Lost in Magadan: Extraterrestrials on Earth

“Hell yeah!” shouted Matthews, “that’s my thirty-seventh kill.”

Adam grinned and said, “Still doesn’t beat my 54 kills!” He peered down the barrel of his Browning and gave the trigger a good long pull, sending 10 bullets into a German soldier that had stuck his head up from behind a tree stump.

“Grenade!” yelled Adam.

Dale heard the thud of a grenade not six feet from him. He turned and saw the smooth, egg-shaped, German hand grenade land on the ground between his foxhole and the one to his left. He flung himself deep into the hole while grabbing Adam by his collar and dragging him down with him. The grenade exploded harmlessly, only feet away. Dale and Adam scrambled to stand, ears ringing from the explosion.

“Thanks. You saved my ass,” Adam choked out, as he wiped mud and dirt from his face.

“Roger that,” Dale responded, as he detached the magazine from his Thompson. He reached into the canvas ammo pouch attached to his web belt and pulled out a fresh magazine and slid it into place. He knew the magazine was in place when he heard and felt the metallic click. From down in the foxhole, he saw Evan firing from behind a tree at unseen Germans. He pulled back the charging handle, and the Thompson was ready to fire.

Dale and Adam cautiously rose from the foxhole, with their weapons held firmly at their shoulders. The Krauts had advanced to 25 yards. From a standing position in the foxhole, Adam fired the BAR at a German’s head as it poked up from behind a large fallen tree. Splinters flew in every direction, as the bullets smashed into the tree just below the German’s exposed head. Adam raised the barrel ever so slightly, and the German’s head exploded in to a bloody mess.

Dale saw two Germans, 30 yards to his left, hiding behind a small outcropping of rock. He knew that his Thompson would likely be ineffective against their rocky defensive position. He could see they were setting up something behind the rock. Setting his Thompson on the ground, he took one of the pineapple grenades from his belt and wrapped his left index finger around the steel ring. He jerked the ring, activating the grenade. One, two, three. Dale knew it had a five second delay. Then, with one fluid motion he threw the grenade at the Germans behind the rock formation. The grenade never hit the ground. It exploded in the air only feet from the Germans heads, shrapnel ripping holes through their bodies as they were flung to the ground by the force of the explosion.

Dale, all but deaf from the gunfire and explosions all around him, looked right, then left, to see how his squad was doing. His entire team was holding their ground. No one had taken any hits. The air was heavy with the noxious gasses of thousands of rounds being fired. A grayish white haze washed over the ridge.

“Mortar, incoming,” shouted an unfamiliar voice from behind. Dale and Adam, instinctively, dove into their foxhole and hoped it would not explode directly overhead. Dale could hear the whistling sound of the mortar cutting through the air. It was a familiar sound; the Germans had been lobbing mortars at them for days. If it exploded to their right or left, the foxhole would shield them, but a direct hit would mean a shallow grave. Face down, covering his head with his arms, Dale heard the mortar explode behind him.

Leaping to his feet, he griped the wooden handle of his Thompson machine gun and raised it to eye level. Focusing on the iron sights at the end of the barrel, he saw a German soldier advancing 20 yards in front of him. Dale squeezed the trigger, and 10 rounds, half his magazine, slammed into the tree. One bullet finding its target. A gut shot. The German bent over and dropped to his knees, a fatal wound, the man would eventually bleed to death. Yet, Dale took aim again; this time sending three bullets into the mostly exposed soldier. The Nazi lurched backwards and toppled over onto the rocky ground.

There was the terrible roar of an incoming artillery barrage. Shells exploded in the tree tops, sending thousands of shards of hot metal down on the Americans. Everyone dove for their foxholes and scrambled to find whatever cover they could. Dale and Adam managed to pull their thatched, stick and branch shield over themselves as the hot iron buried into wood, dirt, and flesh. Once again, Dale and Adam took the opportunity to reload their magazines, and when the barrage of shrapnel had passed, they sprung out of their foxholes and ran, crouching the whole way, to a nearby fallen tree. Peering out from behind the broken tree, they could see Germans retreating.

They had been taught that soldiers in a fortified defensive position could repel an offensive force three times its size. The exposed advancing Germans took severe casualties, while the dug-in Americans were mostly protected by the earthen fortifications. The Americans had taken some casualties, but the lack of food, ammo, and medical supplies were going to be the death of them.