The journey up the coast was cramped, uncomfortable and, most of all, cold. It didn't feel right, being as it was late August - the weather should have been balmy, even a mile off the shore. David glared at the sky and shivered, pulling the greatcoat tighter around himself. The cloud cover was thick and grim. Seemed the weather was shifting towards the colder end of things these days.

He'd heard some of the pencil-necks talking about it as he had been shuttled between the Tower and the various departments that had been garrisoned in Tooley Street and around the Hays Wharf and Railway arches. The strange organisation he'd found himself part of seemed to have cordoned off a good portion of Bermondsey and locked it down.

And now here he was, on a bloody steamship heading to Newcastle. He'd never been further north than Barnet. And now he was off to some northern port. He was beginning to regret finagling himself into this mission.

But Bradford had dragged all the soldiers together, gave them a bit of a "nudge nudge wink wink" brief on how injured personnel would be retained and "fit and able" men would be sent back to support some sort of operation. The Sergeants had clearly been in on whatever the joke was and had doled out bandages or briefed men on their new "injuries". HE'd just been grabbed by a tall Chinese bloke and hauled onto the barges heading down the Thames. Seemed they'd assumed his head injury was also one of the "fake ones" and by the time they'd realised he did have an actual scar the present NCOs had just laughed and given him a thumbs up. He hadn't a clue what'd happened to the sods who'd been sent back for this other op. Part of him felt a sense of relief. As if… as if there was a great sense of dread piling up behind his eyes. His mind was telling him that nothing but death awaited them in the West.

It was akin to having another person's thoughts in his head. He couldn't shake the feeling. But those thoughts carried memories of a young woman; sad and lost, trapped in her wheelchair. Far away.

He wasn't a romantic type, always ready with a quip or some outlandish idea. Some parsons wife? That was a concept he couldn't mold his personality to just yet. But he'd felt some strange desire to just… keep her smiling. He'd had a sweetheart before, in Clapham. Bessie. Or was her name Liz? Either way it hadn't lasted. Or had lasted until her father had chased him off with a fire poker. A few girls in the garrison towns, some lingering kisses in the dark. But nothing as much as seeing her in that dress, staring defiance at the Martians, fighting with all her will to protect that Parson, despite his madness.

"You are lost in thought?"

He turned and saw the tall Chinese man standing at the rail next to him. The fellow wasn't like any of the other Chinese he'd met - burly, imposing. Not the sort to fade into the background or offer you a sniff of opium this one. David shivered again.

"Just uh, y'know, wondering about what the 'ell we're doing up here."

"You were told."

"Yeah yeah. Get into Newcastle, secure some building, find some weird thing and see if we can bring it back. But what for?"

"Soldiers follow orders, do their duty, no?"

David gave the man a sidelong look, "Lots of soldiering experience, mate? One to salute and do whatever any old rupert decides is a good idea?"

The man rumbled a chuckle, "I am a soldier, after a fashion. We all have masters. Mine got there by perhaps more merit than yours. But you need to answer the question."

"We do. But as my dad said, only thing that grows in the dark that's fed on dog-shite is mushrooms. Us lot, we get… fidgety if we don't know why. A shiny sovereign only buys you so much beer after all."

"A cause then? Not the pay?"

"Money going to be much good in all this? Think we're beyond standing a pint for your mate these days. You didn't see what it's like in the shires. Dog eat bloody dog. Makes you wonder if it's worth it when the bastards you're supposed to help will knife you or turn a woman over for a swift one just because they can get away with it."

The man nodded, "Principles are good. Hold onto them, Mr Essex."

David shot him a look and the man extended a hand, "Zhaojie Zhang. A pleasure. I will be your Loo-ten-ent for this little beach jaunt."

David shook Zhaojie's hand, nonplussed. A cough made them both turn and David saw a diminutive Chinese woman with sharp features standing nearby. She was wearing functional clothes - trousers with leather greaves and gauntlets. She also seemed to be wearing some sort of armour - looked light and made out of… pottery? It looked like it had a glaze on it. A long rifle was slung over her back, one of those Afghan ones.

