FANDOM


Orson wells war of the worlds 75th anniversary

1.                                                    Cast
2. Journalist/narrator  -
3.
4. professor Richard Pierson -
5.
6. ogilvy -
7.
8. Reporter Carl Phillips -
9.
10. radio operator -
11.
12. artillery man -
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14. soldier 1 -
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16. soldier 2 -
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18. soldier 3 -
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20. soldier 4 -
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22. soldier 5 -
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24. soldier 6 -
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26. reporter 2 -
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28. reporter 3 -
29. news boy -
30.
31. police man 1 -
32.
33. police man 2 -
34.
35. police man 3 -
36.
37. police man 4 -
38.
39. police man 5 -
40.
41. pilot 1 -
42.
43. pilot 2 -
44.
45. pilot 3 -
46.
47. Professor Farrell -
48.
49. Wilmuth -
50.
51. smith -
52.
53. MC Donald -
54.
55. captain -
56.
57. officer -
58.
59. observer -
60.
61. Parson Nathaniel -
62.
63. Beth -
64.
65. Carrie -
66.
67. Secretary -
68.
69. announcer 1 -
70.
71. announcer 2 -
72.
73. announcer 3 -
74.
75. operator 1 -
76.
77. operator 2 -
78.
79. operator 3 -
80.
81. Gunner -
82.
83. gunner 2 -
84.
85. gunner 3 -
86.
87. gunner 4 -
88.
89. gunner 5 -
90.
91. man 1 -
92.
93. man 2 -
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95. man 3 -
96.
97. man 4 -
98.
99. man 5 -
100.
101. man 6 -
102.
103. man 7 -
104.
105. man 8 -
106.
107. women 1 -
108.
109. women 2 -
110.
111. women 3 -
112.
113. women 4 -
114.
115. women 5 -
116.
117. women 6 -
118.
119. women 7 -

1. women 8 -


ANNOUNCER: The Columbia Broadcasting System and its affiliated stations present Orson Welles and the Mercury Theatre on the Air in The War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells.
(MUSIC: MERCURY THEATRE MUSICAL THEME)
ANNOUNCER: Ladies and gentlemen: the director of the Mercury Theatre and star of these broadcasts, Orson Welles . . .
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: no one would have believed in the time of the twenty-first century that human affairs of this planet was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences that are greater than our own. yet as mortal as his own then which inhabited the timeless worlds of space. That as men busied themselves about their various concerns. They observed 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. Few men even consider the possibility of life on other planets. Yet across the gulf of space, minds and intellects, vast, cool and unsympathetic immeasurable superior to ours regarded this planet with envious eyes and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. In the thirteenth year of the twenty-first 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 Crosley service estimated that thirty-two million people were listening in on radios.   

