Introduction by Orson Welles
We know now that in the early years of the twentieth century this world was being watched closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own. We know now that as human beings busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinized and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinize the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacence people went to and fro over the earth about their little affairs, serene in the assurance of their dominion over this small spinning fragment of solar driftwood which by chance or design man has inherited out of the dark mystery of Time and Space. Yet across an immense ethereal gulf, minds that to our minds as ours are to the beasts in the jungle, intellects vast, cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. In the thirty-ninth year of the twentieth century came the great disillusionment.
It was near the end of October. Business was better. The war scare was over. More men were back at work. Sales were picking up. On this particular evening, October 30, the Crossley service estimated that thirty-two million people were listening in on radios.
October 30, 1938
Alan Scott was having a great time. He had just been given superpowers, and he was putting those powers to good use as The Sentinel.
Tonight, though, he was taking a break. He sat in his apartment, listening to the radio, reading the paper.
It had taken him a few minutes to tune into a station that he could pick up well. A program of dance music was ready to come on. Currently, Alan was listening to the brief weather report.
". . .for the next twenty-four hours not much change in temperature. A slight atmospheric disturbance of undetermined origin is reported over Nova Scotia, causing a low pressure area to move down rather rapidly over the northeastern states, bringing a forecast of rain, accompanied by winds of light gale force. Maximum temperature 66; minimum 48. This weather report comes to you from the Government Weather Bureau.
"We now take you to the Meridian Room in the Hotel Park Plaza in downtown New York, where you will be entertained by the music of Ramon Raquello and his orchestra."
Alan went back to reading the paper. An new announcer came on. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. From the Meridian Room in the Park Plaza in New York City, we bring you the music of Ramon Raquello and his orchestra. With a touch of the Spanish, Ramon Raquello leads off with 'La Cumparsita'."
For the next several minutes, the room was filled with the a Spanish-like dance piece. Then, suddenly, the music volume was lowered until it was silent. An announcer's voice came on.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt our program of dance music to bring you a special bulletin from the Intercontinental Radio News." Alan looked up from the paper and began to listen.
"At twenty minutes before eight, central time, Professor Farrell of the Mount Jennings Observatory, Chicago, Illinois, reports observing several explosions of incandescent gas, occurring at regular intervals on the planet Mars. The spectroscope indicates the gas to be hydrogen and moving towards the earth with enormous velocity. Professor Pierson of the Observatory at Princeton confirms Farrell's observation, and describes the phenomenon as - quote - like a jet of blue flame shot from a gun - unquote. We now return you to the music of Ramon Raquello, playing for you in the Meridian Room of the Park Plaza Hotel, situated in downtown New York."
The music came back on, and Alan sat back. The situation sounded under control, yet why would they announce something like that?
He continued reading the paper for a few more minutes until the music was interrupted again by the same announcer.
"Ladies and gentlemen, following on the news given in our bulletin a moment ago, the Government Meteorological Bureau has requested the large observatories of the country to keep an astronomical watch on any further disturbances occuring on the planet Mars. Due to the unusual nature of this occurance, we have arranged an interview with noted astronomer Professor Pierson, who will give us his views on the event. In a few moments we will take you to the Princeton Observatory at Princeton, New Jersey. We return you until then to the music of Ramon Raquello and his orchestra."
Alan put the paper down and began to listen intently. He knew it would be mere moments before they began the interview again. However, in that time, he knew he would have to check up on the story.
He got up and walked over to the phone. When the operator came on, he asked to be connected to his radio station - WXYZ.
"WXYZ, how may I help you?" a voice unfamiliar to Alan asked.
"Hello, this is Mr. Scott. May I speak with the news producer?"
"One moment, please."
A new voice came on the line. "Mr. Scott!" he said. "What do I owe the pleasure of this call?"
"I was listening to Columbia," Alan replied. "They are having reports of disturbances on Mars. I was wondering if WXYZ was on it."
"Well, we have heard of some reports, but choose not to interrupt programming. Is that all right?"
"Sure, sure. Okay, I'll call if I get worried."
"Okay. Good night, Mr. Scott."
"Good night." Alan hung up the phone and sat back down, reading the paper. Pretty soon, the music was cut off again, and the announcer was back on the air.
