The three warhorses galloped to a halt outside Anlina’s ramshackle house, their hooves splashing muddy water in every direction.
Before his horse had even come to a complete stop, Viktor swung down from the saddle.
His boots hit the ground, and in the same motion, the Tokarev pistol at his hip was already in his hand.
“Valenka, take your men around the back,” he ordered calmly, gesturing to the two soldiers behind him.
“Yes, Comrade Sergeant.”
The two cavalrymen wheeled their horses around the shack and disappeared behind it.
Two emaciated children were crouching outside the front door, poking at the mud with a few sticks.
Hearing the approaching footsteps, the little girl, whose dry, straw-like hair hung over her face, slowly stood up.
She stared blankly at Viktor while absentmindedly chewing on one of her dirt-covered fingers.
Without sparing the children a glance, Viktor strode past them and kicked the loose wooden door open.
The room smelled of mold and damp wood.
Although the afternoon sun shone brightly outside, only a faint trace of light filtered through the tiny windows, leaving the interior gloomy.
Directly opposite the entrance stood a crude bed assembled from rough planks and stacked stones.
Sitting beside it was a middle-aged man.
The moment he saw Viktor burst in, he cried out in panic, tumbled off the bed, and collapsed onto the floor.
“I confess!
I confess!” he screamed, clutching his head with both hands.
“Please…
don’t beat me…
don’t kill me…”
Viktor ignored him.
His eyes swept across the room until they settled on the two women kneeling in the opposite corner.
Anlina and her mother had evidently been kneading dough.
A lump of unfinished dough still rested on the wooden board before them.
Flour was an expensive luxury in Shevchenko.
They had almost certainly traded some of the apples for it.
Anlina’s mother froze the instant she saw Viktor.
Her flour-covered hands began trembling uncontrollably.
Anlina, however, looked more confused than frightened.
“Where’s Vavilla?”
Viktor deliberately raised his voice as he glanced toward the rear window.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of his soldiers dismount behind the house.
He stepped toward Anlina.
Grasping her wrist, he gave her the briefest wink before shouting loudly enough for everyone outside to hear.
“Tell me where Vavilla is!
He’s been collaborating with Serchiak’s partisans.
By order of the tribunal, he’s to be executed immediately!”
Anlina’s mother let out a strangled gasp.
Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor.
She hadn’t noticed the wink.
Neither had Anlina.
The girl’s face turned deathly pale.
“N-No…
my brother wouldn’t…” she cried desperately.
“He could never work with the partisans…”
“Enough!”
Viktor barked the word harshly.
He released her wrist.
For a split second he considered whispering for her to warn Vavilla to run—
A deafening crack interrupted him.
The entire rear wall exploded inward.
Wood splintered as one section of the shack was ripped away, leaving a gaping hole through which daylight poured.
A child’s frightened scream rang out behind him.
Viktor glanced back.
The little boy remained frozen in the doorway, crying hysterically.
The girl, however, was gone.
He caught a glimpse of her small figure sprinting through the muddy alley between the neighboring shacks.
An almost imperceptible sense of relief passed through him.
Without another word, he slipped a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and walked toward the hole in the wall.
“Did you find him, Comrade Sergeant?”
Valenka climbed through the opening, brushing dust from his sleeves.
Viktor slowly shook his head.
“We’ll wait.”
He took a drag from his cigarette.
“He’ll come back eventually.”
Valenka looked at him for a long moment.
It seemed as though he wanted to say something.
Instead, he merely glanced toward the sobbing Anlina before climbing back outside.
Viktor remained seated on a nearby wooden block, smoking quietly while staring at a withered tree beyond the ruined wall.
He had never intended to arrest Vavilla.
It wasn’t only because he believed the young man had been falsely accused.
It was because Vavilla was Anlina’s brother.
Ever since that stormy night two weeks ago, an uncomfortable sense of guilt had lingered in Viktor’s heart.
As an officer who dealt with the exiles every day, he knew perfectly well that Vavilla rarely slept at home.
The young man spent most of his time wandering around the settlement with other restless youths.
