My War of the Worlds Sequel- WoTW: Aftermath.

[Commandingtripod]

Nice Nerfy.

The tenson building is excellent. ;D

[Luperis]

Brilliant!
The tension is really starting to build up.
I love the addition of the Martian overlord. ;D
Keep up the good work.

[wotwfan48]

very good Nerphy, a lot of action, the experience on us was a brilliant idea. I think it would be normal to do that if that happened. we did'nt see it in the first wotw, either from H G wells, or the sequel of the invasion in our time now. So you decide if we humain will do the same thing. And i know your decision either way, will be good. Chantale. ;D

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLD: AFTERMATH.


47. The Martian Gambit.


Churchill took in his surroundings and, after a glance at the map screen, came very quickly to the same conclusion as I. This monstrous machine was headed on a course toward London, presumably across the South of England.
We, and the men not watching the Martian prisoners, gathered in a hurried conference to discuss the next move.
‘We appear to be headed toward the South Coast. Why did they just not bring this thing to land at the mouth of the Thames?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘Surely it would have given them a better chance of surprise, as they would have less distance to go to be in London?’
‘Perhaps,’ Churchill pondered. ‘They mean to sweep away any resistance they find in the South on the way. With a machine like this it would likely take much more firepower to halt than we have in any one area. The terrorist actions have spread our forces a little thinner than I am comfortable with. We were watching for an attack from Mars itself, and we should have had enough warning to prepare for that. What we did not consider was that the Martians had a weapon as potentially powerful as this. In fact, we have no understanding just what capabilities this machine possesses. At any rate, I am supposing that they are banking on the idea that, with resistance in the South crushed, there would only be one major front to cover at the North. With the approach of this thing, there would probably be a mass exodus of people to the North from London, which would hamper any potential attempt at a counter-attack from there. I don’t even think the Martians are especially concerned about surprising us. Their aim here and now is to pound London into the ground once again, and I think that this machine is quite capable of that. With London incapacitated again, the United Kingdom would be in turmoil once more.’
‘Do you think that our attempt to destroy them has forced them to take this action?’ I wondered. Was this a last ditch attempt by the remainder of the invading forces to do our countries infrastructure some serious damage. To soften us up again for the next force who would surely someday come?
‘Perhaps,’ Churchill nodded slightly. ‘Or we could have just sped things along somewhat. All that matters is that we make sure that this plan of theirs does not come to fruition.’
‘Amen to that,’ the Sergeant said. A glance from Churchill reminded him of his place. ‘Sir.’
We inspected the machinery that lined the walls, in hope of finding some way to halt the progress of the base. It would be better that it, god willing, exploded harmlessly out to sea rather than on land where innocent people could be harmed. Even if we could not escape, many lives could be saved if we could stop this thing before it got inland.
A soft hooting made me glance around to where the gaggle of Martians sat watching us curiously. I may have been mistaken, but I could have sworn I saw amusement in some of those saucer-like, glinting eyes.
I did not have the physical symptoms that heralded an attempt at a mind probe from the creatures and, therefore, had no basis for the feeling I got then. The distinct impression I had was that we were wasting our time.
There was another hoot from the Overlord as if to confirm this thought.
Churchill was pushing a lever but there appeared to be no effect. His frown deepened when I addressed him.
‘I do not think we can stop it.’
‘What? Come on, one of these levers or something must control this thing,’ the Sergeant said.
‘I think it already has its instructions and it will follow them,’ I struggled to put my feelings into words. ‘It must have the capability to control itself without intervention from the Martians. I feel that it can think for itself and act on whatever situations it comes across.’
‘A self controlling machine?’ Churchill asked.
‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘I feel it has a form of brain and a sort of intelligence. To all intents an purposes a living creature made of metal!’
‘That’s preposterous!’ the Sergeant scoffed.
‘Look,’ I said wearily. ‘I don’t know how I know this, but I do and that is that. I tell you this thing can move of its own accord and we cannot change its course.’
‘Then we must make sure that this… metal creature… is incapable of reaching its destination,’ Churchill said grimly. ‘We must kill it.’
‘Surely the explosives my boys are planting, as we speak, will stop its heart,’ the Sergeant said confidently.
‘I hope it is as simple as that. We must try to warn our forces, though, just in case.’
The green light on the map screen was dangerously close to land now.

