Recently, the alliance between the Soviet Union and Germany had become increasingly evident.
This was reflected not only in Germany honoring its promise to hand over all of West Belarus and West Ukraine to the Soviet Union, but also in the rapid expansion of trade, technological cooperation, and military exchanges between the two countries.
In the Lviv region, both sides were accelerating railway construction.
One line ran from Przemyśl to Lviv, while another connected Zamość to Lviv.
According to the plans of both governments, once these railways were completed, oil from Baku, coal from Stalino, and large quantities of grain—including wheat—could all be transported efficiently to Germany through Lviv.
Trade between the two countries was already in full swing.
With Britain and France concentrating large forces along Germany’s western frontier and war likely to break out at any moment, Germany urgently needed grain to sustain its domestic supply.
As a result, industrial goods were being exchanged for Soviet grain on a massive scale.
The cigarettes in Viktor’s hand were one such German import.
As far as Viktor knew, Germany had even dispatched two groups of engineers to the Soviet Union to help improve the production process at the GAZ automobile factories.
Relations between the two countries were as harmonious as oil mixed with honey.
Who could have imagined that only a year and a half later, such a brutal war would erupt between them?
Of course, none of that was Viktor’s immediate concern.
What he needed to do now was prove his loyalty—to Comrade Merkulov, who was temporarily stationed in Lviv, and to the Soviet state itself.
Lighting a cigarette, Viktor tapped Valenka on the shoulder with the hand holding it.
Valenka immediately understood, started the engine, and drove toward Ternopil.
The jeep bounced along the rough road for more than half an hour.
Before long, low rolling hills began to appear in the distance, while the vegetation on both sides of the road grew increasingly dense.
They had already entered the outer reaches of the Volyn Upland.
Few people ever came to this place.
Endless wooded hills and wilderness dominated the landscape.
For a country as vast as the Soviet Union, a population of fewer than two hundred million could never hope to occupy every corner of its territory.
Consequently, throughout West Ukraine—and especially in the broad region where West Ukraine met Belarus—there remained countless uninhabited expanses of forests and swamps.
For those seeking a place to kill people and conceal their bodies, such deserted wilderness was the perfect choice.
The Uraloz Hills, located 230 kilometers from Lviv and 190 kilometers from Ternopil, lay in a rugged forested region straddling the border between the two oblasts.
With no villages or towns within a hundred kilometers, it was an ideal location for secret operations.
Following orders from higher authorities, the Lviv Peoples Commissariat for Internal Affairs had selected this site for the construction of a secret intelligence training school.
The project was scheduled to begin soon under Sofia’s supervision.
She currently served as the head of the Inspection Bureau of the Lviv Peoples Commissariat for Internal Affairs and was also responsible for the work of the Secret Political Bureau.
Viktor’s jeep was stopped by a red-and-blue barrier blocking a forest road at the foot of a hill.
A soldier carrying a rifle and wearing a blue cap emerged from the guard post.
After checking their identification papers, he stepped aside and allowed them to pass.
The jeep continued along the narrow forest track for another ten minutes.
After descending a gentle slope, a clearing enclosed by barbed-wire fencing came into view.
Construction was already underway inside the enclosure, and four or five vehicles were parked near the entrance.
Valenka stopped the jeep by the gate.
As Viktor climbed out, a petite female soldier wearing a garrison cap jogged over.
“Comrade Lieutenant, Corporal Lilya Kazimirovna reporting.”
Viktor returned the salute and asked, “Where is Lieutenant Sofia?”
“Lieutenant Sofia is accompanying the official sent by Comrade Stalin to supervise the executions,” the corporal replied.
She did not know Merkulov’s identity and only knew that he had come from Moscow, so she referred to him that way.
Viktor nodded and motioned for her to lead the way, while inwardly letting out a sigh.
Comrade Merkulov is truly enthusiastic about these executions, he thought.
I really don’t understand…
is killing people really that interesting?
Is it worth being this eager?
Although the area ahead appeared to be a simple clearing, it actually lay on the slope of a hill.
Following the corporal, Viktor climbed over the damp earth to the crest.
Only then did he discover an even larger open area on the other side.
The clearing had already been converted into a temporary prisoner-of-war camp.
A handful of crude wooden barracks had been erected among the trees, though most of the prisoners were still housed in worn canvas tents.
