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<blockquote data-quote="oldbulllee" data-source="post: 130805" data-attributes="member: 6420"><p>no 2</p><p></p><p>NO TITLE..………….</p><p></p><p></p><p>The oil has frozen. So did water, bread and seven prisoners so far. I was forced to give extra spirit to the guards today. This transport is all ways on the verge of mutiny. I am reluctant to shoot the disobedient, we barely made the first 100 km; who knows what can happen yet. I might need them all. And more...</p><p>Either way there will be no shooting before the next stop; guns have to be defrosted first. Fortunately, the prisoners are not much of a threat, nothing that can't be sorted with a boot, whip or rifle butt. Bayonet. They are barely alive. About half of them will stay along the road. As usual. And few of my men, probably. The staff at Arhangelsk have organized gambling on the outcome of this transport years ago. How many dead? How many dead at the 100 km mark? 200 km mark? 300 km? How many prisoners dead? How many guards?</p><p>Freezing or drunk freezing? Starvation, sickness or a bullet? And so on. </p><p></p><p>I have cursed my faith more times than i can remember; as everyone else here doubtless... Breaking off a rock hard, frozen piece of bread with my knife and sucking on it until it becomes edible. I don't chew however, i keep sucking it, a trick i have learned from the prisoners. It seems to offer more comfort that way. I hope there won't be snowfall before we reach the next huts. I really do.</p><p></p><p>" Get in scum! Get in, for every minute of my time you waste i'll break two bones!Get in!" Kusashkin screams at them, though there is no need for that really. They are getting in as fast as they can, they are...</p><p>" You and you" i point at the two of them " get the wood". They all ready know where it is; all these huts are made alike if not the same. By the first transports. All dead now probably, their bones somewhere around here.</p><p>" You, go with the guard and bring the food". No need to guard the wood carriers; their only slim, little chance for survival is to do exactly as they're told. Nowhere to run. Not for more than a few hours, that is. The food is a different matter. If left unguarded, this scum would steal as much as possible and swallow it raw, rather than sharing it with other prisoners. Raw frozen turnip, potatoes, anything. No wander. Two of them are gathering the snow into pots, for cooking. I assign the guards, one hour shifts, Malafeev and Ryanov fist. Done. Finally. We are still alive. 200 km more to go.</p><p></p><p>" Comrade Lieutenant how about we get our vodka now? Where is the ration?" </p><p>" I gave you spirit this afternoon Kusashkin".</p><p>" Yes comrade Lieutenant, but that was spirit and afternoon, and now is evening and we are supposed to get some vodka".</p><p>He is right. It's the Regulation. I am cleaning my Nagant.</p><p>" Clean your weapons first, all of you. Inspection in an hour. Nikitin, put some more wood in the fire; my fingernails are about to fall off from the cold". They all groan but start cleaning their rifles . No messing about in NKVD. Mutiny only occurs under heavy stress. When they come to their senses warmed up a bit, food on the stove and a shelter from the wind, they all know what happens if they disobey. They might kill their officer,and that is me, steal all the provisions and run; than they might just as well put a bullet through each others skull, as that is what awaits them wherever they turn up.At best. No. There will be no problems. The situations is horrible allready, as it is.</p><p>" How is that muck going Nikitin? I allready ate the sling off my rifle!" yells Kusashkin and everyone laughs.</p><p>" Some more, some more Hohol, everything was frozen solid".</p><p>Frozen potatoes, frozen turnip, just like the prisoners.... Luckily, on top of that we have some salted fish and some frozen horse meat. Meat can't be wasted on those bastards. Enemies of the Revolution and the Soviet State. Rotten turnip's too good for them...</p><p>" Here... I'd say it's done!" shouts Nikitin and puts the pot on the table. No doubt it's full of lice that fell from his filthy head as soon as they thawed. No one cares much. Steam rises from the pot, that alone makes it a treat from...mmm, well.... there's no heaven so a treat. I pass the vodka and a chorus of approval and cheerful cursing relaxes me a bit. Fed, warmed and given alcohol they aren't that bad of a bunch of criminals. Neither am I. I start thinking we'll make it all... Of course, that's just the food and warmth softening me.</p><p></p><p>" Kusashkin, you and Stepanich take the next post. Go and relieve those two before their food freezes again". They aren't very happy about it, just barely warmed themselves up. Nevertheless, they pick up what was left of their vodka and go into the night, cursing under their breath: me, themselves, the prisoners, pretty much everyone and everything allowed.