Dawn was coming up over the horizon behind Langford. In the distance, he could see the column of smoke that had until yesterday been Witley, on the other side of the Thames Valley. For the tenth time, he re-checked his suit's systems. Motive, life support, optical and lidar detection systems, combat computer, maintenance, primary and secondary offensive systems, anti-missile, aerosol and armour: all were reading green.

Langford unfastened the visor of his suit and flipped it up.

Since the invasion began yesterday, Langford and his unit, the 35^th Light Infantry Brigade, had been on standby. Their task was simple: prevent their garrison area, Oxford, from falling to the enemy until evacuation was complete. Thus far, about seventy percent of Oxford's three hundred thousand men, women and children had been removed from the city. The old University itself still had a custodian staff ensuring the books, recordings, paintings and other artefacts were safely stored before retreating to their underground bunkers.

Langford was rather thankful that England had been spared the brunt of the assault this time. The invaders had mainly concentrated their assault on the Northern Americas, greater Europe and China; England, although having recovered her strength after the last invasion, was no longer the near-global power it had been. Colonial countries such as India and Africa had taken advantage of England's recall of much of her territorial resources during the Recovery of the early 1900s to ensure their independence from the Crown. After being reduced to a near-colony - in fact, the term feeding ground would have been more correct - England was not in any great hurry to re-establish colonies of its own. Still, Mother England did have holdings on some of the continents in order to guarantee access to the resources she needed to properly defend herself.

A flicker of movement on the horizon interrupted Langford's musing. The dawn sunlight glinted off something metal. Langford fumbled at his side for his magnification lenses and brought them to his eyes. There was something moving… He shifted the bulky case of the lenses right just a degree… but could see only trees. Still, there was a tingling in the pit of his stomach and a voice in his head that said, You saw something. Report it in.

For a second, Langford was hesitant. He'd catch all seven kinds of hell from Sergeant Underwood if he cried wolf. Then again, this was no exercise. "Kilo Golf One, this is Kilo Golf Five. Receiving?"

Sergeant Underwood's gruff tones sounded in Langford's earphones. "Kilo Golf Five received. What is it, Langford?"

"Possible visual sighting, Sarge. Thirty miles due west. Hard to tell, but it might be a scout, sir."

"Are you positive, Langford?" An edge had crept into the Sergeant's voice.

"I bel-" No. If you're sure, you're sure; you don't believe so. "Yes, Sergeant. I'm positive."

There was a pause. "All right. Kilo Golf One to Kilo Golf Three and Six. Receiving?"

"Kilo Gamma One received," chorused two voices. Three and Six were on patrol approximately fifteen miles due west of Langford.

"Jones, Thorne. Possible sighting fifteen miles west of you. Confirmation required. Move up slowly; I don't want you giving us away."

"Yessir," Jones and Thorne chorused.

Langford let out a breath - the Sergeant believed him. He raised his lenses again and widening the viewing angle. The data overlay showed two bright blue dots marked KG3 and KG6 move across the valley. Jones' buggy broke from the trees into the clear in the valley floor. The light vehicle bounced across the uneven terrain, but Langford saw the long, wheel-tipped legs keep the blocky, green, camouflaged body of the scout car even.

Suddenly, the car turned from green to orange, then bright yellow. The body burst into flame, and Jones screamed briefly before the petrol in its tank exploded, followed rapidly by the ammunition it carried.

Fighting the rush of adrenaline down, Langford swept his lenses to the right. The phrase, I hate it when I'm right echoed briefly through his head as he yelled into his microphone, "This is Kilo Golf Five! Kilo Golf Three is destroyed, confirmed use of -" The words died in his throat as he focused on the tree line on the opposite side of the valley.

A giant metallic warrior was rising above the trees on three spindly, jointed legs. Atop the rounded body studded with several small, flexing tubes was a hood-like protrusion. To his horror, Langford found himself focusing his lenses on the feature; within it, he could make out a glistening rounded bulk. Tentacles writhed and a pair of disc-like eyes returned his mechanically-assisted gaze. For an instant, Langford could almost feel the massive brain behind those eyes examine him clinically, coldly, even though he was obscured behind a hedgerow and several trees… Then the machine turned slightly and the gaze was broken.