Watchtowers four or five meters high stood at intervals throughout the camp, and even from a distance, Viktor could make out the machine guns mounted atop each one.
Between the tents inside the camp, groups of people huddled together here and there.
They wore dirty, tattered military uniforms.
Some still had their military caps, while others, dressed in civilian clothes and wearing glasses, looked more like scholars than soldiers.
Long-term malnutrition had left them all gaunt and sallow, like ghosts wandering the earth.
Led by the female soldier, Viktor crossed the camp and entered a forest trail on its northern side.
The trail had clearly been cut only recently.
In several places, uprooted tree stumps still lay beside the road, waiting to be hauled away.
Although it was called a trail, it was wide enough for a truck to pass through.
After following it for five or six minutes, the trees suddenly gave way, revealing a broad river bend.
The river itself was not very wide, only five or six meters across.
Judging by its course, it was likely an unnamed tributary of the Dniester River.
Its source was probably somewhere in the marshes of the Volyn Upland, carrying water only during the annual high-water season.
There were no artificial embankments along the river.
The gently sloping banks were covered with thick weeds, some of which reached waist height.
These weeds had likely grown undisturbed for countless years—until the arrival of the men in blue caps.
Three or four hundred meters ahead, on a stretch of riverbank, a crowd had gathered.
Even from a distance, Viktor could make out the burly figure of Comrade Merkulov among them.
He appeared to be examining something while occasionally speaking with Sofia, who stood at his side.
Pushing through the weeds, Viktor made his way toward the group.
As he drew nearer, he saw what they were gathered around.
A massive pit had been excavated in front of them.
It covered more than three hundred square meters and was over two meters deep.
Because it had been dug so close to the river, groundwater had already seeped into the bottom, forming a shallow, muddy pool that reflected the sunlight with an unsettling shimmer. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
Seeing Viktor approach, Merkulov ended his conversation with Sofia and said,
“The preparations still need improvement.
Most importantly, every single person on the list must be dealt with.”
After a brief pause, he continued,
“Comrade Lieutenant Viktor Viktorovich, I know you’ve only recently joined the State Security Directorate.
Ideologically and personally, you may not yet have fully adapted to this special position.
You may still feel sympathy for certain people who appear to be innocent.”
His expression hardened.
“But let me warn you: your sympathy is misplaced.
Showing sympathy toward the enemy is proof that your political stance is not firm enough and that your judgment of people is fundamentally flawed.”
“This is one of the greatest taboos for a state security officer.”
“Yes, Comrade Commissar.
I will do my best to adjust,” Viktor replied.
He did not dare offer any explanation and could only nod, acknowledging his mistake.
“Not do your best—you must,” Comrade Merkulov said sternly.
“The Lviv region is a strategically important border area.
Everything here is complicated, from its ethnic composition to the difficulties of governing it.
Any weakness you display can become a weapon in the enemy’s hands.
Therefore, when dealing with the enemy, if your attitude is not firm enough—if it is not cold enough—you will create problems.”
“Yes, Comrade Commissar,” Viktor answered once again.
“Then begin carrying out your task,” Merkulov said casually, turning away from the pit before walking off.
Viktor hesitated for only a moment before nodding to Sofia, who stood a short distance away.
A sharp whistle soon echoed across the grassy riverbank.
The two trucks parked nearby started their engines and drove forward, eventually stopping on the eastern and southern sides of the pit.
Tarpaulins covered the backs of the trucks, with cloth curtains concealing their cargo.
When the curtains were pulled back, they revealed two cold, ominous Maxim heavy machine guns, their barrels pointed directly toward the edge of the pit.
A short while later, several more trucks arrived from the forest road.
The first two halted, and dozens of blue-capped soldiers armed with live ammunition jumped from the truck beds.
The men moved with practiced coordination.
As soon as they disembarked, they spread out to establish security positions, each choosing the best defensive ground nearby.
Only after the perimeter had been secured did the soldiers open the tailgates of the final three trucks.
One by one, ragged prisoners were forced out.
The soldiers herded them into two lines.
Standing in the distance, Viktor raised his hand toward the trucks.
At his signal, forty or fifty prisoners were driven toward the pit.
Only when the enormous pit came fully into view did the prisoners—already weakened by hunger and disease—begin to understand what awaited them.
Murmurs quickly turned into panic.
Panic became terror.
Some shouted desperately, while others tried to shove those beside them aside in a frantic attempt to flee.