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The steamer began to move slowly away, but on the landward horizon appeared the silhouette of a fighting machine. Another
came, and another, striding over hills and trees, plunging far out to sea and blocking the exit of the steamer. Between them
lay the silent, gray, ironclad Thunderchild. Slowly it moved towards shore, then with a deafening roar and whoosh of spray
it swung about and drove at full speed towards the waiting Martians.
Thunderchild
Journalist
There were ships of shapes and sizes,
Scattered out along the bay
And I thought I heard
her calling,
As the steamer pulled away
The invaders must have seen them
As across the coast they filed
Standing
firm between them,
There lay Thunderchild
Moving swiftly through the waters,
Cannons blazing as she came,
Brought a mighty metal warlord
Crashing down
in sheets of flame,
Sensing victory was nearing,
Thinking fortune must have smiled,
People started cheering,
"Come
on Thunderchild! Come on Thunderchild!"
The Martians released their black smoke, but the ship sped on, cutting down one of the tripod figures. Instantly,
the others raised their heat rays, and melted the Thunderchild's valiant heart.
Journalist
Lashing ropes and smashing timbers,
Flashing heat rays pierced the deck,
Dashing hopes
for our deliverance,
As we watched the sinking wreck,
With the smoke of battle clearing,
Over graves and waves defiled,
Slowly
disappearing, farewell Thunderchild!
Slowly disappearing, farewell Thunderchild!
Farewell Thunderchild!
Farewell
Thunderchild, child, child, child, child...
When the smoke cleared, the little steamer had reached the misty horizon, and Carrie was safe. But the Thunderchild
had vanished forever, taking with her man's last hope of victory. The leaden sky was lit by green flashes, cylinder following
cylinder, and no one and nothing was left now to fight them. The earth belonged to the Martians.
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