st. dzerzhinsky or the peculiar methods of falling asleep

i am repared for every fucking thing, life included

2011-06-10T12:08:00.000-07:00

_

pseudonarcosis

hypnagogic states

staring at your absence

completely unaware

... that i am chewing

through my cheeks.

copper and rust

and a hint of bitterness,

so... .... ....... ...

Something to it

i can not quite grasp,

a dream like quality;

the kind that leaves

with the loss as massive

as a dead

sun.

wake with Empty

Red palms

life level with

ashtray;

juuuust out of reach.

Luckily,

i can cum this blood a great deal

further

than i can reach.

we're covered.

cotton fever

2011-06-10T12:07:00.000-07:00

_

insufficient and

inappropriate measures.

Desperate measures.

than, why not just quit the fucking

game?

i'd like to.

Every New fix sprays the

stench.

Desperate measures.

Just forget.

i would like to.

but can't.

it Simmers

than Boils.

Simmers

Boils

Tie up.

Here we go.

Desperate measures.

as Desperate do.

metastasis

2011-06-10T12:06:00.000-07:00

_

days stringed on a single line of reassurance.

maybe tomorrow.

the thing is...

it isn't working.

i still miss you the same.

this is how it was; first breathless, than all spectral and grey

2011-06-10T12:05:00.000-07:00

_

watching myself in this dirty spoon makes me wanna skin myself and
roll in the lye.

steering this aging corpse around

like i belong inside

me and my meat are not getting along,

not at all.

Singularity

RLS and insect agony.

plunger back aaaand

...

Register.

..

Shall we proceed, Master?

.

Push that sterility in, Dzerzhinsky

All of it.

Joy to the fucking world

for i am done.

ad hope when necessary

2011-06-10T12:04:00.001-07:00

_

i come from the land of swollen identity

false yet palpable causes for misery

i come from the wars of abiding stupidity

the sacred Uroboric massacre

i come from a failed marriage and torn family

squalor and poisoned meals

i come from the ravages of dreams

not broken, but worse ...disillusioned

this is the poison path

"the place of dead roads"

and still i can see beauty in everything

on occasional sunny day

i am my fathers son

2011-06-10T12:03:00.001-07:00

_

the door knob is an old familiar shape

anticipation in hand

pull hard to unlock

the dark inside smells of home

of me.

silhouette against the tv screen

"hello son" is an old familiar sound

uncertain hand shake

silence that weights 13 years

at least.

the how and why to the failure of the generation of poorly lighted crossroads

2011-06-10T12:01:00.000-07:00

_

it's all downhill from now,

said Jesus

and fixed up.

that was before he realized

that he didn't die

at 27.

gratitude is hard..

2011-06-10T12:00:00.000-07:00

...

the total mass of mutual guilt

has pushed our lives into something

new.

it feels like gravity.

it feels too bad to be True,

accelerating into nothing.

What are the Chances?

What are the Chances of passing someone

close enough to Orbit again?

i all ready know the message.

i knew the answer, before you knew there was a question.

and Still it will hurt.

Leaving bit by bit,

and never really believing.

waiting in vain

2011-06-10T11:51:00.000-07:00

.

Mainlining Rust.

i go to bed with 3 razors underneath my tongue
precipitate dreams,

Sweet Dreams.

stale moist bed sheets

formal absence of all precious things

Broken Bone Moment.

Dead flies Braille

reading Vacuum off crusted mouldy plates...
Passing Time.

where have you been?

warm living flesh, a hand upon my cheek

it falls right through me...

Words Disintegrating into Sounds.

Broken Bone Moment Again.

strength required for solace fades among all these
Dead Things.

You are My phantom limb

You are My phantom limb

a formal absence of all precious things.

2011-01-03T07:27:00.000-08:00

DISTILLERY

charred girders

frame bright blue

ghosts in this place

even in mid day

that's rare...

deceased cattle

rusted out feeders

waist deep weed.

Smells of wet

sick

cows

and running asphalt.

long since discontinued

antibiotics

piles

piles

and piles

of empty ampoules

test tubes

inseminators

broken glass syringes

all housing

ticks.

encephalitis.

rotting black hay.

crumbled concrete

puddles

mosquito larvae

in

abundance.

I leave with concise

defined

despair.

waist deep weed.

impotent decorticated

bulls.

stand by ticks.

encephalitis.

2011-01-03T07:25:00.000-08:00

CONSISTENT FAILURE IN INFILTRATING OTHER REALITIES BY MEANS OTHER THAN IMAGINATION

Tectonic shift in Perspective

Ugly fucking Human.

fear in Motion

staircase creaks; voices float in like Bodies

on slow water.

Ugly Human.

tectonic shift in perspective.

tomorrow - a landslide

madness despair and

suicide.

