My War of the Worlds Sequel- WoTW: Aftermath.

[EvilNerfherder]

Why thank 'ee!
More soon.

[Luperis]

Amazing stuff - as always.
Great use of imagery and emotion.

[jeffuk13]

Top notch stuff, keep it up ;D.

[Anim8tr]

Excellent climax to the battle, Nerf! Hope there's a few survivors from the attack party left.

Talk about feeling "aquaphobic"... What's to happen to our survivors?

Can't wait. Great stuff!

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.


32. Fish Out of Water.


The Nautilus’ death throes turned our world upside down.
She was travelling at such a tremendous speed at impact that her hull must have crumpled. Again much of what happened next was obscured from our view from a great cloud of bubbles but I assume that something within her gave and exploded because there was a bright light and the water was agitated into a frenzy of bubbles and debris.
A great force moved outward from the impact area and we were knocked completely off our feet. On our backs, we were buffeted around, involuntarily waving our limbs as if in imitation of so many upturned crabs. Some sailors nearer to the site of the explosion were blown clear away from it, helpless in the raging water.
I tried to right myself as other, smaller, explosions rocked the great vessel all along its length. Pieces of metal flew in all directions as Nautilus tore herself apart.
Gradually, the explosions stopped and what was left of the wounded submersible sank slowly to the seabed. I struggled to see what had occurred at the impact point but, for a while, my view was obscured by tumbling wreckage and air bubbles. I stood up with some effort and found that Churchill had made his way to my side.
‘My god,’ I said breathlessly. ‘Why did he do that?’
‘I cannot say,’ the Lieutenant replied. ‘Let us hope it was not in vain.’
The water near the cylinder finally cleared and I could see the result of the Captain’s sacrifice. A great rent had appeared in the side of the cylinder and air poured out of it in many places. I could see a few stunned Martians staggering around nearby and a remote walker stalked around, headless.
‘Look!’ I exclaimed. ‘It worked!’
‘Indeed,’ Churchill nodded.
A quiet sobbing sounded in my ears and I looked around for the source. Nearby, Cavendish sat rocking slowly. On getting closer to him, I saw that tears streaked his chubby cheeks. On our approach, he looked up like a sad puppy.
‘The Nautilus is gone’, he finally said quietly.
‘But the cylinder is damaged badly,’ I answered offering the man a hand. He grabbed at it and pulled himself up.
‘We can build another, can’t we?’ Cavendish said hopefully. ‘Another Nautilus?’
‘Yes. Yes we can,’ I said in as comforting manner as I could.
Churchill spoke up.
‘We must leave here. There are Martians around and they are still dangerous.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Can you walk, Cavendish?’
‘I can, ‘ the knight asserted, brightening a little. With some obvious effort, he made to put on his old demeanour and he soon appeared to be as the old Cavendish we knew. Then he remembered something and looked quickly around.
‘The egg!’ he shouted. ‘Where is the egg?’
The box in which the egg rested was nearby balanced on a rock. We walked forward to fetch it.
Cavendish picked up his prize and beamed happily. I made to join him but was brought up short.
My head suddenly felt as if it was being ripped open and I let out an involuntary whimper. I felt probing in my head again, just like I had several times before and pictures came to me. I saw the scene inside the cylinder, water flooding in, dead Martians lay around here and there and smoke was pouring from damaged machinery. Then, another scene came. Martians were taking up weapons in another area that appeared not to be damaged. Human beings stood cowed in some sort of holding area. Where was this? Was it an undamaged part of the cylinder, perhaps? The probing abruptly stopped.
Churchill was staring at me with concern.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘The Martians were-‘ I did not finished the sentence as my eyes had now cleared and I saw the scene before me.
Cavendish stood near the rock, oblivious and clutching his box. Behind him stood a small troop of Martians, weapons raised.
‘Cavendish, behind you!’ I shouted.
The knight spun around in panic and groaned.
‘Don’t make any sudden moves,’ Churchill warned in a low voice.
Cavendish dropped his box and raised his hands. Churchill and I slowly raised our hands too. I wondered vaguely if the Martians would understand, or even acknowledge, this human sign of surrender.
The Martians moved forward menacingly.

[Commandingtripod]

So tense and exciting.
More please. ;D

[Poyks]

That is a serious cliffhanger! I agree, definately more soon please!

[richardburton]

Excellent work, Nerfy old fella! Great description of the explosions.

[Luperis]

Excellent imagery and tension there.
Can't wait for more. ;D

[wotwfan48]

Oh my, this is very good, the tension is high, the action is good, the egg part very clever, I know you talked about this before, but still very clever, and still a good very good idea. So, dont be surprised, that people want more more more LOL. good good work. Chantale. ;D

[Anim8tr]

What a great followthrough! Every bit as intense and impressive as your last chapter.

