The Wartime Encounter
by Ben Croshaw

Dull, throbbing explosions punctuated the still night air of a small village in wartime Britain. Planes of numerous sorts moaned overhead, like an old man complaining about the weather.

Sergeant Jack Langton, who was the blackout warden on that fateful night, wandering through the empty streets, a pathetic pencil of light streaming from his torch, perceived noises.

"Oh, great, now what?" said a put-upon voice.

"Nothing to worry about," said another. "Temporal transmitter’s overheated. Probably a loose connection. Chuck us that torch."

Jack jumped back in surprise as a bright beam of light exploded into being and half-blinded him, then remembered his duty.

"Put that light out!" he shouted.

"What was that?" said a voice behind the light.

"A local! Turn it off!"

The light obligingly turned off. Blinking a few times to dispel the big green smear in front of his eyes, Jack pointed his torch at the huge shape he had seen, but before he could make any proper observations the three dark figures shuffled into his line of sight.

"Can I help you, officer?" said one voice, quavering slightly.

"What is THAT?" said Jack, similarly.

"It’s not a time machine!" blurted another of the newcomers.

Comparative silence echoed around the street.

"I never said it was," said Jack guardedly.

"Very perceptive of you," said a third voice. "You’re quite right, this is NOT a time machine."

"It would have been silly of you to claim that this WAS a time machine," said the first voice, casually booting the second speaker in the shin, "as it clearly ISN’T."

"What is it, then?" asked Jack. His fear had gone. The situation was more comical than dangerous.

Once again, thoughtful silence invaded the interrogation.

"Just a new type of car," said the third figure carefully.

"Really?" said Jack, interested. "May I see?"

"Er, no -"

"Please?"

Reluctantly, as if favouring the lesser of two evils, the shadowy figures shuffled to the side. By pointing his torch at strategic parts of the vehicle, Jack was able to come up with the following picture:

It looked vaguely like a sort of evolutionary descendant of his rusting Oldsmobile, but with add-ons, such as an intricate network of wires, cables and components at the rear, an odd piece of equipment on the bonnet wired to some hook-shaped objects on the roof and sides, and a lack of back seats. Apart from that, it looked exactly like a car of some description, except -

"Where are the wheels?" said Jack.

The silence this time was a little more anxious.

"Er, um..." said one of the figures.

"They’re so incredibly modern, they can’t be seen in darkness!" said another, hurriedly.

Jack leaned down to take a closer look. "No, I’m pretty certain there are no wheels at all."

Indeed there wasn’t. There was, however, a pair of long strips of sheet metal where the wheels should have been.

"Er..." said one of the men.

"Oh my goodness!" said another, theatrically. "Someone’s stolen our wheels!"

"Oh my goodness!" said the other two in unison.

Jack sighed and got out his notebook. This was more his territory. "Any idea who?"

Movement in the darkness suggested that the three were looking at each other frantically.

"A tall guy!" said the first.

"A short bloke!" said the second.

"A thin man!" said the third.

Jack gave the three - or at least the shadow in which he presumed the three were hiding - an odd look, but his reply was lost in the blaring of a horn.

Standing up, Jack could see there was one of those modern cars - or at least, one of those currently modern cars - stuck behind the prototype car and beeping dangerously. Now he could take a proper look he realised the wheel-less vehicle was parked lengthways across the road.

"What’s going on?" yelled the motorist from the driver’s seat. "I’m going to be late! That you, Jack?"

"Evening, Norman," said Jack, then turned to the three odd strangers. "What possessed you to park it like that?"

The three wisely decided not to answer the question. Jack treated them to another odd look and walked over to the car.

"Would you mind taking a different route, Norman?" said Jack. "Someone’s taken this car’s tyres."

Norman’s brow furrowed, insofar as Jack could see in the blackout. "And parked it across the road?

Suddenly, the scene was filled the brightest of white light. It didn’t seem to have any particular source. Tendrils of electricity earthed themselves in the car, the pavement and the surrounding houses. Jack spun round, unconsciously preparing the words ‘put that light out’, and was just in time to see the prototype vehicle flare into a ball of white flame and disappear, leaving the street blacked out once again.

"What was that?!" yelled Jack, realised the three had also vanished, and tried to pass it off as a rhetorical question.

Norman blinked rapidly. "I reckon it was one of those unexplained phemonema," he said sagely. "Lot of that going round. I heard this one chap in Coventry, dropped dead from hypothermia in the middle of summer. And down Rugby way it rained mashed potato solidly for two hours."

"Norman?" said Jack, levelly.

"Mm?"

"Shut up."

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