War For The World

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Bullets shot overhead and men began shouting from all directions as the tripod ascended out from beneath the waves. The left side of the HMS Thunder child shuddered and shook as it took the brunt of the wave. Men were running to their stations, trying to get a good look at the things and firing at it once they realised what it was.
Large tendrils attached to the hull of the tripod swung violently in the air, occasionally making surprise contact with a soldier and launching them into the air, screams and a trail of blood the only remains.

The young man with the accent, barely 17 and way out of his depths swung backwards as one of the tendrils made a move on him. It was fast, but he was faster, and the rocking of the ship meant any sort of solid foothold was easy enough to undo.

A bell began chiming somewhere close, and the captain of the small torpedo ram came starboard side.

"Men! Man battle stations! We still have civilian ships trying to get across"

Spittle coming from his mouth. The tension in the ear was high and the young man could barely hear anything over the crashing sound of the waves combined with the cacophony of the screeching tripod and screams from the men.

"Her majesty the queen entrusts us with her safety!" the captain continued
"We will not fail this great nation. May god have mercy on us all"

And thus a red beam erupted from the tripod and the captain was evaporated.

Screams.

Panic.

The young man was confused, synapses firing on all cylinders.
Out on the water he could see the last stragglers five or six paddle steamers, a small one with barely enough momentum to carry it through the essex coast trailing behind. Their plan had been to evacuate the large fleet of civilian vessels outside the grips of the Martians, now it had simply become an attempt at buying the last of them some time.

All together there were three of them. Three large monstrous whirs of mechanisation cutting through the channel as if it were butter.
The man ran towards the back of the torpedo ram. One of the Martian pods seemed to be eyeing up the last of the fleet. The other ships had begun to make their way out of site but these last few remained, teetering at a speed that would ensure them certain doom.

Noises, commotion coming from the central control room. He noticed someone he recognised trying to gain access to the locked door.
"What are you doing!" He shouted against the now raging wind.

The man, who he now recognised as his friend from boot camp, was trying to break the door down. It was budging but not giving way. The friend turned to him.

"Need to get in! captains key is gone. We need someone in charge of this bird!"

The young man tried to think, but his brain was beginning to pound. Ocean spray pelted at them as beams of heat ray energy inaccurately lashed at the water nearby.

He nodded, turning around in search of anything that could help them. The sky was slowly blackening as the green lights atop the tripods began to illuminate the dimming sea. Loud booms of synthetic noises and cogs whirring drilled fear into the hearts of all men aboard. They had little chances left.

There! Something rattling against the deck. A crowbar.
The young man made a grab for it, unceremoniously almost diving off the edge of the ram as the crowbar was flung out to sea. His hands reached outwards and felt the cool feeling of metal against the palm of his skin. He tightened his grip and managed to pull himself back as the ram continued its to and fro against the waves.
"I've got something!"
"Hurry the fuck up then!" Came the friends reply.
With much effort, they managed to jimmy the locks off and bust the door open. The young man tossed the crowbar aside as he made his way to the controls. A collection of dials and nobs. Buttons and levers now became the centre point of his vision. A wave of responsibility washed over him as he saw the many men on deck in front of him shooting at the Martians. It seemed to have no effect whatsoever.