"We are now ready to take you to the Princeton Observatory at Princeton where Carl Phillips, or commentator, will interview Professor Richard Pierson, famous astronomer. We take you now to Princeton, New Jersey."
The announcer's voice was then replaced by the sound of many clocks, all of them echoing. A new announcer began speaking, rather quietly.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "This is Carl Phillips, speaking to you from the observatory at Princeton. I am standing in a large semi-circular room, pitch black except for an oblong split in the ceiling. Through this opening I can see a sprinkling of stars that cast a kind of frosty glow over the intricate mechanism of the huge telescope. The ticking sound you hear is the vibration of the clockwork. Professor Pierson stands directly above me on a small platform, peering through a giant lens. I ask you to be patient, ladies and gentlemen, during any delay that may arise during our interview. Besides his ceaseless watch of the heavens, Professor Pierson may be interrupted by telephone or other communications. During this period he is in constant touch with the astronomical centers of the world . . . Professor, may I begin our questions?"
From off mike, Alan could hear the professor say, "At any time, Mr. Phillips."
Phillips began the interview. "Professor, would you please tell our radio audience exactly what you see as you observe the planet Mars through your telescope?"
"Nothing unusual at the moment, Mr. Phillips," Pierson replied. "A red disk swimming in a blue sea. Transverse stripes across the disk. Quite distinct now because Mars happens to be the point nearest the earth . . . in opposition, as we call it."
"In your opinion, what do these transverse stripes signify, Professor Pierson?"
"Not canals, I can assure you, Mr. Phillips, although that's the popular conjecture of those who imagine Mars to be inhabited. From a scientific viewpoint the stripes are merely the result of atmospheric conditions peculiar to the planet."
"Then you're quite convinced as a scientist that living intelligence as we know it does not exist on Mars?" Phillips asked.
"I'd say the chances against it are a thousand to one," Pierson replied.
"And yet how do you account for those gas eruptions occuring on the surface of the planet at regular intervals?"
"Mr. Phillips, I cannot account for it."
"By the way, Professor, for the benefit of our listeners, how far is Mars from Earth?"
"Approximately forty million miles."
"Well, that seems a safe enough distance," Phillips said with a chuckle.
There was a pause on the radio, and off mike, Alan heard Pierson say "Thank you." The pause continued.
To keep from just having dead airtime, Carl Phillips took the time to remind the audience what they were hearing. "Just a moment, ladies and gentlemen, someone has just handed Professor Pierson a message. While he reads it, let me remind you that we are speaking to you from the observatory in Princeton, New Jersey, where we are interviewing the world-famous astronomer, Professor Pierson . . . One moment, please. Professor Pierson has passed me a message which he has just received . . . Professor, may I read the message to the listening audience?"
"Yes, go ahead," Pierson replied, off mike.
Phillips continued. "Ladies and gentlemen, I shall read you a wire addressed to Professor Pierson from Dr. Gray of the National History Museum, New York." He cleared his throat. "'9:15 P.M. eastern standard time. Seismograph registered shock of almost earthquake intensity occuring within a radius of twenty miles of Princeton. Please investigate. Signed, Lloyd Gray, Chief of Astronomical Division.' . . . Professor Pierson, could this occurrence possibly have something to do with the disturbances observed on the planet Mars?"
"Hardly, Mr. Phillips. This is probably a meteorite of unusual size and its arrival at this particular time is merely a coincidence. However, we shall conduct a search, as soon as daylight permits."
"Thank you, Professor. Ladies and gentlemen, for the past ten minutes we've been speaking to you from the observatory at Princeton, bringing you a special interview with Professor Pierson, noted astronomer. This is Carl Phillips speaking. We are returning you now to our New York studio."
The orchestra dance music began again, in progress, and Alan leaned back in his chair. Gas eruptions on Mars, and an earthquake - or something similar - near Princeton. New Jersey wasn't that far away. He could get there in ten, maybe twenty minutes using his powers.
He sat back, listening to the music. Everything is fine as it is. I'll just wait, he thought.