</p><p></p><p>200 km more to go. Rynov reported one dead allready. Most likely he was the weakest and sickest so the other prisoners strangled him and shared his food. Ryanov ordered a couple of them to take the body outside and throw it some 50 m from the hut.The soil is granite frozen, no chance of digging a hole for burial. I check my lists: 40058... here. Died. That's all. Died. Sickness. Cold. Attempt of escape. I don't even bother to note. We'll see the count in the morning. Malafeev tries to talk some of the others into playing cards; no one is interested. We all want to sleep while the warmth lasts. As soon as i settle on the hay I am cold again. Damn. Damn.</p><p></p><p>Nikitin comes from the last shift and wakes everyone up. Time to go. We leave the prisoners to squat around their stove for a little longer to make some breakfast. For us. They get a meal two times a day, around noon and in evening. If possible. I force every man in the escort to shave. In a partially thawed hut, fire going all night, the stench is awful. We reek. We just don't feel it in the cold that much. Prisoners stink like corpses. This has no effect on our appetite though. Nothing has anymore. Kusashkin talks about some SMERSH officer he saw in Arhangelsk on the trains. Fallen from grace. My stomach knots.</p><p>" Major Filipenko he said was his name; you know him comrade Lieutenant?"</p><p>" No".</p><p>I make a mental note to make Kusashkins life miserable as soon as i get the chance, for bringing this up. Oddly, he shuts up. Must've been my face. I don't like being reminded of that. The life before the fall. Almost all of my personal is here for the same reason. Punishment. And what a punishment; a rank and service in hell.</p><p>We finish the breakfast and prepare. I send Nikitin and Malafeev to assemble the prisoners and tie them to the wire. Not much snowfall during the night. Fortunately. 200 km more. Thermometer says -32, but we all suspect that it's broken. Why would they give us a working one any way?</p><p>If it was -40 or less, we'd have a right to wait out in the huts till it gets warmer. I could declare it so, as a commanding officer, but I have no doubt that someone among my man would report it. No doubt. Bastards.</p><p></p><p>" How many today Hohol?" yells Stepanich from the rear.</p><p>" Till sundown or till morning?" asks Kusashkin in return.</p><p>" Till morning".</p><p>" Let say.... six!"</p><p>" I say eight! Two cigarettes!"</p><p>" Real tobacco, or those made out of hay and oak leaves?"</p><p>" Real!"</p><p>" You're on!" yells Kusashkin and we are moving, the horizon as far as all ways.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="oldbulllee, post: 130805, member: 6420"] no 2 NO TITLE..…………. The oil has frozen. So did water, bread and seven prisoners so far. I was forced to give extra spirit to the guards today. This transport is all ways on the verge of mutiny. I am reluctant to shoot the disobedient, we barely made the first 100 km; who knows what can happen yet. I might need them all. And more... Either way there will be no shooting before the next stop; guns have to be defrosted first. Fortunately, the prisoners are not much of a threat, nothing that can't be sorted with a boot, whip or rifle butt. Bayonet. They are barely alive. About half of them will stay along the road. As usual. And few of my men, probably. The staff at Arhangelsk have organized gambling on the outcome of this transport years ago. How many dead? How many dead at the 100 km mark? 200 km mark? 300 km? How many prisoners dead? How many guards? Freezing or drunk freezing? Starvation, sickness or a bullet? And so on. I have cursed my faith more times than i can remember; as everyone else here doubtless... Breaking off a rock hard, frozen piece of bread with my knife and sucking on it until it becomes edible. I don't chew however, i keep sucking it, a trick i have learned from the prisoners. It seems to offer more comfort that way. I hope there won't be snowfall before we reach the next huts. I really do. " Get in scum! Get in, for every minute of my time you waste i'll break two bones!Get in!" Kusashkin screams at them, though there is no need for that really. They are getting in as fast as they can, they are... " You and you" i point at the two of them " get the wood". They all ready know where it is; all these huts are made alike if not the same. By the first transports. All dead now probably, their bones somewhere around here. " You, go with the guard and bring the food". No need to guard the wood carriers; their only slim, little chance for survival is to do exactly as they're told. Nowhere to run. Not for more than a few hours, that is. The food is a different matter. If left unguarded, this scum would steal as much as possible and swallow it raw, rather than sharing it with other prisoners. Raw frozen turnip, potatoes, anything. No wander. Two of them are gathering the snow into pots, for cooking. I assign the guards, one hour shifts, Malafeev and Ryanov fist. Done. Finally. We are still alive. 