As he watched, a large, metallic tentacle on the upper surface of the body directed a camera-like object off to his left. There was a green flickering from within the device. Langford immediately swept his binoculars back down again. There was KG6, scooting across the valley floor. Thorne was dodging wildly to evade a trail of fire that burned its way like a dynamite stick's long fuse toward him.

Thorne snapped his car around and brought it to a halt. In the instant before the finger of fire reached him, he simultaneously triggered the missile rack on its mount behind him and flung himself from the car. As the short, stubby, finned rockets leapt into the air, the car suddenly heated, melted, then exploded, taking some of the volley with it. Three missiles still streaked toward their target, trailing exhaust smoke - and then several of the stubby tubes on the glittering Titan's body swivelled and pointed at the incoming projectiles. All three exploded midair.

Langford yelled into his microphone. "Confirmed sighting: single Martian Fighting Machine twenty-nine point three miles! Is equipped with heat ray and some sort of anti-missile system. Kilo Golf Three and Kilo Golf Six have been destroyed; status of Private Thorne unconfirmed."

"Received, Kilo Golf Five," said Sergeant Underwood. "All Kilo Golf Units, this is Kilo Golf One. Kilo Golf Two, Four, Five and Seven: engage and destroy. Kilo Golf Eight, Nine, Ten and Eleven, provide covering fire and engage any subsequent targets. Confirm."

"Confirmed, Kilo Golf One," Langford replied. Engage and destroy… God help me. It was easy in exercises, but to be faced with this… Langford directed a glance toward the Fighting Machine. It was moving now, closing the distance between them in massive, fluid strides that ripped heedlessly through the trees. He got to his feet and lifted a large rifle from the ground next to him. He checked it one last time, then crouched and triggered his suit's jump jets.

Langford shot forward and up, clearing the tree line and shooting in a shallow arc toward the metallic monster. To his left and right, three columns of smoke lifted up from various cover positions. His suit's data display identified them as Kilo Golf Two, Four and Seven. Rockets and rifle fire shot from the trees below him as the rest of his squad attempted to distract the Martian from their airborne comrades.

With horrifying clarity, Langford saw the Fighting Machine's torso rotate, bringing the hooded cockpit back toward them. In midair, he aimed his rifle and squeezed the trigger. The supersonic rounds spanged off the metal around the hood, and he was sure the monster within flinched. Then he was hurtling downward, and engaged his jets before he struck the ground.

His booted feet hit grass and mud with a thump. Langford rolled and came to his feet again, then doubled over. I hate combat landings, he thought as he gasped deeply. Stars flashed across his eyes. He staggered forward a few steps and tied to straighten up. There - just a stroll in the woods now.

A loud ripping and crashing noise came from off to his left. Langford raised his rifle and checked his suit's systems again. The doctor was putting something into his system to help give his blood more oxygen, as well as a slight anaesthetic to buffer the landing. Great. I hope it doesn't make me ill now, when I don't need it.

Langford brought his rifle up and started jogging forward. A pair of missiles streaked overhead, above the canopy of trees. He ignored them, as well as the loud crump of their impact. He hoped they'd hit something. The radio echoed battle chatter - it sounded like most of his unit was still airborne or being kept on the run. Another two Martians had joined the fray, and the Brigade had their hands full. As the forest darkened, he increased is pace.

Hang about - Why's everything getting dark all of a sudden?

Langford threw himself to the dirt as a dark cloud coiled through the forest toward him. Fighting off panic, he checked his air systems, sealing the suit and activating its air supply.

The cloud rolled and billowed across the wood. Langford couldn't help but hold his breath as it enveloped him and the base of the tree he was hiding behind. A yellow indicator began flashing on his display: the chemical analyser was doing its work. Each suit had one built into it, Langford knew; every bit of information Headquarters could get on the Martians, their tactics and weapons was vital. As long as the suit didn't report a breach, Langford was satisfied. The analyser flashed a result - it was some new version of the black nerve gas the Martians had deployed during the first War. Back then, they'd called it "Black Smoke".

Langford looked up. The black smoke had enveloped him, and was still moving - but he thought he saw movement in the direction it had come.

