On the device’s face were three switches: one red and two green on either side. When Goliath was in motion, the switches’ position would indicate which leg was moving, red for the center front, and green for the back. If any two were up at the same time, it signaled a dangerous imbalance. The whole system would have to be recalibrated once O’Brien finished repairing the hydraulics.
Wells noticed the bezel surrounding the switches was loose. He rooted through O’Brien’s cluttered toolbox until he found a screwdriver, slumped back in his chair, and tightened the screws.
Behind him, he heard someone descending the ladder.
Wells sighed. “Before you lecture me about touching your tools—”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Carter said.
Wells turned. “Oh, Lieutenant. Sorry, I thought….”
Carter smiled. “Got a minute, Captain?”
Wells turned the chair to face her and smiled, a mask to hide his troubles. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”
“I wanted to thank you.”
“What for?”
Carter sat on the arm of the adjacent chair. “You saved us all today.”
“I was just putting one foot in front of the other,” said Wells. “I got lucky.”
Carter shook her head. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”
“I take it you’ve heard about New York?”
Carter nodded.
Wells bent to replace the timing box in its compartment. “You must be worried about your family.”
“I am.” Carter looked at the floor. “My father and I… we’re not very close, but….”
She looked away and closed her eyes, but Wells could see the tears glistening at the corners. He touched her shoulder.
“I’m sure he would have been very proud of you today.”
Carter wiped her eyes before turning her gaze back to him. “Thanks. Look, I’ve been thinking….”
“Yes?”
Carter sighed and shook her head. “This is not easy.”
“Sometimes it’s just best to say it.”
“Okay. Here goes.” Carter took a deep breath and leaned toward him. The sudden movement startled him, and he sat back in his chair. “All this… it makes me realize what’s important. It separates the things you really want from the things you only think you want.”
“And?”
Carter’s lips curled into a devilish smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I really want you.”
“W-what?” Wells stuttered.
Carter grabbed his lapels. “You heard me.”
Before Wells could protest, she pulled him to his feet. Her mouth crushed against his, and his heart skipped as she flooded his entire body with her warmth. His hands felt along the small of her back, down to her—
Wells broke the kiss and took a step back. “We can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
“I’m your commanding officer.”
Carter grinned as she unbuttoned her shirt collar. “I don’t care.”
Wells watched her fingers work the buttons one by one, revealing the pale skin underneath. “What are y—”
Carter tore open her shirt, and Wells stared at her breasts. She closed the distance between them in a single step and shrugged her suspenders off her shoulders, letting the shirt fall to the deck behind her.
Wells stared. He struggled to find his voice. “L-Lieutenant—”
“Jennifer,” she corrected him.
“Jennifer….” He forced himself to tear his eyes away, but Carter grabbed his chin and turned his face back toward hers. “I don’t think we should—” She grabbed the back of his head and kissed him.
Carter’s fingers worked the buttons on his uniform, the thread popping as she pulled impatiently at them. When the final one was loosened, Carter tore open his shirt and peeled off the red undershirt beneath, brusquely throwing the garments aside. Her fingers traced the muscles of his chest, slowly trailing down to his abdomen.
Wells closed his eyes as Carter slithered down his body to her knees. Her hot breath on his skin made him shudder. She tugged at his belt, and he knew he should protest—push her away… pull rank… anything—but why fight it? He wanted this—needed this—just as much as she did, and as she opened his trousers, he knew he couldn’t hide that fact from her any longer.
His fingers curled through her hair as her mouth found him. A groan, louder than he intended, escaped his lips as her fingernails grazed his back. Carter chuckled, amused and obviously pleased by the sounds he was making.
Wells pulled her to her feet and kissed her, his fingers fumbling with the clasp on her belt. Their lips never parted as the buckle unfastened and she struggled out of her pants. He heard her boots thump to the deck, and when he opened his eyes, she was naked. Her lithe body bore the bruises and scrapes from the day’s battle, and goose bumps rose on her skin from the chill in the night air.
Carter shoved him back into the chair. For a moment, Wells feared it would topple over and send them sprawling to the deck, not that it would deter the ravenous lieutenant for even a moment. She climbed atop him, her legs straddling his, and she threw her head back and gasped as he entered her.
Wells took hold of her hips and matched her rhythm. Her breasts heaved up and down with every thrust, and beads of sweat formed on her skin despite the chill. His hands slid up her sides to cup her breasts, massaging them.
“Yes,” Carter breathed.
Her pace quickened, and Wells grabbed her ass in both hands, guiding her movement. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure to every nerve in Wells’ body. Carter closed her eyes and caressed one breast as she threw her head back and whispered, “God, yes!”
Wells bit his lip and concentrated on holding back, but Carter’s hips began to gyrate as she moved up and down, and he felt himself drawing closer. Finally his body gave in to the pleasure, as did Carter’s.
“Yes!” she screamed. “Yes!”
Wells sat up and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Shhh!”
Carter’s movement slowed, and she grinned. She nipped his finger playfully and giggled.
She fell against his chest and sighed. His arms encircled her, and his hand clasped her shoulder. They laughed breathlessly as Wells kissed her cheek lightly.
