My War of the Worlds Sequel- WoTW: Aftermath.

[Luperis]

Excellent! More amazing work!
Your descriptions are as fantastic and vivid as ever - a pleasure to read

[wotwfan48]

NICE STUFF, Nerphy, , Anxious to know what is gonna happen inland. Brilliant. Chantale. ;D

[Anim8tr]

If your story was an actual movie Nerf, I think I might be exhausted from the excitement!

Relentless action and pace! It's like a building crescendo!

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.


52. ‘We Shall Fight Them on The Beaches…’



With the passing of the plucky ship Cavor, the huge Martian base continued its slow, methodical progress towards its objective.
There was frenzied activity on the beach as more soldiers spilled over the dunes and took up their places.
The officer approached his horse that was placidly grazing on a tuft of grass at the edge of the sand and mounted. The horse whinnied and tossed its mane as if annoyed at being disturbed at its repast, but obediently set off down the lines at a trot. The officer clung on with one arm and pointed out to sea with the other, shouting orders as he went.
There was the sound of motors from beyond the dunes and soon two Heatray cannons were wheeled onto the beach by teams of soldiers who sweated with the exertion, despite the cool night air.
Next, a unit of five human Fighting Machines wheezed, clanked and thudded into sight. A small gaggle of white-coated scientists followed nervously behind these clumsy machines watching them closely. It seemed that this new technology was still not trusted enough for it to be allowed to operate in the field without the attendance these oddest of chaperones. The scientists were, quite obviously from the way they fidgeted and mopped their brows, wishing they were safely in the company of their blackboards and test tubes. When they spotted the base stomping relentlessly toward us, though, their jaws dropped and hurried discussions took place. The allure of new scientific wonders was strong and, temporarily at least, compelled them to forget their fear. They shuffled forward slowly, like a flock of chattering white geese, to gain a better view.
‘We have to delay it,’ Churchill said loudly, trying to make himself heard over the noise of the general activity and the periodic booming reports from the guns that now lined the beach. ‘It will not be long now until the charges do their work and, with luck, stop this thing once and for all. It is imperative that this machine does not get inland. God be with us all!’
One or two soldiers crossed themselves and muttered prayers to their makers. Weapons were shouldered and aim was taken. The beach guns fell silent, waiting for their target to come nearer. A deathly quiet settled over the scene, broken only by the clatter of nervously hefted rifles and the occasional nervous whinny of officer’s horses.
‘Wait for the order!’ Churchill barked. By previous arrangement, it seemed, this honour had been bestowed upon him only.
As we stood silently, the base drew silently nearer. In the light of a pale moon I could see the white spray kicked up as its huge, thick black legs propelled it through the water.
The small flying machines, which had disappeared somewhere into the base after the demise of the Cavor, re-emerged from behind it and headed towards the waiting men.
Churchill saw this and yelled: ‘Fire at will!’
Rifle shots sounded from along the human lines like the pops and crackles of logs on a fire.
The small light machines swooped down from the sky, firing their beams at targets in their path. A beach gun took a direct hit and exploded in a ball of fire, flinging the men surrounding it, like broken, smouldering rag dolls, in all directions.
A man staggered away from the scene, screaming and aflame, until some of his comrades threw him down and rolled him in the sand.
The Heatray cannons were hurriedly brought to bear and the air in front of them wavered as their deadly beams reached for our attackers. One, two then three of these machines were caught in the blasts and fell from the sky, showering men below not quick enough to flee with white hot shards of metal.
The base was now emerging onto the beach and towered ominously above us. An enormous metal foot came down and smashed a small cluster of gaily-painted bathing huts near the waters edge to splinters.
The huge machine halted.
The beach guns spoke again and again and puffs of smoke erupted around the bottom of the base. They seemed to have little or no effect.
The small machines continued their assault and men were struck down all around by their weapons.
The tube emerged quickly from the bottom of the base and planted itself with an enormous thud in the sand.
‘They are coming out!’ the Sergeant shouted from nearby.
Through the tube we could see a large troupe of Martians descending, clutching weapons. The platform reached the sand and the creatures spilled out as soldiers surged forward, shouting battle cries and firing wildly, to meet them.
So began The Battle of Brighton.

