Steam Attacker

[Blackbead]

Steam Attacker

Memories of the War of 1895

By Hagen Luke

As told to Stephen Sanders

Chapter I

This is my first attempt to ever write a book, memoir, or anything much more than a letter to a family member or friend. I did try to write a love poem once to a girl but I was ten at the time and the resulting piece, which to my eyes was a work of great art, caused little more than a giggle. Im not trying to write great literature here; Im just trying to record the events of my time. This is a journal, not a novel.

Plato was the first to say that necessity was the mother of invention. If that be the case, then survival is most definitely inventions sire. Perhaps this is why so many of Mans greatest advances have occurred during wartime. I read somewhere that the first kite was flown by a Chinese general to find out how far his army would have to tunnel in order to enter a walled city undetected. Someday, someone will write about flying machines in this same way they were born of war.

To paraphrase the historian, Herbert Wells, no one would have believed that in the later part of the nineteenth century that the Earth was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man. Likewise, no one could have ever foreseen the changes in humanitys technology caused by humankinds response to the most destructive war we have ever faced. I am talking, of course, about the Martian invasion beginning in 1895. Millions have died and the very existence of the civilizations dotted about our planet was put in jeopardy. We fought back but we fought on the same terms as the savage who faces modern man we threw our stones and swung our sticks but the enemy smashed us with weapons we could not even understand.

Heat rays that disintegrated our people and our weapons of war. Black smoke delivered by rockets that killed, almost instantly, anything that breathed. Armored war machines that moved under their own power and which defied destruction by our artillery and small arms. Scarlet vegetation that took root amongst our own natural world and choked out Earths trees and other green, living things. These and other hideous technologies dwarfed the powers of our world and came within a gnats wing of conquering us all.

But they didnt. They began dying at a pace that far surpassed our ability to destroy them and, to date, we dont know why. Wells has suggested to me that they died from a plague caused by the bacterium discussed by Ehrenberg. Wells theory seems as plausible to me as any other especially since, like with our own experience with plagues, a great many of the invaders perished but some have survived. Greatly reduced in number, the Martians no longer completely dominate our world. Furthermore, with our survival-propelled advances in technology, we actually stand a fighting chance against them.

The War has been going on now for almost four years. The majority of the surviving Martians have congregated in four zones the darkest regions of equatorial Africa; the broad expanse of the steppes of Siberia, the wildernesses of central Canada, and the large island north of the Australian continent, called Papua or New Guinea. So far, weve been able to keep them penned up in these last remaining strongholds. I pray that I live long enough to see them completely destroyed.

My name is Hagen Luke and Im an attacker pilot from Phoenix, Arizona. My people are originally from Germany, I was born there, but we came over to America when I was a baby. My brother, Frank, and I grew up in America and I guess we are as American now as anybody I know, except maybe for the Apache kids I used to play football against when I was in grade school. Its been a long time since Frank and I tackled, kicked, and ran our way down a football field. Now, Im afraid that Frank is dead, killed by the Martians, and I play a completely different kind of game.

I pilot a Besler Arabian, the finest steam-powered, propeller-driven attacker in the world. It was designed by Hans Besler and Nathan Price and is powered by a two-cylinder, 190 horsepower, reciprocating steam engine. Shes a double-winged design with an Improved Maxim gun slung under each upper wing and a brand-new Bolden 20mm rapid-fire cannon shooting through the engine drive shaft. She can also carry three 200 pound bombs under each lower wing and shes covered with the new reflective armor that helps to blunt the effect of the Martians heat ray.

At the end of the first phase of the War, we discovered that the Martians were working on flying machines. We also discovered that the metal bars that they were somehow refining were not intended as building materials but were a slow-burning fuel that produced incredible power. Using the information gathered from the Martians progress toward flyers and the power of this new fuel, Besler and Price were able to fulfill one of mans greatest dreams powered flight of a heavier than air craft. No more would we be constrained by reliance on hot air filled balloons driven by the wind. For the first time, man could direct his flights wherever he wished and carry heavy loads without much effort.

There is a great deal of science which is required to design and build one of these flying machines. In essence, it is the shape of the wings, combined with the rapid flow of air across those wings that result in the lift that is needed to make the thing rise. This is a concept that has seen application as far back as Sir George Cayleys glider. Most people dont know this but a man flew almost fifty years ago without any hot air at all. But he was still a prisoner of the wind.

The steam engine that is the power plant of the Arabian is a product of modern science with a little help from the Martians. Nathan Price was already known for his work on compact steam engines for use in the rail transport business but, using the incredible power of the new fuel provided by the invaders, Price was able to swiftly convert some of his earlier work into an engine that produces enough steam power to provide the horsepower-to-weight ratio necessary to make these ships feasible. The engine that resulted operates without the destructive vibration of internal combustion engines, reduces fire hazards, operates at a greater efficiency than any internal combustion engine, and, very valuable tactically, operates in relative silence. In the first flying tests of these machines, pilots were able to call down from the air and could be heard by spectators on the ground.

On more than one occasion, I have snuck up on our enemy and the first indication they had of my presence were when my bombs began raining down, bringing death and destruction to these merciless invaders. Of course, that was before they knew we had taken to the air in our War against them. These days, not only are they more vigilant but they have, with their own limited resources, begun to attempt to build flying machines of their own.