He was about to get to his feet again when there was a loud hiss from about fifteen yards ahead. The smoke roiled and flowed, and Langford saw a broad jet of steam sweep from right to left. Langford aimed his rifle, checked his air supply again, and waited.

The smoke was still clearing as the object stepped into view. It was tall; two and a half, perhaps three yards in height. It had a long body, mounted on three jointed legs. For all the world, it looked like a man-sized, bloated version of the monsters the Brigade were fighting.

The thing stalked forward, and issued another jet of steam from its forequarters, allowing Langford to get a better look. Its body flowed outward to the front and the rear, and atop its front quarters was a hood similar to the cockpit of a larger Martian machine, but this hood, scaled to the size of the machine, contained some sort of viewing gear. Langford saw light glinting off lenses. Groups of metallic tentacles hung down around its legs. Langford couldn't help but be amazed. As he watched, the mechanism walked gracefully across the small clearing on its three legs; if it wasn't made out of gleaming metal, he would have sworn that it was some sort of Martian equivalent of a big hunting tiger. Its grace and fluidity of movement made it seem thoroughly alive. God, what a monster, Langford thought.

As he watched it, the data display was noting details, gathering as much information as possible on the thing. Suddenly, he noticed the display had superimposed an IFF tag over the machine - KG6. Langford stretched slightly, and saw that a tentacle was drawing something along behind the machine. It was a man's body. The tentacle had wrapped around its chest and was pulling the body along. Langford noticed the body's green fatigues, a respirator mask and an air supply strapped to its back before he suddenly realised the body was the source of the IFF signal. The machine was dragging Thorne! He was still alive!

Langford levelled his rifle at the mechanical beast's hood, and just then the IFF tag went red. Langford looked at Thorne again, being dragged by the creature, and noticed the tip of the tentacle disappeared near Thorne's neck. He couldn't make out where the tip was, or what it was doing, but Thorne had just died, and he was sure the monster had done it somehow. As he watched, the tentacle began to uncoil, dropping Thorne's body to lie on the ground as the thing heedlessly moved on.

Langford began crawling slowly forward. The monster had just passed him at about six yards away. He pushed himself away from the ground with one hand, holding the rifle with the other, and brought one leg up so he knelt. He raised the rifle to his left shoulder, bracing the barrel with his right hand, and aimed -

There was a loud snapping noise under Langford's left foot. The monster froze, and suddenly its body swivelled, rotating on its triple-jointed abdomen to face him. He found himself staring into a set of cold, black camera lenses. For an instant, there was utter silence - as if the woods themselves were holding their breath - then the machine began to lope toward him.

Langford cursed and pulled the trigger. The rifle jerked in his grip as a burst of bullets tore through the air and into the machine. He saw red fluid fountain from holes in its body, but it didn't even lessen its pace. Cursing under his breath again, Langford threw the rifle aside - the machine was too close - and reached for the set of blades hanging from his left hip. Suddenly he felt an impact on his chest, and he and his suit were sent flying. There was another jolt from behind, and then the ground rushed up to meet his feet. Langford had just cleared the stars from his eyes when he saw the tree he had been thrown into by the machine's tentacle snap in two. The top half dropped straight onto him.

Once again, Langford blinked rapidly, trying to clear the stars from his eyes. The trunk of the tree had fallen across him, pinning him to the ground. As he reached to shift the tree from him, the trunk lurched, crushing down on his chest. Pain lanced through his side. He looked up, and saw the machine rising from a crouch, balancing with inhuman ease on the wobbling trunk. Looking up at the thing glaring down at him with its empty glass eyes, Langford was terrified. No machine has a right to be that nimble! It's a demon in metal skin! He scrabbled for the blades as it lunged for him with its tentacles.

There was a flaring pain in Langford's right shoulder. He screamed, but gripped the blades, and heard a click as they locked onto the mount on his left arm. He swung the blades up and into the machine's torso, at the point between the mounts where the legs met the body. The pain in his arm flared again, but Langford primed the blades, shoved them in further, and balled his left hand into a fist.