[Poyks]

Great writing and wonderful action going on now!! "The Battle of Brighton" feels like a real historical event in the making, set in context. A great touch!!

[Commandingtripod]

Great stuff Nerfy.

Can't wait for the next installment. ;D

[wotwfan48]

OH!! Face to Face, for a battle on earth, between them and us, I am really anxious to see more, once again, this is action, a lot of it, I like it very much. Chantale

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH


53. Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat.



The opposing forces, man and Martian, rushed head long toward each other and met with an audible crash.
Too close for rifle weapons to be used, a vicious hand to hand battle began in the moonlight on that small area of beach beneath the dark looming shadow of the base.
Humans brandished bayonets and used them to deadly effect, stabbing at saucer eyes and slashing at groping tentacles. The Martians utilised their brute strength and long knives with sharp, wavy blades that glinted in the light from the pale moon. I had never seen them use these weapons before.
This was no ordered battle with a definite plan. This was an undisciplined melee, a desperate struggle for supremacy and survival on this sandy, damp battlefield.
The cries and squeals of the wounded and dying from both sides rang across the night air as we stood and watched this horrendous spectacle from a little way up the beach. The smell and sight of blood awakened something primitive within me and I, despite myself, wanted to be part of this conflict. I wanted to assist in the destruction of these interlopers who dared to sully our land once more with the stench of their very existence. I wanted to rip and tear at these creatures and send them to whatever hell they went to after they expired.
The Sergeant must have seen me fighting with these instincts as he gently laid a hand on my arm.
‘Your chance may yet come,’ he said quietly. The feelings dissipated somewhat at this, but bitter bile lurked at the back of my throat.
The battle raged on, limbs and extremities thudding to the sand at regular intervals. Gruesome set pieces flashed across my eyes as this carnage continued.
At the edge of the conflict, a Martian tried to crawl away with four of its tentacles missing. A small group of men followed it then, like a pack of cats toying with a mouse, stabbed at it as it tried to escape. They, mad-eyed, slashed and stabbed until it moved no more.
A man was grasped by two Martians and pulled, screaming pitifully, literally in half. Another had his head twisted off by thick, rope-like tentacles as if the creature was unscrewing the lid of a jar. A fountain of blood, black and glistening in the darkness, gushed into the air and the man’s limp body was flung unceremoniously to one side.
Whilst the battle on the sand was fought, the beach guns kept up their salvos and the Heatray cannons took shots at the base. Very little damage appeared to be done by this but, like a great beast annoyed by the constant attentions of mosquitoes, the machine finally showed its displeasure.
The great red beam lanced out from the front of the machine, suddenly and without warning, and sent a trio of guns to oblivion. The sand on the beach was turned to scorched glass at its touch and men and weaponry simply disappeared.
‘Fall back!’ Churchill shouted.
The remaining forces began to retreat a little, still firing, but two of the human Fighting Machines clanked forward, belching smoke from their exhausts and began to shoot their Heatrays at the base.
‘What are they doing?’ I cried.
‘Buying us some time,’ the Sergeant replied. ‘Look!’
A platform was descending within the tube and, swaying excitedly on it, was another large group of Martians.
The Fighting Machines concentrated fire on the tube and the tube shifted slightly from its position. Something must have broken within it as the platform fell to earth too quickly and the Martians, unsupported now, squealed as they fell. One or two attempted, I could see, to cling onto the smooth walls of the tube but it was to no avail.
The glass inside the tube was painted sickly green with their blood as they hit the sand at tremendous speed and a few broken bodies spilled out of the portal.
‘Yes!’ cried Glenn. His smile dropped, however, when the base’s deadly beam reached out, like a thunderbolt sent from a malevolent god, again and wiped the Fighting Machines cleanly from existence.
The Sergeant gathered his men, Thomas, Wayne and Glenn together.
‘We need to delay this thing a bit longer, eh boys?’ he said. The men nodded as one.
‘Smith, you will stay here!’ the Sergeant said. 'Glenn, you stay with him.'
‘But-!’ I began. I wanted desperately to be part of whatever they had planned.
‘No!’ he reiterated. ‘Look, mate. Things aren’t going to well. We are just going to keep this thing busy for a bit. As I said, you may yet get your chance. But for now, stay out of it. Someone will have to tell the world about this fight and you should be that man. Stay here and, if you can, survive!’
I nodded but still wished for a part in this plan, whatever it was.
‘Good man!’ the soldier said and gave me a friendly clap on the arm. ‘When all this is over, I’ll see you in the pub for drinks, my friend!’
The men turned and ran over to where the remaining human fighting Machines were crouched, unmoving on the beach. A quick discussion took place and the Scientists in attendance showed their dissent with red faces and waving arms.
The Sergeant prodded one in the chest with a finger and shouted something in his face. Finally, the man shook his head, resigned, and waved at the machines drivers to dismount.
The three commandos hopped quickly into the cabins, the glass canopies slid shut and the engines roared into life.
In a cloud of smoke and fumes, the three machines clattered and stomped down the beach toward the base.
‘Don’t worry mate! They’ll be fine.’ Glenn said. But he could not hide the concern in his eyes.