Keep up the superb effort and story!
It's a thrilling read!

[EvilNerfherder]

More sequely goodness for all you lovely people. I have some spare time this weekend so I hope to get some more done later...


THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.



33. Out of The Frying Pan...




Having come so far and seen so much, it seemed to me a measure of the way fate had twisted and turned since the War that we were now prisoners of the very creatures we had set out, with such determination and hope, to destroy once and for all.
Behind us, the wreckage of the great and immensely powerful Nautilus lay wreathed in a dark cloud of bubbles and her innards lay scattered around her. Beyond that huge, dead bulk sat the ruptured Cylinder, its life-blood also pouring out of it and rising swiftly to the surface far above us.
The fact that the Martian base of operations had seemingly been damaged beyond repair appeared not to deter our captors in the slightest. They made it plain, by pointing with their tentacles, that we were to go with them, to where I did not know.
We did not move for a moment. Cavendish stood, his mouth flapping in that way he adopted when things were beyond him and Churchill threw grim glances my way.
Again I felt a probing in my head. There were no pictures this time, just a sort of vague pulling at my mind. The pulling grew stronger and stronger and my head was suddenly pierced by red agony. Through near blinded eyes, I dimly saw the Martians regarding me curiously.

The pain stopped again, as rapidly as it had started, and one of the creatures emphatically resumed its pointing.
‘They wish us to follow,’ I said, gasping, to Churchill.
‘That much I had gathered,’ the Lieutenant answered dryly. ‘Perhaps we are lucky they do not shoot us where we stand.’
‘Perhaps not,’ I said, knowing full well what fate met prisoners of the Martians.
One of the Martians moved toward Cavendish’s prized egg box and Cavendish, with startling speed for a man of his size and especially one encumbered in a heavy suit and underwater, darted for the box at the same time. The Martian made it first and snatched it up triumphantly, and, at the same time, waved it’s weapon meaningfully at the man. Cavendish stopped short violently and stood still again, gnashing his teeth and glaring at the creature.
‘Cavendish,’ I said as calmly and quietly as I could. The man continued to stare balefully at the Martian and did not acknowledge my presence.
‘Cavendish!’ I repeated more harshly. The man looked slowly around, his eyes burned like fire.
‘We must go with them, we have no choice.’
Cavendish’s anger visibly subsided and we slowly began to move in the direction that had been indicated to us.

The landscape beneath the sea is not much understood by humanity. Perhaps, in some distant time, mankind will make its home underwater and enjoy the riches that lie under the waves. In the future, perhaps, great vessels not unlike the Nautilus will prowl the depths and travelling through what is now largely unknown will become as commonplace as a walk in the countryside.
As it was, weighed down by the water in my heavy suit and being fed rubber-tinged air, I felt that we may as well have been on some distant planet rather than out own Mother Earth. This illusion was heightened by the dim darkness, the fish that darted here and there before us and by our monstrous captors who skipped along on their tentacles beside us as we walked.
The exertion of walking through the water soon began to tire me and my breaths came shorter and more laboured. The suit, despite the cool water temperature, made me feel progressively more hot and uncomfortable and the feeling of claustrophobia became near unbearable. The unceasing hissing of the breathing mechanism was like some torturous, diabolic sound designed specifically to drive one mad. Periodically, I had to fight illogical urges to tear my suit off and try to swim for the surface. Churchill marched purposefully along beside me but Cavendish fell behind from time to time. When he lagged behind too much, a Martian would prod him sharply with a weapon and the man would try to pick up the pace but the strain was obviously more for him in his condition than it was for me. I felt some pity for him then, despite what I had learned of him.

On through this alien landscape we travelled. Here and there Martians skipped about carrying pieces of wreckage or at other tasks.
I wondered why they did not appear disenchanted at the destruction of the Cylinder. It seemed to make not the slightest difference to their sense of purpose and they carried on as if all was well with them. What a hardy race they must be, I thought, they are beaten time and again and yet they continue as if their time as rulers of our world was imminent. I did not find this of any comfort in my predicament.
I soon found out the reason for their confidence.
After what seemed like hours of walking, but could only have been minutes, we came across a tall rocky outcrop. More Martians were gathered here bearing weapons, along with a few remote walkers, and, after some tentacular gestures between the two Martian parties, we were allowed to pass.
What I saw next made my blood run cold.
As we passed the rocks we came upon a huge construction. Dark, black and squat.
Like a huge spider, the thing crouched there. Martians and machines swarmed around this strange new thing.
We had destroyed the cylinder, but we had made a terrible mistake.
The real Martian base was very much intact.