[wotwfan48]

thanks nerphy for another one, this is getting better and better, I enjoy, reading wotw aftermath. You do a good job. Chantale.

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.


48. A Call to Arms.



The seriousness of the situation called for immediate action. As the machine we stood in neared the South Coast, many lives on land were at risk.
‘I wonder if this machine has radio equipment of some kind,’ Churchill mused.
‘Would they need such a thing?’ I asked. ‘I mean, Cavendish assumed that the Martians communicate generally via telepathy. Then there are the calls we heard from the tripod machines during the Invasion. Cavendish, I remember, once likened them a language in itself. He thought that imperceptible, to us, differences in the calls could mean that many messages could be transferred between machines.’ An image of Cavendish’s ravaged body flickered across my mind and I shook my head as if it would physically dislodge the unpleasant thought from my mind.
‘We don’t know for sure that they do not use radio,’ Churchill answered. ‘Our technicians, I know, scanned the frequencies we can operate within to listen for any anomalous signals when the terrorist actions began, but they may have more sophisticated equipment than we do which would explain why we found nothing. But I have to admit, I cannot see anything that look remotely like the sort of thing we need.’
I cast my eyes across the identical looking pieces of machinery at the wall. Nothing looked anything like radio equipment I have ever seen, either. ‘So what do we do?’
‘We could use our own radio,’ Churchill flashed a rare smile. He called a sailor over who was carrying a bulky pack on his back. He must have picked this up in the armoury where the explosives were recovered.
‘Is that equipment working?’ the Lieutenant asked the sailor.
‘Seems to be, sir!’ the fresh-faced lad answered after placing his pack on the floor and flicking nimble fingers expertly over some dials and switches. The harsh hiss of static echoed around the room.
‘Excellent! Get to work. See if you can’t raise some sort of human contact outside of this infernal machine, if you please!’
‘Aye, Sir!’ the grinning sailor flicked an exaggerated salute at Churchill and resumed his ministrations on the radio.
For a few minutes there was the disorienting hiss of static and little else. The sailor plugged a headset into the device and the sound of static was cut short.
The Sergeant paced to back and forth like a restless tiger in a cage, casting the occasional glare at our Martian prisoners. Churchill stood staring out of the viewing window, hands clenched behind his back. From time to time he rocked forward on his toes.
The door to the Control room opened suddenly with a swish and many guns flicked quickly toward it. A grinning Glenn entered with the soldiers who had stayed with him.
‘All done, sir! Timers set and…hullo!’ He was staring at the Martian Overlord and his would-be guards.
The Sergeant shook his head slightly as if to stop the red-haired soldier asking any more questions.
‘Erm, yes. Sorry for the delay. Got into a bit of a scuffle back there with some of those fellas,’ he nodded towards the Martians. ‘Seems there still a few of ‘em about but the ones we met didn’t have a hope.’
‘Good job, mate!’ the Sergeant said. ‘How long we got?’
‘About an hour, or thereabouts. Hid the charges pretty well, I think. Even if they get to know about them, I set some little surprises for anyone who wants to mess with my work.’
‘That may not be enough time,’ I said looking out of the viewing window. ‘Look!’
Through the window, we could all now see that the window, and therefore the top of the base, was leaving the water. We were coming onto the land!
‘Radio?’ Churchill snapped.
The sailor was crouched on the floor with the headset on, his tongue flicking around his mouth with concentration.
‘Yes!’ he said finally. ‘I have something… HMS Cavor, stand by for a communication from Lieutenant Churchill of the expeditionary force. What? Yes, there are still some of us alive. No time to explain. Lieutenant?’
Churchill snatched the headset from the sailor and clamped one earpiece to his ear. He took up the microphone and spoke.
‘This is Lieutenant Winston Spencer Churchill of the expeditionary mission which began aboard The Nautilus.’ He listened for a moment. ‘The Nautilus was destroyed, some of the force still remain.’ He listened impatiently again. Finally he snapped. ‘Look, much as I would love to give an official debrief, the situation is not over and there is no time! Well, if would you care to contact land perhaps you could ask them to look out to sea off Brighton. They will, no doubt see an enormous machine emerging from the sea. I am aboard that machine! No, I really doubt they could miss it, it’s very big and looks very odd. YOU can see it, now? You thought it was Nautilus and followed it toward land? Well, let me put this simply, this object must be stopped at all costs. If you are able, begin bombardment immediately and warn any land forces that can be mustered. Thank you.’
Churchill let out a deep breath and handed the headset to the sailor. He looked round the expectant faces of the men.
‘You gentlemen might want to brace yourselves,’ he said finally.
At that, an explosion rocked the base.