Just a few moments later, the music was interrupted again. "Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer said, "here is the latest bulletin from the Intercontinental Radio News. Toronto, Canada: Professor Morse of McGill University reports observing a total of three explosions on the planet Mars, between the hours of 7:45 P.M. and 9:20 P.M., eastern standard time. This confirms earlier reports received from American observatories. Now, nearer home, comes a special announcement from Trenton, New Jersey. It is reported that at 8:50 P.M. a huge, flaming object, believed to be a meteorite, fell on a farm in the neighborhood of Grovers Mill, New Jersey, twenty-two miles from Trenton.
"The flash in the sky was visible within a radius of several hundred miles and the noise of the impact was heard as far north as Elizabeth.
"We have dispatched a special mobile unit to the scene, and will have our commentator, Carl Phillips, give you a word desription as soon as he can reach there from Princeton. In the meantime, we take you to the Hotel Martinet in Brooklyn, where Bobby Millette and his orchestra are offering a program of dance music."
As the announcer ended the bulletin, Alan stood up.
"Just great," he thought. "Not only do I miss most of the musical program, now I have to go check this out."
He walked over to the closet and opened the door. He slid most of the garments aside, and revealed a panel. He opened the panel, and pulled out a red, green, and purple outfit: The Sentinel outfit.
Only taking seconds to put it on, Alan grabbed the special radio headset, turned off the main radio, and flew out the window, headed for New Jersey.
As he left, the music was interrupted again.
"We take you now to Grovers Mill, New Jersey," the announcer said before his voice was replaced by sounds of police sirens and a crowd.
Carl Phillips's voice returned to the airwaves. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Carl Phillips again, at the Wilmuth farm, Grovers Mill, New Jersey. Professor Pierson and myself made the eleven miles from Princeton in ten minutes. Well, I . . . I hardly know where to begin, to paint for you a word picture of the strange scene before my eyes, like something out of a modern 'Arabian Nights.' Well, I just got here. I haven't had a chance to look around yet. I guess that's it. Yes, I guess that's the . . . thing, directly in front of me, half buried in a vast pit. Must have struck with terrific force. The ground is covered with splinters of a tree it must have struck on its way down. What I can see of the . . . object itself doesn't look very much like a meteor, at least not the meteors I've seen. It looks more like a huge cylinder. It has a diameter of . . . what would you say, Professor Pierson?"
Off-mike, Sentinel could heard Pierson ask, "What's that?"
"What would you say . . . what is the diameter?" Phillips asked.
"About thirty yards."
"About thirty yards," Phillips repeated for the audience. "The metal on the sheath is . . . well, I've never seen anything like it. The color is sort of yellowish-white. Curious spectators now are pressing close to the object in spite of the efforts of the police to keep them back. They're getting in front of my line of vision. Would you mind standing to one side, please?"
"One side, there, one side," a policeman told the crowd.
"While the policemen are pushing the crowd back," Phillips continued, "here's Mr. Wilmuth, owner of the farm here. He may have some interesting facts to add . . . Mr. Wilmuth, would you please tell the radio audience as much as you remember of this rather unusual visitor that dropped in your backyard? Step closer, please. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mr. Wilmuth."
"Well, I was listenin' to the radio. . . " Wilmuth began.
"Closer and louder please," Phillips whispered.
"Pardon me?!"
"Louder, please, and closer," Phillips replied, a bit louder.
"Yes, sir," Wilmuth said. "I was listening to the radio and kinda drowsin'. That Professor fellow was talkin' about Mars, so I was half dozin' and half . . . "
"Yes, Mr. Wilmuth, and then you saw something?"
"Not first off. I heard something."
"And what did you hear?"
"A hissing sound. Like this: SSSSSSS," Wilmuth replied, leaning into the mike. "It was kinda like a fourt' of July rocket.
"Yes, then what?"
"Turned my head out the window and would have swore I was to sleep and dreamin'."
"Then what?" Phillip asked again.
"I seen a kinda greenish streak and then zingo! Somethin' smacked the ground. Knocked me clear out of my chair!"
Sentinel was intrigued. Greenish glow -- could it be connected to him?
"Well, were you frightened, Mr. Wilmuth?" Phillips inquired.
"Well, I -- I ain't quite sure. I reckon I -- I was kinda riled."
"Thank you, Mr. Wilmuth. Thank you."
"Want me to tell you some more?"
