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.

"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."

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."

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.

"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.

Meanwhile, the announcer saw the number of bulletins piling up and sighed.

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?

"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."

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."

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