Okay, heres where the new stuff comes in.
I hope you like it!
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©2008 By Alex DeRiemer ©
Chapter 4
I awoke the next day to a clear and muggy morning.
I dressed, and went outside to get the paper, which, thankfully was delivered that day.
I saw my neighbor gardening, and walked over to the fence to talk to him.
“Good Day to you, Jonathan.” I said.
“Ah, good morning, Alex. How are you?” He replied.
“I could be better. Has the Militia passed through yet?”
“No, not yet, but the paper says they were dispatched from Richmond last night, after getting a message from Louisa.”
“I also sent them one, last night. They thought I was hoaxing them until the War Department also wired them and told them to send the troops.”
“Really? Well, either way, they should be here before the afternoon.”
“Any news from the Common?”
“No, nothing; except for the fires, that is, but most of them have burned out. I hear some people tried to rescue the bodies, but were killed.” “Shame, that.” He said, shaking his head in sadness.
“I see. Have you heard anything of Jacob Jefferson?”
“Oh, yes, Jacob”; Said my neighbor, shaking his head “He was killed with the crowd last night on the Common.”
A feeling of deep sadness welled up within me.
“I see. I’m very sorry to hear that. He was a good man.”
“Yes, indeed he was. There were forty-two other people killed out there.”
“Damn these Martians; callous murderers, all of them.” I said, sadness changing to anger.
“Well, hopefully the Militia can deal with them. Say, did you hear? Another one of those cylinders landed early this morning, just the other side of Louisa.”
“What? ” I said, shocked.
“Yes. From what I hear, they are going to try and blow this one up before it can open.”
“Well, I wish them luck on that, but the things are quite large. Jonathan, do you think it’s an Invasion?”
“Invasion? No.” He said, waiving the idea off “More like a raid or something, but the Militia should teach them what happens when they mess with us ” he said, confidently.
“I certainly hope so.” I said, and then, “Do you hear that?”
“What?” Jonathan said, cupping a hand to his ear.
There was a distant rumbling on the road to the east.
We both stood there, Jonathan and I, listening to it, as it grew louder.
In the distance, a cloud of dust was being kicked up on the road.
Jenkins came rushing out of the front door, toast crumbs still on his face, and joined us.
“What’s that sound?” He asked.
“I think it’s the Militia.” I said, and then rushed to the gate, and out into the lane, Jenkins and Jonathan right behind me.
Soon, the dust cloud loomed larger and larger, till, finally, shapes could be distinguished in it.
It was the Militia, marching in a grand procession.
And indeed what a procession it was.
Regimented groups of uniformed men walking down the road, their rifles and bayonets glittering in the early morning sun; their officers mounted on horses. Draft horses’ pulling wheeled cannons and ammunition wagons, it was indeed quite a sight, and to this day it remains vivid in my memory. As we watched them parade past, some of the soldiers shouted out assurances to us, “Never you fear, the Militia is here ” “We’ll show ‘em what for, don’t you worry ” “Them Spacemen’ll listen to reason with us around ”
Even while listening to those assurances, I couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that hung over me.
After the procession passed us receeding down the lane in a cloud of dust, I turned to Jenkins and said “I’m going to dress and follow them down there.”
Jenkins looked at me for a second and then said “Yes, I shall go with you.”
“Very well then, but hurry. I do not want to miss anything.”
After bidding a hasty farewell to Jonathan, who wished us well and went back to his lilies, Jenkins and I began walking down the road into Buckner, to rent a carriage to go to the Common.
We got to the town a few minutes later, and found it in a state of high excitement. The passing through of the Militia had shocked everyone into the reality of the situation, as had the disturbingly conspicuous lack of newspapers from anywhere outside of Richmond.
As we walked into town, we saw people running about, many hurrying to their carriages, many of which were fleeing out of town to the North. Newsboys stood on almost every corner loudly proclaiming “Earth attacked by Martians Contact with England lost Read all about it ” Jenkins and I stood on a street corner for several moments, in shock.
I spotted one of the young men from the night before, the one who had accused me of being drunk. He saw me as well, and hurried across the street to speak to me, narrowly missing being run over by a carriage with was traveling at a ludicrous rate of speed.
He came up to me out of breath, and said “It would seem that I was wrong.”
“Yes, I suppose you are.” I said flatly.
“I’m sorry for saying you were drunk, Mister DeRuyter.” He said, looking down at his feet.
“I do not believe it is important anymore, in light of what is happening.” I said, waiving the matter off.
“Do you know where we could procure a carriage and a driver?” I inquired of him.
