Lost in Magadan: Extraterrestrials on Earth

by William Lee

  After discussing the situation with his men, they decided that rescuing the woman would most likely reveal their position. They needed to wait and see more.

  It seemed like all the Nazi activities were centered on the other side of the large underground chamber, and it was unlikely that they would be discovered among the rows of wooden, swastika-emblazoned boxes. The men took positions where they could see the chamber, the stage, and the flying saucer.

  A few minutes later, a German officer walked in and took a seat among the chairs lined up facing the saucer. Dale remembered people discussing ‘foo fighters’ and wondered if this flying saucer was what they were talking about. According to some, foo fighters were highly advanced enemy aircraft that could outmaneuver any American plane.

  The room slowly filled with Nazi officers. They were wearing full dress uniforms with red armbands. Many were decorated with ribbons and medals. From their position behind the boxes, the squad could see what was going on. But everyone was speaking in German and none of them could understand it from 200 yards away. The last of the Nazi officers took his seat. Their backs facing Dale and the other three men.

  Two more German soldiers appeared from the right side of the chamber, escorting another beautiful woman. Both women appeared to be healthy, and showed no physical signs of torture. The second woman’s ankle was chained to the platform behind the alter, next to the first woman, each stood inside one of the shallow, boxes of dirt. Dale was getting a bad feeling about this. He knew something was happening, something bigger than these two women, something bigger than him and his men.

  The two women looked at one another, each knowing that this was going to be a very bad day, if not their last. They trembled before the group of Nazi officers but kept glancing back toward the flying machine. Whatever was going to happen, it was going to happen soon.

  A man began to walk down the ladder from the metallic saucer. He was wearing a full-dress Nazi uniform, complete with medals and ribbons. Dale guessed he was close to seven feet tall. Focusing on his face, he noted it was not like any other face he had ever seen before. The man had gray skin and large black eyes. Not black pupils, black eyes, like the eyes of an insect. Then Dale realized, this was no man at all. This was some kind of monster, perhaps not even from this planet.

  The Nazi creature walked up the red carpet, onto the stage, and took his place in one of the large decorative chairs. Five more extremely tall, gray-faced beings emerged from the flying machine and took their places on stage. Each of the six creatures was wearing Nazi uniforms. Dale thought the insignias indicated they were generals. The audience sat completely still, and the large chamber was filled with a deafening silence.

  Matthews glanced over at Adam, who was staring at the bizarre scene before them. The tallest of the six stood to his feet. He walked up to the altar and stood behind the woman on the right. Even from this distance Matthews could tell she was horrified. The hideous creature pulled out a jeweled blade and displayed it in front of the woman, she recoiled with disgust. He positioned the blade across her arm, then in one quick movement he sliced open her flesh. Her blood began to run down her arm and drip onto the soil. The creature chanted, “Blut und Boden,” and the Nazi congregation repeated the phrase. Dale did not understand what was happening, but his bones rattled with disgust.

  The second large creature stood, ceremoniously accepting the jeweled blade from the first creature as it returned to its place among the others. The second creature approached the woman, slowly penetrating the skin of her other arm. She screamed in pain, begged it to stop, but it did not relent. Matthews could see the backs of the Nazi officers’ heads, they did not move, not one inch. The Nazis did not even whisper. They were not like the two German guards that brought the women into the chamber, laughing and carrying-on. Dale could not tell, but he was certain they were terrified.

  The second creature finished his assault on the young woman, blood streaming down her arms, she was sobbing uncontrollably. A third creature lifted her head up by her long brown hair, and with lightning speed, lifted the ceremonial dagger and cut her throat all the way to the bone. Her blood sprayed all over the altar and onto the wooden platform. Splattered in blood, the woman chained beside her began to scream uncontrollably.

  The creature returned to his chair momentarily and then walked back up to the altar. The young woman was still lying on the marble table, her blood flowing off the marble and onto the carpet. Seemingly, from nowhere, an ornate goblet appeared in the second creature’s hand, and he began to collect the blood dripping off the table top. After what seemed like an eternity, the creature handed the bloody goblet to the tallest of his kin.