ANNOUNCER: . . .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 Ramón Raquello and his orchestra.
(MUSIC: SPANISH THEME SONG [A TANGO] . . . FADES)
ANNOUNCER THREE: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. From the Meridian Room in the Park Plaza in New York City, we bring you the music of Ramón Raquello and his orchestra. With a touch of the Spanish. Ramón Raquello leads off with "La Cumparsita."
(PIECE STARTS PLAYING)
ANNOUNCER TWO: Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt our program of dance music to bring you a special bulletin from the Intercontinental Radio News. 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 Ramón Raquello, playing for you in the Meridian Room of the Park Plaza Hotel, situated in downtown New York.
(MUSIC PLAYS FOR A FEW MOMENTS UNTIL PIECE ENDS . . . SOUND OF APPLAUSE)
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: that evening on October 30 a huge mass of incandescent gas erupted from mars and headed towards earth i had a phone call from ogilvy an astronomer then he invited me and a few reporters to the Princeton Observatory, new jersey. when we entered the observatory ogilvy introduces me to another astronomer named Professor Pierson and asked me to take a look through his telescope. across 200 million miles of void invisibly hurling towards us, in the first of the missiles which would have brought so much calamity to earth. as we watched there was another jet of gas, it was another missile started heading right for us. and thats how it was for the next 3 hours, a flare spurting out of mars, it changed from blue to bright green drawing a green mist behind it. beautiful and somehow a very disturbing sight.  
ANNOUNCER THREE: Now a tune that never loses favor, the ever-popular "Star Dust." Ramón Raquello and his orchestra . . .
(MUSIC)
ANNOUNCER TWO: 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 occurring on the planet Mars. Due to the unusual nature of this occurrence, 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 Ramón Raquello and his orchestra.
(MUSIC . . .)
ANNOUNCER TWO: 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.
(ECHO CHAMBER)
PHILLIPS: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. 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?
PIERSON: At any time, Mr. Phillips.
PHILLIPS: Professor, would you please tell our radio audience exactly what you see as you observe the planet Mars through your telescope?
PIERSON: Nothing unusual at the moment, Mr. Phillips. 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.
PHILLIPS: In your opinion, what do these transverse stripes signify, Professor Pierson?
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.
PHILLIPS: Then you're quite convinced as a scientist that living intelligence as we know it does not exist on Mars?
PIERSON: I'd say the chances against it are a thousand to one.
PHILLIPS: And yet how do you account for those gas eruptions occurring on the surface of the planet at regular intervals?
PIERSON: Mr. Phillips, I cannot account for it.
PHILLIPS: By the way, Professor, for the benefit of our listeners, how far is Mars from earth?
PIERSON: Approximately forty million miles.
PHILLIPS: Well, that seems a safe enough distance.
(OFF MIKE) Thank you.
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: ogilvy then assured me that we were in no danger at all perhaps a huge volcanic eruption was in progress but he was convinced that there is no living thing on the remote forbidding planet. then came the night the first missile approached earth hundreds saw it, but though it was an ordinary falling star. some say it traveled with a hissing sound, others say it landed with a green flash.  
(PAUSE)
PHILLIPS: 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?
PIERSON: Certainly, Mr. Phillips
PHILLIPS: Ladies and gentlemen, I shall read you a wire addressed to Professor Pierson from Dr. Gray of the National History Museum, New York. "9:15 P. M. eastern standard time. Seismograph registered shock of almost earthquake intensity occurring 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?
PIERSON: 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.
PHILLIPS: 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.
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: how ever next day there was a huge crater in the middle of  Wilmuth farm, Grovers Mill, New Jersey, then ogilvy and i examined what laid there a cylinder 30 yards across glowing hot, but with faint sounds of movement coming from the rim. suddenly the top began moving rotating unscrewing, and ogilvy feared there was a man in side trying to escape. he rushed to  cylinder but the intense heat stopped him before he could burn himself on the still burning metal. i made a phone call to Carl Phillips and Professor Pierson what happened then  they said they were on their way.  
(FADE IN PIANO PLAYING)
ANNOUNCER TWO: Ladies and gentlemen, 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 description 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.
(SWING BAND FOR TWENTY SECONDS . . . THEN CUT)
ANNOUNCER TWO: We take you now to Grovers Mill, New Jersey.
(CROWD NOISES . . . POLICE SIRENS)
PHILLIPS: 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?
PIERSON (OFF-MIKE): What's that?
PHILLIPS: What would you say . . . what is the diameter?
PIERSON: About thirty yards.
PHILLIPS: About thirty yards . . . 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?
POLICEMAN: One side, there, one side.
PHILLIPS: While the policemen are pushing the crowd back, 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.
WILMUTH: Well, I was listenin' to the radio.
PHILLIPS: Closer and louder please.
WILMUTH: Pardon me!
PHILLIPS: Louder, please, and closer.
WILMUTH: Yes, sir -- while I was listening to the radio and kinda drowsin', that Professor fellow was talkin' about Mars, so I was half dozin' and half . . .
PHILLIPS: Yes, yes, Mr. Wilmuth. Then what happened?
WILMUTH: As I was sayin', I was listenin' to the radio kinda halfways . . .
PHILLIPS: Yes, Mr. Wilmuth, and then you saw something?
WILMUTH: Not first off. I heard something.
PHILLIPS: And what did you hear?
WILMUTH: A hissing sound. Like this: sssssss . . . kinda like a fourt' of July rocket.
PHILLIPS: Then what?
WILMUTH: Turned my head out the window and would have swore I was to sleep and dreamin.'
PHILLIPS: Yes?
WILMUTH: I seen a kinda greenish streak and then zingo! Somethin' smacked the ground. Knocked me clear out of my chair!
PHILLIPS: Well, were you frightened, Mr. Wilmuth?
WILMUTH: Well, I -- I ain't quite sure. I reckon I -- I was kinda riled.
PHILLIPS: Thank you, Mr. Wilmuth. Thank you.
WILMUTH: Want me to tell you some more?
PHILLIPS: No . . . That's quite all right, that's plenty.
PHILLIPS: 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.
(FAINT HUMMING SOUND)
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:
(LONG PAUSE) . . .
Do you hear it? It's a curious humming sound that seems to come from inside the object. I'll move the microphone nearer. (PAUSE) Now we're not more then twenty-five feet away. Can you hear it now? Oh, Professor Pierson!
PIERSON: Yes, Mr. Phillips?
PHILLIPS: Can you tell us the meaning of that scraping noise inside the thing?
PIERSON: Possibly the unequal cooling of its surface.
PHILLIPS: I see, do you still think it's a meteor, Professor?
PIERSON: 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.
PHILLIPS: Just a minute! 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!
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: crowds have gathered around the farm hypnotized by the unscrewing of the cylinder two feet of shining screwing projected.
VOICES: She's movin'! Look, the darn thing's unscrewing! 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!
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: suddenly the lid fell off.
(SUDDENLY THE CLANKING SOUND OF A HUGE PIECE OF FALLING METAL)
VOICES: She's off! The top's loose! Look out there! Stand back!
PHILLIPS: Ladies and gentlemen, this is the most terrifying thing I have ever witnessed . . . 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 . . .
(SHOUT OF AWE FROM THE CROWD)
PHILLIPS: 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 have to stop the description until I can take a new position. Hold on, will you please, I'll be right back in a minute.
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: two luminous disk like eyes appeared above the rim. a huge rounded bulk larger than a bear, rises up slowly, glistening like wet leather. its lip less mouth quiver and slattern and snake like tentacles rived as the clumsy body heaved and pulsating.
(FADE INTO PIANO)
ANNOUNCER: We are bringing you an eyewitness account of what's happening on the Wilmuth farm, Grovers Mill, New Jersey. (MORE PIANO) We now return you to Carl Phillips at Grovers Mill.
PHILLIPS: 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!
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: ogilvy and a few young men crept closer to the pit a tall funnel rises out of the cylinder then an invisible ray of heat leaped from man to man. its was a bright glare as each was instantly turned to fire, every house, car, tree, and bush became a massive flames at the touch of this savage un earthly heat ray.
(HISSING SOUND FOLLOWED BY A HUMMING THAT INCREASES IN INTENSITY)
PHILLIPS: A humped shape is rising out of the pit. I can make out a small beam of light against a mirror. What's that? There's a jet of flame springing from the mirror, and it leaps right at the advancing men. It strikes them head on! Good Lord, they're turning into flame!
(SCREAMS AND UNEARTHLY SHRIEKS)
PHILLIPS: Now the whole field's caught fire. (EXPLOSION) The woods . . . the barns . . . the gas tanks of automobiles . . . it's spreading everywhere. It's coming this way. About twenty yards to my right . . .
(CRASH OF MICROPHONE ... THEN DEAD SILENCE)
ANNOUNCER: Ladies and gentlemen, due to circumstances beyond our control, we are unable to continue the broadcast from Grovers Mill. Evidently there's 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. We now continue with our piano interlude.
(PIANO . . . THEN CUT)
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: people scrambled and crawled their way off the farm, me and professor pierson ran too. i felt like i was being toyed with, but when i was on the verge of safety i feared that this mysterious death would leap after me and strike me down. but at last i made it to rabbit hill and i looked with astonishment of the tranquility of the scene. yet once inside in the dim coolness of my home i wrote an account for my newspaper before i sank into a restless haunted sleep. then i woke up and heard alien sounds of hammering from the pit and hurried over to town so i can buy the news paper.
NEWS BOY: Calling paper! men from mars! men from mars!
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR:news boys explained that one or two adventurous souls had crawled near the martians in the middle of the night never to be seen again then yet around me the daliy routine of life working, eating, sleeping was continuing serenely as it had for countless years. on wilmuth's farm, grovers mill, new jersey the martians continued hammering and stirring, sleepless indefatigable in work of other machines that they were making. now appeared a light  like the beam of a warship search light swept through out the farm and the heat ray was ready to follow.   
ANNOUNCER TWO: Ladies and gentlemen, 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.
SMITH: 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. 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.
ANNOUNCER TWO: 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.
(LONG PAUSE)
(FEEDBACK. THEN FILTERED VOICE)
PIERSON: 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 . . .
ANNOUNCER TWO: Thank you, Professor Pierson. 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. 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.
MC DONALD: 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.
ANNOUNCER TWO: We take you now to the field headquarters of the state militia near Grovers Mill, New Jersey.
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: in the afternoon a large group of soldiers came through and deployed along the edge of the crater at wilmuth's farm to form a blockade.
CAPTAIN: This is Captain Lansing of the signal corps, attached 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!
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: that evening there was a violent clash and i realized my home was now within range of the martians heat ray. at dawn a falling star with a trail of green mist landed with a flash like summer lighting this was the second cylinder.
ANNOUNCER: Ladies and gentlemen, 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 . . .
SECRETARY: 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.
ANNOUNCER: You have just heard the secretary of the Interior speaking from Washington. Bulletins too numerous to read are piling up in the studio here. We are informed the central portion of New Jersey is blacked out from radio communication due to the effect of the heat ray upon power lines and electrical equipment. Here is a special bulletin from New York. Cables received from English, French, German scientific bodies offering assistance. Astronomers report continued gas outbursts at regular intervals on planet Mars. Majority voice opinion that enemy will be reinforced by additional rocket machines. Attempts made to locate Professor Pierson of Princeton, who has observed Martians at close range. It is feared he was lost in recent battle. Langham Field, Virginia: Scouting planes report three Martian machines visible above treetops, moving north towards Somerville with population fleeing ahead of them. Heat ray not in use; although advancing at express-train speed, invaders pick their way carefully. They seem to be making conscious effort to avoid destruction of cities and countryside. However, they stop to uproot power lines, bridges, and railroad tracks. Their apparent objective is to crush resistance, paralyze communication, and disorganize human society.
Here is a bulletin from Basking Ridge, New Jersey: Coon hunters have stumbled on a second cylinder similar to the first embedded in the great swamp twenty miles south of Morristown. Army fieldpieces are proceeding from Newark to blow up second invading unit before cylinder can be opened and the fighting machine rigged. They are taking up position in the -- foothills of Watchung Mountains. Another bulletin from Langham Field, Virginia: Scouting planes report enemy machines, now three in number, increasing speed northward kicking over houses and trees in their evident haste to form a conjunction with their allies south of Morristown. Machines also sighted by telephone operator east of Middlesex within ten miles of Plainfield. Here's a bulletin from Winston Field, Long Island: Fleet of army bombers carrying heavy explosives flying north in pursuit of enemy. Scouting planes act as guides. They keep speeding enemy in sight. Just a moment please. Ladies and gentlemen, we've run special wires to the artillery line in adjacent villages to give you direct reports in the zone of the advancing enemy. First we take you to the battery of the 22nd Field Artillery, located in the Watchtung Mountains.
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: the hammering from the pit and the pounding of guns grew even louder. my heart was pounding in fear when i suddenly heard sounds of someone creeping into the house, i peaked through the hallway to see what came inside the house, it was a young artillery man he was weary. outside was nothing but burned dead bodies of soldiers on the streets.
ARTILLERY MAN: who's there? anyone here?
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: come in! here drink some water!
ARTILLERY MAN: thank you!
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: what happened out there?
ARTILLERY MAN: they wiped us out hundreds dead, maybe thousands ?
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: the heat ray?
ARTILLERY MAN: the martians! they were inside the hoods of machines they've  made! massive metal things on legs, giant machines that walk! they attacked us, they wiped us out!
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: machines?
ARTILLERY MAN: fighting machines! setting fire to everything in sight, picking up men and bashing em against trees, just hunks of metal and they knew exactly what they were doing!
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: hmm but was there a another cylinder that came last night?
ARTILLERY MAN: yes! i think it landed in south of Morristown? but i'm not so sure! but i think they might hit new york soon?
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: what? new york, oh no thats where carrie is! i never dreamed that there would be danger to carrie and her father so many miles away, i must go to new york at once?
ARTILLERY MAN: and me i need to report to headquarters! if there is anything left of it?