[Anim8tr]

And Winston Churchill never surrenders.

It's getting a bit hard to think of good metaphors for your writing, Nerf! Once again, great character evolution! The soldier Glenn is shaping up to be quite the hero as well.

As tight and tense as a clockspring. More, sir!

[EvilNerfherder]

The real Glenn will find your comments amusing. He is, if you didn't know, based on a very good mate of mine who you will all know...

[Commandingtripod]

Nice Nerfy.

I can't wait for more. ;D

[richardburton]

Great stuff, matey! And, hey, I'm a shaping up to be a hero! Woohoo!

[Luperis]

Excellent, as always.
Some great character development there. Well done!

[wotwfan48]

Grate work Nerphy, i like your story very much. I like action, i have by reading your story, i like question marks, that i want answer now, eventually, you do answer them, at the right moment, on a good timing. I like the characters, it reflect reality of humain being, in their decision, of a respond to invasion like that.

Chantale. ;D

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.


49. A Way Out.



The control room shook in the blast from the Cavor’s guns, throwing the unprepared to the floor. If the base had not taken a direct hit, the aim of the gunners, for the first salvo, was close enough to the mark to make them proud of their deadly work.
As the base continued to rock with the missiles force, I glanced at the Martians and saw them skittering around clumsily like overexcited dogs on a highly polished stone floor. The Overlord grabbed, with some of its tentacles, at the stool it perched upon to steady itself.
The Sergeant grabbed onto the nearest machine and clung on, managing to keep on his feet. Churchill seemed, like an old oak in a light breeze, to be barely moved. One sailor, as he fell, hit his head, with a sickening crack, on another machine and fell to the floor moaning.
I had, on some primitive impulse, thrown myself to the floor at Churchill’s warning and only found myself sliding a little across the shiny surface on my rear.
‘I think perhaps we should make good our escape now, if we can,’ Churchill grumbled. ‘I shouldn’t like to be on board when she goes, eh?’
The men picked themselves up and grabbed for weapons.
‘What about them?’ The Sergeant nodded slightly toward the Martians.
‘They are coming with us, as we discussed before,’ Churchill told him, his face allowing no further disagreement.
‘Sir!’ the Sergeant said simply and stalked toward our unwelcome guests. As he reached them he affected a strange pigeon English of the type an Englishman abroad might use on a local man he met whilst in a foreign territory. I was aware that this could have appeared comical in other circumstances.
‘Okay you boys come with us, yes?’ he said slowly. ‘Any mess with us and we bang-bang!’ He pretended to fire his gun at them and they backed away, eyes wide. ‘You be good Squids, we no bang-bang, ok?’
Squids. This was, I had heard, supposed to be an entirely derogoratory term dreamt up by some wag to describe the Martians, in a similar way that natives of other countries under our Empire had nicknames given to them. It is unknown where this term stemmed from but the general populace were catching on to it, even some of the lower illustrated dailies, after the invasion, had begun to refer to the Martians in such a way. It is, I have found, so typically human for one race to mock another in this way, perhaps as a way to help banish any mystique they may have about them. I feel, however, that I shall leave further musings on such things to commentators on the human condition much more qualified than I.
The Martians watched the Sergeant with great curiosity as he paraded around miming that they were to go with us and behave. At the end of this absurd and untimely pantomime, the Overlord let out a soft little hoot. The Sergeant assumed that this meant that they would behave and appeared satisfied.
‘See!’ he grinned, turning to me and tapping his head with a calloused finger. ‘They can understand all right! No need for them to poke around in the old noggin, eh?’
Churchill cast his eyes heavenwards and then mustered the men.
‘Come! We must be off!’
So, a strange procession left the Control Room, the Sergeant and his commandos at the front, the Martians, who seemed to have understood the Sergeant’s mimes after all, in the middle. Then came Churchill, myself, some more of the men. The man who had hit his head was supported one of his comrades and, with a few others, took up the rear.
Another explosion rocked the base but we were ready this time and no one fell. Sparks flew from somewhere within the door mechanism and it closed shut, jerkily and emitting a high-pitched screech, behind us. The search for freedom continued.