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLD: AFTERMATH


54. Their Finest Hour.



During the skirmish on the beach, the small flying machines had taken many losses but had wrought havoc among the human forces. They soared above the battlefield a blinding speed, stopping briefly and suddenly to take a shot at this or that human soldier or beach gun and then zipping away again to find another target. They were, however, easy to disable with a single rifle shot, I gather this is because of the lightness of the armour required to facilitate the high speeds they could maintain. But, despite heavy losses, they were still a major contributing factor to the severe depletion of the human forces we now faced.
A little way down the beach I saw one following the officer who had been with us earlier. His horse’s mouth was flecked with foam and its eyes were wide with terror as it galloped madly toward us, the officer clinging desperately to it’s back.
The machine buzzed around them as they went, the small beams that lanced out from its nose narrowly kicking up puffs of sand around them.
The officer drew his sabre and frantically swiped at the machine, but it was too fast and the horse’s course too erratic for him to take effective aim. The metal threat dodged his clumsy attempts at dislodging it from their course.
Finally, a lucky shot from the machine sliced a leg clean off the horse and it tumbled, with a scream that sounded terribly human, head over tail snapping its neck. The officer was thrown clear only to land in a heap of the burning wreckage of a beach gun emplacement.
His cries and writhing as he was turned, in an instant, to a ball of flame, mercifully, did not last long.
The machine that had ended both these lives began to zip away to search for more game, but it was felled by a clean shot from Churchill’s rifle.
‘We must do something!’ I shouted, sickened at the death and destruction around me.
‘We are doing all we can!’ Churchill replied, grimly. ‘We can only delay them now and hope that the explosives do their work.’

Beneath the base, the melee continued. It appeared now that the Martians were gaining the upper hand despite heavy losses to their group.
The men fought bravely but they must have seen that the game was nearly up as some of their number, desperately tired and streaked with blood, tried to retreat. The Martians, seemingly indefatigable, had other ideas and ruthlessly chased them. Some they cut down with their wickedly sharp blades or others they simply tore apart with their tentacles. It seemed there would be no prisoners, on either side, in this conflict.