"No," Phillips replied. "No . . . That's quite all right, that's plenty. Ladies and gentlemen, you've just heard Mr. Wilmuth, owner of the farm where this thing has fallen. I wish I could convey the atmosphere . . . the background of this . . . fantastic scene. Hundreds of cars are parked in a field in back of us. Police are trying to rope off the roadway leading to the farm. But it's no use. They're breaking right through. Cars' headlights throw an enormous spot on the pit where the object's half buried. Some of the more daring souls are now venturing near the edge. Their silhouettes stand out against the metal sheen."
All this time, Sentinel was hearing some strange background noise. A sort of humming. But he wasn't sure if it was over the radio or in real-life, as he realized he was near the crash site.
Phillips continued his description. "One man wants to touch the thing . . . he's having an argument with a policeman. The policeman wins. . . . Now, ladies and gentlemen, there's something I haven't mentioned in all this excitement, but now it's becoming more distinct. Perhaps you've caught it already on your radio. Listen."
There was a lengthy pause as a humming sound grew louder.
"Do you hear it?" Phillips asked the listening audience, knowing full well that they couldn't respond. "It's a curious humming sound that seems to come from inside the object. I'll move the microphone nearer." There was a pause as Phillips moved the equipment. Now we're not more then twenty-five feet away. Can you hear it now? Oh, Professor Pierson!"
"Yes, Mr. Phillips?"
"Can you tell us the meaning of that scraping noise inside the thing?"
"Possibly the unequal cooling of its surface."
"I see, do you still think it's a meteor, Professor?"
Pierson was at a loss of words. "I don't know what to think. The metal casing is definitely extraterrestrial . . . not found on this earth. Friction with the earth's atmosphere usually tears holes in a meteorite. This thing is smooth and, as you can see, of cylindrical shape."
Suddenly, there was a louder noise from the object.
"Just a minute!" Phillips exclaimed. "Something's happening! Ladies and gentlemen, this is terrific! This end of the thing is beginning to flake off! The top is beginning to rotate like a screw! The thing must be hollow!"
Sentinel was near, and he could hear the voices yelling without the use of his radio headset.
"She's movin'!"
"Look, the darn thing's unscrewing!"
A policeman was yelling "Keep back, there! Keep back, I tell you!"
"Maybe there's men in it trying to escape! It's red hot, they'll burn to a cinder!"
"Keep back there. Keep those idiots back!"
Sentinel saw the top of the object come off. He flew down as it hit the ground.
"She's off!" someone yelled.
Sentinel primed his powers. He was now in sight of Phillips, Pierson, and others.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the most terrifying thing I have ever witnessed," Phillips announced. "Wait a minute! Someone's crawling out of the hollow top. Someone or . . . something. I can see peering out of that black hole two luminous disks . . are they eyes? It might be a face. It might be . . . "
Sentinel's stomach threatened to toss his dinner back up as he saw the hideous, grotesque monster appear. All around him, the crowd was shouting, both in fear and awe. He stepped closer.
Phillips continued his commentary. "Good heavens, something's wriggling out of the shadow like a gray snake. Now it's another one, and another. They look like tentacles to me. There, I can see the thing's body. It's large, large as a bear and it glistens like wet leather. But that face, it . . . Ladies and gentlemen, it's indescribable. I can hardly force myself to keep looking at it. The eyes are black and gleam like a serpent. The mouth is V-shaped with saliva dripping from its rimless lips that seem to quiver and pulsate. The monster or whatever it is can hardly move. It seems weighed down by . . . possibly gravity or something. The thing's raising up. The crowd falls back now. They've seen plenty. This is the most extraordinary experience. I can't find words . . . I'll pull this microphone with me as I talk. I'll haveto stop the description until I can take a new position. Hold on, will you please, I'll be right back in a minute."
Phillips flipped the microphone off and prepared to move the equipment.
"Hey, you!" he yelled at Sentinel. "Who the hell are you? Are you with them?"
Sentinel turned. "My name is Sentinel. I'm here to save your butts."
Wilmuth stepped up with a shotgun in his hands. "We c'n take 'em!"
"With rifles? Those are just pop guns to them!"
"How would you know?" Phillips asked.
"I'm a superhero. It's my job to know."
Phillips looked around at the chaos. "We need to move," he said.
"Over there," Sentinel said, pointing to the garden.
