War of the Worlds

by Adam J. Whitlatch

  *****

  As they stepped into the corridor, Lee looked at his commander. “Captain, what did the Secretary mean by ‘clear a path’?”

  Sakai drew his katana and sliced the empty air in front of him. “Which part confuses you, Lieutenant?”

  Lee looked over his shoulder at the company of armed men marching behind them. “I do not wish to be shot in the back.”

  “Then I would advise you to move swiftly,” said Sakai, “or do they not teach you that in your dojang?” He sneered as he mocked the lieutenant, drawing out the syllables of the Korean word for training hall.

  Lee drew his jingum and glared at his commander. The sword was lighter than Sakai’s, with only a slight curve to the wider blade.

  “Save your hate, Lee.” Sakai said, sheathing his sword. “You’ll need it for what’s to come.”

  Lee returned his own sword to its scabbard. “It is not hatred that fuels me, but love. Love for my wife and son.”

  Sakai snorted with derision.

  Lee frowned. “Have you nobody to fight for, Captain?”

  Sakai’s heart skipped at the lieutenant’s question. He had no family. His mother died in childbirth, leaving him to be raised by his father, Shiro, a stern, conservative man brought up in the samurai tradition. Young Tadeo Sakai knew nothing of love… only discipline. And disdain. He often wondered if his father was so merciless in his training to make him strong or to punish him for his mother’s death.

  When he was twelve years old, the Martians came to Japan. Foolishly believing the invaders to be oni—demons—Shiro challenged a Martian tripod armed only with the family katana. It was a glorious and stupid death. Sakai never forgot the smell of ozone and burnt flesh, and his belief in the ways of the samurai was lost, carried away on the foul wind along with his father’s ashes.

  He drifted from relative to relative, but none of them tolerated his nocturnal wailings as the Martians and their heat rays invaded his nightmares. Eventually, he settled in Osaka, where the old ways of his family seemed so distant. His training served him well when, in order to secure a roof over his head, he joined a street gang. He took what he wanted, and he never felt the pain of hunger gnawing at his belly again.

  Sakai rose in the gang’s ranks, successfully challenging for leadership at the age of twenty-three. A year later, however, his luck ran out when a rival gang ambushed him in the Dōtonbori district and beat him, leaving him for dead in the canal.

  He awoke days later to the sound of birdsong, clothed in clean robes. Despite the pain in his ribs and the pounding in his head, he hobbled outside and found himself at the base of a mountain, staring at a breathtaking shrine. When he called out, a woman tending the flowers near the house ran to him and ushered him back inside, explaining that his wounds were too severe for him to leave his bed so soon.

  Her name was Sachiko.

  Sachiko explained that, after leaving the theatre, she had seen Sakai floating on his back in the canal, barely clinging to life. She pulled him to the water’s edge and called to her father, Toshiro, who brought Sakai to Fushimi Inari shrine, of which he was the caretaker. He had been unconscious for days, feverish, rambling in his sleep about oni. To Sakai’s shame, he had also called out for his father.

  In the weeks that followed, Sachiko nursed him back to health. Seeing no reason to return to his old life in Osaka, Sakai decided to remain at Inari and work for Sachiko’s father. As they ate, worked, and worshipped together, Tadeo Sakai slowly realized he felt something he had never felt before.

  Love.

  One day, while walking in the woods, Toshiro saw Sakai practicing kata with a stick. That evening, he called Sakai into his room and removed a bundle from a chest at the foot of his bed. When Sakai unwrapped the bundle, he found the most beautiful katana he had ever seen. This sword had belonged to Toshiro’s grandfather.

  Toshiro explained that prior to the Meiji Restoration, his family had served the local daimyo, but were forced into hiding during the revolution. When the old man thrust the sword into Sakai’s hands, he initially protested. Rather than insult his host’s honor, however, Sakai accepted the ancestral blade and resumed his training.

  Sakai stayed with Sachiko and her father for two years, training and working at the shrine. For the first time in his life, he was at peace. But he was not content. Visions of the three-legged Martian oni haunted his dreams. One day, under the arches of the torii, Sakai informed Sachiko that he planned to join A.R.E.S. He told her that to be a samurai meant to serve, and with no master, he wished to serve all mankind.

