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Post by Rob on Apr 7, 2006 8:18:06 GMT
He's always in the wrong place at the wrong time. This is getting interresting, what are those walking things? Mini fighting machines?
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Post by richardburton on Apr 7, 2006 8:37:25 GMT
Oooo things are really hotting up! Gripping stuff, Nerfy!
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Post by smitty97 on Apr 7, 2006 9:20:57 GMT
I am wondering who these people causing carnage are. Are they people? If so, funny they are using Martian tech so stop the use of Martian tech. Very intriguing, can't wait for more
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Post by Poyks on Apr 7, 2006 10:56:44 GMT
Very interesting!! Great stuff!
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Post by jeffwaynefan on Apr 7, 2006 14:57:07 GMT
I have a strong feeling the Martians are using us and are probably preparing there second visit to our Earth.
Excellent stuff Nerfy, excellent stuff.
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Post by Commandingtripod on Apr 8, 2006 0:01:31 GMT
Nice stuff Nerfy.
Wonder where all these new machines are coming from. Looks like someone or something doesn't want the Flying Machine to become operational.
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Post by Anim8tr on Apr 9, 2006 1:18:49 GMT
Talk about a story that keeps you on 'the edge of your seat'!
Continually gripping and action on an epic scale! Bravo, Nerf!
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Post by EvilNerfherder on Apr 9, 2006 23:40:41 GMT
THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.
15. To Hell And Back.
It is hard, in many ways, for me to describe how the next year of my life passed. Anyone who has suffered the deep darkness and despair of madness may understand, for those who have not it may be more to comprehend. I shall endeavour to piece together events as coherently as I am able.
In that field when the strange machines had attacked the captured Flying Machine, as I stood over the body of poor Horton, I had myself been hit on the head by a piece of flying metal. The wound was not serious, but I had been knocked for six for a moment or two. I next remember standing with blood trickling down the side of my face, quite dazed and disorientated. The mighty Flying Machine was a useless, smoking pile of metal scrap in the middle of the field and the cries of the wounded drifted on the wind. Here and there, blackened piles of bones marked the last stands of the brave soldiers who had tried to defend us. A whirring sound made me turn my head slightly. To one side, one of the strange new machines was regarding me curiously. Again I felt something like fingers probing my mind. I saw more images. Water, a huge stretch of water. White capped waves. Dark, rainy skies. More Martians at work at some machinery I did not recognise. Dextrous tentacles flourishing tools. My head began to throb. Green flashes tore across my mind. I saw more Martians grouped around a metal table. A struggling shape strapped down. I could now see clearly what was happening. A terrified man was being dissected by those vile creatures. Alive! As the Martians hooted triumphantly, a human scream started and grew louder and louder. I did not realise it at the time, but it was not the man at the table screaming. The keening wail was coming from my own throat. The last thing I remember in that field is hearing an odd, stifled version of that nightmarish ‘Ulla!’ coming from the odd machines as they stalked away. This final assault on my mind had torn at the already silk thin threads that held my mind together. Weakened by all I had experienced over those months, my mind had no defence left and gave. Those last threads snapped under the strain, and that is all that I remember fully for a long time.
Time had no meaning from then on. I spent many days beneath crisp white sheets, being tended by white-coated doctors and brisk nurses. From time to time, I would be wheeled me out in a bath chair to some fragrant gardens and I would sit staring, without seeing, out at the distance. My wife came to visit me often, but in the early days, I do not think I even recognised her. A jolly looking man with big, white side-whiskers would also appear before me and say things to me that I cannot remember. I am told I would think him an orderly or doctor and open my mouth, like a hungry chick in the nest, for food. This man would shake his head sadly, pat me on the shoulder and go away. The days and months passed in this sorry state. I did not dream and I did not think of the Martians or their works. I lived as if in an impenetrable fog. Gradually, though, I began to heal. The fog slowly lifted. I began to speak coherently to my wife. I could enjoy the fresh air in the garden, the bright colours of the flowerbeds and the feel the warmth of the sun on my face. Nearly a full year after I had lost myself, I was declared fit to leave the institution and I went home to my beloved wife. We spent a few happy weeks rebuilding our life together. Until the day that Cavendish reappeared.
