It's January 19, 1915, and World War I is raging in Europe.

But in the town of Great Yarmouth, on the east coast of England, all is quiet.

Cliff Temple, an eight-year-old boy, sits at the kitchen table,

playing with a set of tin soldiers. The clock on the wall reads 7 p.m. It's nearing Cliff's bedtime,

but he's waiting up for his father, who's on leave from the Western Front and should be home soon.

Cliff's mother busies herself at the kitchen sink, and occasionally she glances anxiously

through the window, hoping to see her husband strolling up the garden path any minute. As Cliff

plays with his soldiers, he gradually becomes aware of a strange noise, a low and distant humming,

like a swarm of far-off bees. Cliff stops playing and looks up at his mother.

It's clear she's heard the sound, too. She's staring up at the sky. Her face etch with

confusion and fear. Cliff listens intently as the noise gets louder and louder. He jumps down

from his chair and goes to the window.

He peers around his mother and squins up at the darkening sky.

And there, drifting menacingly over the roof of the houses across the street is a giant

aircraft, like a balloon, but longer and more sinister.

Awestruck, Cliff runs for the door to get a better look, concerned his mother follows.

And outside, Cliff notices that the streets are filled with other residents who had the same impulse

and now stare into the sky amazed.

Cliff cuts his eyes up at the strange aircraft. It looks like a huge, fat cigar,

but with spinning propellers on either end and fins running the length of its side. As he studies it,

a trapdoor in the fuselage opens, and then small objects drop from the underbelly, falling out

of sight beyond the houses to the south.

...