"The Sergeant would like to run through the plan, Zhu."

"Thank you Jiayi. Mr Essex, can you rouse your fellows Corporals. We will need to brief the men in detail shortly. Another hour before the sun is lower and we are presented with… options."

The Chinaman wasn't wrong. They'd approached from the south and, through the fading light they could see the nearly completed piers of South Shields and Tynemouth. The weather was becalmed today, but the clouds promised a storm soon.

The steamer had made it up the coast unchallenged, not even seeing other shipping traffic. As they approached, the crew and soldiers could see that the lighthouse on the Tynemouth peer was dark.

"That don't bode well," grumbled the Captain of the steamer. Sergeant Hackett stood next to him and shook his head slowly.

"No it bloody don't. Any way we can just park the boat on the beach?"

The Captain stared at him and shook his head, "You… you bloody pongo. Park.. park the bloody ship/"

Hackett regarded him steadily, "Sorry, I should have said wreck, right?"

The Captain grumbled and gestured to the piers, "Get past them, serviceable dock in the Royal Quay, half a mile inland. Could try Northshields, but it's fishing boats and not sure we'd be secure. The Quay is better docks."

The Sergeant nodded, "Reckon it's safe though?"

"Safer than bloody ramming the ship up the buggering beach."

"Done squabbling?" Zhaojie stepped into the wheelhouse and glanced at the two men.

"Robust exchange of opinions, sir," chuckled Hackett, "Dock inland. But means getting on the Tyne and making ourselves more… visible. Could we anchor and put ashore?" The Captain shot him a look and Hackett shrugged, "What, I get some of the lingo. Could we?"

The Captain nodded, "Yeah, need to use the lifeboats and you'd be more limited. It's getting back. Storm hits, I can't be sat out here otherwise you're walking back south."

Zhaojie nodded, "So, put ashore. We head inland, secure the dock and then summon you in to moor up?"

"Sounds like a ghost of a plan, sir," nodded Hackett. Zhaojie grimaced.

"We know not their dispositions, placement or defences. And with that storm we will need to move quickly. Sergeant, get the men prepared and what weaponry we can carry onto the boats. Captain, take us in close as you can north of these piers. We'll put ashore on the beach. Then, bring your vessel into the river. That should provide some cover. We will secure and get your moored soon."

The two other men exchanged glances but nodded. Zhaojie swept out and began shouting orders to a few of the visible soldiers on the deck. The Captain chuckled, "Sharp man that. For a Chink-"

Hackett spun and glared at him, "Don't finish that sentence, Captain. I've seen that bloke put people in the ground faster'n you can blink. And he has tried to keep my lads breathing."

The Captain nodded slowly, "All right, keep your shirt on."

Hackett left the cramped bridge and descended to the steamers deck. The boats were being prepped and lowered. It looked like they had enough to get thirty of the men ashore, which left another twenty aboard ship. It seemed Colonel Anderson had been keen to give them options and had sent nearly half of the men up here, keeping most of the "injured" in London. Some sort of shenanigans were at play, but he recognised it as the usual inter-officer politics.

Zhaojie turned to him, "Stay aboard ship. We'll signal with a flare - red for unsafe, green for secured. You see red, hold for an hour and then head back south to report failure."

"Not long…. You won't easily make it back."

Zhaojie shook his head, "We will likely be trying to inflict as much harm as we can. So you can return without them suspecting more men are coming. If we fall at this first fence, as the Irish say, then we will not make it into Newcastle itself."

Hackett sighed, "Alright sir, whatever you say. But If we're close to, we may still give it a good show. I'd rather not sit back in London to get whittled away, you know?"

"But a senseless charge? That is for your own officers to order, yes?" Zhaojie gave a lopsided grin and Hackett chuckled. The Chinaman gave a mock salute and climbed down the cargo netting into one of the waiting boats. The steamship began to slow as it passed the northern pier. From here they could make out scorch marks against the side of the lighthouse. There was the rattle of chain as the ship moved closer to shore, then dropped anchor. A splash followed as the life-boats then lowered themselves into the water proper. Oars sloshed and the smaller boats made for shore. Shielded from the worst of the waves by the steamship. Hacket watched them go, then turned to the rest of the men.

