The Tunguska Event

By Ben Hammott

1908 - The Tunguska event. When a meteorite skips across Earth's atmosphere over Siberia, the resulting explosion flattens trees and shakes buildings over hundreds of kilometres. A small fragment breaks free of the larger meteorite and crashes to Earth on a remote Siberian farm. When the farmer investigates the damage to his crops and property, he discovers a crater in the floor of his barn. In the centre, a large piece of rock, a meteorite. Suspecting there is money to be made from selling it, remuneration for the damage it had caused, he takes it to the nearest museum, setting the fragment on its path across the European continent.

1934 - After years on display, a Russian scientist accidentally discovers the meteorite's hidden payload: alien lifeforms, dormant and barely alive. To study them, a team of scientists set up a secret laboratory beneath the streets of Minsk.

1941 - They have barely begun to understand the amazing properties of the alien organisms when the German forces invade and discover the hidden laboratory. They seize its contents and move them to a specially designed underground complex in the Bavarian mountains.

1945 - Allied forces invade France and drive back the German forces. With their enemy closing in on the lab, the scientists rig it with explosives to hide the evidence of what went on there. Shortly before the entranced is sealed, soldiers arrive with a truck laden with plundered treasures.
Though trapped with no ability to escape, the aliens survived passage through the vacuum of space, they could survive this. They remain alive beneath the Earth, waiting.


Present day - A treasure hunter finds mention of the Bavarian facility in a secret file while looking for information on lost Nazi gold. His previous research already hinted that there might be a huge cache of gold in the area, this secret subterranean bunker would be the perfect place to hide such valuables. After coaxing his wife, Tess, to accompany him, they set off to find the facility and what it might contain.
Inside, they find their greed for gold has ensnared them in a horrifying nightmare they might not escape from.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ben Hammott
• Release date: Sep 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215312292

Book preview

The Tunguska Legacy

It’s not over yet...

The event might have died out long ago,

but what it brought to Earth is thriving... and still very much alive...

Ben Hammott

The Tunguska Legacy

Ben Hammott

Copyright 2022 ©Ben Hammott

No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any other information storage and retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the copyright holders.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Author can be contacted at [e-mail]

Author website www.benhammottbooks.com

AUTHOR NOTE

The Tunguska Event has always fascinated me because no one knows for certain what actually happened in the sky above the Siberian Tundra in 1908. Yes, we can see the effect of the heavenly event on the ground and read the various witness reports from those who experienced it, but with the absence of a crater you would expect from a meteorite striking the Earth, the event remains a mystery.

Something else that has always held my interest is Lost Nazi Gold. The thought that a hoard of looted artworks and gold remains to be found is, to say the least, intriguing. A few years back, I joined a group of German treasure hunters who were about to explore an underground tunnel system rumored to be one of the locations Nazi loot had been stashed in the final days of WW2.

According to my fellow treasure hunters, this particular tunnel system had barely, if at all, been explored due to some of the passages being flooded. Although I was a little apprehensive, I joined them. We trekked into the hills and entered the underground complex, where water poured out to form a stream that ran down the hillside.

After wading chest-high through parts of the flooded tunnel system for about six kilometers (3.7 miles), we reached a large cavern. Off to the right was a wide waterfall cascading down a white calcite-formed cliff; this was the water source that flooded the tunnels we had journeyed through. A little farther on, we arrived at a series of brick-built rooms. Inside were pieces of rusty machinery. It seemed to be an underground factory, its purpose unknown. Unfortunately, after a search of the rooms, cupboards, and any likely hiding place, we failed to find any gold.

We passed through the factory complex and came to what only can be described as a lake of mud. We tested its depth with a rusty length of angle iron. About ten feet in the tunnel floor sloped down drastically deeper than we were tall. Without specialist equipment, it was an impassable barrier. Wondering what secrets it might conceal, for a while, we stared into the dark tunnel, which was too long to glimpse its end.

With our current treasure hunt over, we headed back to the exit.

I came up with an idea to combine the Tunguska Event and the hunt for lost Nazi gold into one story, and the result is the novel you are about to read.

I hope you enjoy it.