The set of scissored blades closed on something within the machine. It squealed and began to shake wildly. It tried to move away, but Langford squeezed his fist more tightly, yelling, "Die, you devil!" Suddenly there was a loud clang from somewhere in the machine's guts. Itflopped down onto its now-flaccid legs, then slid off the tree trunk to sprawl on the grass.

Langford lay where he was. Thank the Lord. Oh, praise God, I'm alive. I'm still alive. He took a breath. Then another. Then he sat up, winced and looked down at his right shoulder. One of the machine's tentacles was buried between the armoured plates of the suit. Please, Lord, I don't want to have to pull it out… He winced, took a firm grip on the tentacle with his left hand, and pulled. Pain lanced across his chest and down his right arm. Langford closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and pulled again.

When he opened his eyes, he was lying down across the bottom half of the tree again. He could hear the doctor injecting something, and hoped it would deaden the pain. The he thought again. Anaesthetics always make me sick…

Slowly, the pain in his shoulder faded, replaced - sure enough - by a clammy nausea in the pit of his stomach. Langford started taking deep breaths, then checked his suit's status. Power was orange, but steady. Primary motive and life support were both still green, thankfully, although his jump boosters had been buggered when he hit the tree. Most of his detection systems were red-lit, but the combat computer was still working, and it could still gather optical data from his suit's visor. The chemical analyser was okay, and he still had a full set of locator beacons. The rifle was pinging at him from where he'd dropped it. The set of small missiles were unreliable now that the combat computer could only receive targeting information from the passive optics, but he still had a trap that he could use. He closed the detectors, missile systems and boosters down, and power supply began to fade from orange into green.

Langford reached up and pushed at the trunk pinning him down. The muscles of the suit strained with his, and fresh pain shot out from his side - That monster must've broken one of my ribs - but the thick, heavy trunk lifted away. Langford gave it a shove, and it pivoted away from him, crashing into the bushes.

Langford froze for a moment, listening. He didn't hear anything, but he wasn't about to assume that there weren't more of those metal beasts out there. Getting to his feet as quickly as he could, Langford pulled a locator beacon, set it to respond only, and dropped it by the machine, which was still spilling dark red fluid from its insides. Langford frowned as he turned to walk away, then reached down into the fluid and activated the chemical analyser. His visor gave him the "please wait" sign - and then, to Langford's surprise, it identified the mystraious substance. Blood?

A distant crashing startled Langford, and he sprinted, wincing in pain all the way, to where he'd dropped his rifle, scooping it up mid-run. He could hear crashing noises ahead of him, and a bright flash lit up the trees.

He came to the edge of the woods. On the rolling field ahead of him, two huge Fighting Machines were holding off the remnants of the Brigade; he could see a scout car and seven suit troopers harassing the machines as the Martians' heat-ray weapons smote back and forth. As he watched, a jumping trooper exploded midair as a heat-ray swept across him, melting his armour and igniting his jump fuel. Neither Machine had noticed Langford's presence at the edge of the field.

Langford reached to his right hip for the trap and started toward the nearer machine. It was stepping back and forth across the field, keeping moving, trying to ensure it was a hard target whilst it helped its partner pick the Brigade off. He walked toward the glittering Colossus, breathing in and out deeply. Stay calm. Stay calm. If you sprint toward it, that Martian in the hood'll see you. Easy does it…

The Fighting Machine took a step backward, toward Langford. He glanced up with his eyes, but the thing was still faced away from him.

Then he looked across at the other Fighting Machine. It was busying itself with the destruction of the Brigade, but it was staying close to its comrade, perhaps to prevent anyone getting between them. Langford began to slowly circle, until the two Machines were lined up directly in front of him.

Langford raised the trap, a large, bulky, gun-like apparatus with a shoulder stock and a bulge where the muzzle would be. Bringing the device to his shoulder, he aimed at the nearer Martian's hindmost leg. Suddenly, it began to lift into the air. Thank you, Lord, Langford thought as he squeezed the trigger.

The gun bucked against Langford's shoulder as the bulging plastic package at the end of the gun sped toward the Martian. As it flew, it sprang open, becoming a plastic-and-metal claw that wrapped itself around the monster's leg, which was swinging forward and between its other two. Langford touched a button on the side of the remaining half of the gun, and the plastic explosive in the claw exploded, severing the Martian's leg. The now useless section below the trap thudded to the ground.