“Can you believe what we just did?” Carter said.
Wells grinned. “I think we should do it again.” He kissed her.
“Mmmmm,” she mumbled against his lips. “Is that an order, Captain?”
“It is. And I expect it to be followed without question, Lieutenant.”
Carter grinned. “Yes, sir!”
*****
Douglas extinguished his welding torch and looked up. He looked over at O’Brien, who was also looking up toward the Goliath’s cockpit.
“You hear something?” Douglas said.
“Nope,” said O’Brien, returning to his work. “Not a thing.”
Douglas shrugged and relit his torch. O’Brien smirked.
Chapter Eighteen
New York City
Manhattan burned. Columns of black smoke rose all around the city. The air was thick with ash and cinders carried by the wind.
Cylinders had descended on the city, trailing green fire as they fell. They leveled buildings, destroyed monuments, and carved deep furrows into the ground. In Central Park, tripods guarded a trio of cylinders while the occupants readied themselves to join the battle.
The burning hulks of the Bismarck and Neptune lay in the bay, slowly sinking. The few survivors swam toward the southern tip of the island, toward A.R.E.S. A detachment of three Martian flying wings dove and strafed the inlet with their heat rays. Steam billowed as the beams struck the water, and the men’s frantic screams were cut mercifully short.
The wrecks of dozens of Martian and A.R.E.S. battle machines littered the streets, their twisted, burning hulks contributing to the noxious atmosphere. Refugees peered nervously from the shadows of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, holding their collec
tive breath as three of the invaders marched down Fifth Avenue. A Martian kicked Vigilance’s severed head as it passed the defaced monument, sending the chunk of bronze bouncing across the bricks.
Shadows fell over the alien procession, and the tripods stopped in front of the cathedral. Three Raven dive-bombers and four Storm Crow fighters flew in formation above them. One of the Martians fired at the craft.
Captain Masters banked his Raven to the left, narrowly avoiding the beam. Another heat ray streaked through the air in front of him.
His headset crackled. “Permission to engage the enemy, Corvus One.”
“Negative, Corvus Two,” Masters replied. “Maintain formation and stay on target.”
Their orders were to destroy the cylinders in Central Park before they could deploy their cargo. As much as he’d like to, Masters couldn’t afford to waste his payload on these three. He gritted his teeth as his plane passed over the tripods. Through the smoke, he could just make out the tree line marking the border of the park.
The tripods had cleared a trail through the foliage into the city. Uprooted trees and scorched earth traced their path. Columns of smoke curled high above the park. As they drew closer, Masters could make out the three long, deep gouges carved into the earth by the falling cylinders. Movement caught his eye, and he saw three Martians standing guard as more of the machines were being erected inside the mouths of the immense extraterrestrial missiles.
“Corvus Squadron,” Masters said. “Target cylinders relative to your position. Storm Crows, keep those tripods off us.”
The Storm Crows disengaged from the formation and dove toward the crash site. Their machine guns clattered, and the Martians immediately answered with their heat rays. One of the fighters managed to launch a rocket just before a beam vaporized it. The missile plunged toward the tripods, trailing a spiraling plume of exhaust. The projectile hit one of the alien machines, knocking it down, but it still struggled.
“Gentlemen,” Masters said, “give ‘em hell!”
Masters thrust the stick forward, sending his Raven into a steep dive. The wind pulled at his cheeks, bringing a terrible grin to his face. He centered his plane on the middle cylinder and thumbed the safety on his launch button. His thumb caressed the switch, waiting for the proper moment. When he could see the emerald domes of the exoskeletons tending to the partially assembled tripods, he pulled the stick back and pressed the button.
He never saw the bomb drop, but he heard the blast and felt its concussion as the plane pitched. He looked back and saw a fireball erupting from the mouth of the cylinder. Flames and smaller explosions traversed its length. Masters grinned.
Another bomb struck, and a second cylinder blew, taking one of the tripods with it. Masters banked and watched as Corvus Three made his approach. A heat ray flashed and sheared off the Raven’s right wing, sending the bomber into a tight spin. The Raven struck the ground and erupted in a massive fireball as both fuel and payload ignited. The final cylinder lay unscathed.
Masters changed course. He still had one bomb left to finish the job. As he began his approach, three silver objects streaked out of the cylinder’s opening. The Martian wings looped and turned toward him, their heat rays flashing.
Masters banked to avoid the beams and fired both machine guns. The bullets tore through the lead saucer, and the craft broke apart, but the others avoided the barrage and attacked. A heat ray struck the Raven’s bottom left wing, and Masters fought to maintain control.
The saucers streaked past and looped around for another attack from the rear. This time, Masters knew, they would finish him. He looked down at the remaining cylinder and fought the stick, bringing the Raven on a collision course with it. Even crippled, the Raven did exactly what it was built to do.
Dive.
As the cylinder drew closer, Masters could see the panicked Martians in their exoskeletons as they scrambled for cover.
Masters grinned and released the bomb. “Welcome to New York!”
The bomb exploded, and an instant later, the Raven struck the cylinder, adding its fuel to the fire.