THE DREADFUL PAST

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

The Tunguska Event

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Siberia - 17th of June 1908

The tranquil, picturesque scene of the log cabin beside the bubbling river was about to be shattered by a once-in-a-lifetime event.

The two horses lifted their heads from the coarse grass they munched on and turned their heads to the sky. Becoming jittery, they began tugging furiously on their tethers attached to a spindly tree. Once freed, they galloped away from the danger they had sensed.

Sleeping in one of the two wooden beds in the small, sparsely furnished hut, Chuchan, sat up and glared at his elder brother, Chekaren, asleep in the bed beside him. He was on his back again. That position always transformed his just-bearable snores into intolerable sleep-preventing snorts. His piggish grunts rumbled so loud he was surprised the hut didn’t tremble.

Briefly considering fetching a pail of icy water and dowsing him with it, as he had threatened to do so on more than one occasion if his snoring awoke him again, Chuchan resisted the urge. Instead, he reached out to push him onto his side. His hand stopped halfway. He turned his face to the ceiling and listened to the whistling. It sounded like a fierce wind had suddenly begun to blow across the tundra.

He shifted to a kneeling position at the window above his bed and peered out. A dark flock of flapping wings approached. Without turning away from the unusual sight, he kicked out a foot at his brother.

Chekaren’s snores fizzled out like an antique truck engine coughing out its last breath. What? he uttered sleepily.

Look at this. The birds have gone crazy.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes and the drool from his chin, Chekaren joined his brother at the window. He tilted his head close to the glass to observe the frenzied birds flying overhead, their hoots and cries mixed in with the hundreds of pairs of flapping wings.

A distant streak of light appeared in the sky and turned their astonished gazes to the heavens. The sky ripped asunder in a spectacular burst of light and fire. The hut rocked violently, almost throwing them off the bed.

What’s happening? cried Chuchan, fearful that it was an explosion and they were about to be obliterated from the face of the Earth.

I think it might be a meteor, offered his brother staring in fascination at the streaking light ball.

Chuchan groaned.

A noise like a thousand violent thunderstrikes rolled into one rumbled across the tundra. The invisible force struck the hut and tumbled it away, taking its two occupants with it. When it came to a stop on its side, the roof and walls had caved in, trapping them in a gap between the two beds, one of which was now balanced on its end. Debris, dragged in the winds’ wake, pelted the hut ferociously.

Huddled in the triangular space formed by the topsy turvy beds, the two brothers peered out through the gaps in the collapsed hut. Shock was added to their fear when the trees began to fall, their branches bursting into flame. Suddenly, a dazzling burst like a thousand suns lit up everything. So bright was the light that, for a brief moment within its glare, shadows became extinct.

Clamping their eyes shut against the searing pain and bowing their heads, both were convinced they were experiencing a cosmic apocalyptic event; they just wanted it to end.

Immediately following the light, there was a second deafening thunderclap to let them know it wasn’t over yet. The shockwave shook the collapsed hut, pounded their chests, and shifted the beds they sheltered beneath. The angled walls groaned when they dropped slightly. Threatened by the weight of the log-formed walls crushing them, Chekaren shoved his brother through a gap leading outside and followed him out.

They climbed to their feet and looked to the threatening sky when another flash was followed by a thunderous boom, like a giant rumbling beast roaring its anger. The latest shockwave swept across the tundra and swept them off their feet. They landed amongst fallen trees, their springy branches softening their landing, receiving only a few scrapes and bruises from their flight. A little dazed, they gazed around the mostly flattened forest and raised their eyes to the trees still standing, their tops snapped off by the forces wrought against them. Fires dotted the Armageddon landscape.

Chuchan jumped in fright when his older brother yelled with an arm pointed to the distant heavens. Another bright flash heralded the next pounding thunder to rumble through the cloud-choked sky. Thankfully, its force was a lot less than the previous, more like normal thunder.  It gave them hope that whatever was happening was abating. The final thunderclap came from farther away.

They remained there for a few moments staring at the sky settling to normality once again until, except for the devastation around them, and their recent harrowing memories, nothing remained to tell of the event that had shaken the very Earth.