If they genuinely wanted to arrest him, they would have searched those places first.
Coming here had served only one purpose.
Someone in the family needed time to warn him.
Escaping Shevchenko offered almost no chance of survival.
But almost none was still better than none at all.
Valenka probably understood exactly what Viktor was doing.
Several men in the platoon knew Vavilla’s habits.
Yet Viktor wasn’t worried.
He trusted Valenka.
And even if someone reported him…
So what?
At worst, he would be shot.
After only a month in this world, Viktor was already exhausted by it.
This era was suffocating—filled with fear, suspicion, and hopelessness.
Sometimes he even wondered whether dying here would return him to the world he had left behind.
If it would…
He wasn’t sure he would hesitate to pull the trigger himself.
After finishing his cigarette, Viktor stood up.
As he turned, he noticed the thin little girl had returned to the doorway.
Leaning against the doorframe, she was breathing heavily, clearly exhausted from running.
If everything had gone as planned, she had already delivered the warning.
Now all Viktor could do was hope that the unfortunate Vavilla had escaped the town and would never return.
He had done all he could.
Whether Vavilla survived or not was no longer in his hands.
There had never been any chance of finding him here, but Viktor still had to play his part.
He remained at Anlina’s house until nightfall before returning to the camp with the two soldiers.
By the time they returned, the other five arrest teams had already completed their assignments.
Of the six people whose names had appeared on the tribunal’s list, five had already been “brought to justice.”
The phrase deserved quotation marks.
None of them had been given the opportunity to defend themselves.
Whether they wished to confess or deny the accusations was irrelevant.
They had been executed before they could say a single word.
Only one target remained at large.
From a military standpoint, the operation had not been completed.
For most officers, that would have been a serious stain on their record.
Viktor, however, couldn’t have cared less.
Unlike many of his colleagues, he had no ambition to climb the ranks.
To satisfy his superiors, Viktor ordered the entire cavalry platoon to conduct a search of the town throughout the night, making every effort to appear determined to capture the fugitive.
As expected, the search turned up nothing.
Vavilla had vanished without a trace.
He had most likely fled deep into the forest.
Perhaps he had even managed to join the partisans.
The search continued until the first light of dawn.
Finding nothing only added another layer of frustration to the men’s exhaustion.
When Viktor finally returned to his barracks, he found that Anlina had already come back.
Curled up on a worn felt mat in the corner, she was fast asleep.
The mat was her bed.
Without changing out of his uniform, Viktor lay down on his own bed.
Within moments, he was asleep as well.
Only three or four hours passed before loud voices outside pulled him from his sleep.
His eyes had barely opened when the barracks door was kicked violently inward.
Four armed soldiers burst into the room.
Without saying a word, they seized him and dragged him to his feet.
Anlina woke with a start.
She shrank back against the wall, huddled on the felt mat, too frightened to move.
Viktor offered no resistance.
He already knew why they had come.
Someone had discovered that he had deliberately allowed Vavilla to escape.
In times like these, such an offense could mean anything.
If the tribunal considered it simple negligence, he would likely lose his position in the People’s Militia.
If they decided he had knowingly aided the partisans…
The punishment would be a bullet.
Outside the barracks, a boxy olive-green military jeep stood waiting.
Several saddled warhorses were tethered nearby.
Escorted outside, Viktor immediately spotted Anufriy standing beside the vehicle.
Unlike the day before, he was wearing his uniform.
A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, and the warmth he had shown yesterday had completely disappeared.
His square face was cold and expressionless.
Watching Viktor being brought forward, he asked in a flat voice,
“Are you certain this is the traitor?”
“Yes, Comrade Warrant Officer,” one of the soldiers replied loudly.
“Identity confirmed.
Former People’s Militia Sergeant Viktor Viktorovich of the Civil Police Bureau—”
Before he could finish, Anufriy cut him off with an impatient wave of his hand.
“There is no People’s Militia Sergeant.”
His voice was icy.
“There is only a despicable and cunning traitor.”
He paused briefly before giving the order.
“Put him in the jeep.”