Lost in Magadan: Extraterrestrials on Earth

“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 Well-to-do Paris elites, with top hats and coat tails, had been replaced by dozens of soldiers wearing olive drab uniforms, running back and forth with orders and reinforcement requests.

A neat and trim officer approached Dale from around the corner. He was young but clearly professional and every bit of his uniform was pressed and perfect, not something Dale was accustomed to seeing among the officers to whom he reported. Dale stood at attention and saluted the dapper officer. By his insignia, he could see the officer was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army Air Corp.

“At ease, Sergeant,” the colonel said, in a gentle but professional tone. Dale relaxed his stance but was anything but ‘at ease.’

“Come with me, Sergeant.” the Colonel said.

“Yes, Sir,” Matthews had given up on asking why, what and how; he simply followed the Colonel. They walked down several long, open, spacious corridors. Massive doors opened into vast ball rooms, that now served as makeshift offices for secretarial staff. They came to a conference room, that was insignificant compared to the others, and the Colonel opened the door and gesticulated for Dale to follow.

The small conference room was no less lavish than the rest of the hotel, with painted, wood panel walls and heavy crown molding. The ceiling had a circular recessed section that was painted a golden color. In the center of the room, stood a single table covered by a white tablecloth and surrounded by six high-back wooden chairs.

“May I get you something: coffee; tea; water?” the Colonel offered.

“Water, please,” Dale replied. He was not thirsty, but based on how long previous meetings had taken, he figured after a few hours of repeating himself to some pretentious Colonel, his mouth would be dry.

“Have a seat. I will be right back,” the Colonel politely, nodded toward the table and walked away.

“Thank you,” Dale said, keeping up the charade of politeness, even though both men knew it was an order, and compliance was expected. Dale took the chair on the other side of the table, so he could face the door from which they had entered.

A few minutes after the Colonel brought back the glass of water another officer walked into the room. Dale could see from the three stars pinned on the collar of his khaki uniform that he was a General. Dale stood to attention and saluted.

“Good morning, Sergeant Matthews. At ease, take a seat,” the General said, with a hand flourish toward the seat. The General appeared to be in his early fifties, with a touch gray creeping out, above his ears.