I followed the Fighting Machines containing the three Commandos as they moved up the beach toward the base.
As they neared the giant machine, they split up and advanced on different paths. When they were within range of the battle, their Heatrays flashed and cut down some Martians that had scattered at their approach.
The human machines did not join in the struggle beneath the base, however. The battle was so dense that they would have been in too much danger of hitting human comrades as well as our foe. They simply picked off some small groups of Martians that skittered about on the periphery and then concentrated fire at different areas of the underside of the base.
A shot from one machine rocked the top of the access tube and a small explosion was the reward.
The soldiers who stood nearby me shouted with glee as sparks and bits of molten glass and metal rained down from the tube. The Fighting Machines, rather than present sitting targets, clanked to different positions and resumed their attack.
The first sign that the base began to move again was that the tube suddenly leaned over at a crazy angle. It appeared that it could not be retracted and, as the bases mighty legs began to propel it forward once more, the tube was pushed over. It came away in a shower of sparks and fell to the sand, crushing some unfortunate combatants, both man and Martian, who were engaged in a struggle for life nearby.
‘It’s moving again! We have to stop it!’ Churchill shouted and men ran forward brandishing weapons. Soon, only Glenn and I were left as all had surged forward and a last desperate attempt to stop the Machine began. I wanted to go forward and do my part, too, but Glenn forcibly held me back.
Suddenly maddened, I punched him squarely on the jaw and he fell back surprised. I ran forward after the rest, the pain in my hand unnoticed in the heat of the moment.
I picked up a discarded weapon on the way and began firing wildly at any target I saw. I felled two Martians in my anger and a light machine that stopped to target me got a bullet for its pains that brought it to earth.
I halted for a moment, exhausted, and saw the Fighting Machines standing in a wide triangle targeting the gaping hole where the tube had been. More explosions resulted and men and Martians scattered from debris that rained down upon them.
The base moved on and I saw a leg begin to come down. Directly in the path of its descending metal foot was a human Fighting Machine. The driver, Thomas I was close enough to see now, frantically pulled at the control levers and smoke poured from the machine as the engine was gunned. The machine began to jerk forward but it was too late. The last sight I saw was Thomas mouth open wide with terror and his hands thrust out to the glass as if to fend off the enormous foot as it crushed his machine into the sand.
In another machine, I saw the Sergeants face contort with anger and grief and he fired his Heatray, with renewed vigour, at the base.
I heard exultant howls and looked over to see Martians looming over the dead bodies of many men waving their knives and weapons like banners. Then Churchill and the remaining soldiers reached them and, screaming defiance, took up the fight.
Churchill himself blocked blow after blow from a big battle-scarred Martian and
stabbed it in the eye. In its death throes, a tentacle from the creature flailed out and knocked him out cold.
Then as I despairingly saw the last of the men fighting what seemed to be a losing battle there was an enormous muffled explosion.
The base was now perilously close to the beachfront houses and any civilians who had stopped, at what they thought was a safe distance to watch the battle, ran away screaming.
An ear splitting screech followed the explosion and the base rocked forward on its massive legs. It carried on a little way, a foot smashing a house to a pile of rubble, but there was another explosion and it stopped suddenly, another leg poised mid-air.
Flames and smoke belched out from the tube hole and more, smaller explosions followed. Small flaming shapes fell from the hole and I realised that these were the bodies of Martians caught in the blasts.
Another shape shot out from the side of the base. It was an escape room but it was aflame and it streaked, like some erratic comet, straight toward the sea. It hit the surface and a steep angle and broke apart, flinging its howling occupants at tremendous speed to their deaths.
Explosion after explosion rocked the wounded base now and the glass at the viewing window erupted out into the night. More Martians were thrown clear with flames following them.
There was another screech and the base began to topple over.
Glenn had reached me and had begun to remonstrate with me for hitting him when the explosions had started. His harsh words were forgotten and he whooped with joy at each explosion as the base slowly tore itself apart.
‘It worked! It worked!’ he repeated dancing around like a man possessed. Even I had to smile, exhausted physically and mentally as I was, at this man’s joy at the outcome of his work.
The base fell to earth with a metallic crash crushing more houses over a wide area. Two of its legs came off and more explosions followed, blowing more houses to pieces with their ferocity.
The wreckage burned for four days.

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.