[Commandingtripod]

Wow.
This is great! ;D

[wotwfan48]

whow, very good, anxious to see more, a lot of action, and I really start to fear the martians. Again. Chantale.

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.


34. …Into The Fire.



I am not ashamed to say that this latest horrible revelation nearly made me faint dead away.
All our efforts had been for naught and the greatest weapon we had, the alien submersible ‘Nautilus’, lay ruined on the seabed.
We had expended men and machines in our quest to destroy the Martians and, all along, they had sat smug and secure in this new monstrous edifice. Perhaps they had watched with what passed for them as amusement whilst many of our men died trying to destroy what was essentially an empty shell. I imagine that they hooted with glee as the Nautilus was rammed into that shell whilst they viewed events from a safe distance.
I made a solemn oath to myself then that, if I was fated to die here, I would do anything I could before I met my maker to take at least some of those interlopers on our fair Earth with me.
Shaking the cobwebs from my mind, I eyed one of the Martian weapons greedily but one soft word; ‘No’, crackling in my ears made me glance up.
Churchill was shaking his head slowly. The Lieutenant was, I realised, an amazing judge of his fellow man. He had seen the look on my face and immediately understood my intention. I could imagine him having a stellar career in politics under different circumstances.
I still lusted for revenge against the Martians, but something in Churchill’s steady gaze made me see sense.
For now, I promised myself, I would go meekly with our captors but should chance smile upon me and an opportunity arise, I would seize it and do as much damage as I could.

So, what of this new horror?
As we were escorted closer, I saw that it was indeed spider-like in general shape. Thick legs splayed out from around the distended black body of the machine. Green lights ringed the body and ran down the length of the legs. At what I took to be the front, a great green window could be seen.
To say the machine was big probably does not give it full justice. I imagined many hundreds of Martians could be housed quite comfortably within it. I did not know, then, if this machine could actually move like its much smaller cousins, but it looked as if the legs could be mobilised. They appeared to be much larger and sturdier versions of those on the Fighting Machines.
Movement for this thing would make sense, though. A mobile base would have been a stroke of genius on the Martians part, I realised.
Soon we were underneath the base and I wondered how we were to be transported into it. As we stood, a long tube extended out from a point underneath the machine and thrust down into the sand. The Martians gestured that we were to go into this tube and we entered through a portal in one side. The tube seemed to be made of glass of some kind and I reached forward curiously and my glove touched the surface.
Small blue sparks danced around my glove and I recoiled immediately, although I felt nothing. I saw Cavendish nearby looking up and around himself as well as his helmet would allow, his jaw open in wonder.
‘My God!’ he breathed.
When we were all gathered together, there was a sudden vague feeling of movement and I saw that the floor we stood upon was rising up the inside of the tube. I looked out through the clear walls and saw the ground seem to fall away. Feeling rather giddy, I set my eyes upwards and watched the bottom of the machine coming down to meet us.
The journey took a very little time and, just as it seemed that we would be dashed against the metal above, a door slid aside, our platform moved past it and we came smoothly to a halt.
The inside of the machine was more impressive still than the outside.
We were ushered out of the tube by the accompanying Martians and into a large round room that I sensed was the very hub of this construction. Smooth walls lit with that eerie green glow surrounded us but set in at different points of them were doors leading to other areas.
Martians scurried here around and machines, not unlike remote walkers but with grappling arms attached, carried boxes and machinery here and there.
A Martian tapping me with a tentacle, distracted me from my observations. I looked at it sharply.
The creature gestured at my head. I did not understand.
‘Your helmet, Smith,’ Churchill said. ‘You can take it off. We are no longer in water.’
Of course. I had been so in awe of my situation that I had not noticed that we had come into a space full of air. I wondered how the water had been pumped out of the tube along the way but could not fathom it.
I saw that the Lieutenant was already starting to unfasten his helmet, so I fumbled at the clasps at my neck. Cavendish looked on as if we were quite mad.
‘Come on, Cavendish,’ I assured him. ‘It’s no trick.’
He stared a while longer then tentatively raised a glove toward his helmet. I started forward to help him but he waved me away.
I finished unfastening my own headgear and, lifting it off, took deep, gulping breaths of clean air, untainted by that interminable rubber smell, until my head began to spin.
The Martians gestured at us and we were on the move once more. Down many corridors we went until we reached another large room.
There were many doors set in the walls here, one was opened and we were prodded until we entered.
In this room sat, by my count, twenty humans. All were soldiers and sailors from the ‘Nautilus’. A few of them recognised us and their glum faces brightened a little at seeing more familiar faces.
The door to the prison cell slid quietly closed behind us.