We travelled another corridor, so like the others we had already passed through. This corridor appeared, though, to head dead straight through the base and I wondered where it led too.
The Martians wobbled along with us but occasionally received a sharp jab from a human-held weapon for no apparent reason. When they invariably turned to look at their tormentors with wide eyes, they were generally rewarded with angelic smiles that hid evil intentions. Still, they received far better treatment than we would at their hands and they should, perhaps, have been thankful for that.
The corridor seemed endless but finally and totally unopposed, came back to where we had started in the base initially. The tube room! I realised that we could have found the control room much earlier had we used the correct corridor! The thought did not have long to linger in my head.
As we entered the Tube Room, another fight began.

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.


50. Of Fight and Flight.


The waiting group of Martians fired instantly killing three men instantly.
Our group scattered every which way and men found whatever cover they could.
The air crackled as energy laced the air as we battled for survival. Our Martian prisoners made their escape, bunched together around the Overlord and hooting shrilly. They headed toward a group of their comrades at the other end of the room.
‘Get back here, you damned squids!’ the Sergeant yelled, letting off a few quick volleys with his weapon. One of the Overlord’s guards fell limply to the floor but the others hurried on. The Sergeant took aim again at the fleeing enemy, but a dark patch appeared on the wall close to his head and he ducked down cursing.
Another missile blast shook the base and men and Martians alike staggered here and there. A few weapons clattered on the ground but were quickly snatched up and aimed and fired at the wielder’s foes once more.
When the shaking of the base had abated, I saw that The Overlord and his entourage disappear from sight behind a group of other Martians. Churchill grunted angrily but soon gathered himself back together.
‘We have to find a way off this infernal machine!’ he shouted. ‘Keep fighting, but keep your eyes peeled for something we can use.’
The tube, I saw, by surrounded by more Martians who were calmly taking shots at us. To go that way and try to escape down the tube would be suicide. We needed another way.
More Martians fell to our weapons but it seemed that more simply appeared from nowhere to take their place. Worse still, two remote walkers suddenly materialised and also took up the fight. I remembered all to well that these were once human beings but I roughly pushed that awful thought aside and tried to hit one with my weapon.
‘Here!’ Thomas shouted. He pointed towards a row of doors at one wall.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘I think they may be just what we need,’ the soldier replied, ducking as a shot crackled over his head.
‘How so?’ said Churchill, making his way, crouching to avoid a shot in the back, over to the young soldier.
‘I saw the head Martian and his cronies leg it into one of these things, Sir!’ Thomas pointed now to similar doors at the other end of the huge room. ‘I didn’t see them come out again.’
Churchill frowned. ‘Well, they could lead anywhere. But I don’t know if we have a choice. We are outnumbered and our escape is blocked.’
He thought, only for a split second, then came to a decision. ‘Let’s see what’s what them. Fall back!’
The remaining men fell back as ordered, firing all the way and cutting down Martian after Martian. I dashed along, too set on survival to be afraid, with them.
The doors were all closed but each had a switch next to it. Churchill, still crouched, experimentally pushed the switch next to the closest door. The door swished open.
Beyond the door was a large space. It reminded me, instantly, of the back of a troop carrying carriage, as I had seen some of these at Holy Loch.
The inside glowed with that same eerie light that the Martians always seemed to utilise in their décor. The room was lined with what I could only assume, from their appearance, to be seats of some kind. These ‘seats’ were deep and reminiscent of half of a scooped out melon. A viewing window, darkened, was set into the far end of this room and in the centre of the room a bank of machinery sat.
‘What is this?’ Glenn breathed from behind me.
‘The way out,’ Churchill said and glanced at me. I nodded as I had an inkling that Churchill was correct.
The Sergeant looked a little puzzled but, despite that, barked orders to our Comrades who were, still crouched and fighting for their lives, nearby.
‘Come on you lot, get yourselves in here!’
The Sergeant stood to one side inside the door, Churchill on the other.
‘Covering fire!’ the Sergeant yelled and, as the men desperately tried to make their way towards us fired his weapon in short accurate bursts at any Martian he could see. I skipped into the room and attempted to help, although my aim was far less true than my friend’s. Nevertheless, I managed to disable or kill a few of the creatures. Our enemy began to surge forward, firing wildly toward us as if they guessed our intentions.
‘Come on, boys!’ The Sergeant yelled. ‘Get in here and I’ll be buying the beers in the pub tonight!’
More men entered, Glenn, supporting the sailor who had been injured in the Control Room, entered and, dumping his charge unceremoniously in one of the seats, joined us at the door, weapon raised. Soon most of the men were inside with us now, only two men remained outside; Dawson and a sailor who’s name I did not know.
‘Let’s go!’ the Sergeant yelled.
The sailor stood and quickly made his way toward us. Dawson also stood and, firing off one last shot turned toward us and began to run. The fair-haired man made it halfway to relative safety before a remote walker stalked out from behind some machinery and regarded him curiously.
‘No! Run, mate!’ Glenn shouted a warning.
As if time had been slowed down, we saw the young soldier glance quickly behind him. His face full of horror, he tried to pick up speed, dropping his weapon in the process.
The walker followed his progress with its blank eyes for a heartbeat or two more, and then Dawson was dead before his charred body hit the ground.
Before anyone could retaliate, the door slid quickly shut.
‘Will the door hold them off?’ the Sergeant asked laying a hand gently on Glenn’s shoulder.
The soldier fired at the switch with his weapon and was rewarded with a shower of sparks. The green light next to the switch blinked once or twice, then went dark.
‘I think it will now,’ he said bitterly, a lone tear for the loss of his friend quivering at the corner of his eye.
‘Get into a seat,’ Churchill said. Then, gently: ‘There will be time to grieve for our Comrades later. These creatures will soon get their comeuppance.’
We sat down gingerly in the seats and settled back.
Churchill was still standing and looking at the bank of machinery in the centre of the room.
‘If I am right…’ he said brushing his fingertips over the switches. ‘There!’
There was a low hum that seemed to fill the room and Churchill went quickly to a nearby seat.
Men glanced around in alarm as straps emerged from out of the fabric seats and, snakelike and as if with a mind of their own, encircled each man snugly.
I tried to move but found myself securely fastened with only my head mobile.
‘What?’ someone said simply, as the hum rose in pitch.
There was a rattle, a vague thump and then a building sense of movement.
I looked toward the viewing window and saw lights outside flash past at seemingly breakneck speed.
There was a sudden sinking feeling in my stomach as the escape room was ejected out of the base and into the open air.