55. The Tide Turns.



As the base crashed to the ground the flying machines, as one, dropped to the ground. The base had controlled all of them, through some means and, with that method of control gone, they were nothing but useless hunks of metal.
The remaining men, at seeing this, carried on the fight with renewed vigour. The Martians, for their part, seemed to have had some of the bravado suddenly taken out of them with the destruction of their greatest weapon and some tried to escape the battlefield. One made it to the waters edge but was cut down by the Sergeant’s Heatray. Through the glass of the machine’s cockpit, I saw my friend cast a weary ‘thumbs up’ in my direction.
The struggle continued for a while but the humans soon began to turn the tide in their favour and the methodical killing of the creatures from Mars began.
Glenn pointed suddenly further down the beach.
‘Well lookie there!’ he said.
I followed his finger and spotted an escape room lying on its side in the sand.
From it, in the light of flames that billowed out of what had, until recently, been a beach gun nearby, I saw two Martians crawling away. They were heading toward another escape room that was hovering just above the sand a short distance away.
‘Come on, Glenn!’ I said and ran toward a small group of horses that huddled at the dunes. I had ridden a horse before in my youth and I jumped onto one taking the reins quickly. Glenn jumped up onto another and, nudging the nervous horses with our feet, we galloped off down the beach.
The wind ruffled my already dishevelled hair as we went and sand periodically got in my eyes but I could still see that, at the door of the intact escape room stood the Martian Overlord. It was waving its tentacles at its fallen comrades to hurry towards it. As we approach, I saw its eyes widen and I vaguely heard it squeak. The tentacle waving grew more emphatic, then. This thing evidently wanted to be off.
I let go the reins, clung onto the horse as well as I could with my knees, and raising my rifle, fired at the creature. Aiming was difficult with the speed of our gallop and some shots pinged harmlessly off the walls of the craft. Glenn took up the shooting too and the Overlord’s frantic state became more apparent. It danced and skittered about the entrance, hooting loudly.
We came, then, upon the crawling Martians and my horse reared without warning. As I was flung from its back, the horse stamped and trampled on one of the creatures into a bloody pulp. The wind was knocked out of me by the fall and I lay stunned on the sand for a second or two. Glenn pulled his horse around and came to where I lay.
‘Go… on!’ I said desperately trying to catch my breath.
‘What?’ Glenn said, dismounting and reaching down to help me up.
‘That’s the Overlord, you fool!’ I shouted angrily. ‘It’s getting away!’
‘Oh!’ Glenn said simply. His face suddenly took on a look of surprise and his eyes rolled back. A small trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth and dripped onto his collar. He fell forward onto his face, a harpoon protruding from his shoulder.
I spun round looking for the source of this missile. A Martian stood nearby trying to reload its weapon. I groped for my weapon and raised it. Just as the Martian got me in its sights, I fired. The Martian dropped to the sand, lifeless.
Again I looked to where the Overlord’s craft stood and saw it begin to rise from the sand. The creature’s eyes widened as I took aim and fired. The bullet sped toward the creature, then there was a small gout of blood as one eye ruptured. The Overlord fell back squealing. As the door to the craft began to close and it rose higher into the night sky, I saw tentacles drag the wounded monster away from the opening.
There was a clanking behind me and I turned to see a Fighting Machine stalking up the beach. There was a wave of heat above my head as the machine fired at the dark retreating shape of the escape craft. The shot clipped it and it wavered in the air a little. Small pieces of molten metal dropped to the ground as the craft shot suddenly up into the air then moved forward, at amazing speed, away over the land and out of sight.
‘No!’ I shouted in frustration and fired volley after harmless volley at the thing. The chamber of my rifle clicked empty and I let it fall to the floor. The Overlord, if it still lived, had escaped.
The canopy of the Fighting Machine opened and the Sergeant sprang out.
‘Are you alright?’ he asked.
‘No!’ I said angrily. I could say no more and sank, bitter and exhausted, to the soft sand, my head in my hands. I sobbed, then, for all those who had died and for my inability to stop the creature that had directed all the carnage the Martians had wreaked on Earth.

