Lost in Magadan: Extraterrestrials on Earth

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 this 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.