Operation Trojan Horse

OPERATION TROJAN HORSE 

Some of Those Tripods Aren't Martians! 

January 1920, New Jersey 

For months, humanity has fought the Martians on their terms. Aircraft have attacked their Tripods, artillery has hammered their positions, and Admiral Weatherspoon has brought the guns of the United States Navy against their coastal strongholds. General Jonathan Stone, meanwhile, has thrown his battered Army against their inland bases and relay stations. The Martians have been hurt, but they have not been broken. The naval offensive against the Martian beachhead and Stone's nearly simultaneous attack against an important inland relay station have, however, accomplished something almost as valuable. The relay station survived, badly damaged, but for the first time cracks have appeared in the seemingly perfect coordination of the Martian war machine. Patrols have been delayed, sensor coverage has become intermittent, and Tripods have occasionally moved without the immediate awareness of neighboring units. To General Stone, it is another opportunity to attack. To a small group of men operating under his command, it is an opportunity to do something much more dangerous. 

A Different Kind of War 

The planning for what would eventually become Operation Trojan Horse began months before the attack on the relay station. The first human successes against Martian technology had revealed an astonishing fact: the alien machines were not beyond human understanding. They could be entered. They could be sabotaged. With specialized equipment, training, and a great deal of courage, they could even be operated by human beings. The early missions led by Colonel Rohr and his specially trained troops proved the concept. Human soldiers had infiltrated Martian positions and recovered alien technology. Eventually, they learned enough about the alien control systems to operate captured Tripods. Washington quietly took notice. While Stone fought his increasingly costly conventional war across New Jersey and Weatherspoon prepared the Navy for its own offensive, military planners began assembling something entirely new. Operational control was given to the United States Marine Corps, with Brigadier General Silas "Ironhand" Mercer placed in command. Mercer gathered men whose experience had little in common with traditional military doctrine: former German Stormtroopers, British and French trench raiders, American Marines, combat engineers, scouts, and members of the Army's secret Tripod-training program. Some had spent the Great War slipping through enemy trenches in darkness. Others were experts in demolition or reconnaissance. A very small number had learned the strangest skill of all, how to make a Martian Tripod walk.  Mercer had no intention of turning them into another infantry formation. He wanted something the Martians had never faced before: a force designed specifically to penetrate their defenses, accomplish its objective, and disappear before the enemy fully understood what had happened. General Stone still commanded the theater. Operation Trojan Horse, however, belonged to Mercer. Stone would provide the aircraft, fuel, intelligence, and whatever logistical support Mercer requested. Beyond that, he was told remarkably little. That was intentional. 

The Opportunity 

The damaged Martian relay station provided the opening Mercer had been waiting for. Reconnaissance revealed growing irregularities in the Martian network. Sensor sweeps are no longer overlapped perfectly. Patrols occasionally arrived several minutes late, while Tripods returning from distant operations were being routed through secondary maintenance facilities as the primary network struggled to compensate for the damage. One such facility immediately caught Mercer's attention. It wasn't a major base, and that was precisely why he wanted it. The installation appeared to serve as a maintenance and staging area for Martian ground forces. Tripods regularly entered and departed the compound, sometimes remaining stationary for hours while undergoing repairs or replenishing their energy reserves. More importantly, the facility sat near the edge of the disruption caused by the damaged relay. For brief periods, Mercer believed the Martian network might know that a Tripod was present without knowing precisely what it was doing. Colonel Rohr studied the reconnaissance photographs spread across the table. “How long is the gap?” “Best estimate?” Mercer replied. “Minutes.” Rohr looked up from the photographs. “That isn't much.” Mercer shook his head. “It's more than we had yesterday.” That was enough and the target was approved. There would be no bombardment, no artillery preparation, and no massed infantry attack to announce their arrival, just the raiders going in quietly. 

The Raid 

They moved after dark in small teams, crossing the Martian perimeter carrying little more than weapons, demolition charges, and specialized interface equipment developed from earlier captured technology. There was no heroic charge, no roar of engines, and no artillery barrage to cover their advance. There were only men crawling through burned fields and drainage ditches toward machines that towered above the surrounding countryside. Martian sensor stations were bypassed where possible and quietly disabled where necessary. Then the raiders reached the maintenance area. The Tripods were there and Mercer's men went to work. Human interface equipment was connected to the alien controls. Systems awakened, and strange lights illuminated cramped compartments never intended for human occupants. One machine moved, then another, and then a third. For the men inside, the sensation was unlike anything their training had prepared them for. A movement of the hand became the movement of a mechanical leg several stories below. Alien sensors painted the darkness in colors no human eye normally saw. Entire tons of alien machinery responded to the slightest human command. Three Martian war machines were now under human control. The impossible part of the mission had succeeded. Then the relay network came back online! 