OFFICER: Range, thirty-two meters.
GUNNER: Thirty-two meters.
OFFICER: Projection, thirty-nine degrees.
GUNNER: Thirty-nine degrees.
OFFICER: Fire! (BOOM OF HEAVY GUN . . . PAUSE)
OBSERVER: One hundred and forty yards to the right, sir.
OFFICER: Shift range . . . thirty-one meters.
GUNNER: Thirty-one meters
OFFICER: Projection . . . thirty-seven degrees.
GUNNER: Thirty-seven degrees.
OFFICER: Fire! (BOOM OF HEAVY GUN . . . PAUSE)
OBSERVER: A hit, sir! We got the tripod of one of them. They've stopped. The others are trying to repair it.
OFFICER: Quick, get the range! Shift thirty meters.
GUNNER: Thirty meters.
OFFICER: Projection . . . twenty-seven degrees.
GUNNER: Twenty-seven degrees.
OFFICER: Fire! (BOOM OF HEAVY GUN . . . PAUSE)
OBSERVER: Can't see the shell land, sir. They're letting off a smoke.
OFFICER: What is it?
OBSERVER: A black smoke, sir. Moving this way. Lying close to the ground. It's moving fast.
OFFICER: Put on gas masks. (PAUSE. VOICES NOW MUFFLED) Get ready to fire. Shift twenty-four meters.
GUNNER: Twenty-four meters.
OFFICER: Projection, twenty-four degrees.
GUNNER: Twenty-four degrees.
OFFICER: Fire! (BOOM)
OBSERVER: Still can't see, sir. The smoke's coming nearer.
OFFICER: Get the range. (COUGHS)
OBSERVER: Twenty-three meters. (COUGHS)
OFFICER: Twenty-three meters. (COUGHS)
GUNNER: Twenty-three meters (COUGHS)
OBSERVER: Projection, twenty-two degrees. (COUGHING)
OFFICER: Twenty-two degrees (FADE-IN COUGHING) (CUT TO SOUND OF AIRPLANE MOTOR)  
COMMANDER: Army bombing plane, V-8-43, off Bayonne, New Jersey, Lieutenant Voght, commanding eight bombers. Reporting to Commander Fairfax, Langham Field . . . This is Voght, reporting to Commander Fairfax, Langham Field . . . Enemy tripod machines now in sight. Reinforced by three machines from the Morristown cylinder . . . Six altogether. One machine already crippled. Believed hit by shell from army gun in Watchung Mountains. Guns now appear silent. A heavy black fog hanging close to the earth . . . of extreme density, nature unknown. No sign of heat ray. Enemy now turns east, crossing Passaic River into the Jersey marshes. Another straddles the Pulaski Skyway. Evident objective is New York City. They're pushing down a high tension power station. The machines are close together now, and we're ready to attack. Planes circling, ready to strike. A thousand yards and we'll be over the first -- eight hundred yards . . . six hundred . . . four hundred . . . two hundred . . . There they go! The giant arm raised . . . (SOUND OF HEAT RAY) Green flash! They're spraying us with flame! Two thousand feet. Engines are giving out. No chance to release bombs. Only one thing left . . . drop on them, plane and all. We're diving on the first one. Now the engine's gone! Eight . . . (PLANE GOES DOWN)
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: we walked for nine hours. then we moved towards King George's road and we came upon Hilton Garden Inn but it was deserted. the artillery man found a kitchen and we filled our stomachs and packed things in our pockets with everything we can hold.  
ARTILLERY MAN: look a bottle of water! well thats a lucky find.
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: we hurried after wards then there was seemed to be no living soul anywhere.
ARTILLERY MAN: is everybody dead?
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR:not everybody! look six tanks with gunners standing by.
ARTILLERY MAN: they must be on full watch.
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: hmm?
ARTILLERY MAN: they haven't seen the heat ray yet!
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: we hurried along the way through paterson street, suddenly there was a heavy explosion the ground heaved,windows shattered and dozens of smoke erupted into the air.
ARTILLERY MAN:LOOK! there they are! what did i tell you?
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: quickly one after the other four of the fighting machines appeared. monstrous tripods higher than the tallest steeple striding over the trees and smashing them, walking engines of glittering metal, each carried the huge funnel and i realized with horror that i seen this awful thing before!
OPERATOR ONE: This is Bayonne, New Jersey, calling Langham Field . . . This is Bayonne, New Jersey, calling Langham Field . . . Come in, please . . .
OPERATOR TWO: This is Langham Field . . . Go ahead . . .
OPERATOR ONE: Eight army bombers in engagement with enemy tripod machines over Jersey flats. Engines incapacitated by heat ray. All crashed. One enemy machine destroyed. Enemy now discharging heavy black smoke in direction of --
OPERATOR THREE: This is Newark, New Jersey . . . This is Newark, New Jersey . . . Warning! Poisonous black smoke pouring in from Jersey marshes. Reaches South street. Gas masks useless. Urge population to move into open spaces . . .automobiles use Routes 7, 23, 24 . . . Avoid congested areas. Smoke now spreading over Raymond Boulevard . . .
OPERATOR FOUR: 2X2L . . . calling CQ . . . 2X2L . . . calling CQ . . . 2X2L . . . calling 8X3R . . . Come in, please . . .
OPERATOR FIVE: This is 8X3R . . . coming back at 2X2L.
OPERATOR FOUR: How's reception? How's reception? K, please (PAUSE) Where are you, 8X3R? What's the matter? Where are you?
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: a fifth machine appeared in the river street park. in an instant it raised itself to full hight carried the funnel high in the air and the ghostly terrible heat ray struck the town. as it struck all five fighting machines exulted emitting howls which roared like thunder.
TRIPODS: (ullaaa) (ullaaa).
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: the six tanks with-seen now five simultaneously decapitating a fighting machine. the martian inside the hood was slain splashed to the full winds and the body nothing now but an interdict devise of metal went whirling to destruction, as the other monsters advanced people ran away blindly, the raillery man among them, but i jumped into the river until forced up to breath now the tanks spoke again but then this time the heat ray sent them to oblivion. the heat ray swept across the river a huge wave near to boiling point rushed upon me and i screamed aloud, then scolded, half blinded and agonized. i staged through leaping hissing right up towards the shore, i fell helplessly in full sight of the martians expected nothing but death. but then a foot of a tripod came down close to my head then lifted again as the four tripods carry away the debris of their formed comrade and i realized the defining miracle i had escaped.
(BELLS RINGING OVER CITY GRADUALLY DIMINISHING)
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: for three days i fought my way through roads packed with refugees. the homeless burden with boxes and bundles continued their valuables, all that was a value to me was in new York. by the time i reached their little house Carrie and her father were gone, then i suddenly found a note on the table which said:
my Dear George
my father and i heard the news two days ago that the Martians have defeated the military at the marsh lands in new jersey, so we are heading to the white hall terminal Manhattan south ferry. as i write this I am going to leave new York very soon . Be safe my dear George.
, Carrie
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: I could not believe how surprised i was when i finished reading the note, carrie and her father are alive!