  Taking the goblet from the creature with both hands. The tall one walked from around the altar and stood in the center of the platform before the Nazi officers and said nothing. He stood before them and lifted the bloody goblet to his lips and drank. Not a sound from the fifty Nazi officers, only the screams from the remaining terrified woman.

  Dale was horrified, but what could he do in the face of such superior numbers? He knew that there was no way he could eliminate all fifty Nazi officers, the six creatures, and the guards that were surely lurking in the tunnels on the other side of the chamber.

  Another of the creatures stood up and walked up behind the second woman who was tied to the bloody alter. The creature started to lift the jeweled blade into the air. There was no doubt as to this woman’s fate. Matthews closed his eyes, trying to think of a way to save the young woman. What could be done?

  A large explosion rocked the concrete chamber. Dale looked up and saw Nazi soldiers being flung 30 and 40 feet. The blast came from the center of the seating area, where a few seconds ago the chairs had been lined up in perfect order. Nazi soldiers were lying on the ground bleeding; some, dazed by the loss of limbs and blood. Dale saw one crawling away from the blast zone; others were running and limping away. Everyone was confused. It was complete bedlam.

  Dale looked over at his crew, and to his surprise, Steve Dyer was standing up, in plain sight holding, the M-9 rocket launcher on his shoulder.

  Dale knew the decision was made, and Steve would most like never see a court martial for what he had just done. There was no point in yelling at him for disobeying orders. He glanced over at Adam. Adam understood and nodded. They both stepped from cover and started firing their weapons into the crowd of fleeing Nazis.

  The first few seconds were easy. The Nazis had been completely caught off guard by the explosion, which had immediately killed about 20 of them. The remaining 30 were in differing states of shock and confusion. The few that had their wits about them, enough to draw their pistols, were cut down quickly by Adam’s BAR. At two hundred yards, a BAR will make quick work of a pistol-wielding Nazi. But that was just the first few seconds.

  Through the haze of explosions and gunfire, emerged one of the creatures. The large creature was running directly toward the squad.

  How fucked up is this? There is a seven-foot-tall creature, dressed as a Nazi general, charging directly at me. I can handle this. He has 200 yards to cross with no cover. I can fill him with lead long before he gets to me.

  Dale took what seemed like forever to change his magazine and bring the loaded weapon to eye level. In those few seconds, the creature had closed the distance by half. The Thompson machine gun roared, and Dale emptied half the magazine in to the creature at 75 yards. The creature stopped, lurched forward, and dropped to one knee. Dale was certain he had taken out the seven-foot-tall monster when it leapt up, and began the charge again.

  Dale jerked the trigger; this time making certain to aim for the creature’s chest. He could see the impacts. He could see the creature stumble but not fall. Shit, it must be wearing body armor. Twenty-five yards, no time to reload. Dale pulled out his combat knife, but before he could get into a hand-to-hand combat position, the creature exploded into a ball of flame. Dale was thrown back from the blast.

  Dammit. If we live through thi
s I’m going to kill Steve Dyer.

  The creature was dead, and if it wasn’t, it wished it were because it was missing a leg and an arm. It was a short-lived victory. The next creature was charging, already half way across the space between them and the stage. A football field is all that separated them from the hideous beast. Steve was already reloading his M-9 bazooka. There was probably not enough time; this creature was fast.

  Adam stepped out from cover and fired his BAR from the hip. Dale could see the bullets slamming into the creature. Holes were appearing all over his formerly neat, crisp uniform. The creature stopped 25 yards away, ripped open his Nazi uniform jacket to reveal a metallic looking undergarment. From a devise on the creature’s chest, shot a beam of light, it resembled a lightning strike. The shard of light ripped through Adam’s chest, throwing him backwards. Dale glanced at Adam’s lifeless corpse. He knew Adam was dead, probably before he hit the ground. The wound in Adam’s chest was the size of a grapefruit. The sickening, sweet smell of burning flesh filled Dale’s nostrils.

