The shrill ringing of the telephone cut through the silence of the room.
Viktor remained still for a moment, his face buried against Anlina’s neck as he caught his breath.
Only after the ringing continued without pause did he slowly straighten up.
Resting one hand on the desk, he reached for the receiver while instinctively covering Anlina’s mouth with the other to quiet her unsteady breathing.
“This is Proskurov.”
The moment the line connected, a stern voice came through the receiver before Viktor had a chance to speak.
“Major Ivan Alexandrovich Serov.”
Viktor’s expression immediately hardened.
“Good afternoon, Comrade Major Ivan Alexandrovich,” he replied.
“Lieutenant Viktor Viktorovich Tarasev speaking.”
“Good.”
Serov offered no explanation for the remark.
Instead, he spoke in the same clipped, businesslike tone.
“Comrade Lieutenant Tarasev, you are to put aside whatever work you are currently engaged in and proceed to Proskurov immediately.
I expect you to report to my office by this time tomorrow.”
“Understood, Comrade Major,” Viktor answered without hesitation.
“I’ll depart at once.”
“Very well.”
Without another word, Serov ended the call.
The line went dead.
Viktor continued holding the receiver for another few seconds before quietly replacing it on the cradle.
Leaning against the desk, he remained silent, lost in thought.
Then he pulled out a nearby chair, sat down heavily, and began considering why Serov had summoned him to Proskurov.
By now, Viktor knew exactly who Ivan Alexandrovich Serov was.
Within the People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs, Serov had become the driving force behind the sweeping purge of the security apparatus in Ukraine.
His reputation was formidable.
Officers throughout the security service described him as a man who rarely smiled and never allowed personal feelings to interfere with his work.
Mercy, they said, had no place in his decisions.
Viktor suspected those stories were true.
In a department like State Security, a man with a softer temperament would never have survived long enough to reach Serov’s position.
Seeing Viktor sitting motionless, Anlina quietly adjusted her clothing.
She sensed his concentration and made no attempt to interrupt him, moving about the room as silently as possible.
The journey from Shevchenko to Proskurov covered nearly three hundred and seventy kilometers.
It was neither especially far nor particularly close, but the poor transportation network made the trip far more difficult than the distance suggested.
There were no direct railway connections, and most of the roads were little better than rough country tracks.
If he intended to arrive by the appointed time, there was no reason to delay.
Viktor stood, reached for his uniform jacket, and mentally began arranging everything that needed to be delegated before he left.
Whatever Serov wanted, it was important enough to demand his immediate presence.
That alone was reason to make the journey without wasting a single hour.
Although he had said he would leave immediately, Viktor did not depart from Shevchenko until one o’clock that afternoon.
After taking a quick shower, packing a change of clothes, and eating a simple lunch, he finally climbed into the waiting jeep.
As usual, Valenka was behind the wheel.
It was, in a way, rather ironic.
Since awakening in this world, Viktor had never traveled beyond the outskirts of Shevchenko.
This journey to Proskurov would take him farther than he had ever been since his rebirth.
Proskurov was the largest and most developed city in the Soviet-controlled region of western Ukraine, as well as one of its principal industrial centers.
Viktor remembered the city for an entirely different reason.
In his previous life, during the final years of the Second World War, Proskurov had become the scene of one of the largest front-wide offensives of the Soviet–German War.
Three Soviet tank armies had attacked along the same axis, while the Red Air Force flew hundreds of sorties every day in support of the advance.
That history, however, still lay in the future.
The war had not yet begun, and the “Pearl of Western Ukraine” had not yet been reduced to rubble by artillery and aerial bombardment.
The journey from Shevchenko took nearly six hours.
By the time the jeep rolled through the streets of Proskurov, darkness had already settled over the city. This story is hosted at g.com.
Following standard procedure, Viktor first reported to the local office of the People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs.
After completing the necessary formalities, he was assigned a room at the Soviet Red Army Revolutionary Soldiers’ Club in the city center.
The so-called Soldiers’ Club served as far more than a recreational facility.
In major Soviet cities, separate clubs were maintained for the Red Army and the Red Navy, functioning as official guesthouses for officers traveling on government business.
Since Proskurov was an important regional center, it maintained both institutions.
Viktor spent a quiet night there.
Shortly before nine o’clock the following morning, a messenger from the Commissariat arrived with new instructions.
Major Serov was ready to receive him.
He was to report to headquarters immediately.
……
The wide corridor was lined with thick carpets that muffled every footstep.
Viktor sat upright on one of the chairs along the right-hand wall, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
Outwardly, he appeared perfectly composed, but his ears remained alert, listening for every sound coming from the double doors at the far end of the corridor.
He was not alone.
