Chapter 1002:

Crossing the water from the opposite side of the low hill, the gunshots in the distance resonated dullly, and there was a strange cry. Then everything stopped. The chafer drove through the hedge and passed us. High in the west, the crescent moon is faint and pale, hanging over the smoke of Weybridge and Shepperton, and there is a hot and brilliant sunset.
I said, "We'd better go this way and head north."
fourteen.
in London.
When the Martian fell in Woking, my brother was in London. He is a medical student and is working on an upcoming examination. He did not hear of the arrival until Saturday morning. In addition to lengthy articles about Mars, life on planets, etc., the Saturday Morning Post also contained short and vaguely worded telegrams, whose briefness was even more striking.
The Martian panicked as the crowd approached and killed many people with a rapid-fire gun, so the story was solved. The telegram ended: "Although the Martians looked powerful, they were not removed from the crater they fell into, and in fact they seem to be unable to do so. Perhaps this is due to the relative strength of the earth's gravitational energy." In the last article, their leader writer expanded with great satisfaction.
Of course, all the students in the biology class of the cram school my brother went to were very interested, but there is no sign of any unusual excitement on the streets. The newspapers in the afternoon covered news reports. They didn't say anything except the movement of the troops, nor did they reveal the pine forest between Woking and Weybridge until eight o'clock. Then it announced the interruption of telecommunications in the special edition of the "St. James' Bulletin." It is believed that this was caused by the fall of burning pine trees along the route. That night, I drove to Leatherhead and the night I returned, the fight was nothing.
My brother did not have any anxiety about us. He learned from the description in the document that the cylinder was two miles away from my house. As he said, he made up his mind to run to me that night in order to see things before they were killed. He sent a telegram at about four o'clock until I didn't reach my side and spent the whole night in the concert hall.
Also in London, there was a thunderstorm on Saturday night and my brother took a taxi to Waterloo. After waiting for a while, he usually learns from the platform where the train started at midnight that an accident prevented the train from reaching Woking that night. He was unable to determine the nature of the accident; indeed, the railway authorities were not clear at the time. There was little excitement in the station, because the officials did not realize anything other than the breakdown at the junction of Beaverlet and Woking. They were running theater trains, which were usually run by Virginia Water or Guildford through Woking. Golden round. They are busy making the necessary arrangements to change the route of the Sunday League in Southampton and Portsmouth. The reporter of the night newspaper mistook my brother for the traffic manager. He was a bit similar to him. He went on the road and tried to interview him. Except for railway officials, few people associate the accident with the Martian.
In another narrative of these events, I read,
Sunday morning,
The whole of London is excited by Woking’s news.
In fact, there is no reason to justify this very exaggerated phrase. Until the panic on Monday morning , A large number of Londoners have heard of Martians. It really took some time for those who really took some time to appreciate what the telegrams in the Sunday papers conveyed. Most people in London don’t read the Sunday papers.
Moreover, the habit of personal safety is deeply ingrained in the minds of Londoners, and what is of course shocking in the newspapers is intelligence, so that they can read without any physical tremors: "The Martians came last night about seven. Coming out of the cylinder at o'clock, walking around under the metal shielded armor, completely destroyed Woking Station and nearby houses, and slaughtered the entire battalion of the Cardigan Corps. There is no detailed information. The motto has nothing to do with the armor. Usefulness. They have disabled the field artillery. The flying hussars have been running towards Chelsea. The Martian seems to be slowly sailing towards Chelsea or Windsor. Anxiety is prevalent in West Surrey, and earthworks are thrown to London." That's Sunday. With that said, a clever and compelling "handbook" article in the referee compares the incident with the doll that was suddenly released in the village.
No one in London has a precise understanding of the nature of armored Martians, and there is still a fixed notion that these monsters must be sluggish: "crawling", "crawling in pain"-almost all early reports have appeared in this statement. None of these telegrams could be written by witnesses of their progress. As more news arrives, the "Sunday" printed different editions, some even the default version. However, it was not until late in the afternoon that the authorities put the news in the hands of news organizations, and there was actually very little to tell people. It is said that the people of Walton and Weybridge, and all areas are pouring out along the roads of London, nothing more.
My brother went to the church in the hospital in the morning and still didn't know anything about what happened the night before. There, he heard the allusion of the invasion and prayed for peace. Coming out, he bought a referee. He was shocked by the news, and then went to Waterloo Station again to see if communication was restored. Newsboys, carriages, cyclists and countless people walking in their best clothes seem to be almost unaffected by the strange information spread by news vendors. People are interested, or if they are shocked, they are shocked only because of the consideration of local residents. At the station, he heard for the first time that the line between Windsor and Chertsey was now interrupted. The porter told him that he had received several excellent telegrams from the Beverlet and Chertsey stations in the morning, but these telegrams suddenly stopped. My brother got very few details from them.
"The battle for Weybridge is ongoing" is the scope of their information.
Now, the train service is very chaotic. Many people are looking forward to friends from all parts of the Southwest Airlines network, standing around the station. A gray-haired old man came and abused Southwest Company severely to my brother. He said: "It wants to show up."
One or two trains came in from Richmond, Putney, and Kingston. A group of people went for a ride for a day and found that the locks were closed and the air was full of panic. A man in a blue and white suit jacket spoke to my brother, full of strange news.
He said: "There are many people driving into Kingston with traps, carts and things, which contain valuables etc." Tell them to get out of the car immediately because the Martians are coming." We heard a shot at Hampton Court Station, but we thought it was thunder. What does Dickens mean? Martians can't get out of trouble, can they?
My brother can't tell him.
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