"Thanks," Phillips said as he ran with the microphone.
State and local police were coming in, the officers getting out and getting in defensive positions. Sentinel was on the front line.
When he thought he was a safe distance from the object, Carl Phillips contacted the station and began his commentary again. "Ladies and gentlemen (Am I on?). Ladies and gentlemen, here I am, back of a stone wall that adjoins Mr. Wilmuth's garden. From here I get a sweep of the whole scene. I'll give you every detail as long as I can talk. As long as I can see. More state police have arrived They're drawing up a cordon in front of the pit, about thirty of them. No need to push the crowd back now. They're willing to keep their distance. The captain is conferring with someone. We can't quite see who. Oh yes, I believe it's Professor Pierson. Yes, it is. Now they've parted. The Professor moves around one side, studying the object, while the captain and two policemen advance with something in their hands. I can see it now. It's a white handkerchief tied to a pole . . . a flag of truce. If those creatures know what that means . . . what anything means!. . . Wait! Something's happening!"
Sentinel jumped back as a humped shape rose from the pit. It towered everyone.
"A humped shape is rising out of the pit. I can make out a small beam of light against a mirror. What's that?"
Suddenly a burst of flame burst out from the pit, aimed right at Sentinel. He jumped out of the way, and erected his green energy shield around him. Sadly, some other civilians were not so lucky. The flames engulfed them, turning them into piles of ash.
A group of police, and armed men charged at the pit.
"There's a jet of flame springing from the mirror," Phillips continued, "and it leaps right at the advancing men. It strikes them head on! Good Lord, they're turning into flame!"
"NOOOOOO!" Sentinel shouted, running for where they used to be. When he saw it was pointless, he began running to where Phillips was.
Everyone else started running away and shrieking.
"Now the whole field's caught fire."
Suddenly, a loud explosion rocked the property, sending Sentinel to the ground.
"The woods . . . the barns . . . the gas tanks of automobiles . . . it's spreading everywhere. It's coming this way. About twenty yards to my right . . ."
Sentinel heard dead silence on his headset. He stood up and decided to fly and avoid the beams.
"Phillips!" he shouted. "Why aren't you on?"
Phillips turned to Sentinel. "They got my set-up!" he shouted back.
Sentinel saw the flame gun aimed at the garden wall. "PHILLIPS!!!! LOOK OUT!!!"
BOOOM!
The garden wall blew out, sending Sentinel and Phillips flying in opposite directions. Unfortunatly for the radio personality, he didn't have any time of shielding. The blast blew him right into a fire that had broken out in the fields. Sentinel's shield protected him, but the impact of landing on the ground knocked him out.
As Sentinel faded out, he heard these last words on his radio headset, "Ladies and gentlemen, due to circumstances beyond our control, we are unable to continue the broadcast from Grovers Mill, New Jersey. Evidently there is some difficulty with our field transmission. However, we will return to that point at the earliest opportunity. In the meantime, we have a late bulletin from San Diego, California. Professor Indellkoffer, speaking at a dinner of the California Astronomical Society, expressed the opinion that the explosions on Mars are undoubtedly nothing more than severe volcanic disturbances on the surface of the planet. . . . "
"I got your volcanic disruptions right here," he thought.
When Sentinel regained consciousness, he saw a figure dressed in red. He had a yellow lighting strike on his shirt, and he wore a winging metallic hat. He was holding his hand out.
"Huh?" Sentinel asked. "What's happened?"
"Near as I can tell, these creatures burned the farm down."
"Creatures?" Sentinel asked as he grabbed the man's hand and stood up. "I remember. Where are they?"
"Gone, in hiding. You should get something on your radio."
Sentinel turned to the man who had just helped him. "Who are you?"
"Some call me the fastest man on Earth. Some call me the scarlet speedster. But you can call me . . .
"Flash."
The announcer came back on the radio, interrupting the music once more. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I have just been handed a message that came in from Grovers Mill by telephone. Just a moment. At least forty people, including six state troopers lie dead in a field east of the village of Grovers Mill, their bodies burned and distorted beyond all possible recognition. The next voice you hear will be that of Brigadier General Montgomery Smith, commander of the state militia at Trenton, New Jersey."