Confused by what had just happened but relieved they had survived it, Chuchan and Chekaren decided that now the hut was ruined, and any wildlife not killed by the destruction reaped upon the area would, like their horses, have fled for their lives; they had no choice but to cut their hunting trip short and return home. A gaze around the far-reaching landscape revealed no sign of the horses that they had ridden here. It would be a long walk home.

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Rurik Semenov yawned as he slung his legs out of bed. After scratching at his groin, his feet fumbled for his slippers tucked under the bed and slipped inside. Still not fully awake, he headed downstairs. As his wife was away visiting relatives, he would have to make his own breakfast today.

He filled the kettle, put it on the gas stove to boil, and headed outside. Shivering from the chilly morning air, he tugged his dressing gown around him as he headed for the outside toilet set a short distance from the house.

As he urinated, a strange glow filtered through the gaps in the boarding that formed the walls. He headed outside to find the cause. Peering north, he was surprised to see the sky split in two before his eyes. He was fascinated by the spectacular event he judged to be taking place over the forest approximately 40 miles away.

As he watched, the split in the sky grew larger, with the entire northern side covered with fire. Rustling vegetation rapidly growing louder directed his gaze from the sky to the ground. Fear swept across his face when he saw an invisible wave surging towards him, flattening trees, bending bushes, grasses, and crops. Everything it touched either burst into flames or smoldered from the intense heat the wind carried. With no time to flee to a safe distance before it was upon him, Semenov turned away and put his hands over his face.

Suddenly, the warm blast of air was upon him. Semenov became so hot that he couldn't bear it. It felt like his clothes were on fire where the wind had struck. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the heat was gone. Relieved to feel the coldness return, he turned his gaze back to the heavens to witness the rip in the sky slam shut with a strong, loud thump. The resulting shockwave lifted him off his feet and flung him across the yard.

Dazed by his hard landing, Semenov thought it would be prudent to return to his house while this madness he had no explanation for ran its course. No sooner had he entered the safety of his home and closed the door to shut out the cosmic chaos when things thudded to the earth with such force it sounded like cannons were being fired. The violent shaking of the ground quickly followed. The house shook so forcefully that it spilled him from his feet.

Semenov scurried under the kitchen table as pots, pans, cups, and cutlery clattered to the floor. The house continued to be bombarded with rocks falling from the sky like deadly hailstones. Fearing some of the rocks would punch through the roof and ceiling, Semenov placed his arms over the back of his head and pressed his face down against the rough timbered floor.

When it was all over, Semenov cautiously ventured out from his temporary shelter, climbed to his feet, and gazed around the kitchen. It looked like a tornado had swept through the room. Aware his wife would find it hard to believe the truth and scold him viciously for the destruction to her kitchen, Semenov cautiously stepped outside to ascertain the damage to the house.

Holes pitted the ground, smoke curled from bushes and trees for as far as he could see, and there were traces of flattened and scoured pathways left in the ground by the screaming hot wind as it had raced across the landscape. The barn had also suffered from the hail of rocks, its roof holed in a myriad of places. He turned his gaze to his surrounding crop fields. Damage to his livelihood was everywhere. The crops that had survived the intense heat had been flattened by the rush of wind.

Turning his attention to the house, he noticed the shattered windows, battered walls, and broken tiles on the roof. It would take ages to repair and diminish the little savings he had to buy the materials. He turned his eyes to the distant sky where an angry dark cloud matching his mood was all that remained of the devil-born event. He cursed the malevolent cause and headed back inside to have his breakfast. After that, he would have to start putting right the havoc the strange cosmic event had thought fit to bestow upon him.

As if life wasn’t already hard enough, he muttered, closing the back door behind him.

Later that day, after bringing some order to the chaos in the kitchen, Semenov headed for the barn to collect his tools to carry out some repairs. As he pulled open one of its large wooden doors, he noticed it was brighter inside than usual. He soon discovered why; a large hole had been smashed through the rear wall.

Sighing at his misfortune, he entered and halted at the edge of the small crater the width of the barn in the dirt floor. A rock, about three feet across by half that wide, was partially buried in its center.

Semenov stared at the rock accusingly. You had the whole of Siberia to land, yet you chose my property.