More than a dozen officers waited with him, all wearing the uniform of the People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs.
Every one of them sat in exactly the same rigid posture, their eyes fixed ahead as though carved from stone.
The lowest rank among them was lieutenant, and none appeared to be older than forty.
The silence was broken by the soft creak of a door opening.
The double doors at the end of the corridor swung inward, and a blonde lieutenant stepped out, followed by a young civilian secretary dressed in a gray Lenin suit.
“Comrade Lieutenant Vadim Vissarionovich,” the secretary called.
“Here.”
A lieutenant seated diagonally across from Viktor immediately stood, answered loudly, and strode toward the office.
The blonde officer who had just emerged walked slowly in the opposite direction.
His face was pale, his eyes unfocused, and his expression carried the hollow look of someone whose confidence had been completely drained.
He passed Viktor without noticing him and disappeared down the corridor.
Silence settled over the hallway once again.
Despite the number of people waiting outside, the corridor remained so quiet that even breathing seemed subdued.
Viktor could almost feel the tension pressing down on everyone present.
Under ordinary circumstances, these men were powerful figures in their own jurisdictions.
Each commanded real authority, and few people would ever dare challenge them.
Yet here, outside Serov’s office, they had all become strangely subdued, afraid even to shift in their seats.
That was simply the nature of the People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs, especially the State Security Directorate.
It was an organization built on immense authority, but also on absolute hierarchy.
Whatever slogans it proclaimed about comradeship, everyone understood that this was an institution where one careless mistake could destroy a career—or a life.
Ten minutes passed before the doors opened once more.
The lieutenant who had entered earlier stepped back into the corridor.
Unlike the man before him, he wore an unmistakable look of relief.
The secretary glanced down at his list.
“Comrade Lieutenant Viktor Viktorovich Tarasev.”
“Present.”
Viktor rose immediately, settled his blue service cap squarely on his head, and walked briskly toward the doorway.
The office beyond was unexpectedly spacious.
Large windows along the southern wall stood open, allowing warm sunlight to flood the room and drive away the gloom that filled the corridor outside.
Just inside the entrance stood a small desk with a typewriter.
Behind it sat a young female soldier wearing a service cap, who glanced up from her work and studied Viktor with quiet curiosity as he entered.
Beyond her, near the far window, stood a broad wooden desk.
Behind it sat a man who looked no older than forty.
His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and a cigarette rested casually between his fingers as he gazed out the open window, apparently more interested in the view than in the visitor entering his office.
Only when Viktor stopped before the desk did the man finally turn around.
His sharp eyes settled on Viktor.
Major Serov studied him for a long moment before speaking again.
“Please, have a seat.”
Viktor saluted smartly, removed his cap, and sat down carefully in the chair opposite the desk.
For several seconds, Serov said nothing.
He simply continued studying Viktor as though comparing the man before him with the reports he had already read.
Finally, he spoke.
“The work you’ve done in Shevchenko has been impressive.”
His tone remained calm and matter-of-fact.
“Judging by the results achieved over the past two weeks, you’ve demonstrated initiative, competence, and a strong sense of responsibility.”
Viktor remained silent.
There was nothing for him to add.
Serov leaned back slightly in his chair.
“That said,” he continued, “your performance hasn’t been without problems.”
He opened a drawer, withdrew several envelopes, and tossed them onto the desk.
“They’ve all arrived within the past two weeks.”
Viktor lowered his eyes.
Anonymous reports.
One accused him of imposing unauthorized punishments and abusing the collective farms.
Another claimed he had executed innocent civilians indiscriminately.
A third alleged that he had maintained an improper relationship with an exiled prisoner.
Viktor’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
He still said nothing.
Serov watched him for another moment.
“Don’t you intend to explain yourself?”
Viktor considered the question briefly before answering.
“No, Comrade Major.”
“I have nothing to explain.”
For the first time since the meeting began, the corner of Serov’s mouth lifted slightly.
“Good.”
He tapped the stack of denunciation letters with one finger.
“I wasn’t interested in hearing explanations.”
His expression quickly returned to its usual severity.
“State Security work requires priorities.”
“The mission comes first.”
“You will inevitably offend people.
If you spend your time worrying about that, you’ll never accomplish anything.”
He pushed the envelopes across the desk.
“Take these back with you.”
“Handle them however you consider appropriate.”
He paused.
“I simply don’t want to waste any more of my time reading them.”
Viktor looked down at the stack of denunciation letters.
“Handle them however you consider appropriate.”
That was an unusually broad instruction.
Different men would interpret those words differently.
As for Viktor…
Only one solution immediately came to mind.
Find every person who had written one of those reports.
Then make absolutely certain they never felt inclined to write another one.