ANNOUNCER: I'm speaking from the roof of the Broadcasting Building, New York City. The bells you hear are ringing to warn the people to evacuate the city as the Martians approach. Estimated in last two hours three million people have moved out along the roads to the north, Hutchison River Parkway still kept open for motor traffic. Avoid bridges to Long Island . . . hopelessly jammed. All communication with Jersey shore closed ten minutes ago. No more defenses. Our army wiped out . . . artillery, air force, everything wiped out. This may be the last broadcast. We'll stay here to the end . . . People are holding service below us . . . in the cathedral.
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: fire suddenly leaped from house to house the population panicked and ran. Then I was swept along with them aimless and lost without Carrie. Finally I headed south which Carrie is right now, my only chances of survival a ferry in  white hall terminal Manhattan south ferry out of new york.
(VOICES SINGING HYMN)
ANNOUNCER:Now I look down the harbor. All manner of boats, overloaded with fleeing population, pulling out from docks.
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: as I headed through British garden at Hanover square more and more people joined the painful exodus. sad weary women, their children stumbling, street with tears, men bitter and angry, the rich rubbing shoulders with beggars and outcasts, dogs snarled and whine, the the horses food were covered with foam, then here and there were wounded soldiers as helpless as the rest. They saw tripods wailing from Manhattan, cutting through bridges as it they were paper. Brooklyn bridge, Williamsburg bridge, one of the tripods appeared above pace university.
TRIPODS: (ulllaa)    
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR:never before in the history of the world that such a mass of humans moved and suffered together this was no disciplined march, it was a stand-peed
without order and without a goal three million people unarmed and supervision driving headlong.
It was the beginning of the route of civilization of Damascus of mankind.       
(SOUND OF BOAT WHISTLES)