[Poyks]

It's good to catch up on some good reading, and the story is as good as ever! Superb!!

[Commandingtripod]

Nice Nerfy.

Sheer brillance. ;D

[richardburton]

Excellent stuff! Poor Dawson. A thrilling exit from the base!

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH


51. Back to Earth.



The escape room rocked wildly on its axis as another shell from the Cavor must have burst nearby.
‘Hang on!’ yelled the Sergeant.
One did not heed his words, and, as the explosion tossed the escape room around, there was a sharp crack and there was a strangled cry. I saw the sound came from a man opposite me and, as I looked, his face turned pale. His eyes rolled back in their sockets until only bloodshot white showed and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. A thin trail of silver drool trickled slowly onto his chest. Whilst the seats we were secured into would give ample support and comfort to their intended Martian occupants, the design obviously did not allow for human physiology and left the head unsupported.
In the shock from the blast, the poor man’s neck had snapped back and broken and it had been the end of him. That the man had come so near to freedom and had died so needlessly was so typically and bitterly ironic that, once again, I wondered if we were nothing but playthings in the hands of some malevolent god.
The room settled and seemed to fly straight for a short while. Through the viewing window, I saw a darkened sky pinpointed by tiny stars. Along what I took to be the horizon, I noticed lights of an earthly, rather than stellar, variety in the distance. This could only mean we were headed toward land.
‘Where is this thing going?’ someone asked.
Churchill shook his head, ‘I have to admit, I cannot say.’
‘We are in a strange Martian craft and we don’t know here it is going?’ I asked incredulously, turning my head toward the Lieutenant whilst being careful to keep it as straight upright as I could.
‘Escape was the best option, I thought, given our predicament,’ he replied with a trace of annoyance in his voice. ‘I did not anticipate being held prisoner in a blessed chair!’
‘Then we really are in the hands of the gods,’ I said under my breath.
Soon, the craft slowed and I felt a vague sense of falling. There was a slight bump and we appeared to have landed.
‘Well we appear to be down in one-,’ the Sergeant began, when there was a rattling noise as something was loudly pitter-pattering against the outside shell of the room.
‘It’s raining?’ I said, but a quick glance at the viewing window appeared to contradict this. The noise stopped.
There was silence for a moment then the straps that fastened us to the chairs suddenly and quickly snapped back and we were able to move once more. The man who had succumbed to a broken neck slumped deeper into his chair and his head flopped forward. He looked as if only asleep.
Churchill went to the door at the rear of the room and pressed the door switch. It, to my surprise, began to open a little but, thanks to Glenn’s, then timely shot at the switch, would not open all of the way.
The door snapped closed, but started to jerkily open again. The pitter-pattering from outside started once more and something zipped past my head and hit the far wall. Men ducked as they realised what was happening.
Churchill dashed to the gap in the slightly open door.
‘Dammit! Whoever’s out there cease fire!’ he shouted angrily. ‘This is Lieutenant Churchill! Stop firing at once!’’
The pitter-pattering stopped abruptly.
‘Now, for the love of god, come and help us with this door!’