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.


56. Cleaning Up.



The Sergeant gave waited for a few moments then held a rough hand out to me.
‘Come on, friend. It's time to leave,’ he said gently.
I took my hands from my face and looked at him for a moment.
‘Yes, we must go,’ I said wiping my face, wet with tears, with the back of a grubby hand.
As he helped me up, I said: ‘Thank you.’
‘What for?’ he asked, with a puzzled expression.
‘For coming to my aid.’
He dismissed this with a wave of his hand. ‘’S what mates is for!’ he said flashing a quick, warm smile. ‘Us comrades got to stick together!’
We walked toward the Fighting Machine. Glenn’s unmoving body, the harpoon in his back pointing straight up to the heavens, lay nearby and we stood above him for a moment. The Sergeant’s face grew grim and he bowed his head and placed a hand on his breast over where his heart lay.
He muttered a quick prayer and, despite my not being the religious sort, I joined him in a quiet ‘Amen’, when he had finished.
‘You were a good man, Glenn, and a good mate. Let’s hope you are drinking a toast to us in heaven!’
‘Trying to get rid of me already, Sarge?’ a muffled voice said.
The man’s body twitched and he laboriously turned his face towards us. He cursed with the pain of the movement but spoke again.
‘You’re not angels,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I don’t see any wings.’
The Sergeant hurriedly knelt down to him and laid a hand gently on his shoulder, a single tear of joy trickled down his face.
‘Glenn! Don’t move, mate!’ he said, his voice a little choked.
‘It hurts a bit,’ Glenn managed between laboured breaths. ‘How’s it look?’
The Sergeant regarded the harpoon. ‘Your looking like a pole without a flag, but it doesn’t look like it’s in too deep. You’ll be fine!’
Glenn gave a small painful grin. ‘Good. Me missus would kill me if I didn’t come home.’ He chuckled a little, but the effort turned it into a hollow cough.
‘Easy, mate!’ the Sergeant said. ‘This is no time for jokes. Maybe in the pub when you’re better!’
The Sergeant stood up and waved his arms at the men down the beach.
‘Hey there! Medic needed here! Hurry up!’ he shouted loudly enough for the gods to hear.
Three men soon hurried toward us, two carried a stretcher and one had a medical bag slung over his shoulder.

With Glenn checked over and gently laid, face down, on the stretcher, we bid him a quick good bye and the Sergeant climbed back into his Fighting Machine. The machine was gunned into life again and set off in a cloud of black smoke that nearly choked me.
I found my horse chewing on some grass as if nothing had ever happened to it. The only sign of anything unusual were the gobbets of Martian flesh clinging to its hooves and a small wound down its flank. I stroked its mane calmingly, mounted and we trotted behind the Machine back down the beach toward the battlefield.