Sure enough, a new voice was being broadcast. "I have been requested by the governor of New Jersey to place the counties of Mercer and Middlesex as far west as Princeton, and east to Jamesburg, under martial law," General Smith announced. "No one will be permitted to enter this area except by special pass issued by state or military authorities. Four companies of state militia are proceeding from Trenton to Grovers Mill, and will aid in the evacuation of homes within the range of military operations. Thank you."
The announcer came back. "You have just been listening to General Montgomery Smith commanding the state militia at Trenton. In the meantime, further details of the catastrophe at Grovers Mill are coming in. The strange creatures after unleashing their deadly assault, crawled back into their pit and made no attempt to prevent the efforts of the firemen to recover the bodies and extinguish the fire. Combined fire departments of Mercer County are fighting the flames which menace the entire countryside. We have been unable to establish any contact with our mobile unit at Grovers Mill, but we hope to be able to return you there at the earliest possible moment. In the meantime we take you -- just one moment please."
There was a long pause.
At Grovers Mill, Sentinel was standing up and looking at something he'd never really seen before: Another superhero.
"You're the Flash, eh?" he asked. "What's your gig?"
"I run fast. Speed of light speeds and such," Flash replied.
"Okay," Sentinel said. "Is this your first outing?"
"You could say that. But right now, I suggest we get moving and stop these strange creatures!"
"Hold on," Sentinel said. "There's something coming over the airwaves again!"
"Huh?" Flash asked, confused.
Sentinel pointed to his headset. "I'm listening to Columbia's newscast. It should be loud enough for you to hear it right now."
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer said. "I have just been informed that we have finally established communication with an eyewitness of the tragedy. Professor Pierson has been located at a farmhouse near Grovers Mill where he has established an emergency observation post. As a scientist, he will give you his explanation of the calamity. The next voice you hear will be that of Professor Pierson, brought to you by direct wire. Professor Pierson."
Sentinel turned to Flash. "We should get to that farmhouse." He activated his power and began flying. Flash began running. "I kinda wish you could hear this. But while we're moving, there really is no way."
First there was a bit of feedback before Pierson's voice came over the air. "Of the creatures in the rocket cylinder at Grovers Mill, I can give you no authoritative information -- either as to their nature, their origin, or their purposes here on earth. Of their destructive instrument I might venture some conjectural explanation. For want of a better term, I shall refer to the mysterious weapon as a heat ray. It's all too evident that these creatures have scientific knowledge far in advance of our own. It is my guess that in some way they are able to generate an intense heat in a chamber of practically absolute nonconductivity. This intense heat they project in a parallel beam against any object they choose, by means of a polished parabolic mirror of unknown composition, much as the mirror of a lighthouse projects a beam of light. That is my conjecture of the origin of the heat ray . . . "
"Thank you, Professor Pierson," the announcer said. "Ladies and gentlemen, here is a bulletin from Trenton. It is a brief statement informing us that the charred body of Carl Phillips has been identified in a Trenton hospital."
Sentinel gasped.
"What's wrong?" Flash asked.
"Phillips. He's - he's dead."
"The reporter?"
"Yup." Sentinel looked ahead, and saw the farmhouse. "There's our destination. I'll turn the headset down."
If Sentinel hadn't turned the volume down, he would have heard the announcer continue. "Now here's another bulletin from Washington, D.C. Office of the director of the National Red Cross reports ten units of Red Cross emergency workers have been assigned to the headquarters of the state militia stationed outside Grovers Mill, New Jersey. Here's a bulletin from state police, Princeton Junction: The fires at Grovers Mill and vicinity are now under control. Scouts report all quiet in the pit, and no sign of life appearing from the mouth of the cylinder . . . And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have a special statement from Mr. Harry McDonald, vice-president in charge of operations."
A new voice was heard. "We have received a request from the militia at Trenton to place at their disposal our entire broadcasting facilities. In view of the gravity of the situation, and believing that radio has a responsibility to serve in the public interest at all times, we are turning over our facilities to the state militia at Trenton."
Sentinel landed, and Flash slowed down. They walked up to the door and Sentinel knocked.
From inside, the two superheroes heard a muffled voice. "Who's there?"
"I am Sentinel. With me is the Flash. We are superheroes. We're here to help," Sentinel replied.