[wotwfan48]

whow very good, as always, and we are spoiled by you this weekend, we have more to read, keep up the good work, very good work. Chantale.

[Commandingtripod]

This really is excellent. ;D

This has to go places Nerfy. It can't just stay on the board forever.

More please. ;D

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.


35. Imprisoned.



Our prison consisted of bare walls lined with benches that jutted out from them. Further inspection revealed that these benches were not so much attached to the walls but actually seemed to be part of them. I could perceive no visible joints and no means of support.
Sitting on one, I found that it actually seemed to give somewhat and mould itself to my shape. It was very comfortable but the feeling was strange. Where it touched my body, I felt warmth as if the thing was gently heated.
Soon, one or two of the men already here began to question us about events outside. It seemed they had been taken prisoner early on in the battle in the sea and knew nothing of the demise of ‘Nautilus’. Their faces, eager for news, dropped at this revelation and several muttered that we were finished. A general feeling of gloom hung like a cloud over the assemblage.
It transpired, also, that the men in this room were not the only ones taken prisoner by the Martians. I was told that the other cells were also I this holding area and were served by the other doors I had seen outside.
The men told us, in hushed tones, of the fact that there had been others placed in this cell but some had been taken away, one by one, and had never returned. The reason for this was unknown, but I guessed that we would never see these poor souls again.
Churchill listened carefully to these conversations and asked questions here and there. Cavendish sat silently on a bench, eyes downcast and hands clasped in his lap. He showed no signs of registering anything he heard.
After a few hours, a buzzer sounded and the cell door slid open to allow entrance to a Martian pushing a long flat platform. This strange thing had no wheels, for, as my friend Wells has intimated in his novel based on my Wartime experiences, the Martians had not invented this most simple, to man at least, of innovations. Instead, the trolley appeared to float a few inches above the floor and slid smoothly along when pushed. On this contraption were large pans loaded with some sort of steaming pink gruel that the attending Martian scooped, with a ladle, into metallic looking bowls. This food, for that was obviously what it was, was handed unceremoniously to all in the cell. This task completed, the cell door slid open again and the Martian left, hooting softly.
I have found out since, on the investigations of our scientists, that this gruel we were fed seems to have been made from the dreaded red weed that covers the surface of Mars and very nearly covered our own. The Martians did not deem it suitable for themselves as blood met their needs better, but perhaps they had developed it, back on Mars, in experimentation on their own bipeds that they themselves used as food. It appears that the bipeds have a similar physiology to us, in many ways, and this gruel was found to cover our nutritional needs as well as theirs.
I sniffed at it carefully but could detect no smell. The others in the room, asides from Churchill, Cavendish and myself, had begun to take the food into their mouths greedily with a kind of thick metal tube that was stuck to the side of the bowls and one bid us follow his actions.
‘Once you get used to the taste, it’s really all right,’ he said. ‘It fills you as good as a Sunday roast and you don’t feel peckish until the next mealtime.’
I slowly took hold of the tube at the side of my bowl and pulled. It appeared to be stuck there by magnetism and came away easily. I pushed one end of the tube onto the unappealing slop in the bowl, gingerly put my mouth to the tube and sucked gently. Some of the gruel entered my mouth and slid slimily onto my tongue. I took the mouth away from the straw. The gruel had an odd bittersweet taste and I resisted the impulse to spit it out there and then. I swallowed.
After a few more mouthfuls, I grew accustomed to the taste and ate, or rather drank, all that was in the bowl. My belly felt full and I lay back on my bench.
The rigors of the day and a full belly took their toll and I fell quickly asleep.

I awoke later, I know not how long had passed, disorientated and feeling vaguely nauseous.
Cavendish, I saw, was curled up silent and unmoving, like an overgrown child, on a bench with his back to us. I could not tell if he was asleep or not.
Churchill was speaking in low tones to a Corporal and they joined me as I sat up. Churchill informed me that, whilst I slept, another sailor had been taken away by the Martians.
There was a plan being formulated, I was told. Almost at a whisper, Churchill postulated that we could perhaps attempt an escape when the next meal was brought to us. It had been agreed, generally, that this was better than sitting here in this cell waiting for our turn to be taken away like the others. I hoped sincerely that the Martians did not have listening devices planted in the cell sophisticated enough to hear of these plan but agreed that an attempt to escape may be our only hope.
The plan was simple. When the door opened, several men would wait either side and attack the Martian as it entered. As there was no sign of any other Martians with it on previous visits, the men would grab its weapon and kill it quickly to stop it raising the alarm. Then we would attempt to fight our way out, hopefully gaining more weapons along the way.
The plan settled, we all returned to our benches.