  Sachiko was heartbroken, but she knew the path he had chosen was the correct one for him. Weeks later, as Sakai boarded an A.R.E.S. ship bound for America by way of Hong Kong, Sachiko cut a lock of her raven hair and pressed it into his hand. She made him swear to return to her as a man complete, a samurai restored. But above all, she made him swear to return to her safe from harm.

  Sakai’s fingers stroked the bound hair hidden in his pocket. He had fulfilled two of those promises, but the third….

  “Captain?” Lee said, bringing Sakai back to the present.

  “Urusai!” Sakai snapped.

  They continued on in silence until they reached the stairs. Below, the sound of skittering machines and heat rays grew louder. Sakai led the way down, stepping only on the balls of his feet, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. When he reached the landing, he stopped and turned to the troops behind him.

  “Are you ready?” he whispered.

  The men nodded. Some cocked their weapons much louder than Sakai would have liked. At the rear of the throng stood Roosevelt. The secretary adjusted his spectacles, hefted his weapon, and nodded.

  “We will immobilize the enemy,” Sakai said. “Cover us.”

  Sakai looked at Lee. The lieutenant took a deep breath, exhaled through his mouth, and nodded.

  “Oh…” Sakai turned back to the soldiers. “Try not to shoot Lieutenant Lee.”

  Lee scowled.

  Sakai sneered. “Does that ease your anxiety, Lieutenant?

  “Very much, Captain.”

  “With me,” Sakai said. “Attack!”

  The swordsmen rounded the corner and leapt to the bottom of the stairs. They landed in a crouch, their fingers curled loosely around their sword handles. Sakai counted at least a dozen of the Martian exoskeletons. The aliens crouched in the low-ceilinged corridor stretching out before them, leaving them a mere eight feet tall.

  Still too tall, Sakai thought. It would be better to cut them down to a much more manageable size.

  The closest Martian turned, and Sakai could see the grotesque beast crammed inside its emerald dome. The tripod’s tendrils lashed out, and Sakai drew his katana in a wide, sweeping arc that severed the appendage with a short burst of sparks. Lee drew his jingum and took three lunging steps forward, his sword raised over his head. The barbed tips snapped toward him, but Lee sliced through the nearest knee joint, sending the machine to the floor before his blade lopped off another two tentacles.

  Another tripod raised its appendages, and the tips emitted the telltale emerald glow of a heat ray. Sakai sidestepped one of the beams and felt the sear on his cheek as it passed. The ray struck a soldier on the stairs. The man screamed as it burned a hole through his chest. He fired a short burst from his machine gun into the air and collapsed… dead before he hit the floor.

  “Split up!” Sakai said.

  Lee went left while Sakai ran to the right. The heat rays flashed at their legs, and Sakai leapt over them. He planted his feet against the wall and pushed off, launching himself at his attacker. He sliced through a tentacle and brought the tip of the blade down on the dome. The sword pierced the pilot’s skull and the machine pitched, knocking the samurai back. Sakai withdrew his katana and flicked the thick, green blood from it before choosing his next target.

  Gunfire erupted behind him as the soldiers joined the battle. Sakai’s ears rang from the deafening, staccato beat. He leapt at the
closest Martian, but a tentacle swatted him against the wall and pinned him. A second appendage lunged toward his face, and he dodged it before the barbed tip imbedded itself deep in the concrete.

  An A.R.E.S. heat ray struck the exoskeleton, followed by a burst of gunfire that shattered the front of the dome. The Martian shrieked as bullets tore its body to shreds. The tentacle holding Sakai fell limp, and the samurai spat on the alien’s lifeless face as he ran to rejoin Lee.

  A Martian attempted to disarm Lee by wrapping a tentacle around his blade, but the lieutenant wrenched the sword away, severing the limb. He deflected another of the appendages and sliced through two of the knee joints. As the tripod slumped to the floor, Lee jumped onto the dome, using it as a stepping stone. He leapt and plunged his jingum through the next machine’s canopy.

  A tentacle wrapped around his ankle and pulled his feet out from under him. Lee landed on his back, and pain exploded in his chest as the air was knocked out of him.