The door was unlatched. An older gentleman peered out. "If this is one of those damn alien tricks . . . "
Sentinel put his hands up. "I assure you this isn't."
"Well, come on in."
Once inside, Sentinel turned to the man. "Is Professor Pierson here?"
"Yeah, he's downstairs. What's that funny headset for?"
"It's so I can hear the latest news bulletin."
"Well, what's it sayin' now?"
Sentinel turned up the volume and heard the announcer. "We take you now to the field headquarters of the state militia near Grovers Mill, New Jersey."
Next, the captain came on. "This is Captain Lansing of the signal corps, attatched to the state militia now engaged in military operations in the vicinity of Grovers Mill. Situation arising from the reported presence of certain individuals of unidentified nature is now under complete control. The cylindrical object which lies in a pit directly below our position is surrounded on all sides by eight battalions of infantry without heavy field pieces, but adequately armed with rifles and machine guns. All cause for alarm, if such cause ever existed, is now entirely unjustified. The things, whatever they are, do not even venture to poke their heads above the pit. I can see their hiding place plainly in the glare of the searchlights here. With all their reported resources, these creatures can scarcely stand up against heavy machine-gun fire. Anyway, it's an interesting outing for the troops. I can make out their khaki uniforms, crossing back and forth in front of the lights. It looks almost like a real war. There appears to be some slight smoke in the woods bordering the Millstone River. Probably fire started by campers. Well, we ought to see some action soon. One of the companies is deploying on the left flank. An quick thrust and it will all be over. Now wait a minute! I see something on top of the cylinder. No, it's nothing but a shadow. Now the troops are on the edge of the Wilmuth farm. Seven thousand armed men closing in on an old metal tube. Wait, that wasn't a shadow! It's something moving . . . solid metal . . . kind of shieldlike affair rising up out of the cylinder . . . It's going higher and higher. Why, it's standing on legs . . . actually rearing up on a sort of metal framework. Now it's reaching above the trees and the searchlights are on it. Hold on!"
Sentinel turned the volume down. "The attack's not over. We're in deep trouble now."
The man sighed and led the superheroes downstairs to meet Professor Pierson.
Below, Pierson had gathered several citizens of Grovers Mill and the surrounding area. Some of them had been present at the first attack. Together, they were listening to the latest update as Sentinel and Flash came down.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer repeated, not for the first time that night. "I have a grave announcement to make. Incredible as it may seem, both the observations of science and the evidence of our eyes lead to the inescapable assumption that those strange beings who landed in the Jersey farmlands tonight are the vanguard of an invading army from the planet Mars. The battle which took place tonight at Grovers Mill has ended in one of the most startling defeats ever suffered by any army in modern times; seven thousand men armed with rifles and machine guns pitted against a single fighting machine of the invaders from Mars. One hundred and twenty known survivors. The rest strewn over the battle area from Grovers Mill to Plainsboro, crushed and trampled to death under the metal feet of the monster, or burned to cinders by its heat ray. The monster is now in control of the middle section of New Jersey and has effectively cut the state through its center. Communication lines are down from Pennsylvania to the Atlantic Ocean. Railroad tracks are torn and service from New York to Philadelphia discontinued except routing some of the trains through Allentown and Phoenixville. Highways to the north, south, and west are clogged with frantic human traffic. Police and army reserves are unable to control the mad flight. By morning the fugitives will have swelled Philadelphia, Camden, and Trenton, it is estimated, to twice their normal population. At this time martial law prevails throughout New Jersey and eastern Pennsylvania. We take you now to Washington for a special broadcast on the National Emergency . . . the Secretary of the Interior . . . "
Pierson shut the radio off. He turned to the newest arrivals. Sentinel put out his hand. "Hello, Professor," he said. "I am Sentinel. This is my partner, the Flash."
Pierson shook his hand and turned to Flash, shaking his hand. "What do you want?"
"We want to help," Flash said. "We've been following the events."
"And you are these new - what do they call you - superheroes?"
"Of course," Sentinel said.
"Well, we're getting ready to charge these Martians. Will you join us?"
"You have to ask?" Flash inquired.