Cavendish perched on the edge of a chair in my sitting room, a cup of tea lost in his big hand. ‘We were very worried about you, Smith,’ he said with a concerned expression. ‘I trust you feel better.’ ‘Much,’ I said. ‘I gather I have you to thank for the care I received.’ ‘Least we could do, old man. Only the best for those who work for us, you were in very safe hands.’ ‘Quite. Alas, I can remember little of my time there. One thing I do remember, with hindsight, was your visits. I fear I did not recognise you at the time.’ ‘Bah!’ Cavendish said with a wave of his hand. ‘Think nothing of it. I quite understand. One thing I must ask though.’ ‘Yes?’ I asked warily. Cavendish stared me straight in the eye. ‘They spoke to you again, did they not? Those machines.’ ‘Yes,’ I said slowly. ‘It was quite horrible. Cavendish, those things- were they Martians?’ My visitor nodded. ‘But they are so much smaller than any machine we have seen so far,' I said baffled. ‘When I say that they were Martians, I mean that they were of Martian origin. Horton had been looking into reports of such things being seen.’ Horton. A wave of sadness washed over me as I remembered how he had sacrificed himself to save me. ‘Horton was a good man,’ I said. ‘Yes he was,’ Cavendish agreed. ‘He is sorely missed.’ There was silence for a moment. ‘Smith,’ Cavendish said finally. ‘Those machines were unmanned Martian machines. We think they could be controlled remotely to create havoc without causing any loss of Martian life. We call them Remote Walkers.’ ‘Where do they come from?’ ‘That’s the thing. We believe we have found out their origin. A Martian base that we never knew existed. We are going to try and find them and when we do, we will destroy them all.’ ‘Where do they come from?’ I repeated. ‘I cannot tell you as a civilian. To announce this would cause panic. Smith, I want you to join us again.’ I was afraid of something like this as soon as Cavendish had reappeared. ‘Why me?’ ‘I cannot think of anyone better suited to observe this endeavour,’ Cavendish said. ‘You have seen much of our work and have proved yourself trustworthy. Not only that, but you seem to have a link with the enemy that is rare to find.’ My mind whirled again. I had been through so much and yet I had an idea that seeing the Martians destroyed once and for all could be the best medicine I could have. ‘I will come with you. I wish to see this ended.’ Cavendish nodded but said nothing. ‘So now, tell me,’ I said. ‘Where are we going?’ Cavendish looked at me evenly. ‘The North Sea,' he replied.
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Post by Commandingtripod on Apr 10, 2006 6:55:59 GMT
Off to the North Sea hey.
What could the Martians be doing there.
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Post by richardburton on Apr 10, 2006 8:22:52 GMT
Another excellent chapter, mate. You allowed time to take stock of recent events, then built it back up and left us with another question. Damn good, as usual.
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Post by jeffwaynefan on Apr 10, 2006 8:30:34 GMT
Very nice, I enjoyed that. Great work Nerfy
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Post by Luperis on Apr 10, 2006 20:55:09 GMT
Great work! I really love the realism of the story - especially the way the character temporarily decends into madness after the attack. Its so human... and thus really believable. Your superb attention to detail is also very impressive. Brilliant stuff, as usual, Nerfy. ;D
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Post by EvilNerfherder on Apr 10, 2006 22:21:04 GMT
High praise indeed! Much appreciated. I was going to dash some more out tonight but I have a inbox full of WoTW queries, requests and so on to deal with so that's that out of the window I guess. More tomorrow night, perhaps. EDIT. Alright, I lied. I managed to finish another chapter....
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Post by EvilNerfherder on Apr 11, 2006 0:15:26 GMT
THE WAR OF THE WORLD: AFTERMATH.
16. Returning to the Fold.
Much had changed in England whilst I had been held, captive and despairing, in my cage of starched cotton sheets and wicker. Many buildings damaged in the war had been rebuilt along with the lives of those who returned to reside in them. People again worked, slept and ate, going about their little affairs as if nothing had happened. Industry once more filled the sky with smoke and the trains again ringed and grumbled, ferrying the swarm of humanity about its business. Not all was well, though.