I have come to hate the invaders from the Red Planet. Theyve destroyed my family, turned my world into a burning battlefield, and taken away the life I once knew. My delight these days is seeing their bulbous, octopus-like bodies torn to pieces by my weapons and their machines burning from the effects of my bombs. If I die fighting them, so be it. But I will send as many of them to Hell as I can before I go.

Edited February 1, 2010 by Blackbead

[Blackbead]

Chapter II

Flying alone, heading north-northeast out of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, I see the sun just rising off the tip of my lower, starboard wing. It is barely six o’clock in the morning but the day is dawning crisp and clear with long patches of cumulous cloud formations for me to skip between. These patches run at various heights and I have no doubt that my one-man patrol will be almost invisible to our enemies if I keep my wits and the clouds about me.

My Arabian is fully loaded – twin Maxim guns above and six High Explosive bombs below with my trusty Bolden Repeater in the middle – and I feel ready for action! My primary mission today is to search out any concentrations of the enemy and note them down on my map. If, however, I see any opportunity to pay a visit on them then I plan to leave my mark where I may!

Pounce like a silent wasp, put my stingers where they would be most effective, then fly away quick before they can turn their heat rays on me! The reflective armor coating my ship is effective but a sustained blast of their ray can still disintegrate my Arabian and me. The reflective armor is the result of one of our scientists (I don’t recall the man’s name) noticing that the Martians direct their beam with the aid of a parabolic mirror. The heat ray bounces off the mirror and flies in the opposite direction so it was decided to coat the facing surfaces of our war machines with a mirror-like silvery-colored paint that helps reflect the worst of the effects of the heat ray. The solution that provides this coating is a closely kept secret and, while I have seen it being applied, I have no knowledge of how it is made. All I know is it works well enough to give a target of the Martian’s heat ray a few extra seconds to escape – and I know that it has saved me on more than one occasion!

The air is cold, especially as it rushes past at almost one hundred and forty knots! Even with my leathers, boots, facemask, flying helmet, goggles and gloves, all lined with either rabbit fur or sheepskin, I can feel the frigid air. I’m dressed to stay as warm and as safe as I can – all of my clothing, even my goggles, have their own coating of reflective armor. Completely covered in our silvery suits, my flying mates and I truly appear to be “knights of the air,” as the newspapers are calling us. I really . . .

Wait! What’s that below me, off to port? I saw the morning sun glistening off something metallic. I drop my speed and lose some altitude.

The Arabian handles like a stalking, silent panther as she almost glides through the early morning air. Down below, there’s a clearing among the vast Canadian forest. Almost skimming the tops of the trees now, I bring the nimble attacker over the clearing but with the rising sun behind me.

Excellent! Standing against the trees, their crews gathered together, perhaps in a conference, are three of the gigantic Martian tripods! I have caught them totally unaware, out in the open, and with their crews several yards away and with the sun behind me to blind them to my approach! What incredible luck!

But the slimy “octoes” have noticed me now and they begin slithering back to their war machines! Quickly, I pull back on the stick and roll into a right turn, coming around completely to reorient my weapons on the tripods! My swift attacker is lined up on them before the clumsy Martians are even halfway to the safety of their machines! Pressing the firing button on the top of the control stick, the Maxims open up on the Martians as they awkwardly struggle to get back aboard their tripods! The bullets rip into them and I slowly pull back on the stick, leveling the Bolden on the tripods themselves. I press the trigger on the front of the stick and the Arabian jerks in the air as 20mm shells blast out of my nose cone and slam into the tripods! Then, pulling up before I reach the war machines, I look to my left and pull back on the lever that releases my bombs! One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six! I can hear the mighty explosions erupting individually as my bombs strike among, or on, the wicked looking Martian machines! Flames leap into the sky, nearly singeing my ship’s tail as I leap back up, away from the clearing!

This time, I plunge the Arabian back down to port and come back around in a tight turn, my left wing dropping, giving me an excellent view of the destruction I’ve rained down on the octoes! I can see some of them, dead in the clearing, cut down by my Maxims and at least one of the tripods is engulfed in flames!

Now, to finish the job!

I let the Arabian glide out away from the forest clearing and then cut back to the right, making a figure eight in the sky and bringing my guns back to bear on the enemy. Crossing the tree line again, I lower my nose to rake the field with machine guns and the remaining tripods with the cannon. I make several more passes before I silently head back for base. On my last pass, I verify that there is nothing moving within the area of the clearing; that two of the three tripods are on fire; and that the other appears that it will be a long time before it kills again.

Pulling my map from the pocket on the side of my seat, I note the spot where these Martians met their doom – just about ten miles north and east of Winifred Lake. The Colonel will be interested to know about this: three tripods within a hundred and fifty miles of our base. Surely that means they are on the move again and that’s something that the Colonel will want to factor into his strategy.

I turn back for Edmonton, thinking I’ll leave the strategy to the Colonel, I’m happy just killing the ugly balls of slime! The cold wind dries the sweat on my chin and nose as I pull the facemask away and slip it into a pocket of my flying leathers. I’m violating regulations that say I must leave the reflective armor on till I am on the ground again but I don’t care. My smile is too big to be held behind the facemask and I don’t plan on getting caught on my way back to the airfield.

I look up, into the sky, and give my thanks to God for letting me survive another attack against the Martians. I pray that Frank can see me, wherever he is, and know that I’m doing my best to make the cruel invaders pay for what they did to our family and what they tried to do to our Earth!