MS

ER Relief.

buying stealing borrowing time

shivers white knuckle grip

Holding Breath

Ugly Fucking Human.

2010-12-23T08:44:00.001-08:00

BEST TAKEN ON EMPTY STOMACH, AND NEVER TOO SOON

The cloud layer sits so low and murky, it's somehow sexual.

a lucky poetic observation

literally moments before the

opium

castrates me.

in

optimum working condition

again.

Hurtproof.

everything retracts abbreviated and

simple.

as is.

it's about to rain.

2010-12-23T08:43:00.000-08:00

YOU THINK YOU KNOW ME?

YOU'RE PROBABLY RIGHT.

took some 10 years

to realize

that my life is a case of

irreversible

dyskinesia.

as the Pig Feeder said:

" Act To Your Condition, Boy!"

hopelessly useless

Wisdom;

unachievable Than,

and utterly worthless Now.*

What else could i do

hermit?

2010-12-23T08:41:00.000-08:00

THERE IS SOMETHING HOPELESSLY ROMANTIC ABOUT SOCIAL REVOLUTION.....

one part gasoline

six parts polystyrene

this ain't no fucking farm.

eventually

we will evolve

however, any given individual

can only take as

much.

this ain't no fucking farm.

2010-12-22T12:10:00.000-08:00

SOON ENOUGH, CULTIVATING A SPECIFIC STRAIN OF HUMOR BECOMES THE ONLY THING THAT RENDERS PLASMA LEVELS SUCH AS THESE- BEARABLE

waking up waterboarded.

The Old familiar feeling.

you are here,

so,

i must have never left.

MOR alarm
pillows drenched in histamine.

surreal paranoia

faces of disturbingly preraphaelite quality....
everything slightly out of sync.
the sight of Your mouth articulating sounds
sends me shivering into terminal stages of
motion sickness.

fuck...

whatever went wrong,

has Arrived.

ridiculously steep learning curve
the prospect of physical violence
and
damage.

Hello to you too.

the ordinary hell

of every days purgatory,

against Better judgement,

i keep moving the air around

all Meaningful like.

N02A kin

is coming back around again.

boot up
calm down.
the Irony of this situation is completely
lost.

Accusations press hard against

the Teeth

down

the foul

watery

Sweat.

today's Abortion shrieks into the morning Stillness

with the Voice of a dozen Stomach Cramps.

The Old familiar feeling.

Home away from Home.

μ DOS

2010-12-15T15:32:00.000-08:00

a personal moment now ...
all the mirror shards between my toes...
delusions.

I can't make out what the fuck I am.

am.

there is a horrible conclusion ahead

I wish I wasn't laughing
at all the wrong times.
At all the right things.

2010-12-12T07:39:00.001-08:00

Almost two hours and i am not even half way across the yard. I have no idea what's the situation beyond the fences.... safety may still be far.

After the second day it was clear that I will have to move. Waiting for our troops to move while having no food or fire, freezing in that pipe... I couldn't lay there anymore. So I stripped Vitya of all his ammo, grenades and his coat. The coat was hell to take off him; he was stiff and my hands felt brittle. It hurt. Couldn't drag his rifle as well, so i pulled the bolt out, and threw it into the sewer ruins, than crawled out. It was night, of course.

Bad luck. Half an hour later, the shelling started. After a while, i realized it was ours. Our gunners obviously had no reliable way of observing the effects, so they spread the fire over as large area as they could. When the first mortar mine fell some 100 m from where i lay, i lost it finally. Threw myself under the remains of some roof that lay in the street, and screamed, cried, screamed, kicked around, and pissed myself. The earth was trembling and howling for a couple of hours, and i emptied all of my fear and misery there and then. I finally calmed down and waited for the shelling to stop. My cover was completely inadequate, yet consistently with the insanity that was raging all around me, the worst that have happened was a few roofing tiles breaking under blasts and shrapnel and falling on my head. The attack ceased and i crawled out fast, cramps in my gut almost immobilizing me. I had to cover as much distance as i could before daylight. Now, straight through the shelled area. Not much success here.... Half a dozen dead in the open. In the dim light of a few fires they looked like Croatian legionaries. That was all.... All that shelling for maybe a dozen dead legionaries...
Across the square and through ruins and courtyards. Moving unseen was relatively easy; the entire city was plowed.
Dzerzhinsky Factory village.... Ruble. Almost everyone alive is underground. Basements, bunkers, makeshift shelters under the ruble, tunnels. I try to keep eastwards towards the river and factories. They are still ours, for sure.