  Another tentacle whipped toward his face. The tip split open into four razor-sharp claws, which then began to spin. Lee raised his jingum to block the attack, and the tips struck the blade in a shower of sparks. He turned his head, placed his left hand against the flat of the sword, and pushed upward, but the appendage pushed down, and sparks burned his cheeks.

  Sakai appeared at Lee’s side and snatched the tentacle. He sliced through the limb and tossed the lifeless weapon away before plunging his blade through the aperture in the front of the machine where it had originated. The sword slid in up to the hilt, and the Martian inside let out a muffled scream. Sakai grabbed the handle with both hands and twisted the blade before pulling it out. Green ooze dripped from the opening.

  With his back to Lee, Sakai offered his left hand. The lieutenant took it and pulled himself to his feet.

  “Thank you,” Lee said.

  Sakai grunted.

  A heat ray flashed past the captain’s head, and he ran toward the next tripod. He cut the first knee, deftly stepped under the machine before it could fall, slashed through the second, and stepped around to cut the final limb. A green beam struck the Martian from behind as it fell, and Sakai was protected from the blast.

  The soldiers advanced farther into the room, stepping carefully to avoid slipping in the green and black viscera splashed onto the floor as they abandoned the relative cover of the stairwell. While Sakai fended off another tentacle attack, an exoskeleton skittered up behind him, the claws on its feeder tube snapping in greedy anticipation.

  Roosevelt sighted on the tripod’s dome and opened fire. Bullets hammered the tempered Martian glass and the dome cracked under the sustained barrage.

  The tripod fell, and Sakai turned. He looked at the downed machine, then at the secretary. Roosevelt smirked as he reloaded, and Sakai touched the back of his blade to his forehead in thanks.

  Suddenly a look of shock washed over the samurai’s face.

  The clawed tip of a feeding tube protruded from his stomach, the blades spinning. Sakai coughed, and blood dripped down his chin and onto the floor. The captain slashed through the tentacle, and the whirling barbs clattered to the floor. Sakai turned to look at the wounded Martian. It glared at Sakai, its eyes full of malice even as they clouded over.

  Sakai plunged his blade between the dying creature’s eyes and twisted the sword. He fell to his knees and slumped against the dome, his breath fogging the glass.

  “Die… demon,” he said.

  The Martian spasmed. Its tentacles thumped against the inside of the dome. Finally, it was still. Sakai’s fingers relaxed, and his hand fell from the sword.

  *****

  Lee snatched a tentacle firing heat rays at the soldiers behind him and wrestled with it. He sliced the end off, and the alien inside the machine shrieked. An orange Torch beam streaked past Lee’s shoulder and vaporized the canopy of a nearby exoskeleton, splashing him with hot, green gore.

  A hail of bullets riddled the tripod as it twitched on the ground. One of the rounds ricocheted and tore through Lee’s sleeve, sending a searing pain shooting down his arm. Blood seeped from the graze and blossomed around the tear in the fabric. Lee grimaced and scowled over his shoulder at the infantrymen. His concern, despite the captain’s mocking, had not been irrational after all.

  He ran toward the final exoskeleton, ducking under the line of fire. A tentacle struck at his feet, tearing into the floor with its spinning tines, and Lee cut it as he darted past. He slid under the tripod on his knees and thrust his sword up into its underside, showering him in sparks. The machine shuddered, and the legs danced erratically.

  Lee cut the knee joint on the rear leg, and the tripod fell, its front legs kicking until a soldier ran over and unloaded a full magazine into the dome. The limbs twitched for a full minute before the tripod became still.

  “Is that all of ‘em?” one man shouted.

  Lee flicked the blood from his sword, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the blade clean before returning it to its scabbard.

  “It would appear so,” he said.

  He turned to survey the damage. Soldiers fired short bursts into the shattered domes and kicked limp tentacles, making sure the monsters were dead.

  The stench was unlike anything Lee had ever experienced. He raised the handkerchief to cover his nose, but thought better of it when he saw the green slime and discarded it with a grimace. He clutched his wounded arm as he surveyed the room. Now that the moment had passed, the mangled mess of metal and flesh he and the captain had left in their wake amazed him.

  “Medic!” Roosevelt shouted.

