Just as we were about to leave, Amelia walked abruptly from the laboratory, and Mr Wells and I stared after her. She returned in a few moments, this time carrying a large suitcase.
I looked at it with interest, not recognizing it at first for what it was.
Amelia set it down on the floor, and opened the lid. Inside, wrapped carefully in tissue-paper, were the three pairs of goggles I had brought with me the day I came to see Sir William!
She passed one pair to me, smiling a little. Mr Wells took his at once.
“Capital notion, Miss Fitzgibbon,” he said. “Our eyes will need protection if we are to fall through the air.”
Amelia put hers on before we left, and I helped her with the clasp, making sure that it did not get caught in her hair. She settled the goggles on her brow.
“Now we are better equipped for our outing,” she said, and went towards the Space Machine.
I followed, holding my goggles in my hand, and trying not to dwell on my memories.
iv
We were in for a day of remarkably good hunting. Within a few minutes of sailing out over the Thames, Amelia let forth a cry, and pointed to the west. There, walking slowly through the streets of Twickenham, was a Martian battle-machine. It had its metal arms dangling, and it was moving from house to house, evidently seeking human survivors. By the emptiness of the mesh net that hung behind the platform we judged that its pickings had been poor. It seemed incredible to us that there should still be any survivors at all in these ravaged towns, although our own survival was a clue to the fact that several people must still be clinging to life in the cellars and basements of the houses.
We circled warily around the evil machine, once again experiencing that unease we had felt the day before.
“Take the Space Machine higher, if you will,” Amelia said to Mr Wells. “We must judge our approach carefully.”
I took a hand-grenade, and held it in readiness. The battle-machine had paused momentarily, reaching through the upper window of a house with one of its long, articulate arms.
Mr Wells brought the Space Machine to a halt, some fifty feet above the platform.
Amelia pulled her goggles down over her eyes, and advised us to do the same. Mr Wells and I fixed our goggles in place, and checked the position of the Martian. It was quite motionless, but for the reaching of its metal arms.
“I’m ready, sir,” I said, and slid the pin from the striking lever.
“Very well,” said Mr Wells. “I am turning off the attenuation…now!”
As he spoke we all experienced an unpleasant lurching sensation, our stomachs seemed to turn a somersault, and the air rushed past us. At the behest of gravity we plunged towards the Martian machine. In the same instant I hurled the grenade desperately down at the Martian.
“Bombs away!” I shouted.
Then there was a second lurch, and our fall was arrested. Mr Wells manipulated his levers, and we soared away to one side in the dead silence of that weird dimension.
Looking back at the Martian we waited for the explosion…and seconds later it came. My aim had been accurate, and a ball of smoke and fire blossomed silently on the roof of the battle-machine.
The monster-creature inside the platform, taken by surprise, reacted with astonishing alacrity. The tower leaped back from the house, and in the same moment we saw the barrel of the heat-cannon snapping into position. The cowl of the platform swung round as the monster sought its attacker. As the smoke of the grenade drifted away we saw that the explosion had blown a jagged hole in the roof, and the engine inside must have been damaged. The battle-machine’s movements were not as smooth or as fast as some we had seen, and a dense green smoke was pouring from within.
The heat-beam flared into action, swinging erratically in all directions. The battle-machine took three steps forward, hesitated, then staggered back again. The heat-beam flashed across several of the near-by houses, causing the roofs to burst into flame.
Then, in a ball of brilliant-green fire, the whole hideous platform exploded. Our bomb had ruptured the furnace inside.
To us, sitting inside the silence and safety of attenuation, the destruction of the Martian was a soundless, mysterious event. We saw the fragments of the destructive engine flying in all directions, saw one of the huge legs cartwheeling away, saw the bulk of the shattered platform fall in a hundred pieces across the rooftops of Twickenham.
Curiously enough, I was not elated by this sight, and this sentiment was shared by the other two. Amelia stared quietly across at the twisted metal that once had been an engine of war, and Mr Wells merely said: “I see another.”
Towards the south, striding in the direction of Molesey, was a second battle-machine.
Mr Wells swing his levers, and soon we were speeding towards our next target.
v
By midday we had accounted for a total of four Martians: three of these were in their tripods, and one was in the control cabin of one of the legged vehicles. Each attack was conducted without danger to ourselves, and each time the chosen monster had been taken by surprise. Our activities were not going unnoticed, however, for the legged vehicle had been speeding towards the destroyed tripod in Twickenham when we spotted it. We realized from this that the Martians must have had some kind of intricate signalling system between themselves—Mr Wells hypothesized that it was a telepathic communication, although Amelia and I, having seen the sophisticated science on Mars, suspected that it would be a technical device—for our vengeful activities seemed to have provoked a good deal of movement on the Martians’ behalf. As we flew to and fro across the valley, we saw several tripods approaching from the direction of London, and we knew that we would not run short of targets that day.
With the killing of the fourth Martian, though, Amelia suggested we rest and eat the sandwiches we had brought. As she said this we were still hovering about the battle-machine we had just attacked.