ALARM 

Throughout the Martian compound, alien systems awakened simultaneously as signals flooded the repaired portions of the network. The Hive immediately recognized an inconsistency. Every machine within the compound transmitted a valid Martian energy signature. Every machine possessed legitimate Martian systems. Electronically, every Tripod appeared to belong exactly where it was. Yet three were moving without authorization. The damaged network could determine that something was wrong. It could not immediately determine which machines were wrong.

 HIVE ALERT: 

Unauthorized locomotion detected…
Command discrepancies present…
Machine compromise probable…
Number of compromised units unknown… 

Nearby Tripods received orders to converge on the facility. Unfortunately for the Martians, several patrol machines were already returning to the compound. Their signatures became mixed with those of the stolen Tripods, further confusing a network already struggling with damaged communications. For perhaps the first time since arriving on Earth, the Martians looked upon their own machines and could not be certain who was inside them. Mercer's raiders had their opening. “Forget the original extraction route,” came the order. “Get those machines moving.” One Marine crew transmitted the obvious question. “Moving where?” The answer came immediately. “Home.” 

Four Aircraft 

The contingency signal reached General Stone's headquarters shortly afterward. Mercer wanted air cover and Stone wanted to know why. He didn't receive much of an answer. Three of Mercer's teams were somewhere inside Martian territory. They had successfully acquired their objectives and were now moving toward friendly lines. Mercer needed four aircraft immediately. Nothing more, Stone was furious, but he released them. With RAF SE5as and Curtiss Type 18t Wasps lifting off from the field and headed toward the coordinates Mercer provided. Only after becoming airborne did the pilots receive the most important part of their briefing. The raiders had captured Martian Tripods, three of the machines they were about to encounter were being operated by United States Marines. But which three? Nobody could tell them. The captured machines carried no American markings. There had been no time to paint recognition symbols across their armor, and the Marine crews had no reliable means of communicating with the aircraft overhead. From the cockpit of an SE5a or Wasp, every Tripod below would look exactly like what it had been only hours before. A Martian war machine. These pilots were ordered to observe carefully and provide assistance when they could determine which machines were friendly. 

The Long Walk Begins 

Dawn was beginning to creep across New Jersey when the Tripods emerged from the Martian perimeter. Eight machines moved across the countryside, five contained Martians and three contained United States Marines. The Martians knew that their machines had been stolen and that the humans were attempting to escape. But with the relay network damaged, no individual Tripod commander could be completely certain which of the machines surrounding it remained loyal to the Hive. The Marines faced exactly the same problem. Each Marine crew knew who they were. They did not know which of the other towering machines contained their fellow raiders. Firing too early might reveal themselves. Waiting too long might allow a Martian to get behind them. Helping another Tripod could save fellow Marines or worse, expose them to the enemy. Then came the distant drone of aircraft engines. Four human aircraft appeared against the morning sky. For the Marines, their arrival should have been reassuring. Instead, one crewman looked through the alien viewing system at the approaching aircraft and suddenly realized something that had seemed largely theoretical during the planning. “Do they know which ones we are?” His commander stared upward. “No.” There was a long silence. “Well, that's comforting.” 

Operation Trojan Horse 

The infiltration was over, the theft has succeeded. Now comes the difficult part, Getting home! Eight Tripods are crossing the battlefield, but allegiance is known only to the men or creatures inside each machine. The five Martian crews must identify the three stolen Tripods before they reach friendly territory. The three Marine crews must deceive, bluff, and fight their way through the Martian force without revealing themselves too soon. Above them, four human pilots must decide whom to protect and whom to attack without any reliable means of telling friend from foe. Every movement can reveal something. Every attack can expose an identity. Every apparent ally may be lying. One mistaken burst from a friendly aircraft could accomplish exactly what the Martians are trying to do. For General Stone, Operation Trojan Horse is another strike against the invaders. But for Brigadier General Mercer and the men of his new special operations force, it represents something far more important. If three captured machines can be brought back through the Martian lines, they will prove that humanity no longer has to fight this war solely from trenches, cockpits, and artillery positions. Humans can penetrate Martian bases, they can steal Martian technology, and they can turn the invaders' own war machines against them. But first, three Marine crews have to make it across New Jersey alive. Operation Trojan Horse has begun!