  Lee turned and saw Secretary Roosevelt kneeling over the still form of—

  “Captain Sakai!” Lee shouted.

  Lee dodged Martian corpses and mangled machinery, nearly falling twice when his boots slipped in blood. Sakai lay slumped against the front of an exoskeleton. Blood flowed freely from a hole in his back. Roosevelt helped him turn the captain over, and Lee saw all the color had drained from Sakai’s face.

  “Captain Sakai?” Lee said. “Tadeo!”

  Sakai’s eyes flickered open. He coughed, and blood trickled down his chin. “Sa… Sachiko….”

  Lee looked at Roosevelt.

  The secretary shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  Sakai’s hand crept to his pocket, and he pulled out a lock of bound, black hair. “You asked me… if I fought for… anyone,” Sakai said. “Her name… is Sachiko.”

  Understanding and sorrow flooded Roosevelt’s face. Lee clenched his jaw. The captain would not want him to show weakness, especially now.

  Sakai held up his right hand. “Help me.”

  Lee took the captain’s hand and guided him into a kneeling position. Roosevelt placed a hand on Lee’s arm.

  “He needs a doctor,” he said.

  Lee shook his head. “We both know it is too late for that, sir.”

  Sakai coughed, a wet, painful sound. “My… sword.”

  Lee wrenched the sword from the dead Martian, flicked the blood away, and then wiped it clean on his sleeve. He placed the pommel on the floor, with the blade pointed at the captain’s chest. Lee looked into Sakai’s eyes, and the samurai managed a weak nod. He was ready. Sakai took hold of the katana with his right hand to steady it, and fresh blood trickled from between his fingers.

  Roosevelt reached for the sword. “What are you doing?”

  “Do not interfere!” Lee snapped. When it was clear Roosevelt would not try to stop him, he returned his gaze to Sakai.

  Sakai’s eyes were unfocused as he met the Lieutenant’s gaze. He nodded.

  Sakai took one deep, rattling breath and lunged forward onto the sword. His body stiffened as the blade pierced his chest, and he gasped three short, final breaths. His fingers relaxed, and Sachiko’s hair dangled from his fingertips. Lee pressed the bundle against the captain’s palm and closed his hand tightly.

  An Indian officer in a torn, unraveling turban approached and, upon seeing Captain
Sakai’s body, froze.

  “What is it, Lieutenant?” Roosevelt said.

  The officer tore his eyes away from Sakai. “Reinforcements from the Leviathan and the Agamemnon are on the ground, Mr. Secretary. The Martians have left the base and are moving to intercept. We have to get to the tripods.”

  Roosevelt stood. “Captain Lee….”

  Lee looked up, confused.

  “The Ronin needs you,” Roosevelt said. “Are you ready?”

  Lee nodded.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The devastation was worse than Wells could possibly have imagined. From Goliath’s turret, he could see the full scope of the Martians’ cruelty. All around, automobiles lay flipped on their sides, burnt and twisted. Broken glass and bricks from blown-out, burning storefronts littered the streets. Ash drifted on the wind.

  It looked like Leeds… like the nightmares that had haunted his sleep for fifteen years. If not for the sun beating down on his shoulders, Wells would have thought he was walking into hell itself.

  Goliath led the march through the ruined streets, while several Achilles and Spartans followed. Their heavy footfalls dislodged the crumbling masonry from the buildings around them. Farther back, Hermes scouts and infantry marched in relative safety. The Martians had concentrated their forces on the island’s southern point, on their true target… A.R.E.S.

  Ahead, a policeman’s horse lay dead on its side, partially covered in rubble. Torn up cobblestones lay strewn about the street, dislodged by the alien machines’ spear-like feet. Among the wreckage lay the debris of several Hermes and Spartan tripods. Once majestic high rises were stunted, blown apart in the aerial battle between the A.R.E.S. air force and the Martian wings.

  Wells caught a glimpse of movement among the rubble in front of him. A young raven-haired girl in a dirty red dress stared at the approaching tripod battalion. She stood in the middle of the street next to the prone body of a man. The girl clutched a stuffed bear to her chest, probably the last possession she had in the world. As the Goliath drew closer, she dropped it and ran down an alley.