Since Viktor didn’t understand Polish, he naturally couldn’t understand what these people were shouting.
Still, he guessed it was nothing more than desperate cries of resistance.
It was the instinctive reaction of people who had been driven into a corner.
Seeing the crowd break into chaos and scatter in every direction, Viktor took a deep breath, raised his right hand, and brought it down in a sharp chopping motion.
“Thump, thump, thump…”
The moment his hand fell, the dull roar of the heavy machine guns echoed across the wilderness.
Birds resting in the distant forest were startled into flight, rising into the air like a flock of pigeons and sweeping across the sky in a wide arc toward the southern horizon.
The instant the machine guns opened fire, Viktor’s mind went blank for a moment.
Immediately afterward, a strange thought crossed his mind: the execution scenes he had seen in movies and television in his previous life were nothing like reality.
As the machine-gun fire swept across the crowd, clouds of blood instantly burst into the air.
Some people had half their heads blown away on the spot, while others had half their necks torn open by the bullets.
Severed limbs flew everywhere.
The scene looked more like hell than hell itself.
In barely a minute or two, every Polish prisoner near the pit had fallen to the ground, becoming either complete or mangled corpses.
A few who had survived the initial barrage lay among the bodies, wailing, struggling, and writhing in agony.
Viktor stood rigidly in place, watching the entire scene unfold.
His chest felt tight, his throat burned, and his stomach churned violently, making him desperately want to vomit.
However, he forced himself to endure it.
Merkulov already had a poor opinion of him, and if he vomited now, the man would only see him as weak and unfit for state security work.
He managed to hold it back, but many others could not.
Sofia, for example, doubled over almost immediately, squatting on the ground as she vomited.
Viktor could feel a gaze fixed on his back.
He knew exactly who it belonged to, and he knew what kind of performance that person expected from him.
Keeping his expression calm, he reached for the pistol at his waist, drew it, and strode toward the pile of bodies beside the pit.
One by one, he shot the wounded who were still alive.
At that moment, the only comfort he could give himself was that he was simply ending their suffering.
None of them would survive anyway.
Mechanically, he aimed.
Mechanically, he pulled the trigger.
He watched the wounded man stop moving, then shifted to the next target, pulled the trigger again, changed magazines, and repeated the process.
Only after he could no longer see anyone moving did he return the still-hot pistol to its holster.
He then turned and waved toward the truck waiting not far away.
Six or seven prisoners wearing shackles were driven off one of the trucks and escorted by several soldiers to the edge of the pit.
Their task was simple: throw all the bodies into the pit.
After the scattered corpses had been thrown into the pit, the next group of condemned prisoners was brought forward.
The machine guns opened fire once again, and when the shooting stopped, the bodies were thrown into the pit as well.
This cycle continued over and over until the pit was completely filled.
Only then did the organized slaughter finally come to an end.
Thus, beside an unnamed river in this desolate wilderness, nearly seven hundred prisoners of war were buried underground in the span of a few hours, becoming fertilizer for the weeds.
By the time the mass grave had been filled and leveled, Viktor’s mind had gone numb.
The overwhelming smell of blood no longer made him feel sick. New chapters come out on g.com first.
Instead, his mouth felt dry, and all he wanted was to find somewhere to have a good drink.
Merkulov, his expression as stern as ever, walked over from not far away.
Standing beside Viktor and watching the soldiers assemble, he said, “Over the next couple of days, arrange confidentiality training for your men.
After that, grant them leave.
You can decide where they go yourselves.
Submit the report when the time comes, and I will personally approve it.”
“Yes, Comrade Commissar,” Viktor replied, forcing himself to sound energetic as he saluted.
“My impression of you has improved somewhat, Comrade Lieutenant,” Merkulov said, a faint smile appearing on his otherwise stern face.
“Remember what I told you.
No matter when, never forget where your loyalties lie.
For a state security officer, a firm political stance is the only guarantee against mistakes.”
Viktor said nothing.
He simply nodded firmly.
Merkulov paid him no further attention.
With his hands clasped behind his back, he walked away at an unhurried pace.
Viktor did not dare linger and quickly followed after him.
The prisoner camp was now empty.
The soldiers who had been guarding the prisoners were dismantling the shabby tents and the few watchtowers that had stood inside the camp.
Everything they tore down would be burned on the spot to erase every trace of what had happened there.
Perhaps decades or even centuries later, someone might discover the mass grave hidden beneath the earth.
Or perhaps it would remain buried forever, never to be found.
Before the executions began, Viktor had signed a confidentiality agreement.