The killing of this monster had been an odd affair. We had found the battle-machine standing alone on the edge of Richmond Park, facing towards the south-west. Its three legs had been drawn together, and its metal arms were furled, and at first we suspected that the machine was unoccupied. Moving in for the kill, though, we had passed in front of the multi-faceted ports and for a moment we had glimpsed those saucer-eyes staring balefully out across Kingston.
We had taken our time with this attack, and with my increasing experience I was able to lob the grenade into the platform with great accuracy. When the bomb went off it had exploded inside the cabin occupied by the monster, blasting open several metal plates and presumably destroying the monster outright, but the furnace itself had not been ruptured. The tower still stood, leaning slightly to one side and with green smoke pouring from within, but substantially intact.
Mr Wells took the Space Machine a decent distance away from the battle-machine, and settled it near the ground. By consensus we agreed to stay inside the attenuation, for the green smoke was making us nervous that the furnace might yet explode of its own accord.
So, overshadowed by the damaged Titan, we quickly ate what must have been one of the strangest picnic lunches ever taken in the rolling countryside of the Park.
We were about to set off again when Mr Wells drew our attention to the fact that another battle-machine had appeared. This was hurrying towards us, evidently coming to investigate the work we had done on its colleague.
We were safe enough, but agreed to take the Space Machine into the air, and so be ready for a quick foray.
Our confidence was increasing; with four kills behind us we were establishing a deadly routine. Now, as we rose above the Park, and saw the approaching battle-machine, we could not help but see that its heat-cannon was raised and its articulate arms were poised to strike. Clearly its monstrous driver knew that someone or something had attacked successfully, and was determined to defend itself.
We stayed at a safe distance, and watched as the newcomer went to the tower and closely inspected the
damage.
I said: “Mr Wells, shall we bomb it now?”
Mr Wells stayed silent, his brow furrowed over the top of his goggles.
“The creature is very alert,” he said. “We cannot risk a chance shot from the heat-cannon.”
“Then let us seek another target,” I said.
Nevertheless, we stayed on watch for several minutes, hoping the Martian would relax its guard long enough to allow us to attack. However, even as the creature inside carried out a cautious examination of the damage, the heat-cannon turned menacingly above the roof and the tentacular metal arms flexed nervously.
With some reluctance we turned away at last, and headed back towards the west. As we flew, Amelia and I cast several backward glances, still wary of what the second Martian would do. Thus it was that we saw, when we were less than half a mile away, that our grenade had, after all, weakened the casing of the furnace. We saw an immense, billowing explosion of green…and the second battle-machine staggered backwards and crashed in a tangle of metal to the floor of the Park.
That was how, by a stroke of good fortune, we slaughtered our fifth Martian monster.
vi
Considerably cheered by this accidental success we continued our quest, although it was now with a bravura tempered by caution. As Mr Wells pointed out, it was not the Martian machines we had to destroy, but the monster-creatures themselves. A battle-machine was agile and well-armed, and although its destruction certainly killed its driver, the legged ground vehicles were easier targets because the driver was not enclosed above.
So it was that we agreed to concentrate on the smaller vehicles.
That afternoon was one of almost unqualified success. Only once did we fail to kill a Martian with our first strike and that was when I, in my haste, neglected to pull the pin from the grenade. However, on our second pass the monster was effectively and spectacularly destroyed.
When we returned to Reynolds House in the evening, we had accounted for a total of eleven of the Martian brutes. This, if our estimate that each projectile carried five monsters was correct, accounted for more than one-fifth of their total army!
It was with considerable optimism that we retired to bed that night.
The following day we loaded our Space Machine with more grenades, and set off again.
To our consternation we discovered that the Martians had learned by our ventures of the day before. Now no legged ground vehicle moved unless it was accompanied by a battle-machine, but so assured of our impregnability were we that we resolved that this presented us with two targets instead of one!
Accordingly, we prepared our attack with great precision, swooped down from above, and were rewarded with the sight of the battle-machine being blown to smithereens! From there, it was but a simple task to chase and destroy the legged ground vehicle.
Later that day we disposed of two more in the same way, but that was our total score for the day. (One legged vehicle was allowed to pass unharmed, for it was carrying a score or more of human captives.) Four was not as healthy a tally as eleven, but even so we considered we had done well, and so once more retired in a state of elation.
The next day was one with no success at all, for we saw no Martians about. We ranged, in our search, even as far as the fire-blackened heath at Woking, but here simply found the pit and its projectile empty both of Martians and their devices.
At the sight of the ruined town on the hill, Amelia and I noticed that Mr Wells grew wistful, and we recalled how he had been so abruptly separated from his wife.
“Sir, would you like us to fly to Leatherhead?” I said.
He shook his head forcefully. “I wish I could allow myself the indulgence, but our business is with the Martians. My wife will be well; it is obvious that the invaders moved to the north-east from here. There will be time enough for reunion.”
I admired the resolution in his voice, but later that evening Amelia told me that she had noticed a tear running down Mr Wells’s cheek. Perhaps, she said, Mr Wells suspected that his wife had already been killed, and that he was not yet ready to face up to this.