"Right, you 'orrible lot. Kit check on the remaining heavy weapons and rifles. Supply inventory. Corporal, I want a watch roster re-done for when we get this tub in that bloody dock. Get to it lads, lively now!"

They all scampered off and he adjusted his belt, then headed back to the cramped warmth of the bridge. Time to get the tub into the lee of those piers…

The life-boats crunched against the grainy sand of the beach and men jumped out, splashing and grunting as they hauled the laden craft ashore. Zhaojie leapt out and waded the last few yards to shore, dragging one boat almost by himself, his maxim gun held over one shoulder.

The rest of the men moved inland and took up firing positions on the dune-line, whilst a pair of sailors pulled the boats up the beach, out of the way of the tide line.

Thirty men, a mix of British rifles, winchesters, shotguns, another maxim gun and one of the steam-cannons. They also had grenades, and at least half of the men had that new "plate" armour they jokingly called it. The rest wore the leather over-armour and had abandoned the red-coats of the normal army for darker colours. That had been an order from the Colonel - something about "Boer" tactics. Jiayi had asked why they were using wild pigs as a model and Zhaojie had had to explain that particular political issue to her.

The large Chinaman fished out a folder map and peered at it. He dropped the maxim gun to the sand and pulled out a compass, checking the bearing, then beckoning Jiayi over, "Take two men, scout due east for two hudnred yards, then south for a further fifty. Hold position and signal with your lamps back to us."

She nodded and moved to the troop line, tapping the shoulders of two other men. They moved quickly and followed her, moving carefully over the dune line towards a bunched collection of houses - Tynemouth, or Allard as the map called it. The ground here was chalky but open and sheep grazed idly about, undisturbed. The village had no lights lit and Zhaojie wanted to circle it if possible.

They waited and watched as Jiayi and her scouts checked the edge of the low cluster of buildings. Zhaojie saw a flash of distant green - her shielded lamp with a green paper filter - showing clear. He waited long and saw the same small flash further to the south. Still clear.

"Corporals, extend line, move slowly and carefully."

The troops nodded and advanced. The sailors had joined them, carrying rifles handed to them aboard ship - there was no point staying with the boats - they carried their supplies with them. Ammunition and meagre water and rations.

The advance inland was slow and deliberate. Allards Lounge was deserted, or at least appeared to be. They moved further West toward North Shields, crossing a double track railway, following it southward until the were at the edge of the town. This urban sprawl was larger, but again more of a fishing locale. Slums and small shacks could be seen from their vantage, clustered along the riverbank. A steep rise was topped by grander houses, with the railway line pushing to their rear. They could see the sprawl was mainly terraces.

"Same story, different place," Zhaojie heard a soldier grumble.

"True. But the smell of rotten fish still rises," he retorted. A quiet chuckle rippled along the line.

They moved along the line, carefully, but paused as Jiayi and her scouts approached, breaking from a bank of trees near the edge of the sidings. She hunkered down next to Zhaojie as the troop formed a defensive ring off the side of the tracks using the verge as cover.

"What did you see?"

"People there, but…. They're… well they're wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Standing still, or just lying in the street."

Zhaojie frowned, "We go around the town."

She nodded, her face troubled. Had the aliens ignored the place? Attacked it but left the corpses as decorations or warnings? Or something else?

They cut around the north of the town, ignoring the seemingly untouched buildings. It lengthened their journey by a large margin, but there was something foreboding about the ghostly quiet. Not even songbirds sang as the sun sank lower. The troop moved carefully and slowly through the fields and paddocks, then cut south across scrub-land. There was scant cover, save the odd patches of tall grass. The terrain was rough, pock-marked with rabbit holes and undulating tufts of earth and grass. Zhaojie heard a curse from a soldier as he stumbled in the gathering dark, "Effin babies-heads…"

Rechecking his map, using the faint light of his shielded lamp, Zhaojie realised they'd have to cut through the western edge of North Shields, Chirton, to get to the Quay. Any further west and they'd be closer to Newcastle by any stretch. He conferred with the Corporals and they decided to risk it.