According to its classification level, the documents were permanently sealed.
They would remain locked away indefinitely in the archives of the Peoples Commissariat for Internal Affairs, never to be made public.
Standing on the open ground at the top of the hill, Viktor watched Merkulov’s vehicle disappear into the forest before reaching into his trouser pocket with a trembling hand and pulling out the half-empty pack of cigarettes.
“Give me one too,” Sofia said quietly from beside him, her voice still trembling.
“Thank you.”
Viktor glanced at her, took out a cigarette, handed it to her, and lit it.
Watching her take a deep drag before breaking into a violent cough, he said, “Watching hundreds of people get shot like that isn’t something anyone can stomach, even if the ones being shot are the enemy.”
“Ugh…” Sofia retched again.
Perhaps the scene had resurfaced in her mind.
She bent over, one hand clutching her chest while the other, still holding the cigarette, reached out to grip Viktor’s arm.
After a long moment, she finally steadied herself and said weakly, “I don’t know about anyone else, but for me, even the hardest days in the past were easier to endure than what we just went through.”
Viktor supported her with one arm until she was able to stand upright again.
Then he sighed and said, “For me, the work back in Shevchenko also seemed much more bearable than what we’re doing now.”
This time, Sofia didn’t reply immediately.
She carefully took another drag from the cigarette, making sure not to choke, before saying, “Alright…
I just want to leave this place right now.
The smell of blood here…
even a single breath of it is enough to give you nightmares.”
Viktor couldn’t have agreed more. Get faster updates on g.com.
Without saying anything else, he turned and walked down the hillside toward the vehicles parked below.
……….
Night fell over the Drohobych Salt Mine.
On the highway leading from the city into the salt mine complex, a GAZ truck with its headlights on slowly approached the checkpoint at the mine entrance.
A searchlight mounted near the gate swept across the truck, its bright beam illuminating the vehicle.
Two armed guards stepped out from the checkpoint.
One remained at the gate on watch, while the other, accompanied by a military dog, walked up to the driver’s cab and asked the driver for his identification.
The Drohobych Salt Mine was one of the oldest industrial enterprises in the Lviv region.
It had been established in 1250—yes, 1250—and had a history stretching back several centuries.
The mine contained thirty-six salt wells, and not only was its output enormous, but for hundreds of years its salt had been exported throughout almost all of Europe.
It was precisely because of this that Moscow attached great importance to the mine.
During the execution of the Lviv Plan, it had been designated as one of the strategic facilities that required immediate protection.
After the Soviet Army occupied Lviv, the mine was placed directly under military control.
To ensure its security, the Red Army permanently stationed an entire regiment there.
The guard with the military dog quickly finished checking the driver’s identification.
After returning the documents, he led the somewhat restless dog toward the rear of the truck.
The truck bed was covered with a canvas tarp.
The guard walked around to the back, pulled the canvas aside, and looked inside.
The cargo consisted of tightly packed sacks.
Judging by the Russian markings printed on them, the bags contained titanium powder processed at the salt mine.
he guard swept his flashlight across the truck bed, inspecting it carefully.
After confirming that nothing appeared suspicious, he lowered the canvas again and began walking back toward the checkpoint, pulling along the increasingly agitated military dog while preparing to signal that the truck could proceed.
However, just as the guard started back, the military dog, which had been struggling the entire time, suddenly erupted into furious barking.
At the same time, it lunged violently toward the rear of the truck, as though it had gone mad.
The guard became instantly alert.
He immediately released the dog’s leash and reached for the rifle slung over his shoulder.
At almost the same moment, the driver’s door of the truck flew open.
A burly man leaned halfway out of the cab, drew a pistol, aimed it at the guard, and fired four rapid shots.
Everything happened in an instant.
Just as the gunfire rang out, the searchlight that had been sweeping away from the truck suddenly swung back, its dazzling beam locking once more onto the vehicle.
By then, the truck had already started moving.
Gunshots rang out from inside the cab, killing the guard stationed on the opposite side of the checkpoint instantly.
The military dog, however, refused to give up.
Leaping from behind the truck, it sprang directly into the canvas-covered truck bed.
A moment later, a man’s scream came from inside, immediately followed by two sharp gunshots.
Mixed with them was the pained whimper of the military dog.
A piercing alarm suddenly echoed throughout the entire facility.
Machine guns opened fire, sending a torrent of bullets into the truck illuminated by the searchlight.
Before the truck could smash through the checkpoint barrier, its front end had already been riddled with bullet holes like a honeycomb.