At the battlefield, Churchill was standing puffing a great cigar. His head was bandaged but he appeared to have suffered no other ill effects.
A little way off, I saw Wayne’s Fighting Machine clanking wildly after a fleeing Martian. The creature weaved this way and that but it was only a matter of time and soon it ran no more.
A few men stood, weapons raised before a small group of cowed looking Martians. Things really had turned for the human forces whilst I was in my futile pursuit of the Overlord. More soldiers had come over the dunes to join the fray and soon the enemy had been overpowered.
Now a small band of the creatures were all that was left of the force that seemed about to overwhelm us.
I briefed Churchill on what had happened with the Overlord while he listened attentively.
‘What are you going to do with them?’ I asked Churchill, meaning the Martian prisoners.
‘Classified,’ Churchill replied, winking.
‘What?’ I asked. I had a terrible feeling that I knew the answer. ‘You intend to hide them away somewhere, don’t you? They are too dangerous! You know what happened before and there already some of them free!’
Just then, an important looking, rotund man fought his way through the gathering crowd of civilians that had gathered at the edge of the beach. This crowd was being held back by a cordon of soldiers, the man flashed some papers in the face of the officer there and was let through. A small weasly-looking man with bright black eyes kept pace just behind him.
The important man looked so surprisingly like Cavendish that, for a moment, I was lost in thoughts of all that had gone before since I had first met the Knight in my drawing room so long ago. I came back to myself when he approached and I got a closer look at him.
The man had the same red face as Cavendish, the same white moustache draped across his chops. He even dressed in a similar manner.
‘Are you Churchill?’ he rumbled. The voice was so alike the dead Government man’s and to such a startling degree that I began to doubt my sanity.
‘I am he,’ Churchill said around his cigar.
‘I am Sir James Cavendish,’ the man huffed. ‘My brother was in charge of your operation.’
‘May I say what a good job he did of it, too, Sir,’ Churchill said, without a trace of irony. ‘A great man indeed.’
Cavendish’s face coloured a little darker at this but he said nothing else for a moment. Finally, his eyes moved to the huddled band of Martians that stood a little way away, their human guardians watching them like hawks.
‘I am here for the prisoners. We have much to learn from them,’ the man said.
‘You do?’ Churchill asked, slowly taking the cigar from his mouth.
‘Quite so,’ Cavendish said impatiently. ‘Your answer?’
Churchill looked at his cigar for a moment and rolled it between his fingers. He looked at me, straight in the eye and barked one word.
‘FIRE!’
There was a series of sharp cracks from behind him and the Martian prisoners all fell to the sand. Their executioners moved quickly in and bayoneted them to make quite sure they were dead.
Cavendish’s face coloured purple.
‘I’ll have you court-martialled for this!’ he said barely containing his anger. ‘Every man jack of you will swing!’
Churchill regarded him as a boy might watch a fat spider crawling across his wall.
‘I had orders from the Prime Minister himself!’ Cavendish ranted.
‘And I had orders from the King!’ Churchill retorted. Cavendish’s mouth flapped in that gaping fish look that his late brother had often adopted. He gathered himself together, span around and stalked away, nearly knocking his little weasly attendant over in the process.
Churchill turned to me and winked.
‘As you said, Smith, they are too dangerous.’ He moved off to direct the clean up operation as the first rays of a new sun began to peek above the horizon.

[EvilNerfherder]

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.


57. The End?



I would like to take this opportunity to bring a sort of closure to this tale, for now at least. In fact, this was not the end of my exploits with the Government and there is much more to tell. That, however, I shall leave for another time. But here, my esteemed reader, is a brief summary of events immediately after the Battle of Brighton.