The lack of light from anywhere was unnerving, pushing their surroundings to near-pitch blackness; above, the stars glinted clearly. As they moved into the town, the low buildings seemed to press down on them.

Zhaojie called a halt at the first junction between streets. Dark shapes were slumped on the ground, but there were fewer bodies than expected. He gestured to the nearby houses, "Quick sweep. We may need to fall back and if this is a secure location, better to defend from cover."

The troop hunkered down against the edge of a terraced row, spreading out across the junction. Silence reigned here. At least out near the beach, or on the common there'd been sheep; their low bleating a reassuring sign of some life.

The scouts returned, reporting nothing, just deserted homes. The troop continued south, past serried rows of darkened houses. The men trod carefully, stepping over slumped forms, or piled stacks of strange webbing.

They made good time down the darkened roads and found themselves crossing the rail-line again. More terraces, empty as the others, shops with broken frontages and abandoned carts were their only notably shifts in scenery. A short distance beyond that, they found the edge of the quay. A large open space, laid over with gravel and stone, with cuttings for larger ships to berth. They could see, even in the dark, the pontoons marking moorings at the edge.

"Plenty of space. Open ground to observe advances. But likewise obvious." murmurred Zhaojie. He felt a tap on his arm and glanced down at Lance Corporal Essex. The man spoke in a whisper, which still seemed loud in the stillness.

"Yeah, but see them other boats? Still a few moored up. Seems like not everyone was able to scarper. Harder to stand out if you're in a crowd, right?"

Zhaojie nodded and patted the man on the shoulder, "Good. Let us move in and check then."

The group was about to shift onto the flats when Jiayi hissed a warning. The ground rumbled faintly and every man and woman in the group flattened themselves into cover - behind carts, next to a buildings' edge. Off in the distance, south of the river, a tall silhouette moved. A single fighting machine lumbered in a curving motion, a searchlight sweeping the ground in front of it. It was a good two miles distant and seemed to be ignoring the cluster of buildings north of the river. The troop watched as the machine paused and hissed steam out from its joints. The mechanical nightmare raised up and let out a hooting bellow:

Uuuuulllallaaaaaaaa!

There was a pause as the sound rent the night air. Then another call answered, further west, fainter. Another, this time from the south. Silence fell again as the distant machine hissed and rumbled. Then, with a juddering clang the tripod turned and headed back inland, lumbering along, sweeping the searchlight in front of it.

No one moved for what seemed an age, until the ground stopped vibrating and the sound of steam and clanging metal was but a distant echo.

"This complicates things." muttered Zhaojie. Essex stepped closer.

"The flares?"

"I had expected some resistance, something we could overcome, or maybe locals still alive. Fighting machines are a risk. A flare could draw them to us."

"So… we may need a distraction while the boat is coming in?"

Zhaojie sighed, "Maybe not. They seem to be south, unconcerned with the northern banks. That troubles me too. Let us carry on. If we are swift, the enemy may not notice before it is too late. We need to secure the steamship and at least have an avenue to retreat."

"Yeah, I may have joined the army, but bugger marching back to London."

The troop fanned out again and advanced over the flat of the quay, heading to the mooring docks. Other hulks drifted on the tide, tied up and secure. An idea was forming in Zhaojie's head as he looked at the collection of trawlers, ferries and odd fishing boats moored up.

The men moved in and boarded a boat, some sort of cut down sailboat, sweeping for anyone living or dead. At the clear, Zhaojie had a soldier move up the river bank to the north and light the flare. He watched as a green streak shot into the sky, but shielded his eyes before the burst.

There was a pause, then an echoing cry in the distance. But not the call of a fighting machine.

It was an inhuman wail. A screech that sound like a cry of pain and fury. A sound that came from a hundred throats. In the distance came the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood, carried on the silent air. The soldiers exchanged glances. Zhaojie looked around, then at the boats.

"Stand to. I fear we have enemy approaching."