“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.