Chapter Two: The War Machines


I was a fool thought Jules to himself as he walked home that evening by the Siene. Even the beautiful pieces of art that the local maestros were working on by the lapping waters failed to capture his attention. Even the pair of giggling girls that passed by him on the way, who were obviously striving to get his attention failed. He didn’t even see them make ugly faces at the seeming snub he gave them.

Jules had a lot on his mind. And girls took rear position to the thoughts of the catastrophe the world faced.

‘War of the Worlds,” Wells had called it. But the Channel? Why not the Seine? That would have put them closer to the continent. Why England? But if it was the Channel, then that meant France was next. And if Wells and his father were here, that didn’t bode well for England, Ruler of the Seas and the Air.

His thoughts rushed back and forth, much like battalions of soldiers in a struggle for the high ground. Even as the overly abundant population of Priests swept through the cities more and more of late.

The Priests seemed to be growing in numbers these days Jules thought to himself, almost as if they were preparing for some kind of Holy War Then it struck him. Like lightning casting aside the darkness, his mind became lucid. They knew!

Jules said nothing of what he heard that day to his parents, instead he went to bed early on the pretext of an upset stomach and a touch of fever and got up early to rush over to the Ambassador’s House, where he and Wells had agreed to meet the day before.

Wells, even at that age, was a darker sort of kid. He always seemed to be on the verge of catching fire. His eyes were always smouldering with knowledge no one else dared to touch, or could possibly know.

He and Jules spent that day at Nantes by the Loire, watching the merchant ships come and go with their tall masts and billowing steam stacks. Wells told Jules about his desire to be a writer when he grew up and Jules did the same. Both boys at that time knew they were fated to be with each other. Both loved tales of the fantastic, as well as adventures that caused the mind to question what was really right and not in the universe.

Wells kept falling out of the loop of conversation and would become pensive, as if something were burdening him. Finally, as the watched the sun begin to set, Wells unburdened himself on Jules. “The bombers failed.” He uttered in a burst of anger and confusion.

Jules was so shocked by the statement that he almost tripped and fell as they climbed the
steps to the street above. “How can that be possible?” He asked. “Everyone knows that the
RAF is the most powerful weapon on the planet. Even the dreaded Germans fear them. Hitler
calls your air force the Tueffel Vogen…Demon Birds. It’s what has kept Hitler at bay all these years.”

Wells shrugged his shoulders. “All I know is that the War approaches us more quickly than I
dared think possible. I’m frightened, Jules, my father used to be confidant we would win
against these demons from another world, but now he sulks in his offices, and I’ve seen him
using a map to plot escape routes.”

“Escape routes?”