After some organisation, a party of men brought crowbars and levered the door open so that we could exit the room.
I found myself on solid ground for what had felt like weeks. I took in air tinged with the slight tang of salt and savoured every breath as if it were the finest wine.
Beneath my feet was sand and it transpired our craft had landed on the seafront.
Disorientation set in for a short while. After the events and locations of the previous days, standing quietly on this beach earthly with a soft, salty breeze ruffling my hair felt quite surreal. The cries of gulls soaring above my head sounded alien and the noise of the nearby waves breaking was like the roar of some mythological beast.
A soldier came and touched my shoulder gently.
‘Ok, mate?’ He asked kindly.
‘Yes,’ I said, mentally shaking the cobwebs from my brain. ‘Yes, I am very well.’
‘Sorry about the welcome and all,’ he said apologetically. ‘We thought you was squids in that contraption.’
I smiled at him to let him know that all was forgiven and glanced around.
Churchill was talking animatedly to another officer nearby. The Sergeant stood, arms crossed, with them.
Soldiers milled around looking out to sea, pointing. Nearby, a gun crew attended to their weapon that was pointing the way we had come. As I watched, the gun boomed, the muzzle flashed and a shell flew out over the waves. More soldiers marched over the dunes toward us in a steady stream.
I looked out to sea. I gasped as I saw the base, towering above the waves like some great black cloud. The green lights along it’s length pulsed and flashed and the smaller lights we had seen below the surface danced around it. Just beyond, a ship sailed at full speed toward it, guns blazing. The shell from the gun on the beach exploded harmlessly in the air between them. The base had, it appeared, broken off from its course to engage the Cavor.
The smaller lights flew, like a swarm of angry bees, at the Cavor and fired off some sort of light weapons, the dark sky now became criss-crossed with green beams. On the ship sped, but small fires sprung up from areas all over the deck. Tracer rounds reached out from the ship and some of the small lights dropped from the sky as they were touched.
‘God help all who sail in her,’ the Sergeant breathed beside me. Together, we watched the conflict in awe, like small boys at a firework display.
The base stopped moving for a moment, it’s great front end pointing toward the ship that threatened it. The Cavor fired off another round and an explosion made the base appear to waver for a moment. Then, a great, wide beam of red light, more terrible and powerful than anything I had ever seen, flew from the nose of the machine and the Cavor was vaporised instantly, leaving nothing but a great cloud of hissing water. It was if she had never been there.
A few cries of dismay came from the assembled men.
‘Did you see that?’ the Sergeant said. ‘My god!’
The enormous machine stood still for a moment, as if admiring its handy work, then slowly turned and began lumbering toward us again. Towards land. Towards London.
‘Everybody get ready,’ the officer who had been talking to Churchill said. ‘Here it comes!’

[Commandingtripod]

He he nice stuff. ;D

[richardburton]

Brilliant stuff, Nerfy! The fight with the Cavor was brilliantly described and a great touch with the vaporising. A homage to Thunderchild. Well done.