ANNOUNCER: Streets are all jammed. Noise in crowds like New Year's Eve in city. Wait a minute . . . Enemy now in sight above the Palisades. Five -- five great machines. First one is crossing river. I can see it from here, wading the Hudson like a man wading through a brook .
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: a vast crowd buffered me towards the already packed ferry. I looked up enviously at those who were safely on board straight into the eyes of my beloved Carrie. At first she began to fight her way along the packed deck to the gain plank, at that very moment it was raised and I saw a last glimpse of her despairing face as the crowed swept me away from her.
TRIPODS: (ulla)
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR:the ferry began to move slowly away, but on the land of horizon appeared the unmistakable silhouette of a fighting machine, another came and another, striding through hills and trees plunging far out to sea and blocking the exit of the ferry, but then came in between them came silent gray iron clad HMS thunder-child slowly it moved towards shore then with a deafening roar, and warships spread. It swung about and drove at full speed towards the wailing Martians. Then I heard Carrie calling to me as the ferry pulled away from shore. The warship was moving swiftly and through the seas and the canons fired as the ship came. Then the tripod suddenly burst into heaps of flame, as the crowd and the people on the ferry started cheered on. Then the tripods release their black smoke but the warship sped on cutting down one of the tripod figures, instantly the others raised their heat-rays and melted the thunder-child's valiant heart.
(SOUNDS OF THE HEAT RAY)
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: the heat ray burned the deck of the thunder-child all hope was dashed away as we watched the sinking wreak, the smoke started to clearing the thunder-child was slowly disappearing. But when the smoke finally cleared the ferry had reached the mystic horizon and carrie is now safe. But the thunder-child had vanished forever, taking with her mans last hope of victory. Then the Lit-en sky was lead by green flashes cylinder following cylinder and no one and nothing is left now to fight them. The earth belonged to the Martians.                   
ANNOUNCER: . . A bulletin's handed me . . . Martian cylinders are falling all over the country. One outside Buffalo, one in Chicago, St. Louis . . . seem to be timed and spaced . . . Now the first machine reaches the shore. He stands watching, looking over the city. His steel, cowlish head is even with the skyscrapers. He waits for the others. They rise like a line of new towers on the city's west side . . . Now they're lifting their metal hands. This is the end now.
TRIPODS: (ULLAA)
ANNOUNCER: Smoke comes out . . . black smoke, drifting over the city. People in the streets see it now. They're running towards the East River . . . thousands of them, dropping in like rats. Now the smoke's spreading faster. It's reached Times Square. People trying to run away from it, but it's no use. They're falling like flies. Now the smoke's crossing Sixth Avenue . . . Fifth Avenue . . . one hundred yards away . . . it's fifty feet . . .
(BODY FALLS)
(CARS AND TRUCK NOISES FROM THE DISTANCE)
OPERATOR FOUR: 2X2L calling CQ . . . 2X2L calling CQ . . . 2X2L calling CQ . . . New York. Isn't there anyone on the air? Isn't there anyone on the air? Isn't there anyone . . . 2X2L --
ANNOUNCER: You are 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.
MUSIC
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: I looked from behind me I saw huge amounts of smoke spreading across all of new york. I tried looking for a place to hide but the smoke was too fast, but I hid myself in a janitors closet inside Whitehall terminal building in order to escape the black smoke. There was screaming and shouting from outside but then I heard shouting of two kids outside I quickly opened the door called to the children, then they heard me and they ran inside the closet and shut the door tight, And I realized me and the two kids escaped from the black smoke. The panic from outside had started from turning screaming to coughing and collapsing noises. I found a flashlight on the shelf before the light from the under the door faded away, I turned the flashlight on there was a little bit of light and I pointed the light at the children   to see where they are. I looked at their faces they looked both sad and scared. I walked right to them to ask who they are. Then they said their names were Emily and David, I then though of who were their parents and where are they now so I asked them but they just shook their heads left and right to say no they don't know if they had any parents or where they are, I was surprised  when I realized they were orphans with no family's at all. So I decided that I should watch after them for a while until the smoke clears the Janitors closet was the size of a shed, I then sat right next to Emily and David as they sleep but I fell asleep as well.                   
PIERSON: As I set down these notes on paper, I'm obsessed by the thought that I may be the last living man on earth. I have been hiding in this empty house near Grovers Mill -- a small island of daylight cut off by the black smoke from the rest of the world. All that happened before the arrival of these monstrous creatures in the world now seems part of another life. . . a life that has no continuity with the present, furtive existence of the lonely derelict who pencils these words on the back of some astronomical notes bearing the signature of Richard Pierson. I look down at my blackened hands, my torn shoes, my tattered clothes, and I try to connect them with a professor who lives at Princeton, and who on the night of October 30, glimpsed through his telescope an orange splash of light on a distant planet. My wife, my colleagues, my students, my books, my observatory, my. . . my world. . . where are they? Did they ever exist? Am I Richard Pierson? What day is it? Do days exist without calendars? Does time pass when there are no human hands left to wind the clocks? . . .In writing down my daily life I tell myself shall preserve human history between the dark covers of this little book that was meant to record the movements of the stars. . . But to write I must live, and to live, I must eat . . . I find moldy bread in the kitchen, and an orange not too spoiled to swallow. I keep watch at the window. From time to time I catch sight of a Martian above the black smoke. The smoke still holds the house in its black coil. . . but at length there is a hissing sound and suddenly I see a Martian mounted on his machine, spraying the air with a jet of steam, as if to dissipate the smoke. I watch in a corner as his huge metal legs nearly brush against the house. Exhausted by terror, I fall asleep. . .it's morning. . .
(QUIETLY) Morning! Sun streams in the window. The black cloud of gas has lifted, and the scorched meadows to the north look as though a black snowstorm has passed over them.
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: i wake up the next day and saw from under the door that the smoke had cleared at last, I woken up the children and told them to stay. I slowly opened and peaked through the door all the bodies lay on the ground dead. I looked around and nothing was out side Then I notice something very odd that I never seen before the dawn was a brilliant fiery red, I whispered to the kids that its safe to come out now, then we wandered into the weird and lurid landscape of another planet for the vegetation which gave mars its red appearance had now taken route on earth, as man has come to the Martians so our land now has come to the red weed. As we walked down white-hall street Emily was very curious of what was really happening so I told her and David to stay close to me and not to worry at all. We kept our road after that, as kept moving I started thinking about these kids. I felt that I can't keep them with me any longer but I suddenly thought of finding them a new home for them. We turned left and went through water street then we turned north to broad street and turned left again to pearl street but I remembered that there was a inn nearby Then something caught my eye. A light was on in the wall street inn we walked right into the inn then heard something then what I saw was a young woman.
WOMAN 1: who's there ?
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: I'm uh looking for... people.
WOMAN 1: and you brought kids with you? Are they yours?
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: I'm afraid not! I think they are orphans
WOMAN 1: oh my the poor dears.
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: I been thinking of finding a home for them. you think that you can adopt them as their foster mom?
WOMAN 1: sure! why not? Wait do you work in an orphanage?
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: no I'm a journalist!
WOMAN 1: a journalist, is your name George?
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: yes!
WOMAN 1:I heard all about you I been following your work for two years now. Plus i'm a big fan.
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: oh a fan and follower huh?  i'm impressed well I have to go now!
WOMAN 1: wait? What brings you here to new-York?
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: I came for someone that lived in new york.
WOMAN 1: oh and who would that be?     
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: her name is carrie shes my fiancé. But she left new york already.
WOMAN 1: oh that makes sense. Well its been good that I meet you in person.
JOURNALIST/NARRATOR: bye stranger!       
PIERSON: I venture from the house. I make my way to a road. No traffic. Here and there a wrecked car, baggage overturned, a blackened skeleton. I push on north. For some reason I feel safer trailing these monsters than running away from them. And I keep a careful watch. I have seen the Martians. . . feed. . .Should one of their machines appear over the top of trees, I am ready to fling myself flat on the earth. I come to a chestnut tree. October chestnuts are ripe. I fill my pockets. I must keep alive. Two days I wander in a vague northerly direction through a desolate world. Next day I came into the martian red weed, the strange martian jungle spreading on the surface.
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: where ever there was a stream the red weed clung grew with frightening veraciousness, its claw-like fawns started choking the movement of the water and then it began to creep like a slimy red animal across the land, covering field and ditch and tree and bush with living scarlet vines crawling, crawling... it was impossible to recognize the route that I taken on south william street, which completely covered in residue by the red weed, it was like walking on gigantic blood drop. walked down william street after that, moving past a half destroyed, i felt a terrible fear that could not completely understand. the red week covered the streets like crimson blanket over our world, smothering up all of mankind then i passed by 60 william St, which there was a church nearby. then i turned north west through pine Street which had less traffic for a long time. after that i saw another church that is called trinity church which was completely devastated in ruins, completely silent. i suddenly notice a body of a parson lying on the ground in the ruin church yard, i felt that i cannot leave him for the mercy of the red weed, then decided to burry him decently. i gaze down sadly at his ravage face, but then breathed in shock as his eyes opened, he was alive!
BETH: nathaniel! nathaniel!… oh my goodness nathaniel i saw the church burst into flames! are you alright?    
PARSON NATHANIEL: don't touch me!

BETH: but its me beth your wife!

PARSON NATHANIEL: no your one of them!, a devil!

BETH: but their not devils, their martians!

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: yes! they came from mars not from god!

PARSON NATHANIEL: lies! i saw the devil sign!

BETH: what are you saying?

PARSON NATHANIEL: the green flash in the sky! these demons were here all along, in our hearts and souls! just waiting for a sign from him and now they are destroying our world!

BETH: he's delirious!

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: now put yourself together! what good is religion when it fails you on calamity!

PARSON NATHANIEL: it was i who failed? after all my promises, i can't help the people when they needed me?

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: take heart, we will have another chance again, and now we must leave here now!

BETH: look a building still standing! come nathaniel quickly?

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: we took shelter in a flower store and black smoke spread heavily, then a fighting machine came across the city spraying jets of steam to turn the smoke into thick black dust!

TRIPODS: (uullaaa)

BETH: dear god help us!

PARSON NATHANIEL: the vice of the devil is here on our land!

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: he lost his mind completely!

BETH: nathaniel please calm down? people trusted you! they had came here for help!

PARSON NATHANIEL: did i warn them that this would happen?  beyond our god i said! the evil just never rests! i told them exorcise the devil, but they didn't listen until he gave his signal and destroyed our world!

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: please just quiet down or they will hear us! i know your trying to fight back but we are no match for them! we will figure out a way to fight back!

PARSON NATHANIEL: forget about goodness and mercy their gone!

BETH: oh no Nathaniel!

(EXPLOSION NOISE, GLASS SHATTERING SOUNDS)  

PARSON NATHANIEL: oh my lord! a cylinder has landed on the store and we're underneath it in the pit!