He gazed at the large, splintered hole in the back of the barn as a piece of timber clattered to the ground. The whole rear wall will need to be replaced, causing him more work and expense. He glared at the rock again. The hole will have to be filled in also.

Semenov was about to search for the tools he had come to collect when he noticed something strange about the rock. It had a weird sheen that gave it a metallic hue. To examine it closer, he scrambled down the side of the crater and knelt beside it. Cautiously reaching out a hand, he ran his fingers over it. It was warm, like freshly baked bread that had cooled for a while. His fingers went to his head to scratch as he pondered this latest discovery.

Could it be a meteorite?

Due to the earlier events in the sky he had witnessed, he thought it highly likely. If it was, it had to be worth something to someone. Maybe even enough to repay him for the repairs and compensate him for his trouble.

Excited by this new development, Semenov climbed out of the hole and over to his truck. He would need to borrow his neighbor’s tractor to lift it out and load it onto his truck. He would head to Khabarovsk as he knew they had a large museum. If they didn’t want it, they would likely know someone who would.

Three hours later, with the help of his neighbor, who had also witnessed the morning's strange events and was promised ten percent of whatever Semenov could sell the heavenly rock for, the meteorite was in the back of Semenov’s truck. With the suspension straining under the weight of the payload, and Semenov’s hopes high he would earn from this, he drove along the dusty farm truck to the main road.

After his neighbor had examined the rock, he was confident it was a meteorite, and given its size and metallic appearance, it had to be worth something to the right person. Semenov smiled as he pictured the imaginary pile of cash he would receive when he sold it. Certain his wife’s expression would change from its usual grumpy scowl to a smile when he showed her what he had sold the rock for, Semenov thought that maybe his luck was at long last changing for the better.

CHAPTER 2

The Academy of Sciences of the USSR

Leningrad – January 1934

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Security inspector, Fedir Balabanov, pulled the collar of his thick grey coat tighter around his neck as he entered the corridor leading to the meteorite display room. The ill-fitting windows of the old building did little to prevent the freezing January winds from howling through the gaps around the warped, rotted frames. He gazed up at the cracked plaster ceiling.  Wooden lathes showed where chunks of plaster had fallen free. This was a daily occurrence that kept the cleaning crew busy clearing it away before the few visitors that ventured into the museum walked through the doors.

The evident deterioration continued through the sprawling building; some rooms were so bad they were unusable. The cold and damp of a hundred savage winters had battered the building, constantly exploiting any weakness in the structure to carry on its reign of destruction. Like many ancient buildings in Russia, it was now well past its prime. In April, it would be emptied of all the exhibits and, along with fourteen other scientific institutes, be relocated to Moscow. Although the scientists, researchers, and others with careers vital to the running of the relevant institutions would also be transferred, workers of his unskilled caliber would become unemployed.

Aware he should start looking for another employment opportunity, Balabanov shivered and sighed as he carried on towards the door at the corridor’s far end, his breath a plume of visible vapor. It would be difficult to find another job as easy as this one. He gazed out the frost-adorned windows he passed and lifted his gaze to the night sky and the snow whipping by. It was minus fifteen out there, a typical Russian winter. He pushed open one of the double doors. Letting it swing closed behind him, he entered the room where an extensive collection of meteorites were on display. Balabanov thought it appropriate that part of his job entailed safeguarding objects that had fallen from the heavens, as the meaning of his name, Fedir, is gift from above.

A creature of habit, Balabanov headed deeper into the room to his special place. He halted beside a large meteorite displayed on a strong metal frame. It was one of the few space rocks visitors could get up close and personal to, most of the others out of reach in glass display cabinets. Although he wondered why people would want to, he guessed the possible reason for this one being out in the open was that it was too big and heavy to steal.

He glanced at the rock label,

No. 513

The Tunguska Meteorite

Fell 17th June 1908

Tunguska, Siberia

As he had done on many other occasions, Balabanov wondered what far-flung planet or solar system it had originated from and how many hundreds or thousands, perhaps millions, of years it had traveled through space before its journey reached an abrupt end on Earth.

