Lost in Magadan: Extraterrestrials on Earth

“I have already told the other officers everything I know,” Dale insisted, in a respectful but defensive tone.

“I’m not here to interrogate you, Matthews. I have read the reports submitted by the previous interviewers, and I believe you. I’m General Ryan Bartlett with the Army Air Corps.”

Dale nodded his head and decided to not speak, other than to answer direct questions.

General Bartlett pulled a folder from his brief case and placed it on the white tablecloth between the two men. Dale glanced at it, assuming it was transcripts of his previous interviews.

“The report says you killed three of these creatures.” The General stated, leaning back in his chair.

“Not exactly. I assisted with killing two of the beasts. Quite frankly, I’m not sure I landed the death blow on either one them. I shot one with my Trench Broom. I mean Thompson machine gun, but it did not go down until it was hit with an M-9 bazooka. The other one I stabbed in the neck, but it did not die until it was shot in the head with an M-2 carbine.”

General Bartlett nodded his head as if to agree with Matthews. “So, I read your description of the flying machine. Did you ever see it fly?”

“As I told the others, I never saw it fly. It was sitting on a concrete platform the entire time.”

“What made you believe it was a flying machine, Matthews?” the General demanded as he was looking down his arrowhead-shaped nose at Matthews.

“I just assumed. It had no tires or tracks. It was made from a metallic substance and sat on the concrete pillars like a ship sits in dry dock.” Dale thought for a moment. “There was also the opening at the top of the chamber directly above the flying machine. It looked to me like that opening was the only way for it to come into or go out of the underground chamber.”

The General cradled his chin between his index finger and thumb, as if in deep thought, never taking his eyes off Matthews. Dale thought this seemed a lot like an interrogation. The General took his hand from his chin and pushed the folder on the table toward Dale, “Look at these.”

Dale reached for the manila folder and opened it, to reveal dozens of photographs of disc-like flying objects. The pictures were all taken from different perspectives and positions.

“I see why you believe me now,” Dale muttered. All the pictures were of metallic objects flying. None of the flying machines had wings, and they were all generally disc-like or cylindrical in shape.

“What you saw, did it look like any of the pictures,” The General asked, pointing at the folder and pictures spread across the table.

Dale nodded his head and quietly responded, “Yes Sir.”

“Matthews, what you saw, it is highly classified, and you cannot discuss it with anyone,” the General warned, in a stern voice.

“Yes sir, I mean, no Sir, I won’t tell anyone what I saw. I won’t even discuss it with the men in my battalion.” Dale knew by the three days of interrogations, that the three-star general was not going to tolerate the slightest breach of confidence.

“I know you will not discuss it with your friends in the battalion,” the General replied, sitting up in his chair, he leaned forward on the white tablecloth and said, “I know, because you are not going back to your battalion. You are being reassigned.”

O God what are they going to do to me?”

“Where to?” he stammered.

“You are being reassigned to the Army Air Corps. To the Alamogordo Army Air Base in New Mexico.”

Dale took the first sip of his water. “I don’t know anything about air planes,” he said weakly.

“Upon arrival, your skills will be assessed. Then, we will decide what to do with you. By the way, you and your entire squad’s history with the Army division will be permanently redacted from the records. You and your men were never on that ridge, never in that battalion, and never sent on that night mission. Do you understand?” It was clear from his facial expression that the General expected understanding.

“Yes sir. But what about my squad, they all died on that ridge.”

“They all died heroes. They, and their families, will receive all the honors to which they are entitled, but they did not die on that ridge, on that night, do you understand?”

“Yes Sir.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

April 25, 1945

Hamburg, Germany