Africa such a thing was simply impossible. The strategy which had been devised for the defense of the home islands was to have forces standing in readiness to swoop down on the Martian landing sites and wipe them out before they could assemble their war machines. It was a sound plan, which if it had been available in 1900 might have saved us so much woe, but could only work if the areas involved were small and with a good transportation network in place. Similar strategies were being evolved by the other Great Powers in Europe, Japan, and in America. But there was no hope to do so in our colonies, except for India.



The most we could hope to do was to fortify the cities and larger towns and pray that they could resist the initial assaults until help could arrive from England. It was assumed that once the attacks at home were defeated, powerful forces could then be dispatched to aid the colonies.



I met with many men in many places during my journeys. Some were doubters, men who believed that the Martians would never return or, if they did, that they would not land in their part of the world. Others acknowledged the threat, but did not want to expend the effort or the money needed to see to their defenses. Most, however were sensible men and were willing to do what they could.



A few were even men of vision who made contributions not just to their local defense, but to the defense of the whole world. One such was an Australian civil engineer with the wonderful name of Lancelot de Mole. Perhaps inspired by the knightly armour of his namesake, he presented me with a detailed set of plans for a remarkable device when I met him at a conference in Sydney in December 1905. Mr. de Mole had observed that during the first invasion, conventional field artillery had proved capable of destroying the enemy tripod machines, but was in turn, extremely vulnerable to the Martian heat rays and poisonous black dust weapon. His invention took a field gun, encased it in metal armour, and mounted it all on a steam tractor to give it mobility. I immediately saw the genius of his conception and passed it along to the War Office with my strongest possible endorsement.



Of all my actions during that period, this one perhaps paid the highest rewards. This invention—unfairly, but irrevocably, dubbed a ‘tank’ by some unknown wag—became the mainstay of nearly every modern army in the coming conflict. It, or variations on it—armored, self-propelled artillery—proved to be our most effective weapon against the invaders. Sadly, there were far too few of them ready for action when the Martians returned.



And, of course, this was the great unknown: when were the invaders going to return? How long did we have to prepare? Five years? Ten? Twenty? If only we had been given twenty years, how much suffering might have been averted! Or perhaps not. Twenty years might have been too long a time to maintain the sense of urgency among the people. Ah, but what I would have paid to be given even ten!



As it happened, we were given eight years and a few months. In November of 1907 the same type of foreboding gas eruptions were sighted on Mars which had preceded the first invasion. The Red Planet had been kept under constant observation with some of our most sophisticated telescopes and the eruptions were spotted immediately. But unlike the first invasion where a mere ten cylinders were launched, this time the eruptions went on and on until nearly two hundred were sighted or presumed. The word went out: the Martians were coming again—and in much greater force.