Later, Cavendish sat up blinking.
‘Are you alright?’ I asked.
‘Yes fine,’ he replied levelly, flashing an unconvincing smile at me. He got up and walked toward the door.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked, but Cavendish did not reply.
Reaching the door, the knight of the realm began knocking on the smooth door with all his might.
‘I demand to be let out!’ he screamed, suddenly red faced.
‘Cavendish, no!’ Churchill shouted.
‘I am a representative of His Majesties government and demand that I am set free!’ Cavendish continued, then he fell silent and stared purposefully at the door before him.
After a few moments, the door slid open and a Martian appeared clutching a weapon. It waved the gun outwards and Cavendish moved forwards. The door slid shut again behind him.
‘What the hell does he think he’s doing?’ a sailor asked. ‘They’ll kill him for sure!’
I could do no more than shake my head sadly.

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.


36. The Escape Attempt.



Cavendish’s departure and almost certain death did nothing to lighten the atmosphere in the cell.
Some of the men sat around in small groups muttering and cursing under their breath. Others tossed and turned fitfully on their benches.
It seemed our situation was hopeless.
Churchill tried to rally the men, moving around the groups readying the men for the attempt to escape that was planned. He gave me a reassuring smile and told me that we this action gave us hope. Surely it was better than to go down fighting rather than be slaughtered alone like an animal, he reasoned.
I had enough hatred left in my heart for the Martians for these words to inspire me and I nodded.
The wait went on.

Later, the buzzer sounded and some men stationed themselves rapidly on either side of the door, tensed like coiled springs. The rest of us sat trying to look as despondent and cowed as possible and we were spread around the room in an attempt to allay any suspicions at the reduced numbers the Martian entering may
have.
The platform laden with steaming pans appeared and we waited with baited breath. The attendant Martian entered and its saucer eyes widened in surprise as it was grabbed, none too gently, by several men and shoved bodily into the room.
The pans flew off the floating trolley as it was pushed aside and hit the wall with a crash. A small tide of pink steaming gruel spread over the floor.
The Martian dropped its weapon as it tried to right itself but went after it with lightning speed. Men followed and grabbed at its tentacles and pulled.
A furious battle ensued.
The Martian was immensely strong and shook a man off with ease. The man careered backwards and hit his head, with a sickening crack, on the trolley. He collapsed like a rag-doll into the pool of gruel on the floor. A small puddle of blood spread out from his head and mingled with the pink mess that surrounded him.
Two other men pulled, with all their might and in opposite directions, at the creature’s tentacles. The Martian squeaked in pain. One of the men pulling slipped in the spreading food on the floor and fell over on his back losing his grip on the Martian. The Martian snatched its limb back and used it to flick a sailor deftly away from the weapon that lay nearby.
I, suddenly filled with some kind of primal rage as I have never before or since felt, grabbed the ladle that was to be used to dispense the food from the floor and rushed at the Martian bellowing and brandishing the tool above my head with both hands. The Martian looked around and hooted with surprise but I was already upon it. The handle of the ladle was thrust, with all the force I could muster, deep into one of the creature’s great black eyes. I fell back.
Dark liquid jetted in a stream out from the damaged organ and the Martian squealed sharply again. In it’s agony, the thing thrashed around wildly flinging the men grappling with it away.
Picking themselves up, the other men made to attack the creature again but Churchill shouted a quick command to cease. He carefully skirted the agonised
monster and picked up the weapon, training it on the thing’s head.
It seemed that Churchill was right and the Martian was mortally wounded for soon it’s frantic movement slowed and it fell to the floor.
It’s one intact eye glared at us accusingly, its tentacles waved around feebly, and, after a great shiver ran through its body, it lay still.
‘Right men,’ Churchill said, nodding with approval at me. ‘Are we ready?’
The men answered to the affirmative as one.

The door was still open and, as a group we made for it with Churchill at the lead brandishing the Martian weapon.
As we got outside we stopped dead.
A large group of Martians stood in a semi-circle pointing weapons at us.
This was not the only shock we had in store.
‘You should not have done that, you know,’ a familiar voice said. ‘I had to tell them you might try something like that.’
I gaped at an equally shocked Churchill. The Lieutenant’s expression slowly turned to grim rage at this latest development.
We had been betrayed by one of our own kind.
To one side of the Martians stood Cavendish, grinning and very much alive.

[Anim8tr]

Just finished reading you most recent chapters. As always you describe the stories atmosphere and mood brilliantly! Great twist to the plot as well!

Well paced and imaginative, Nerf. Keep 'em coming!