He turned to the window beside the meteorite and pulled out a thermos flask. He twisted off the cap, placed it on the meteorite, and filled it with coffee. After glancing furtively at both ends of the room, he opened the small square window set in the larger window. A cold gust of wind assaulted him through the twelve-inch square opening. He grabbed the string looped around the latch and reeled in the small bottle of vodka hanging on its end. After adding a generous tipple to his steaming coffee, he hung the vodka back out the window. He took out a packet of strong, filter-less Czar cigarettes, selected one, and put it to flame. After taking a deep satisfying drag, he blew the pungent smoke out the small window.

Balabanov took a long sip of his vodka-infused coffee. Enjoying the warmth that flowed throw him, he went to place it back on the rock when the door at the far end of the room slammed shut with a resounding bang. Startled, Balabanov fumbled the cup, spilling his vodka-laced coffee onto the meteorite.

Footsteps approached.

As Balabanov mopped up the coffee with a glove, he was bathed in light. Squinting from the glare, he looked at the holder of the flashlight, the man’s shape hazy and hidden behind the brightness.

Relax, comrade. I’m not the supervisor.

Balabanov let out a relieved sigh. The supervisor had the senses of a shark; he could smell blood, or in this case, alcohol, from a long distance. He would be dismissed immediately if he had been caught drinking on the job. Davydov, what the fuck are you doing creeping around? You nearly gave me a heart attack.

Davydov lowered the flashlight. Had to chase off a couple of drunks pissing in the main entrance, so I thought while I’m in the area— he glanced at the cup that Balabanov was sweeping the spilled coffee into off the rock, —if you had a drink for a comrade to help warm his chilled bones.

Balabanov nodded at the window. Help yourself, but one swig only; there’s only a little left.

Davydov crossed to the window. Maybe if you didn’t spill it, it would last longer."

It was your fault slamming the door like that, grumbled Balabanov. Something I suspect you did on purpose.

Grinning, Davydov retrieved the bottle, unscrewed the lid, and took a swig. Although he wanted more, Balabanov’s watchful stare persuaded him to replace the cap and hang it out the window. He joined Balabanov at the meteorite and looked at the tiny puddles of coffee settled in the lower contours of its rough surface. That will stain if you don’t remove it all.

Balabanov rolled his eyes. Thanks for stating the obvious. He held up the coffee-soaked glove. You got a rag or something? All this is doing is spreading it around.

Davydov pointed at the glove being waved in his face. What’s that?

A glove, you idiot.

No, there’s something on it. Something moving, and it’s getting bigger.

Balabanov turned the glove and stared at the tiny maggot-like creature that before his eyes grew. In no time at all, it was four times its size.

Look! exclaimed Davydov, pointing at the meteorite. There’s another one.

Both men watched the tiny creature wriggle from a crack in the rock and submerge itself in a small pool of coffee. The black pond drained rapidly as the creature absorbed the liquid, swelling a few times its size.

Fascinated, Davydov leaned closer to the creature. It sure is a strange-looking thing. His eyes flicked to the crack in the meteorite it had emerged from. His eyes grew wide. Flushed with excitement, he turned to Balabanov. You don’t think it could have come from outer space aboard the meteorite?

Before Balabanov could answer, he yelped in pain. The glove dropped to the floor. Something just bit me. He stared at the source of pain on his hand. To his horror, he glimpsed the tail end of the creature disappearing beneath his skin.

Wearing shocked expressions, both men watched it wriggle along his hand beneath his skin. When it disappeared under his sleeve, he frantically ripped off his coat, popping buttons that clattered across the floor in his haste. Quick, you need to cut it out before it leaves my arm, screamed Balabanov, trying not to panic.

As his comrade threw his coat to the floor, Davydov unsheathed his knife.

Balabanov pulled up his sleeve and clamped his hand around his arm above the bump moving under his skin, a barrier to halt it.

Davydov gripped his wrist firmly. This is going to hurt.

Balabanov nodded. Hack off the whole arm if you have to; just get the fucking thing out of me.

Noticing the creature had grown again; it must be consuming his friend’s blood, Davydov placed the knife against the skin in front of the creature and sliced down two inches.

Balabanov gritted his teeth against the pain as he watched the bloody, pale head appear at the bottom of the deep cut.

Davydov held the knife ready to prick it and flick it out. "Come on you gruesome bastard, just