*****
Roosevelt stood at the window of the A.R.E.S. control room, his hands clasped behind his back. He heard the screaming of an engine and looked up. A Storm Crow, its tail spewing smoke, screamed toward the base. A Martian wing matched its course, its heat rays flashing around the crippled craft.
Roosevelt dove for cover, and the Storm Crow struck the base a few feet below the window. A massive fireball erupted; it blew out the glass and shook the building. Masonry dust rained down on Roosevelt as he got to his knees and shook the shards from his jacket.
Colonel Talbert held out her hand and helped Roosevelt to his feet. “Are you all right, Mr. Secretary?”
“Fine,” Roosevelt grunted. “When will the cavalry arrive, Colonel?”
“Unknown, sir,” Talbert replied. “The Martians are jamming our long-range communications. All cable and telegraph lines have been cut. We’re in the dark, Mr. Secretary.”
He looked at the immense, revolving globe at the center of the room. Luminous red dots pulsed on every continent except Antarctica.
“The aliens have landed cylinders near all major cities,” Talbert said.
Roosevelt sighed. “How bad is it?”
“What intelligence we have is already several hours old,” she said, “but they’ve hit China particularly hard. Hong Kong has held the line, and Shanghai is putting up a hell of a fight, but Nanking and Beijing have fallen. According to their last transmission, President Sun Yet-sen is still alive and in command of the Republic’s armies, along with General Zheng.”
“What about the rest of Asia?”
“A mixed bag, sir,” Talbert said. “Tokyo’s in flames, as is Osaka. Singapore is under siege, but Malay A.R.E.S. units have stonewalled the invaders in the jungles north of the city. India’s gone completely dark. There’s been no contact for several hours. Cairo’s still holding, but there’s been no word from any other African stations. It doesn’t look good.”
General Swift joined them. “A.R.E.S. units are still operating in St. Petersburg, but Moscow is silent, as is Paris. Berlin is holding, but nobody knows how much longer they can hold out. We’ve lost Rome and central Italy.”
Roosevelt returned his gaze to the globe. “And England?”
“London is holding,” Swift said, “but Coventry was taken two days ago. There are reports of a massive explosion there, but there’s been no official confirmation.”
Roosevelt closed his eyes and sighed. “Like Manchester….”
Swift nodded. “It would appear so, Mr. Secretary.”
Roosevelt gritted his teeth. “Damn you, Kitchener.”
“Desperate times make for desperate measures,” Swift said.
Roosevelt turned to Talbert. “What’s the status here in North America?”
“San Francisco sustained heavy losses, but the city held,” she said. “Same for Montreal. Before we lost contact, we got a message through to the surviving A.R.E.S. units in the area to proceed south to aid us. But I’ll be honest, sir… they won’t make it in time. New Orleans is still under siege, which means all we can do is hold out until the Agamemnon and Leviathan arrive with reinforcements.”
Swift adjusted his rimless spectacles and pointed at a map of Manhattan and the surrounding Boroughs. “The invaders staged multiple landings around Manhattan and Central Park itself. We’ve lost all contact with A.R.E.S. and militia forces in the Washington Square area, sir.”
“Well, that’s it then, General,” said Roosevelt. “Pull back all remaining ground forces to base.”
“Understood, Mr. Secretary.” Swift turned and conveyed the order to a nearby officer.
“Looks like we’re what they wanted all along,” said Talbert. “The landings up north and out west were ploys to drain our strength.”
“Kill the head and the body dies.” Roosevelt’s jaw clenched. “Colonel, I want this base sealed. Prepare for t
he assault.”
“At once, Mr. Secretary,” Talbert said.
“And, Talbert,” Roosevelt said.
“Yes, sir?”
Roosevelt stared out the window. Green flashes lit the sky over Brooklyn and the Bronx. If he didn’t act soon, the island would be completely overrun. He’d hoped to avoid this, but….
“Your orders, Mr. Secretary?” Talbert prompted.
“Blow the bridges,” Roosevelt said.
Silence. For a moment, Roosevelt wondered if Talbert had heard him. He turned. The colonel’s bottom lip trembled, and he saw the worry in her eyes. Talbert’s brother lived in the Bronx. Of course, there was always the chance he was among the refugees already on the island, but Roosevelt knew better than to hope for the best in the chaos of war.
Talbert swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
Roosevelt watched her cross the room to the board that controlled the island’s preset explosives. She raised the hinged metal safety cover, lifted the key from a chain around her neck, and inserted it into the slot. When she turned the key, red lights indicating the rigged charges lit up across the board. Her hand hovered over the large red button labeled “DETONATE.”
Roosevelt’s hand closed around her wrist. “Allow me, Colonel. My hands are already stained.”
Talbert nodded and stepped aside. Roosevelt rested his fingertips above the button.
“Heaven forgive me,” he whispered.
He pressed the button with his palm.
“And heaven help us,” he said.
*****
“Hurry!” a scout shouted atop his Hermes tripod. “They’re coming!”
Soldiers scrambled through the main gate. Some limped. Others carried their comrades on their shoulders. Everywhere Sakai looked, he saw screaming, bleeding men of every branch, race, and creed.
War of the Worlds Page 17