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: the martians spent the night making a new machine. it was some kind of handing machine with huge articulated claws and it too had a hood which the martians went inside it, we watched it pursue some people across the road. one of the machines tentacles suddenly caught the nibbling and then tossed him into a huge metal basket on its back.

PARSON NATHANIEL: beth! she's dead buried under the rubble, WHY? saten why did you take one of your own?

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: as time passed in the dark buried prison, the parson wrestled enviously with his doubts. his desperate and loss was both then yet i pity him.

PIERSON: I push on north. I find dead cows in a brackish field. Beyond, the charred ruins of a dairy. The silo remains standing guard over the waste land like a lighthouse deserted by the sea. Astride the silo perches a weathercock. The arrow points north.

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: then on the ninth day we saw the martians eating. in side of the hood of their new machine they were draining the living blood of men & women and injecting it into their own veins.

PARSON NATHANIEL: its a sign! i've been given a sign, they must be cast out and i have been chosen to do it! i must confront them now!

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: whats wrong with you parson? your going insane! calm down?

PARSON NATHANIEL: those machines are just demons in another form! i shall destroy them with my prayers! i shall burn them with my holy cross! i shall …

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: the curious eye of  a martian appeared in the window slit and a menacing claw explored the room. i dragged the parson to another room i heard the martian messing with the knob, it understood doors. in the darkness i can see the claw touching things, walls, rocks, wood and then it touched my shoe. i almost shouted, for time it was still and then with a click it griped something, the parson, with slow movements his unconscious body was dragged away and there was nothing i can do to prevent it. i looked through the window to see what was outside. as i looked outside i would not believe it the martians and all of their machinery are gone but the cylinder that landed on the store, trembling i have dug my way and climbed on the top of the mound but not a martian in sight. the day seemed dazzling bright after my imprisonment and the sky glowed blue, red weed had covered every scrape of ground but a gentle breeze kept it swaying and oh the sweetness of the air.   

PIERSON:Next day I came to a city vaguely familiar in its contours, yet its buildings strangely dwarfed and leveled off, as if a giant hand sliced off its highest towers with a capricious sweep of his hand. I reached the outskirts. I found Newark, undemolished, but humbled by some whim of the advancing Martians. Presently, with an odd feeling of being watched, I caught sight of something crouching in a doorway. I made a step towards it, and it rose up and became a man! -- a man, armed with a large knife.
STRANGER: (OFF MIKE) Stop. . . (CLOSER) where did you come from?
PIERSON: I come from . . . many places. A long time ago from Princeton.
STRANGER: Princeton, huh? That's near Grovers Mill!
PIERSON: Yes.
STRANGER: Grovers Mill. . . (LAUGHS AS AT A GREAT JOKE) There's no food here. This is my country. . . all this end of town down to the river. There's only food for one. . . Which way are you going?
PIERSON: I don't know. I guess I'm looking for -- for people.
STRANGER: (NERVOUSLY) What was that? Did you hear something just then?
PIERSON: Only a bird . . . (AMAZED) A live bird!
STRANGER: You get to know that birds have shadows these days. . . Say, we're in the open here. Let's crawl into this doorway and talk.
PIERSON: Have you seen any . . . Martians?
STRANGER: Naah. They've gone over to New York. At night the sky is alive with their lights. Just as if people were still livin' in it. By daylight you can't see them. Five days ago a couple of them carried something' big across the flats from the airport. I believe they're learning how to fly.
PIERSON: Fly!
STRANGER: Yeah, fly.
PIERSON: Then it's all over with humanity. Stranger, there's still you and I. Two of us left.
STRANGER: They got themselves in solid; they wrecked the greatest country in the world. Those green stars, they're probably falling somewhere every night. They've only lost one machine. There isn't anything to do. We're done. We're licked.
PIERSON: Where were you? You're in a uniform.
STRANGER: Yeah, what's left of it. I was in the militia -- national guard. . . That's good! Wasn't any war any more than there's war between men and ants.
PIERSON: And we're eat-able ants. I found that out. . . What will they do with us?
STRANGER: I've thought it all out. Right now we're caught as we're wanted. The Martian only has to go a few miles to get a crowd on the run. But they won't keep doing that. They'll begin catching us systematic-like -- keeping the best and storing us in cages and things. They haven't begun on us yet!
PIERSON: Not begun!
STRANGER: Not begun! All that's happened so far is because we don't have sense enough to keep quiet. . . botherin' them with guns and such stuff and losing our heads and rushing off in crowds. Now instead of our rushing around blind we've got to fix ourselves up -- fix ourselves up according to the way things are NOW. Cities, nations, civilization, progress. . . done.
PIERSON: But if that's so, what is there to live for?
STRANGER: Well, there won't be any more concerts for a million years or so, and no nice little dinners at restaurants. If it's amusement you're after, I guess the game's up.
PIERSON: And what is there left?
STRANGER: Life. . . that's what! I want to live. Yeah, and so do you. We're not going to be exterminated. And I don't mean to be caught, either, and tamed, and fattened, and bred, like an ox.
PIERSON: What are you going to do?
STRANGER: I'm going on. . . right under their feet. I got a plan. We men as men are finished. We don't know enough. We gotta learn plenty before we've got a chance. And we've got to live and keep free while we learn, see? I've thought it all out, see.
PIERSON: Tell me the rest.
STRANGER: Well, it isn't all of us that were made for wild beasts, and that's what it's got to be. That's why I watched YOU. All these little office workers that used to live in these houses -- they'd be no good. They haven't any stuff to 'em. They just used to run off to work. I've seen hundreds of 'em, running wild to catch their commuter train in the morning for fear they'd get canned if they didn't; running back at night afraid they won't be in time for dinner. Lives insured and a little invested in case of accidents. And on Sundays, worried about the hereafter. The Martians will be a godsend for those guys. Nice roomy cages, good food, careful breeding, no worries. After a week or so chasing about the fields on empty stomachs they'll come and be glad to be caught.
PIERSON: You've thought it all out, haven't you?
STRANGER: You bet I have! And that isn't all. These Martians will make pets of some of 'em, train 'em to do tricks. Who knows? Get sentimental over the pet boy who grew up and had to be killed. . . And some, maybe, they'll train to hunt us.
PIERSON: No, that's impossible. No human being. . .
STRANGER: Yes they will. There's men who'll do it gladly. If one of them ever comes after me, why. . .
PIERSON: In the meantime, you and I and others like us. . . where are we to live when the Martians own the earth?
STRANGER: I've got it all figured out. We'll live underground. I've been thinking about the sewers. Under New York are miles and miles of 'em. The main ones are big enough for anybody. Then there's cellars, vaults, underground storerooms, railway tunnels, subways. You begin to see, eh? And we'll get a bunch of strong men together. No weak ones; that rubbish -- out.
PIERSON: And you meant me to go?
STRANGER: Well, I gave you a chance, didn't I?
PIERSON: We won't quarrel about that. Go on.
STRANGER: And we've got to make safe places for us to stay in, see, and get all the books we can -- science books. That's where men like you come in, see? We'll raid the museums, we'll even spy on the Martians. It may not be so much we have to learn before -- just imagine this: four or five of their own fighting machines suddenly start off -- heat rays right and left and not a Martian in 'em. Not a Martian in 'em! But MEN -- men who have learned the way how. It may even be in our time. Gee! Imagine having one of them lovely things with its heat ray wide and free! We'd turn it on Martians, we'd turn it on men. We'd bring everybody down to their knees.
PIERSON: That's your plan?
STRANGER: You, and me, and a few more of us we'd own the world.
PIERSON: I see. . .
STRANGER: (FADING OUT) Say, what's the matter? . . . Where are you going?
PIERSON: Not to your world. . . Goodbye, stranger. . .

