“Hmph…”
Viktor spat a thick wad of phlegm onto the dew-covered grass.
Pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his mouth before grinding the spit into the ground with the heel of his boot.
The sun had only just risen above the forest.
Wisps of mist still drifted across the river, and where the morning light pierced the fog, a faint rainbow shimmered above the bend in the water.
After nearly a week of recovery, Viktor had regained most of his strength.
The infected sore near his groin had not completely healed, and his left leg still ached whenever he walked, but compared with the water cell, it felt like a new life.
Beside him, Sergei grazed quietly along the riverbank.
The old warhorse buried its white-marked muzzle in the damp grass, lazily tearing at fresh shoots while occasionally snorting contentedly.
Viktor reached over and patted the horse’s powerful neck.
Then he offered it the half-eaten apple in his hand.
Only after Sergei accepted the fruit did Viktor turn toward the embankment.
This would be their last morning together.
Later that day, Sergei would be returned to the cavalry company.
Viktor’s new assignment meant he would no longer serve with the cavalry.
Life in the Soviet Union could change with astonishing speed.
One day a man could be condemned to death.
The next, he might not only survive but receive a promotion.
That was exactly what had happened to Viktor.
A week earlier he had been awaiting execution.
Now, after recovering from his injuries, he had been appointed to an entirely new position by the State People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs.
According to the official order, the Commissariat intended to strengthen state security around Shevchenko in order to eliminate Polish-backed insurgents operating in the Volyn–Shevchenko Forest.
To achieve that goal, a State Security Bureau would be established in Shevchenko.
Its mission was straightforward.
Within the next three to six months, it would coordinate the People’s Militia, the Border Guard, and forestry troops in a systematic campaign to destroy every armed partisan group operating in the surrounding forests.
Viktor had been promoted from Sergeant to Lieutenant and appointed the bureau’s first director.
Officially, there were two reasons.
First, he possessed extensive frontline experience fighting guerrilla groups over the past two years.
Second, the report praised him for refusing to “yield to the saboteurs led by Bogdan,” claiming he had remained loyal to Party principles throughout the political turmoil.
Viktor, however, knew the real reason.
Bogdan had not been the only official removed from office.
During the past week, more than a dozen members of the Shevchenko Civil Police Bureau had disappeared.
Some were merely dismissed.
Others had been imprisoned.
Quite a few had already been executed.
The only reason Viktor had escaped their fate was simple luck.
Had he not already been lying half-dead in a water cell, he would almost certainly have joined them.
The political winds had shifted.
Across the entire People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs, one principle now guided every promotion and dismissal.
Anyone who had prospered under Yezhov was suspect.
Viktor belonged to the second category.
Standing on the riverbank, he adjusted the brim of his new service cap.
Unlike his old cavalry cap, this one was deep blue with a crimson band.
Only officers of the State Security Directorate were permitted to wear it.
It was more than a change of uniform.
Earlier that year, an order signed by Lev Zakharovich Mekhlis had granted State Security officers ranks and privileges two grades above their military equivalents.
Although Viktor now held the rank of lieutenant, his authority and待遇 were effectively those of an army captain.
The reason was obvious.
Beria’s sweeping purge had devastated the State Security Directorate, leaving it desperately short of experienced personnel.
At the same time, its responsibilities had expanded dramatically.
Public order was no longer viewed as a simple policing issue.
It had become a matter of national security.
That change was precisely why Viktor now possessed authority to command not only the People’s Militia, but also Border Guard units and local militia forces.
Whenever necessary, he could even request intelligence and operational support directly from higher State Security headquarters.
The mission, however, remained brutally simple.
Restore order.
And do it quickly.
Not far from the riverbank, a nearly new GAZ jeep was parked.
A young man wearing the same blue service cap stood beside it, carefully polishing his tall leather boots.
They were identical to Viktor’s—both made of deerskin.
Before his promotion, the boots issued to Viktor had been plain pigskin.
For a moment, Viktor looked out across the endless grasslands, where several cavalry horses galloped freely in the morning light.
Then he slowly made his way back to the jeep.
“Heading back, Comrade Chief?” the young man asked with a grin as Viktor approached.
It was Valenka.
Of everyone in the former Civil Police Bureau, he was the only man Viktor had brought with him.
From now on, he would serve as Viktor’s driver and personal bodyguard.
Since the military rank reform of 1935, junior officers had occasionally addressed their superiors as Chief.
It was never an official requirement, and few people actually used the title, but Valenka had somehow picked up the habit and seemed determined to keep it.
“Let’s go,” Viktor said as he climbed into the passenger seat, leaning back against the stiff leather upholstery.
“Yes, Comrade Chief.”
Valenka started the engine, turned the jeep around, and drove toward Shevchenko.
The promotion had brought authority.
It had also brought responsibility.
His appointment orders left no room for misunderstanding.
Within three to six months, every armed partisan group operating in the Volyn–Shevchenko Forest had to be eliminated.
Failure was not an option. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
The problem was that there wasn’t a single partisan force hiding in the forest.
There were many.
Some consisted of only three or four desperate men armed with hunting rifles, old sabers, or even spears.
Others were entirely different.
The larger bands were led by experienced veterans of the Polish Army.
They possessed military training, modern weapons, and a steady flow of supplies crossing the border from Poland.
Destroying those groups would be far more difficult than simply sending cavalry patrols into the woods.
In later history, Poland would often be remembered as the first victim of Nazi Germany and the policy of appeasement pursued by Britain and France.
To much of the Western world, it became a tragic nation deserving sympathy.
Viktor, however, knew history was rarely that simple.
Before the outbreak of the Second World War, Poland had pursued its own territorial ambitions.
It had seized territory from Lithuania, participated in the partition of Czechoslovakia, and openly aligned itself with anti-Soviet policies.
Along the Soviet border, tensions had remained constant for years.
Warsaw’s ambitions extended eastward.
Many Polish politicians dreamed of expanding into Ukraine and Belarus, pushing Poland’s borders as far as possible toward Moscow.
For that reason, support for separatist movements in western Ukraine and Belarus had never truly ceased.
The guerrillas operating around Shevchenko were merely one part of that larger strategy.
As the jeep rolled along the rough country road, Viktor silently organized his thoughts.
If he wanted to eliminate the partisan movement, military force alone would never be enough.
The first priority had to be cutting off its supplies.
Those supplies came from two sources.
Weapons.
And food.
The weapons were the easier problem.
Given the terrain around Shevchenko, the Poles could not possibly move rifles, ammunition, and explosives across the border without established smuggling routes.
Those routes had to exist.
Finding them—and shutting them down completely—would be the State Security Bureau’s first objective.
Food presented a much greater challenge.
Years of forced collectivization had left deep resentment throughout eastern Ukraine.
Many villagers secretly sympathized with the guerrillas or feared refusing them assistance.
As a result, food found its way into the forests with surprising ease.
That source of supply had to be cut off as well.
Viktor was already considering a solution.
Every collective farm surrounding the Volyn–Shevchenko Forest would be placed under strict grain accounting.
The harvest of every household would be recorded in detail.
Every sack of wheat.
Every basket of potatoes.
Every ear of corn.
Nothing would be left unaccounted for.
Only by controlling the flow of food could the guerrillas be slowly starved out of the forest.