John Farmer tuned in his Ham radio one night in the early sixties, and
heard a plaintive call for help from a Russian voice. The man said he was
in a spacecraft above the earth and wanted to bring it down in the United
States, perhaps on one of the great plains of the midwest. John Farmer
directed the cosmonaut to make a landing on the capacious field lying
fallow this season. Then he walked up to the cosmonaut and shot him dead.

No, of course he didn't. He walked up to the cosmonaut, and
naturally he had a gun with him. Holstered, though. The cosmonaut was
disoriented, and full of broken english thanks. John, not a demonstrative
man, began to get embarrassed when the cosmonaut hugged him. Then the
cosmonaut grabbed the gun! No, of course he didn't grab the gun, he was
too thankful to be free.

Eventually, KGB men, in a matching capsule — Russia always launched
a chase capsule to keep tabs on their men — homed in on the capsule's
quisling signal, and streaked to a smoky landing not far from the first
capsule. John Farmer and his wife were fast asleep by that time, with the
cosmonaut murmuring exhausted dreams in a pile of hay in the barn.

The KGB men advanced on the farm with their guns drawn. They really
did.