  His gun was empty, and the creature was moving toward him again. He dove for Adam’s dropped Browning. Another loud explosion.

  “Hell yeah,” screamed Steve. I got two of those alien bastards.”

  We don’t actually know they are aliens.

  “Thanks!” His ears were ringing from the blast.

  No sooner had Steve spoken he was hit by a shard of light. Half of his head disappeared into a mist of blood and brain matter.

  Only two of us left. At least four creatures left. Not to mention dozens of Nazis. Not the best odds.

  Standing to his feet after the blast that took out the second creature, he saw Nazi troops approaching from both sides and three creatures approaching down the middle.

  “We got to go,” Tom yelled. Tom had dropped his StG44 and was holding his standard issue M-2 carbine with a 30-round magazine.

  Dale ducked down and grabbed the M-9 bazooka. It had one M6A3 rocket attached. Damn. I wish I had time to look for the rest of the rockets.

  Dale and Tom raced back toward the tunnel.

  Dale could hear the large creature closing the distance between them.

  “That thing is right behind us,” Tom yelled, as they ran through the dark tunnel.

  Tom had a flashlight in one hand and his M-2 carbine in the other. The red beam was erratically bouncing around the on the concrete walls as they ran. Dale was clutching the pistol grip of the Thompson sub-machine gun, while his other hand held the M-9.

  A large hand grabbed Dale’s neck from behind. The hand and long fingers wrapped completely around his neck, like a baseball player would wrap his hand around the handle of bat. Dale was instantly flung backwards and crashed into the concrete wall. Both of his weapons disappeared into the darkness.

  Dale’s breath was knocked out of him by his impact with the wall. The monster had flung him 10 feet with all the ease of a teenager flinging a soda can. The monster grabbed him by his collar and lifted him off the ground. This large, gray, hairless beast was solid and strong. Dale stared into his large, black, bug-like eyes.

  This thing is bullet proof and I don’t even have a gun.

  The creature’s hands started to squeeze around his neck. Dale knew he only had seconds left. He reached down to his belt and wrapped his fingers around his US-M3 Utica combat knife. He gripped the leather and steel handle of the double-edged knife and flicked the snap button that held it in the scabbard.

  He’s bullet proof, and you won’t get two swings with the knife.

  With all his remaining strength, he rammed the combat knife straight up between the creature’s arms and into its neck, just below the chin. He crashed back down to the floor as the creature released him. The seven-foot-tall Nazi general stumbled back, holding both hands over his neck. The creature stabled himself, and still holding his neck, started lifting his elbows upwards and shifting so that his chest plate was lined up on Dale.

  Shit. He has that energy beam thing on his chest. He does not even need his hands to burn a hole through me.

  Tom, standing ten feet from the creature, fired 15 rounds directly into the creature’s head. It dropped to the floor. Dale was gasping for breath when he saw a shard of light zip through Tom’s chest, leaving a gaping hole where his heart was located seconds before. Tom fell over, dead.

  The creature that had drank the blood of the woman at the altar was standing 20 yards back in the tunnel. Tom’s flashlight had fallen in such a way that it illuminated the M-9 bazooka. Dale knew the magazine in his Thompson machine gun was empty and that Tom had just about emptied his M-2 carbine. His only hope was the M-9 and the last M6A3 rocket. Dale lurched towards the M-9. Surprisingly, he was able to shoulder the weapon and spin around to face the creature before the creature could lay hands on him. Staring down the sights of the M-9, he saw the creature standing ten yards away. The creature was in the middle of the tunnel, arms to his sides like an old western gunslinger, the heat-beam weapon in the center of his chest faintly glowing, pulsing, and waiting to spit out a deadly shard of light.

  “Sergeant Matthews,” the creature said in a raspy deep voice.

  How in the hell does it know my name? It speaks English?