For this reason, as well as for our lack of success, we were in no great spirits that night, and so we retired early.
The next day we were luckier: two Martians succumbed to our grenades. This was the odd fact though: both the battle-machines stood, like the one we had found near Kingston, alone and still, the three legs drawn together. There was no attempt at self-defence; one stood with its heat-cannon pointing stiffly towards the sky, the other had not even raised its. Of course, as we were attacking battle-machines we swooped with great care, but we all agreed that our kills were suspiciously easy.
Then came another day with no more Martians seen at all, and on that evening Mr Wells pronounced a verdict.
“We must,” he said, “turn our attention at last to London. We have so far been snipers against the straggling flanks of a mighty army. Now we must confront the concentrated strength of that army, and fight it to the death.”
Brave words indeed, but ones which did not reflect the suspicion which, I afterwards discovered, had been growing in us all for the last three days.
Chapter Twenty-Four
OF SCIENCE AND CONSCIENCE
i
The day following Mr Wells’s stern pronouncement, we stowed the remainder of our hand-grenades aboard the Space Machine, and set off at a moderate speed towards London. We kept our eyes open for a sign of the battle-machines, but there was none about.
We flew first over Richmond town, and saw the dark residue of the black smoke that had suffocated its streets. Only by the river, where the red weed grew in mountainous tangling clumps, was there relief from the sight of the black, sooty powder that covered everything. North of Richmond was Kew Gardens, and here, although the Pagoda still stood, most of the priceless plantations of tropical plants had succumbed to the vile weed.
We headed more directly towards London then, flying over Mortlake. Not far from the brewery, in the centre of an estate of modern villas, one of the projectiles had landed, and here it had caused untold damage with the force of its explosive landing. I saw that Mr Wells was regarding the scene thoughtfully, so I suggested to him that we might fly a little closer. Accordingly he brought the Space Machine down in a gentle approach, and for a few minutes we hovered above the terrible desolation.
In the centre of the pit was, of course, the empty shell of the projectile. What was much more interesting was the evidence that, for some time at least, this place had been a centre of the Martians’ activity. There were no battle-machines in sight, but standing beside the gaping mouth of the projectile were two of the legged ground vehicles, and sprawled untidily behind them was one of the spiderlike handling-machines. Its many metal tentacles were folded, and the normal brilliant sheen of the polished surfaces had started to corrode in the oxygen-rich air.
I was all for landing the Space Machine and exploring on foot, so quiet was the scene, but neither Amelia nor Mr Wells considered it safe. Instead, we allowed the Machine to drift slowly about the pit, while we sat in silence. We were daunted and impressed by what we saw: the pit itself had been refashioned, so that the earth thrown up by the impact had been built into high ramparts, and the floor had been levelled to facilitate the machines’ movements. One end of the pit had been reworked to provide a sloping ramp for the ground vehicles.
Suddenly, Amelia gasped, and covered her mouth with her hand.
“Oh, Edward…” she said, and turned her face away.
I saw what she had noticed. Dwarfed by the looming bulk of the projectile, and nestling in its shadow, was one of the killing cubicles. Lying all about, some half-buried, were the bodies of human beings. Mr Wells had seen the shocking sight in the same instant, and without further ado he sent the Space Machine soaring away from that place of hell…but not before we had realized that lying in the shadow of the projectile were perhaps a hundred or more of the corpses.
We flew on, heading in an
easterly direction, and in almost no time we were over the grey, mean streets of Wandsworth. Mr Wells slowed our passage, and set the Machine to hover.
He shook his head.
“I had no idea of the scale of their murders,” he said.
“We had allowed ourselves to neglect the fact,” I said. “Each monster requires the blood of a human being every day. The longer the Martians are allowed to stay alive, the longer that slaughter will continue.”
Amelia said nothing, clutching my hand.
“We cannot delay,” said Mr Wells. “We must continue bombing until every one is dead.”
“But where are the Martians?” I said. “I assumed London would be teeming with them.”
We looked in every direction, but apart from isolated pillars of smoke, where buildings yet burned, there was not a single sign of the invaders.
“We must search them out,” said Mr Wells. “However long it takes.”
“Are they still in London?” said Amelia. “How do we know that they have not finished their work here, and are not even now destroying other cities?”
Neither I nor Mr Wells knew the answer to that.
“All we can do,” I said, “is to search for them and kill them. If London has been abandoned by them, we will have to go in pursuit. I see no alternative.”
Mr Wells had been staring down disparagingly at the streets of Wandsworth; that most ugly of London suburbs had, unaccountably, been spared by the Martians, although like everywhere else it was deserted. He moved the controlling levers decisively, and set our course again for the heart of London.
ii
Of all the Thames bridges we saw, Westminster was the one least overgrown with the red weed, and so Mr Wells took us down and we landed in the centre of the roadway. No Martian could approach us without walking out across the bridge, and that would give us enough warning so that we could start the Space Machine and escape.