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COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2007, 2011 by Robert Reginald
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION
To the Memory of
Major Roy Walter Burgess, U.S.A.F.
(4 July 1922 - 16 February 1998)
Pilot and Veteran of World War II and Korea
and
Carpenter’s Mate First Class
Frank Joseph Kapel
(5 December 1913 - 26 April 2006)
Seabee and Veteran of World War II
and for
H. G. Wells and Tim Underwood
Who inspired it!
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Despite the plethora of indications to the contrary on the Internet, this Borgo Press edition is the first separate publication of this novel, which has only previously been issued as part of the omnibus edition, Invasion! Earth vs. the Aliens (2007). The novel was announced for publication by Underwood Books in the Fall of 2005 under two titles, War of the Worlds and War of Two Worlds, the latter of which has now become the series title for this new edition; covers were created for same, and orders were solicited, but for a variety of reasons beyond the publisher’s control, the book never actually appeared then. Ironically, if War of Two Worlds and its sequel, Operation Crimson Storm, had appeared on schedule, the third book in the trilogy, The Martians Strike Back!, might never have been written, since its fate was dependent on sales of the first two volumes. And so it goes!
—Robert Reginald
16 January 2011
PART ONE
THE EARTH IN FLAMES
I am a man.
I consider nothing human alien to me.
—Terence
But who may actually live on
These worlds if they’re inhabited?
—Johannes Kepler
PROLOGUE
BANG! BANG! YOU’RE DEAD!
You Only Live Twice.
—Ian Fleming
Alex Smith, 29 December, Mars Year i
Marin County, California, Planet Earth
I don’t know why I lived while so many others died.
I should have been killed.
I was chased and bruised and bent and broken and twisted every which way—and still I survived.
Why?
Why did I live while so many others died?
There has to be a reason.
* * * *
The blast rolled me into a ditch, along with the tattered jigsaw pieces of my late comrades-in-arms.
I remember hearing two successive explosions—blam! blat!—and being covered with dirt and leaves and branches and half an arm, leaving only my eyes and nose exposed. Then I watched the clouds scudding by above me, interspersed with wisps of green-and-black smoke, in a world made dim and deaf by the thunder of war. It was almost scary in a way.
But I wasn’t scared! I don’t think I really understood what was happening. My ears were ringing with the effects of the after-blast, but despite my temporary deafness, I could feel the rumble of something very large approaching.
Thud!
The ground belched and bolted and raised itself up. At first I thought “earthquake,” but then I figured it out: one of the alien monstrosities was striding boldly over the landscape towards me. I couldn’t see it and I couldn’t hear it, but I knew it was there nonetheless. I tried to move, but my limbs seemed paralyzed. My breath caught in my throat.
Thud! Thud!
The zap-zit of a death-ray flashed over my head and incinerated one of the trees down the road, making it a Roman candle of instant flame.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Closer and closer the machine strode. I thought I could hear someone crying in the distance, but I couldn’t have, could I?
“Help!” he screamed. “Help me!”
It might have been Mayer. It might have been Stromwick. Whoever it was, I couldn’t save them.
Thud! Thud! THUUUD!
A great metal pad splattered right down on top of me, straddling my narrow reserve. I could see the cross-pattern, the stitchery, if you will, of its fabric hanging right above my face. It paused for a moment to release another great zzzappp!—and someone from our squad replied in turn, the RPG striking twenty feet away. But the shadow of alien machine’s foot protected me, saving me from myself. I could feel the vibration of the metal fragments rattling off its armor.