The clean up operation took many months. The destruction that the Martian base machine, and its attendant flying machines, had wrought on the town of Brighton cost many thousands of pounds to put right. Incredibly, despite the loss of hundreds of human soldiers in the fighting, only twenty civilians were killed in this fiercest of battles. Ten of the dead were in a hotel on the seafront that was directly in the path of the falling base. Many services of thanksgiving were given in churches up and down the land, particularly in the South East and London the primary targets, that the death toll had been so astonishingly low.
A few Martians had gone to ground in the area but it is thought that all were found in the following days and were shot on sight.
Scientist swarmed over the wreckage of the base and tried to salvage what machinery they could. The papers, at the time at least, were told that the explosions had damaged everything too badly to gain anything from what had been found. I, knowing how these things went in my dealings with our leaders, thought that this may not have been too close to the truth.
Events were, as they always have been, toned down in the press. No mention was made of the mission in the Nautilus, but it was alluded to that Sir George Cavendish had died a hero, in the defence of the realm, leading an attack on a Martian stronghold. Little mention was made of the many brave men who had died with him, although some, including Thomas and Dawson received the Victoria Cross posthumously. Glenn made a full recovery and had a solid career ahead of him in the military. The Sergeant marched proudly into the palace, one fine summer day, to receive the DSO from the King himself. He brought it to my house to show me one day and said he felt that I should have received one too. He never tired as before, in his frequent visits to my house, of telling the tall tales of his previous exploits, but sometimes, when the subject of the mission aboard the Nautilus came up, his face took on a haunted look and the subject was turned to lighter matters. One does not, I have found, face demons and come away unaffected.
As for Churchill, he did not receive any punishment for his disobedience in killing the Martian prisoners. It seems he did, indeed, have the King’s blessing for his actions and, instead of a trip to the gallows, was offered a Knighthood. Churchill politely declined as he felt that such an honour was above him, such a man was he in those days.
I, for my part, went home as quickly as I was able. My wife’s face was all I wished to see now and, a few days later, I fell gratefully into her loving arms.
I did not hear from the Government, or any of the military barring the Sergeant, for years after.
Meanwhile, over time, the rumblings of jealousy and resentment over British power grew louder in Europe. The people on the continent wanted the wealth and power that we enjoyed and strikes and rioting were common amongst these disgruntled peoples. Still the foreign Governments did nothing.
Across the British Empire, human Fighting Machines and other technologies were increasingly used to quell the growing insurrections amongst the subjects under our care.
It was the fear of such technology that kept our nearest neighbours in check and us safe on our small island.
Across the wide, cold gulf of space, it is now certain that the Martians plotted anew. They would make adjustments to their original flawed calculations and turn their brilliant, ruthless minds to a foolproof plan for our destruction. The next time they came, there would be no mistakes.
Our British Empire of Steel, like all great Empires over time, could not last forever unopposed. Whether this opposition originated from our envious neighbours on Earth, or from equally envious creatures from a distant red planet was, ultimately, of no consequence.
One day, some years after the Martians came to Earth with their terrifying machines, a small, in the grand scheme of things, incident occurred and the scales were tipped. One man died and events were set in motion that ensured that the world would never be the same again.

THE END

[Commandingtripod]

Wow more lots more chapters.
Real treat.

Well done Nerfy I like all of it this is brillant. ;D

[EvilNerfherder]

Well. That's that then!
And so ends my tale of events directly after H.G Wells' masterpiece, The War of The Worlds.
I sincerely hope you have all enjoyed it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I would like to thank everyone who has been with me since I started this in March for their kind comments and for driving me on to finish this, my first full length work.
So what next?
I have decided to attempt to publish this for real. At close on 55,000 words it still isn't really long enough to release in book form so next I will be going back through the whole thing and doing a second draft.
I want to flesh out the early chapters particularly and do some more character development and stuff but I will not be publishing the second draft on this site for obvious reasons.
Then, when I am as happy as I can be with it, I shall be looking for an agent and a publisher who would be willing to take the book on. Wish me luck with that!
If anyone is interested, I could post any progress as and when anything happens. In fact I am thinking of setting up a website just for the story as well.
So, thanks again for all the comments, please keep them coming, and I hope you enjoyed it.

[EvilNerfherder]

Oh, and I nearly forgot something else I have planned...
Look out for my next work in the future. It will be called...

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: REMEMBERANCE.

Coming Soon!

[Commandingtripod]

Nice stuff Nerfy.

I'll be watching out for the next story of yours.
Well done.

I've enjoyed it all the way. ;D

[Poyks]

Absolutely bloody fantastic. If the finished draft doesn't get published I'll eat my new and quite stylish hat!!
Well done Nerfington, go and have a celebratory beer, that's an order!

[EvilNerfherder]

''If the finished draft doesn't get published I'll eat my new and quite stylish hat!!''

You want salt and pepper with your headpiece? Lol. We'll see, eh? Lots of problems to overcome but it would be quite cool!

''go and have a celebratory beer, that's an order!''

That's the plan!

[richardburton]

Absolutely brilliant mate! You've laboured tirelessly this weekend to get the first draft finished and damn good it is too. Well done!

[Anim8tr]

Congratulations on your fine acomplishment, Nerf! And thanks for what has been an immensely enjoyable and satsifying read!

What a spectacular finale and fine epilogue! Glad to see a certain soldier made it!