As we travelled, on comfortable seats in a Pullman, back to the underground laboratories, Cavendish explained events so far. ‘The terrorist attacks have continued,’ he said, puffing on a great wooden pipe. Oddly, I couldn’t remember him having had that habit before. ‘By terrorist, I assume you mean Martian,’ I put in. ‘Yes, that is correct. The remote walkers have been spotted all over the country, seemingly trying to cause as much disruption as possible. They appear, as if out of nowhere, destroy targets and disappear again just as easily. Upwards of forty targets, mostly industrial and government related, have been hit.’ ‘Are they trying to soften us up? For another invasion, perhaps?’ I wondered. ‘It could be, although there appear, at the moment, to be no signs of activity on Mars. We have been watching the Egg very closely.’ ‘Have you traced the exact origin of the machines?’ I asked. ‘We have a fairly good idea of where they come from,’ Cavendish said from behind a cloud of fragrant pipe smoke. ‘We engaged a consulting detective of some reputation and he was of great assistance to us. Helped to collate reports of sightings of the machines and we were able to gain an approximate location. Alas, we could not persuade him to accompany us on our mission, he would have been a valuable asset.’ ‘So you really think they come from out of the North Sea, as you said before?’ I asked. ‘Yes. Extraordinary, I grant you, and we would never have guessed that our friends would actually think to land a Cylinder under water. But it seems to be so.’ I shook my head in wonder. ‘Indeed. So what is the plan?’ ‘We go and destroy their base. Stop this nonsense once and for all. We have to give their comrades on Mars reason to think again about coming here for another visit.’ ‘That I have to see, I said. ‘But how can we touch them underwater? Some new weapon?’ Cavendish grinned, ‘Exactly so. We have some new toys to play with.’
The laboratories were, as before, a hive of activity. ‘We have made great strides in our work on the machines,’ Cavendish said as we walked through the cavernous testing areas. I soon found out that he was not exaggerating. I was amazed to see a new Fighting Machine being put through its paces in one area. A prototype of a human machine. I gathered that the make up of the Martian metals was still causing some problems for our scientists and the prototype Fighting Machine was heavily armoured like an Ironclad and it’s dull grey surface was dotted with rivets. The legs were thicker than those on their Martian counterparts, to take the extra weight I assumed, and they ended with sprung gripped feet. The engines were based on those of the Martian machinery, but, apparently, much less efficient. Cavendish informed me that they were working flat out to remedy these problems. So, a year after I had last been here, I saw our own, human, Fighting Machine clatter and thud jerkily across the rock floor, steam hissing noisily from the joints of its legs. ‘Marvellous, is it not?’ Cavendish beamed. ‘Soon we will be able to take on the Martians on their own terms. Who knows, perhaps even on their own world!’ ‘We could go to Mars?’ I asked shocked. ‘Why ever not?’ Cavendish said. ‘We have been experimenting with various things, not least that marvel Cavorite’ ‘The metal from Wells’ book?’ I said. What he was talking about was pure fiction. ‘The very same. Well, the real metal, anyway.’ Cavendish affirmed, winking. I could get little more from him about that. ‘You still haven’t told me how you mean for us to travel to the Martian base in the North Sea,’ I reminded Cavendish. ‘Do you have some new kind of Ironclad?’ ‘We have something much better. A submersible.’
That night I had lucid dreams of machines floating gracefully across the sky, land Ironclads clanking around the Earth and great ships that could cross the black void of space and carry men to other planets.
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Post by Poyks on Apr 11, 2006 1:57:21 GMT
Wow, Nerf, I have a great mental image of a human built fighting machine, the ultimate juxtaposition, and a trapment of human nature that I think any H.G. fan will relate to!! You started the story with great enthusiasm and wisdom, and it's even better knowing that you've maintained these qualities and even excelled yourself with each chapter. In many ways, this story re-awakens a lot of enthusiasm for the original novel, and that alone is a very good thing! :-)
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Post by Peter on Apr 11, 2006 7:02:43 GMT
Neat. Looking forward to the next part!
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Post by Commandingtripod on Apr 11, 2006 7:10:42 GMT
Gripping.
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Post by richardburton on Apr 11, 2006 10:00:46 GMT
Fantastic stuff, Nerf old mate! Loved the description of the human fighting machine!
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Post by jeffwaynefan on Apr 11, 2006 10:11:39 GMT
Superb stuff . . . I like the way you bring over how human technology, though we consider ourselves to be superior, our attempts at building Martian technology becomes clumsy and clunky.
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Post by Commandingtripod on Apr 11, 2006 10:34:35 GMT
I reakon they should print a book with these stories in it: 1. The Crystal Egg 2. War of the Worlds 3. War of the Worlds: Aftermath
I'd buy it if they printed it. ;D
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