Chapter 1005:

After they started to move, a dozen rockets suddenly ejected from the mountain in front of them, and warned about the waiting fort. At the same time, four of their fighters, also armed with pipes, crossed the river. When we hurried along the road to the north in weary and pain, two of them walked out of Harry with the black sky on the west and the curator in sight. Merit. In our opinion, they are moving over the clouds because the milky white fog covers the fields and rises to one-third of their height.
The curator who had seen the experience cried faintly in his throat and started to run. But I knew it was not good to escape from the Martian, so I turned and walked away, crawling through the dewy nettles and thorns into the wide ditch on the side of the road. He looked back at what I was doing, then turned to join me.
The two stopped, getting closer and closer to us, standing facing Thornbury, facing the sunset, farther to Stains, farther to us.
The occasional whistling of the Martians has ceased. They occupied the huge crescent around the column with absolute silence. It was a crescent, and there were twelve miles between the two corners. Since the design of gunpowder, the battle has never started like this. For us and Ripley’s observers, it will have exactly the same effect—the Martians seem to have a dark night alone, lit only by the elongated moon, stars, the afterglow of the sun and the rosy lights. The dazzling light of Mount St. George and Penshill Forest.
But there are crescent-shaped places everywhere-behind the hills and woods south of the river, and on the flat grasses north of the river, no matter how the trees or the houses of the village are covered, guns are waiting. The signal rocket exploded and dropped sparks in the night, and disappeared. The spirits of all those who watched the shells reached their nervous expectations. The Martians could only advance into the line of fire, those in motionless black form, those guns gleaming so dark in the middle of the night, and immediately erupted into a thunderous battle.
There is no doubt that among a thousand vigilant thoughts, even in mine, the supreme thoughts are riddles-how much do they know about us. Do they understand that millions of us are organized, disciplined, and work together? Or did they explain our firepower, the sudden stabbing of the shells, our stable investment in the camp, just like we should make a fierce and consistent attack on a group of restless beehives? Did they dream of exterminating us? No one knew what food they needed. When I looked at the huge sentinel shape, I struggled with a hundred such questions in my mind. The feeling of London's huge unknown and hidden power echoed in my mind. Are they ready for the trap? Is the Hounslow mill ready to be used as a snare? Will the Londoners be full of courage and courage to make their powerful housing location a greater Moscow?
Then, after a long period of time, in our opinion, crouching in the hedge and staring, it is like the sound of gunshots in the distance. Another approached, then another. Then the Martian next to us raised his tube high and fired it with a gun, and there were heavy reports that made the ground rise and fall. A person from Stains answered him. There is no flash, no smoke, it's just an explosion.
These heavy minutes of gunfire made me feel so excited that I have forgotten my personal safety and burned hands. I climbed the hedge and stared at Thornbury. When I did this, a second report followed, and a large projectile rushed over Hounslow's head. I hope to at least see smoke or flames, or some similar evidence to prove its work. However, all I saw was the deep blue sky above, with only a lone star above, and white mist spreading below. And there was no crash or explosion. The silence was restored. The minute was extended to three minutes.
"What happened?" the curator said, standing next to me.
"God knows!" I said.
The bat flickered and disappeared. The shouts in the distance started or stopped. I looked at the Martian again and found that he was moving eastward along the river bank, moving quickly and rolling.
Every moment, I hope some hidden shells will pounce on him. But the peace of the night was not interrupted. As he retreats, the Martian's figure becomes smaller and smaller, and the fog and party night have swallowed him. Due to the general impulse, we climb higher. Tosunbury looked dark, as if a cone-shaped hill suddenly appeared, so that we could not see the country further away. Then, across the river and over Walton, we saw another such mountain top. Even if we stare, these hill-like shapes become lower and lower.
It suddenly occurred to me that I looked north, and there, I felt that one third of these dark, black Kobe Mountains had risen.
Everything suddenly became very static. In a remote place in the southeast, there was tranquility. We heard the sound of Martians shouting at each other, and then the air trembled with the sound of gunshots in the distance. But the artillery on the ground did not respond.
We still couldn't understand these things at the time, but then I have to learn the meaning of these ominous signs gathered in the twilight. Every Martian standing on the crescent-shaped Mars I described, used the barrel he carried to throw a huge jar on any hills, small bushes, houses or other possibilities that might fall into it. The gun bunker is in front of him. Some fired only one of them, some fired, just like the kind we have seen. It is said that no less than five Ripley's doctors were discharged from the hospital. These poison tanks were smashed when they hit the ground. They did not explode, and released a large amount of heavy pitch-black vapor, coiling and pouring in the huge cumulus cloud of ebony, while this gaseous hill was gradually sinking and spreading. The whole country around.
It is heavy vapor, heavier than the densest smoke, so after the first turbulent shock wave and impact force, it sinks from the air into the water and dumps on the ground in a way that is less like a gas than a liquid, giving up It even flows into valleys and ditches and waterways, even I heard that the carbon dioxide emitted from volcanic cracks will not work. When it encounters water, a chemical action occurs, and the surface is immediately covered by powdery scum, which slowly sinks and makes space. The scum is absolutely insoluble. Seeing the immediate effect of the gas, it can be drunk without harming the filtered water, which is a strange thing. The vapor does not diffuse like real gas. It hangs together in the bank, flows slowly down the hillside of the land, and drives barely in the wind. It very slowly combines with the mist and moisture in the air, and sinks into the earth in the form of dust . Except for the unknown elements that give a set of four rows in the blue spectrum, we still don't know the nature of the substance at all.
Once the violent turbulence of its diffusion ends, the black smoke clings to the ground tightly, and even before it settles, there is a black smoke on the roofs and upper floors of tall buildings and on the big trees at fifty feet in the air. Even being in and that night proved that it is possible to escape the poison completely.
The man who escaped from the former residence told a wonderful story. The winding stream was strange. How he looked down from the spire of the church and saw the village houses vacated from the darkness of nothingness like ghosts. He stayed there for a day and a half, tired, hungry, and scorched by the sun. On the ground under the blue sky, against the backdrop of the distant hills, the velvety black expanse, with red roofs, green trees, and later turned into The black-covered shrubs and gates, barns, outbuildings and walls are full of sunlight.
But this is on the street, where the black vapor is allowed to remain until it sinks into the ground on its own. Usually, after the Martian achieves his goal, he will step in and guide the steam jet to clear the air again.
They did this through a water vapor depot near us, as we saw under the stars on the window of an abandoned house above Harriford. From there, we could see the searchlights on the Richmond and Kingston Mountains going back and forth. About eleven windows creaked, and we heard the sound of the huge siege gun installed there. These intermittently lasted for a quarter of an hour, firing opportunistic shots on the invisible Martians of Hampton and Deaton, and then the pale beam of electric light disappeared and replaced by a bright red light.
Later, I learned that the fourth cylinder had fallen-a bright green meteor fell. I believe that there was a suitable cannon in the southwest before the guns on the Richmond and Kingston Hills began to fire. This was because the guns were fired at will before the black steam overwhelmed the gunmen.
Therefore, the Martians set up methodically, just as people might draw out a wasp's nest, the Martians spread this strange suffocating vapor to the country of London. The horns of the crescent shape slowly parted until they finally formed a line from Hanwell to Combe and Malden. Going through their destructive pipeline all night. After the Martians on Mount St. George were shot down, they never offered the artillery a chance to compete with them again. Whenever there is a possibility that the guns cannot be seen, fresh black steam cans are discharged, and heat rays are radiated where the guns are publicly displayed.
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