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: again i was wandering around new-york through stores and buildings that are now black in ruins, totally silent, desolated, deserted, only the red weed lived, i felt a sense of dethronement, a realization that i was in fact no longer a master, but a puppet under martian domination. mans empire had passed away and taken swiftly and without era by these creatures who were composed entirely of brain, unhampered by the complex systems which make up man, they used with different bodies according to their needs. in this world they went without mating and without the emotions that had risen between a man and woman. they never tired, never slept and never suffered and long since eliminated from their planet and the bacteria which caused fevers, cancers, diseases, and other disabilities. I then walked to Newark which was intact without any damage then i heard a voice.

ARTILLERY MAN: halt who goes there?

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: um a friend!

ARTILLERY MAN: be on your way this is my country my territory!

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: your territory what are you talking about?

ARTILLERY MAN: wait a minute its you the guy from rabbit hill!

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: good heavens the artillery man! i thought you were surely burned?

ARTILLERY MAN:i thought you surely drowned?

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: is this your house?

ARTILLERY MAN: it is now!

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: uh huh, have you seen any martians?

ARTILLERY MAN: everywhere i saw on of their machines carrying a plane i think they are trying to learn how to fly and we're done for alright.

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: you mean the war is lost?

ARTILLERY MAN: there never was a war. theres no war between men and ants, thats what we are now ants!

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: we can't just give up!

ARTILLERY MAN: correct squealing and panicking don't help but I've been in the middle of death before, but you know what comes though? the man that keeps on thinking!  

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: what brought you to newark?

ARTILLERY MAN: Thinking! Everyone was rushing away, so I headed right for the martians, like a bird that goes for the crumbs, now everybody is starving in heaps out there fighting each other, but I have everything I need until the martians are ready  

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: ready for what?

ARTILLERY MAN: the next stage! bringing over the rest of their people! After that they won't go catching us one at a time, they'll do it systematic, laying traps and storing us in cages and things then soon they would  make pets of some of us, train 'em to do tricks. Who knows? Get sentimental over the pet boy who grew up and had to be killed. . . And some, maybe, they'll train to hunt us. So we'll have to fix up a new kind of life for our selfs and there will be none of your handy civilization stuff, that game is over!  

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: then what is it to live for now?

ARTILLERY MAN: the breed man! We're not going to be exterminated or be caught and fatten like ox or cattle.  

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: how can we prevent it?

ARTILLERY MAN: It's now that we've got to start fighting. Not against them, cause we can't win. Now, we've got to fight for survival. I reckon we can make it. I've got a plan. We're gonna build a whole new world for ourselves. Look, they clap eyes on us and we're dead, right? So, we gotta make a new life where they'll never find us. You know where? Underground. You should see it down there, hundreds of miles of drains, sweet and clean now after the rain, dark, quiet, safe. We can build houses and everything, start again from scratch. And what's so bad about living underground, eh? Its not been so great living up here, if you want my opinion. We'll build shops and hospitals and barracks, right under their noses, right under their feet. Everything we need: banks, prisons and schools. We'll send scouting parties to collect books and stuff, and then like you we'll teach the kids. Not poems and rubbish; science, so we can get everything working! We'll build villages and towns, and... and we'll play each other at cricket! Listen, maybe one day we'll capture a fighting machine, eh, learn how to make `em ourselves, and then: WALLOP! Our turn to do some wiping out! WHOOSH! With our heat ray! Whoosh! And them running and dying, beaten at their own game, man on top again! Can't you just see it? Civilization starting all over again! A second chance! Huh- we'll even build a railway and tunnel to the coast, go there for our holidays! Nothing can stop men like us! I've made a start already. Come on down here and have a look.

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR:  In the cellar there was a tunnel scarcely ten yards long. It had taken him a week to dig. I could have dug that much in a day, and I suddenly had my first inkling of the gulf between his dreams and his power.

ARTILLERY MAN:It's doing the working and the thinking that can wears a fellow out. I'm ready for a bit of a rest. How about a drink, eh? Nothing but water now I'm the boss.

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: We drank, and then he insisted upon playing cards. With our species on the edge of extermination, with no prospect but a horrible death, we actually played games. He then asked me of what happened to me then I explained about my trials  of saving two kids and leaving em in care of the woman I met in the inn and the loss of the parson and his wife and wandering all over the city which has given the artillery man a lot of amazement of how long I survived for 13 days... Later he talked more of his plan, but I saw flames flashing in the deep blue night, red weed glowing, tripod figures moving distantly, and I put down my champagne glass. I felt a traitor to my kind, and I knew I must leave this strange dreamer.    
 
PIERSON: After parting with the artilleryman, I came at last to the Holland Tunnel. I entered that silent tube anxious to know the fate of the great city on the other side of the Hudson. Cautiously I came out of the tunnel and made my way up Canal Street. I reached Fourteenth Street, and there again were black powder and several bodies, and an evil ominous smell from the gratings of the cellars of some of the houses.

JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: there were a dozen dead bodies in Canal Street their outlines softened by the black dust. All was still houses locked and empty, shops and malls closed   I remembered that there was a jewelery store somewhere. But then I saw some gold chains and a watch was scattered on the pavement. In the distance the stillness grew even more per-found and unusual, an odd unnerving feeling of suspense, as though the destruction which had annihilated one side that might in any moment strike these gracious buildings in the heart of new york and leave all in smoking ruins.
TRIPODS: (ULLAA)             
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: I stopped, staring towards the sound. It seemed as if that mighty desert of houses had found a voice for its fear and solitude.
TRIPODS: (UUBLLAA)
PIERSON: I wandered up through the Thirties and Forties; I stood alone on Times Square. I caught sight of a lean dog running down Seventh Avenue with a piece of dark brown meat in his jaws, and a pack of starving mongrels at his heels. He made a wide circle around me, as though he feared I might prove a fresh competitor.
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR:the desolating cry worked upon my mind. The wailing took possession of me. I was intensely weary, footsore, hungry and thirsty. Why was I wandering alone in this city of the dead? Why was I alive when new york was lying in state in its black shroud? I felt intolerably lonely, drifting from street to empty street, drawn inexorably towards that cry.
TRIPODS:(ULLAA)
PIERSON:I walked up Broadway in the direction of that strange powder -- past silent shop windows, displaying their mute wares to empty sidewalks -- past the Capitol Theater, silent, dark -- past a shooting gallery, where a row of empty guns faced an arrested line of wooden ducks. Near Columbus Circle I noticed models of 1939 motorcars in the showrooms facing empty streets. From over the top of the General Motors Building, I watched a flock of black birds circling in the sky. I hurried on.
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: I saw over the trees glittering in the sunlight. the hood of the martian fighting machine which the howling came from. I crossed through 8th avenue now a spongy mass of dark red vegetation then notice something even more strange the red weed started to change from it blood red slimy color to an orange half dry color then found a part of it which was pale white. I pulled it off the white part of the red weed it felt dry and crushed it in my hand which made a crackling sound just like old dry bread, I opened my hand and then the pale weed became reduced to nothing but dust which the breezed blew it away, and I realized that the red weed was dying then I moved on towards central park and there stood a second fighting machine, it stood upright but as still as the first.       
PIERSON: Suddenly I caught sight of the hood of a Martian machine, standing somewhere in Central Park, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. An insane idea! I rushed recklessly across Columbus Circle and into the Park.
TRIPODS:(ULLAAaaahhhh) (howling stops)
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR:Abruptly, the sound ceased. Suddenly the desolation, the solitude, became unendurable. While that voice sounded new york still seemed alive. now suddenly there was a change, the passing of something I did not know what It is except now all that remained was this gaunt quiet.
I looked up, and saw a third machine. It was erect and motionless, like the others. An insane resolve possessed me: I would give my life to the Martians, here and now.
PIERSON: I climbed a small hill above the pond at Sixtieth Street. From there I could see, standing in a silent row along the mall, nineteen of those great metal Titans, their cowls empty, their great steel arms hanging listlessly by their sides. I looked in vain for the monsters that inhabit those machines.
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR:I marched recklessly towards the titan and saw that a multitude of black birds were circling and clustering about the hood. I began running along the road. I felt no fear, only a wild, trembling exultation as I ran up the hill towards the monster. Out of the hood hung red shreds, at which the hungry birds now pecked and tore.

