January advanced, cold as the tomb.

At eleven o'clock on the morning of Saturday, the sixteenth, I said good-bye to Mom and left home on Rocket to meet Ben and Johnny at the Lyric. The sky was plated with clouds, the threat of freezing rain in the air. I was bundled up like an Eskimo, but I'd soon be shedding my coat and gloves. The movie for today was called Hell Is for Heroes, the poster of which showed the sweating faces of American soldiers crouched down behind machine gun and bazooka, awaiting the enemy attack. To accompany this carnage, there would be a program of Daffy Duck cartoons and the next chapter of Fighting Men of Mars. The last chapter had ended with the Fighting Men about to be crushed by a falling boulder at the bottom of a Martian mine shaft. I'd already plotted out their escape; they would scramble into a previously hidden tunnel at the very last second, thus escaping a flattening fate.

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