If they had stayed to hear it, the militia would have heard the Secretary of the Interior speak these words: "Citizens of the nation: I shall not try to conceal the gravity of the situation that confronts the country, nor the concern of your government in protecting the lives and property of its people. However, I wish to impress upon you -- private citizens and public officials, all of you -- the urgent need of calm and resourceful action. Fortunately, this formidable enemy is still confined to a comparatively small area, and we may place our faith in the military forces to keep them there. In the meantime placing our faith in God we must continue the performance of our duties each and every one of us, so that we may confront this destructive adversary with a nation united, courageous, and consecrated to the preservation of human supremacy on this earth. I thank you."
Meanwhile, the announcer saw the number of bulletins piling up and sighed.
Minutes later, Sentinel, Flash, Professor Pierson, and about thirty other men were on their way back to the site of the original battle. Sentinel was using his power to transport most of them.
However, the Martians had been moving as well. A second cylinder had been put in the path.
"Oh, shoot!" Sentinel exclaimed. "We hardly have a chance here!"
"Everyone stay back!" Pierson shouted. "Keep your weapons loaded and ready!"
The milita, hiding where they could, had their rifles and other firearms ready. They stared at the cylinder. What would happen this time?
Back at the Columbia Broadcasting System's main studio's in New York, several police officers had come in, and were in conference with the president of the network.
"Mr. President," one of the cops said. "For some reason, Columbia is the only network broadcasting any news about this so-called 'Martain invasion.' We don't want to cause any unnecessary panic in other areas, so if we could find a way to clear this up . . . ?"
"Well-" the president began.
"I know of a way," someone behind him said.
The police looked at him. "Who are you?"
The man put his hand out, which the cop shook. "Name's Orson Welles. I'm in charge of a theatre group that puts radio dramas on each Sunday night. Tonight, we were pre-empted by these bulletins, so the network decided to continue the dance programs."
"What are you saying?" the president asked.
"Normally, the Mercury Theatre on the Air is performing at this time. Maybe we should convince people that this was a hoax, a dramatization of some alien novel. The rest of the country won't know the difference, and the locals who try to convince otherwise will just be regarded as crazy.
"I sound like that Pierson fellow enough. I'll grab another actor and we can make something up real fast."
Everyone in the room was silent. Finally, the CBS president spoke up. "You know, Welles, I think you just might have an idea."
CREAK.
The cylinder unscrewed a bit. Everyone's trigger fingers tensed up a bit.
Suddenly, in one massive twist, the lid of the cylinder flew up, landing god knows where. A pair of alien looking eye peered out.
"NOW!" Pierson shouted. In an instant, all of the men leapt from their hiding places, guns blazing.
Sentinel flew in front, his energy shield up. His job was to repel the heat ray. Flash used his speed to run up the side of the object. He hoped that his speed would make him invulnerable to the heat. Reaching the top, he peered in.
"Oh, disgusting!" he yelled. Reaching in, he grabbed one and punched it. "Welcome to Earth, you alien scumbag," Jay said, tossing the Martain back down into the blackness. He quickly retreated.
Suddenly, something began coming up out of the hole at the top.
"Everyone, fall back!" Sentinel shouted. "They're bringing the heat ray!"
Immediately, the militia stopped firing and ran backwards. Sentinel put his green shield up, at the exact same moment the Martains let loose with their heat ray. The heat was reflected back off of the shield, and back into the Martains' ship.
Sentinel dropped the shield. Everyone was silent. Flash ran back into the ship. Two minutes later, he ran out.
"They're dead!"
The militia burst out cheering.
Sentinel turned his headset radio back on and heard CBS once more.
"You're listening to a CBS presentation of Orson Welles and the Mercury Theatre on the Air in an original dramatization of 'The War of the Worlds' by H.G. Wells. The performance will continue after a brief intermission. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System."
It took several weeks, but the damage caused by the Martain attack was eventually cleaned up. CBS, the state police of New York and New Jersey, along with the local police and with some help from Sentinel and Flash, all worked together to convince the general public that it never happened.
The news broadcasts were edited down to a special version that made it sounded as if it were an actual episode of Mercury Theatre on the Air had been aired. Orson Welles made a special introduction which CBS claimed wasn't heard by people, because they were all listening to other networks at the time. All original records were destroyed, and this War of the Worlds broadcast was the one that became so famous. That is the one which you might hear someday.
THE END