“Are you leaving town, Sir?” He asked.
“No, my tenant,” I said, gesturing to Jenkins, who was busy watching the organized chaos all around us, “Jenkins and I are going to watch the Militia defeat them”
The young man looked shocked. “Defeat them? But sir, you yourself said just last night that they killed a whole crowd of people with a weapon ? How can Cannon and the Militia stand up to that? ”
“I was in a bit of a terror at the time, I believe that the Militia can fight them.” I said confidently.
“I wish I had your confidence.” He said.
“So, do you know where we can acquire a carriage?”
“No, Mister DeRuyter, I’m afraid I do not. But you could ask at the public-house.”
“Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Thank you.”
“Yes, anytime.” He said, and disappeared into the crowd.
“Come, Jenkins, we must find a carriage” I said, tapping Jenkins on the shoulder, and breaking him out of his trance.
We plunged into the crowd, and headed towards the public-house, but, since it was in the direction of Louisa and the Cylinder, we had to fight the prevailing direction of the crowd.
After several minutes of fighting our way through the crowd, I spotted the sign for the public-house, and grabbing Jenkins by the shoulder, forced our way through the crowd to the door.
I pulled it open, and we ducked inside, grateful to be out of the crowd.
It took my eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim lighting inside, but once I did, I saw that there were about ten or fifteen people sitting at widely scattered tables.
The room was very quiet and subdued, a stark contrast to the chaos outside, which I could still see outside the windows.
I walked into the center of the room, and said “Does anyone here have a carriage I could rent?”
Several people looked up at me, but most of them returned to their glasses a second later.
Except for one man, an older gentleman with a beard, who looked at me and said “Yes, I have one. What do you need it for?”
His words were slightly slurred, I surmised that he had been in the public-house all day.
“ My friend and I are going to watch the Militia fight the Martians.” I said.
“Martians? What are you talking about ? ” He said
“The Cylinder that landed Louisa way, Joe.” Said someone sitting at the bar.
“Cylinder? Martians? What rot ” Joe said, waving me away.
“Go, take you lies somewhere else ”
“I’ll pay good money” I said.
Joe looked up at me, his interest piqued.
“How much?”
“Forty, and you will get it back tonight.” I said flatly.
“Forty? Good God man, the whole carriage ain’t worth that much ”
“I’m in a hurry. Forty and you will have it back tonight.”
Joe sat there for a few seconds, contemplating my offer.
“All right, you can have it, but I won’t drive you.”
“I didn’t expect you to.” I said, already walking towards the door.
“Which carriage is it?” I asked.
“The beat up one with the shoddy horses ” shouted someone in the back, which elicited laughter from everyone but Joe, who was beginning to let loose a stream of profanity as I left, with Jenkins in tow.
We walked back out of the door, and, edging along the facade of the building, avoided the crowds, and got around to the back of the public-house, where the stable was.
I spotted Joe’s horse and carriage immediately.
It was indeed as the other men had described it, the carriage was old and run down, with paint peeling and flaking from it’s sides, and the horse looked as if it had seen better days.
I hopped into the driver’s seat, and waited for Jenkins to get in. I looked down, and saw that he was standing there, staring at the carriage.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“You can’t be serious.” He said incredulously.
“What?”
“You don’t honestly think this old thing will make it to the Common, do you?” he said.
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t.” I said, irritation tinging my voice.
“Well, just look at it ” He said, gesturing at the carriage “This thing looks like it could fall apart at the drop of a hat, and the horse doesn’t look too much better ”
“Look,” I said, genuinely irritated now, “I’m going to go see the Militia. Are you coming or not ?”
Jenkins considered this for a moment, and then climbed up into the seat next to me, grumbling under his breath.
I flicked the reins, said “Gee-up ” to the horse, who pricked up his ears, began trotting towards the street, and we were off.
By that time, the crowds had thinned, at it was easier to head down to the road towards Louisa.
There were still people on the street, many of them staring at us as we headed in the direction of the Common.
We headed down the road in silence, each of us in deep thought.
Jenkins was the first to break the silence.
“Alex, are you sure it is wise to be heading this way?”
I turned to him “The Martians cannot move from their pit, as long as we stay a safe distance from the Cylinder, we should be fine.”
Jenkins looked unconvinced.
“But what about that Ray you spoke of?”
“Well, like any weapon, I imagine it has a limited range.”
Jenkins still looked worried, but said no more.
We traveled over the road towards Louisa, passing fields and scattered farmhouses on either side.
We also passed a few other carriages, their occupants being, I assume, residents of Louisa, traveling towards Buckner and away from us. Many of those people looked fearful, and stared at us as we passed.