200 km more to go. " Comrade Lieutenant how about we get our vodka now? Where is the ration?" " I gave you spirit this afternoon Kusashkin". " Yes comrade Lieutenant, but that was spirit and afternoon, and now is evening and we are supposed to get some vodka". He is right. It's the Regulation. I am cleaning my Nagant. " Clean your weapons first, all of you. Inspection in an hour. Nikitin, put some more wood in the fire; my fingernails are about to fall off from the cold". They all groan but start cleaning their rifles . No messing about in NKVD. Mutiny only occurs under heavy stress. When they come to their senses warmed up a bit, food on the stove and a shelter from the wind, they all know what happens if they disobey. They might kill their officer,and that is me, steal all the provisions and run; than they might just as well put a bullet through each others skull, as that is what awaits them wherever they turn up.At best. No. There will be no problems. The situations is horrible allready, as it is. " How is that muck going Nikitin? I allready ate the sling off my rifle!" yells Kusashkin and everyone laughs. " Some more, some more Hohol, everything was frozen solid". Frozen potatoes, frozen turnip, just like the prisoners.... Luckily, on top of that we have some salted fish and some frozen horse meat. Meat can't be wasted on those bastards. Enemies of the Revolution and the Soviet State. Rotten turnip's too good for them... " Here... I'd say it's done!" shouts Nikitin and puts the pot on the table. No doubt it's full of lice that fell from his filthy head as soon as they thawed. No one cares much. Steam rises from the pot, that alone makes it a treat from...mmm, well.... there's no heaven so a treat. I pass the vodka and a chorus of approval and cheerful cursing relaxes me a bit. Fed, warmed and given alcohol they aren't that bad of a bunch of criminals. Neither am I. I start thinking we'll make it all... Of course, that's just the food and warmth softening me. " Kusashkin, you and Stepanich take the next post. Go and relieve those two before their food freezes again". They aren't very happy about it, just barely warmed themselves up. Nevertheless, they pick up what was left of their vodka and go into the night, cursing under their breath: me, themselves, the prisoners, pretty much everyone and everything allowed. 200 km more to go. Rynov reported one dead allready. Most likely he was the weakest and sickest so the other prisoners strangled him and shared his food. Ryanov ordered a couple of them to take the body outside and throw it some 50 m from the hut.The soil is granite frozen, no chance of digging a hole for burial. I check my lists: 40058... here. Died. That's all. Died. Sickness. Cold. Attempt of escape. I don't even bother to note. We'll see the count in the morning. Malafeev tries to talk some of the others into playing cards; no one is interested. We all want to sleep while the warmth lasts. As soon as i settle on the hay I am cold again. Damn. Damn. Nikitin comes from the last shift and wakes everyone up. Time to go. We leave the prisoners to squat around their stove for a little longer to make some breakfast. For us. They get a meal two times a day, around noon and in evening. If possible. I force every man in the escort to shave. In a partially thawed hut, fire going all night, the stench is awful. We reek. We just don't feel it in the cold that much. Prisoners stink like corpses. This has no effect on our appetite though. Nothing has anymore. Kusashkin talks about some SMERSH officer he saw in Arhangelsk on the trains. Fallen from grace. My stomach knots. " Major Filipenko he said was his name; you know him comrade Lieutenant?" " No". I make a mental note to make Kusashkins life miserable as soon as i get the chance, for bringing this up. Oddly, he shuts up. Must've been my face. I don't like being reminded of that. The life before the fall. Almost all of my personal is here for the same reason. Punishment. And what a punishment; a rank and service in hell. We finish the breakfast and prepare. I send Nikitin and Malafeev to assemble the prisoners and tie them to the wire. Not much snowfall during the night. Fortunately. 200 km more. Thermometer says -32, but we all suspect that it's broken. Why would they give us a working one any way? If it was -40 or less, we'd have a right to wait out in the huts till it gets warmer. I could declare it so, as a commanding officer, but I have no doubt that someone among my man would report it. No doubt. Bastards. " How many today Hohol?" yells Stepanich from the rear. " Till sundown or till morning?" asks Kusashkin in return. " Till morning". " Let say.... six!" " I say eight! Two cigarettes!" " Real tobacco, or those made out of hay and oak leaves?" " Real!" " You're on!" yells Kusashkin and we are moving, the horizon as far as all ways. [/QUOTE]
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