  “How do you know my name?” Dale asked.

  “Does that matter at this moment? You have a rocket aimed at my chest, and I have a particle beam incinerator pointed at yours.” The creature took a step forward.

  “What are you,” Dale challenged.

  “Your language has no word that describes me. Suffice it to say, I am not from this world. Since we have been standing here, I have calculated the odds of your survival. If I fire my particle beam, there is a ninety-seven percent chance you will die.”

  “Yeah, is that so? Did you forget that I have an anti-tank rocket pointed at you?” Dale boasted with insincere confidence.

  “I have calculated that I have a twenty-seven percent chance of surviving your next attack. The odds are in my favor. Even if your rocket is successful, my weapon is thought controlled, I need no hands to fire it.”

  “If you are so sure of your odds, then why all this talking? Why not just shoot?” Dale grasped his weapon tightly and shifted focus from the creature’s chest to his feet.

  “While my chances of surviving this duel are greater than yours, a twenty-seven percent chance of survival is not a gamble I wish to take today,” the creature stated in a matter of fact way, as if he were considering going ‘all-in’ with a pair of queens.

  “What do you propose? I’m not putting down my weapon,” Dale said defiantly, somewhat relieved that there may be a way out of this situation. He knew he could not trust this otherworldly beast, but he figured the beast was pretty damn close on the odds.

  “No need for you to disarm, simply start walking backwards until you no longer see me,” the beast suggested.

  Dale knew there were all kinds of problems with that solution. For starters, he could barely see walking forward, walking backward was likely to lead to some tragic slip-and-fall, and not one that could be remedied by some ambulance chasing personal injury lawyer. However, Dale was sure he was not going to get a better offer.

  “What is your name?” Matthews shouted.

  “I am Nox Bellator,” the creature replied.

  “How do I know you won’t come after me when I leave?” Dale asked.

  “I am not proposing a peace treaty between our nations, just a truce at this moment - in this tunnel. If we meet on the battle field again, I will surely kill you. As for today, I have more pressing matters to attend to,” the self-proclaimed Nox Bellator announced in his raspy voice.

  “Very well, I accept your temporary truce,” Dale said, as he began to slowly back away.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Paris, France 1944

  Dale Matthews sat in a wooden, low-back chair in the lobby of a formerly opulent hotel. He was wearing a clean uniform and had showered and shaved earlier that morning. After eating a decent breakfast
in the makeshift mess hall, he was reporting to Allied Supreme Command Headquarters just outside Paris, France. Paris had been occupied by the Germans for the last four years, but a few months earlier, allied forces had pushed the Germans out and reclaimed Paris for the French. Now, Paris and its surrounding towns had become the headquarters for Allied operations. The city was bustling with thousands of troops moving millions of tons of supplies. Paris had become a critical part of the Allies’ long supply line, as they prepared to cross the Rhine River and push further into German territory.

  After his encounter with Nox Bellator, he had told his commanding officer of the incident, a decision he may live to regret. Apparently, his report was read by division command and then sent on to Allied Supreme Command because, a few days later, he was recalled from the front lines and ordered back to Paris. Dale enjoyed having a couple of days with decent food and sleep, but, he was very uncomfortable talking to colonels and generals. He thought he had finished yesterday, but then, here he was again today. How many times could he tell the same story?

  It was obvious to Dale that a few years ago this hotel had been magnificent. The six-story, massive hotel was constructed with white stone blocks. He sat in a large hallway lined with decorative arches and white stone pillars. Everywhere he turned, there were recessed ceilings, crown molding, and fancy black and white checkered marble floors. There were still signs of the hotel’s former glory: a deep, rich mahogany front desk; fancy crown molding and even a few delicate end tables were scattered about the lobby. The ornate rugs and sofas had been removed and replaced with more practical desks and wooden chairs. Well-to-do Paris elites, with top hats and coat tails, had been replaced by dozens of soldiers wearing olive drab uniforms, running back and forth with orders and reinforcement requests.