Had I been more attentive that day, I would have realized the import of those fearful faces, and turned the carriage around.
But, hindsight, as they say, is fifty-fifty.
Not long after, we arrived at the far edges of Louisa Common, very near the sight of my terror-stricken fleeing the night before. There was little evidence of the Heat-Ray this far away from the Pit, but there were still streamers of smoke rising into the sky from nearer the Cylinder.
All around us were Militia men, their horses, their cannon, all standing about, gazing expectantly to the west. One of them, wearing the uniform of a Captain, rode up to us, mounted upon a fine black Arabian.
“You there, Halt ” He said sharply, holding up his hand. I pulled back on the reins, and the carriage came to a stop.
“What business do you have here? This is a dangerous area ” he inquired.
“We come from Buckner, to watch you fight the Martians. I was here last night when they massacred the crowd.”
The Captain looked surprised.
“Did anyone else survive?” He asked
“Not that I know of” I said, shaking my head sadly.
“What can you tell us of these Martians?” By now, a small group of other officers and enlisted men had surrounded our carriage, waiting to hear my reply.
“I’m afraid I haven’t seen them myself, they started killing before I could get close to the Cylinder.”
“What about this ‘ray’ you mentioned”
I shuddered slightly.
“It is a horrible weapon, like something out of a nightmare. The instant it strikes a person, they come aflame. Same for trees and grass as well. ‘Heat Ray’ describes it better than anything else, in my opinion.” I sat there silently for a few seconds, then said “It only took them about a minute to kill the whole crowd.”
Murmurs of shock and anger rippled through the group of Militiamen around us. The Captain, especially looked rather pale. “My God, only a minute . . . ” He said softly.
Suddenly, further up along the edge of the Common, came the distant sound of as trumpet call.
Closer along the line came another call, and another, closer still.
Finally, the trumpeter in the group that we were talking to put the trumpet to his lips and sounded a loud blast.
The Captain and group of men I had been talking to turned around and began to walk away
“What does that trumpet mean? ? ” I shouted
“It means that we are to go forward and attack,” Shouted the Captain over his shoulder. “You may stay, but I strongly advise you keep away from the Common and the fighting ”
I jumped out of the carriage. “Come on, Jenkins, lets find somewhere out of the way to be” I said hurriedly. I ran over to the tree line and ducked in. I turned around to see Jenkins still standing there. “What are you waiting for?
? ”
He looked at me. “Shouldn’t we be finding someplace away from the fighting to hide???” he asked incredulously.
I glared at him “Well, you are free to do that if you want, but I am going to see the fighting.” I said as I turned and began running towards the edge of the common.
A moment later, I found Jenkins jogging alongside me, panting and out of breath.
“I thought you were finding somewhere else to hide?” I said snidely.
Jenkins glanced at me. “You are the only one who knows how to drive the carriage. I don’t want to be separated from you.” he said, between gasping for breath. It was apparent that he hadn’t exercised in a long time.
After a minute or so of running, we arrived at the edge of the Common, and crouched down in a ditch behind the last line of trees, watching the battle unfold.
About an eighth of a mile away, over the burned and blacked grasses of Louisa Common, lay the Cylinder.
All about the Common were Militiamen with the cannon and rifles, firing at the Pit
There was a small group of about five of them no more than four or five yards away from us, standing around a cannon that they were firing at the Pit at regular intervals.
Many of the shells and bullets at first fell short, but, with sighting and adjustment of trajectories, the shells began to fall closer and closer to the Cylinder.
The horrible funnel I had seen meet out so much death the night before, was once again rising out of the pit, and the hissing, droning Heat-Ray struck this way and that, igniting the still smoldering grass, and the trees and bushes around Louisa Common. Much of its destruction, however, was falling short of the Militiamen, merely setting many fires.
Suddenly, the cannonade subsided for a moment, and, on the far side of the common, I saw a group of about twenty-five infantrymen running, albeit at a stooping angle, towards the Cylinder.
Many of the corpses from the night before hadn’t been removed, due to fear of the Heat-Ray, I surmise, and the Militiamen were having trouble running around them, many tripping and falling.
I admired their bravery and tenacity, but I suddenly and irrevocably knew that it was for naught.
They had gotten within maybe eight to ten yards from the edge of the Pit, when, the funnel rose higher, and with a swish, killed them all. The grass all around them instantaneously came ablaze, and their uniforms, and then their skin ignited, sending small puffs of smoke into the clear June air. Their rifles either melted in their hands or exploded, adding to their agony.