PIERSON:Suddenly, my eyes were attracted to the immense flock of black birds that hovered directly below me. They circled to the ground, and there before my eyes, stark and silent, lay the Martians, with the hungry birds pecking and tearing brown shreds of flesh from their dead bodies.
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR:I scrambled up to the crest of central park, the Martian's camp was below me. A mighty space it was, and scattered about it, in their overturned machines, were the Martians, slain after all man's devices had failed by the humblest creatures on the earth: bacteria. Minute, invisible, bacteria. These germs had plague us since life first began, through millions of years of evolution we developed a resistance to them, we became immune to these organisms which never cause harm to us anymore, but however there are no bacteria on mars Directly the invaders arrived breathed our air, drank and fed, our microscopic allies attacked them. From that moment, they were doomed. As I looked over the right side of me in the distance I would not believed my eyes, a man wandering in the dead corps of the Martians. I ran right up towards him I was completely surprised to see who he was, it was Richard Pierson! the astronomer that I was introduced to by ogilvy. We then talked to each other about our trials and when were finished talking we decided that we should get to the artilleryman and tell him that the martians are dead, as we got back to where the artilleryman was. In about three minutes we told the artilleryman everything but I suddenly remembered the three people that I met during my fearful travels the woman at the inn and the two orphans I saved in her care. As we walked through the streets we passed by the flower store which the cylinder had landed on we moved on and then we made it to the wall street inn we then found the people that I was searching for. as we told them what happened they were amazed of this news the woman smiled with happiness, the children began crying out tears of joy. As we walked out of the inn the Martian vegetation which covered the city had now turn to dust and was completely blown away then we headed to the sea hoping that the people who left will return, for three long days and nights something started happen the sky started to glow orange, my heart lighten gloriously as the rising sun struck the world to fire. The shadow that had at last been rolled back and I felt a wave of emotion close to tears, yes the torment had ended the boat had returned the people scatered over the city, desperate, leaderless, starved, the thousands who had fled by sea including the one most dear to me; all could return, the pulse of life growing stronger and stronger would beat again.                
PIERSON:Later when their bodies were examined in the laboratories, it was found that they were killed by the putrefactive and disease bacteria against which their systems were unprepared. . . slain, after all man's defenses had failed, by the humblest thing that God in His wisdom put upon this earth.
Before the cylinder fell there was a general persuasion that through all the deep of space no life existed beyond the petty surface of our minute sphere. Now we see further. Dim and wonderful is the vision I have conjured up in my mind of life spreading slowly from this little seedbed of the solar system throughout the inanimate vastness of sidereal space. But that is a remote dream. It may be that the destruction of the Martians is only a reprieve. To them, and not to us, is the future ordained perhaps.
Strange it now seems to sit in my peaceful study at Princeton writing down this last chapter of the record begun at a deserted farm in Grovers Mill. Strange to see from my window the university spires dim and blue through an April haze. Strange to watch children playing in the streets. Strange to see young people strolling on the green, where the new spring grass heals the last black scars of a bruised earth. Strange to watch the sightseers enter the museum where the dissembled parts of a Martian machine are kept on public view. Strange when I recall the time when I first saw it, bright and clean-cut, hard, and silent, under the dawn of that last great day.
JOURNALIST/ NARRATOR: as life returns to normal and man is again supreme a funeral of the woman who was buried under the ruble and the parson who was found in a handing machine somewhere a week later I felt guilty for what happened to these people and I hoped that they are in a better place together.  me and carrie got married in two weeks later but as we went on our honey moon we looked up at the stars the question of another attack from mars which causes universal concerns. Is out planet safe, or is this time of peace merely a reprieve? It may be that across the immensity of space, they have learned their lessons , and even now await their opportunity. Perhaps the future belongs not to us, but to the Martians.
PASADENA: Looking good, going good, we're getting great pictures here at NASA control Pasadena. Landing craft touched down on Mars 28 kilometers from the aim point. We're looking at a remarkable landscape, littered with different kinds of rocks. Red, purple... how about that, Bermuda?
BERMUDA: Fantastic. Look at that dune field!
PASADENA: Hey, wait, I- I'm getting a no-go signal. Now I'm losing one of the craft. Hey Bermuda, you getting it?
BERMUDA: Nah, lost contact. There's a lot of dust blowing up there.
PASADENA: Now I lost the second craft. We got problems.
BERMUDA: Full contact lost, Pasadena. Maybe the antenna's--...
PASADENA: What's that flare? See it? A green flare coming from Mars. Kind of a green mist behind it. It's getting closer. You see it, Bermuda? ...Come in, Bermuda! ...Houston, come in! What's going on... tracking station 43 Canberra, come in Canberra!... tracking station 63, can you hear me Madrid... can anybody hear me? Come in...! Come in...........!   
(MUSIC SWELLS UP AND OUT)
Orson Welles: This is Orson Welles, ladies and gentlemen, out of character to assure you that The War of The Worlds has no further significance than as the holiday offering it was intended to be. The Mercury Theatre's own radio version of dressing up in a sheet and jumping out of a bush and saying Boo! Starting now, we couldn't soap all your windows and steal all your garden gates by tomorrow night. . . so we did the best next thing. We annihilated the world before your very ears, and utterly destroyed the C. B. S. You will be relieved, I hope, to learn that we didn't mean it, and that both institutions are still open for business. So goodbye everybody, and remember the terrible lesson you learned tonight. That grinning, glowing, globular invader of your living room is an inhabitant of the pumpkin patch, and if your doorbell rings and nobody's there, that was no Martian. . .it's Hallowe'en.
(MERCURY THEATRE THEME UP FULL, THEN DOWN)
Announcer: Tonight the Columbia Broadcasting System and its affiliated stations coast-to-coast have brought you The War of the Worlds, by H. G. Wells, the seventeenth in its weekly series of dramatic broadcasts featuring Orson Welles and the Mercury Theatre on the Air. Next week we present a dramatization of three famous short stories. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.

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