Langford smiled a feral grin - that turned to a horrified gape as he noticed the Martian was still standing. It was wobbling uncertainly on its two remaining legs, attempting to retain its balance; its comrade was now trying to cover both of them. Damn you, fall!

Wait - my missiles! They can't be guided any more, but this close… Langford accessed system management and fed power back into the missile system. He crouched forward, aiming by sight alone at the exposed back and underside of the Machine. He loosed both the weapons, their recoil pushing him down toward the ground, and watched as they arced toward the machine. One exploded midair - some of the Martian's anti-missile beams must have caught it - but the other one struck true, and the Machine began to topple forward - straight into its companion. Both the Martians hooted in alarm as their mounts crashed to the ground.

"Langford! Where in Hell did you come from?" Sergeant Underwood was alive!

"I had an encounter with some sort of automatic machine in the woods, Sir," Langford gasped. "It killed Thorne. I got it with the jaws of death."

A bulky, green, armoured form paused as it stepped from the trees. "Damn these things to Hell." The armoured figure turned toward Langford. "Did you collect?"

"As much information as I could, although most of my sensing gear was disabled when it attacked. I was just thrown against a bloody tree, and the lot conks out on me."

"Front and centre, soldier. From what I can see from here, you didn't 'just hit a tree'. Your recorder should still be intact."

Langford jogged across the field and met Sergeant Underwood between both the machines. The remnants of the Brigade - four other suit troopers and the scout car - were breaking open the hood-cockpit of the Fighting Machine Langford's target had fallen against. That Machine's cockpit had smashed on its comrade's hull as it fell; a reddish-brown ichor oozed down the scrape-marks on the intact machine.

"I thought there were three of them, Sir," Langford said.

"One of the pair that came to help our friend here got a bit full of himself," the Sergeant replied. "Tufnel got a lucky shot in, brought it down like a tree."

With a loud snapping noise, the transparent cover of the Fighting Machine's hood fell away and a large, red-brown form tumbled out. Langford had only seen photos and the perserved Martian body they had at the Science Museum; this was the first time he'd seen a real, living Martian. Tentacles whipped as the Martian found purchase on the charred, flattened earth. It's just a head, Langford thought as the Martian's cold, disc-like eyes scrutinised its captors. Like Wells said, just an ugly bald head, with tentacles for hands and that big membrane on the back for an ear, but no hair, no lips, no teeth, no chin - just an awful, bloated, brown head, and oh that mouth, it's just a slit like a V… Langford was suddenly very glad that the four troopers had their rifles firmly trained on the thing. "What are we going to do with it, Sir?"

"A transport's on it's way, Langford," the Sergeant replied. "It'll be here in about ten minutes. They're going to take this devil and interrogate it - try to find out what their plan is."

Langford looked at the creature again, swamped by revulsion. Its tentacles, arranged in two bunches of eight on either side of its quivering mouth, were quiescent now. It returned his gaze, and he couldn't help but look away; it was the one that had killed Jones, the one that he thought had seen him as he observed it through his lenses. "How do you interrogate a thing like that?"

Underwood shot the thing a look of pure fury, and then turned away. "I don't care, Langford. As long as they find a way to beat these bastards back again, I don't care what they do."

Underwood took a few steps toward the trees and stopped suddenly. "Oh, good work out there, Langford. Two kills on your first sortie, plus that machine you mentioned. That'll look good on your record."

Langford followed his Sergeant for another few steps, then turned to look back at the creature. It was still staring at him. Suddenly, he remembered Underwood's words: "As long as they find a way to beat these bastards back again…" But we didn't beat them back last time, he thought. They simply died: they've got no immune system, our bacteria and germs killed them.

As Langford turned his head away from the Martian and jogged to catch up with Underwood, he couldn't stop himself thinking. If they're trying to invade again, they must have beaten their weakness somehow. And if they could do that… We might have learned from them, figured out some of their technology, enough to make things like my suit, but… If they're all head, and mostly brain, can we outsmart them? Can we figure out how to stop them?

Can we?