Many of them had been simply wiped out of existence altogether, and their fellows, the less lucky ones, fell, and lay, screaming and writhing under the pitiless summer sun for up to a minute before finally meeting the relief of death.
Right after this, the cannon barrage began again, this time with renewed vigor.
Many of the shells were now landing right in and around the Pit, and I was sure that these brutal, interplanetary murderers were being killed.
But I was horribly mistaken.
Several moments later, I became aware that the cannonade was slowing and subsiding altogether, and I crept up to the edge of the ditch, and peered out through the blackened grass, small fires, and smoke that dotted Louisa Common.
Towards the pit, the funnel had disappeared, and a large domed shape, looking like a dish-cover, was rising slowly out of the pit.
The summit of it caught the bright June sunlight, which reflected off of it in a blinding gleam.
Slowly, it rose higher and higher, and, within seconds, the entirety of it had risen over the dirt hills around the edge of the pit.
And still it rose.
Now three legs coming out of sides and back of the hood were apparent.
From the underside of the ‘hood’, dangled supple, metal tentacles.
The front of this monstrosity was facing in my direction, and I could see in the center of the ‘face’, for lack of a better term, two large, bulging green eyes made of some kind of glass, forming the windshield of the thing.
As it rose still higher, I could see that the legs had many joints, resembling a human knee.
As it continued to rise, one of these joints on each leg bent, and about ten to fifteen feet of each leg bent down towards the hood.
There were hissing and clanking mechanical noises coming out of the thing, and gusts of green steam out of every joint or orifice.
I could see, right below the ‘eyes’ of the thing, a funnel protruding out of a squarish hole, and I knew at once that it was a Heat-Ray.
Those who have never seen a Martian Fighting Machine in active movement can scarcely imagine the pure horror, the essential otherworldliness of it . . . My vague and imprecise descriptions of it do not do the Thing justice.
It at last finished rising out of the pit, and stood, more than one hundred feet high, towering over Louisa Common and the surrounding forest.
For several moments the Common was silent, the only sounds being the occasional hoarse cries of various militiamen, the clanking of the Tripods machinery, and the snapping and writhing of the snakelike tentacles slung underneath it.
The thing turned slightly, and uttered an unearthly howl.
Like my descriptions of the Tripods themselves, no amount of words, not even from the greatest writers of out time, can do that sound anything approaching justice.
It was the most terrifying thing I had ever heard, or have heard since.
The closest sound to it that our alphabet can make is “UUULLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAA”,
But even that is at best a poor imitation of it.
The sound washed over the land, it wormed its way into our subconsciousness, creating the most primal of fears.
I do not know how long it howled for, but it must have been at least fifteen seconds.
It felt like an eternity.
After it stopped, the echoes of it continued on our heads for several seconds.
And then, silence, once again.
For a moment or so, the Militiamen stood at their posts, shocked and half-deafened as I was.
Then a sound broke the renewed silence.
It was a single word.
“FIRE ”
It was the captain I had talked to earlier, somewhere on the edge of the Common.
At the sound of his command, the cannon all around the Common, hastily angled as far up as they could be, began a renewed barrage, all of it aimed at the imposing Tripod.
Cannonballs whistled through the air, and the loud concussions of explosions once again filled the air.
But it didn’t last long.
After the first volley, the Tripod fired its Heat-Ray.
And this time, it didn’t miss.
In the space of maybe two minutes, every single Militiaman on Louisa Common was wiped out.
For those two minutes, it seemed as though the gates of Hell had been opened.
Like the girl in the straw hat, that memory haunts me to this day.
All about were the sounds of cannon and ammunition violently exploding, the screams of men and horses as they were set aflame, the woof and whoosh of trees, bushes, and grasses igniting.
The men standing closest to us I saw obliterated right before my eyes.
Their cannon exploded with a loud boom, and a large piece of it hit a maple tree, which crashed down on Jenkins and I, crouching in the ditch. There was another loud report, and the carcass of a horse came flying through the air and landed on top of the tree trunk.
We were now pinned down, able to watch the carnage and horror, but helpless to flee from it.
For about five minutes we were trapped there, the sounds of the massacre all around us, the hissing and droning of the Heat-Ray as it smote this way and that.
Finally, the sound of the ray died down and stopped altogether.
The only sound on the common now was the crackling of flames and the sounds of the Tripod’s machinery.
It stood in the center of the common for a moment, its hood turning left and right, as if surveying the destruction it had made, and then, it turned, and began striding off to the west, towards the second Cylinder, and I realized that God had once again smiled upon me, and I had survived.....