I search some frozen bodies along my path, as expected there isn't anything useful. At last i find a decent winter camouflage on a dead sniper. What was he doing here in the open is beyond me. Any way, his cloak is still in pretty good shape, mine is torn to shreds.
Panic settles in as i can't orient myself as easy as i would like. The terrain has changed quite a lot since the last time i was here; we were sent forward straight from the sniper school. Leverets they called us, by the name of our great teacher. Well.... we sure were no fierce fighters like he was. Not yet.
All right, this should be the main road... somewhere there should be Dzerzhinsky tractor factory. The perimeter is probably mined. The place is silent, no visible fires... I decide to lay there for a while and observe, so i turn over a nearby corpse and drag another one closer, than nest between then, covering the barrel of my rifle with one of theirs uniforms.... Nothing.... stillness. My stomach cramps getting worse all the time.
Finally i decide to move in. I have no idea what today passwords are. Sentinels that are surely there would shoot me on spot. I need to get close and than give them a chance to search me. Slowly, carefully crawling, checking with my hands ahead of me; getting caught in the razor wire in complete dark is suicide. Crawling with your entire body in contact with the ground reduces the chances of triggering mines. Ah the fire....Hot soup and tea... Hot anything... I might even get a chance to wash myself..... Sergey is somewhere in Dzerzhinsky factory, i think, I smile at this thought....

Explosion. I bury my head into the corpse. Another. Another. A tank. What? Machine guns. Tracers swarm above me and behind my back; than flashes start to appear in the facade of the factory, illuminating the windows, and more whistling over my head. An attack.I can not believe it. Right now an attack on the factory. I can not believe it. I feel like screaming and crying from frustration, i can not believe it. Sargent Dolovinins' training is to strong fortunately. I turn to my left amidst the corpses, and half turn around. Wipe the scope lenses. Yes. Germans, two tanks at least. Moving through cover, but advancing fast. Four MG 42s at least. Than fire from the left. I can't make out exactly how much of them there is, but they are closer than the Germans behind me, I can hear their faint voices through the gun fire. Croatian legion. Their artillery is close behind probably; it will start to shell the factory entrance any moment now. I feel like crying and the stomach cramps are getting worse and worse. For a few frozen, stupid moments i don't know what to do; than i start moving slowly forward, as low to the ground as possible. Light is still weak. A tank or maybe an artillery shell made a direct hit on one of the machine gun nests in the factory entrance, I hear them shouting behind starting to advance, their morale boosted by this. No. They'll be on top of me, it is a matter of seconds now. Play dead. I squeeze myself between three bodies, pulling one of them over me. They are pretty much frozen solid, a good protection from bullets that are raking the ground all over the place. Stormtroopers are zig zaging under the support of their tanks, dropping to the ground, firing, getting up, running, dropping, firing.... Some don't get up, but a lot of them do. Too many. They move past me. The tanks are now looming at the edge of the perimeter. One of them got hit with something heavy, by the sound of it, others are now shelling the place from a distance. I realize that I'm not breathing. Cramps in my stomach reach a climax with a tearing sensation and i know that my period has just started after about four months. My underwear fills up with warm blood. Move. Little by little. Pay no attention to ricochets, not much you can do about that. Just avoid the people. Three German engineers are cutting razor wire, about 60 m dead ahead of me, sheltered of our fire by a pile of dirt and corpses. That should have been cleared out. I wrap the muzzle of my Mosin with a piece of cloth teared of a nearby body, trying to mask the flash. Their comrades are behind and right, the Croats to the left of me, i do not dare to shoot. But i must. This is larger than me, more important than my life. It is simple as that. A bit close for the scope.... a bit too dark for the iron sights.... scope will have to do. I hit the kneeling one high in the back, he falls over the wire and hangs there. Other two haven't realized where the shot has came from; they get closer to the ground, but continue to make the opening. The second, I hit in the head. This round blew the rag of my barrel. I lay perfectly still, covered by bodies. The third engineer is not there anymore; I didn't see him run, he must have crawled away. At this point it looked as the attack was broken; Germans were retreating to the tanks. Croats were halted, but held their ground. Like me they were using corpses for cover, and slowly inched forward. I did as well. The mortars started then, and i disconnectedly wondered why they weren't deployed earlier.... Falling too close to me, grinding everything into a pulp. Immediately, legionaries went into the retreat. Than mortars from the back, Germans', in return. Where these things fell, there was a mass grave. Body parts were flying everywhere and I reached to the very core of my being for the courage required not to get up and run. Instead, I dragged a corpse onto my back, and with underwear soaked through with blood and urine, started to crawl towards the factory. Through every possible shadow and slowly. Slowly.

......

2010-12-12T07:38:00.001-08:00

Fucking Chechnya and fucking Chechens and fucking war... My nose is running already and the shivers are building. Come ON already! You fuck! Come on already; it's dark, the gear is in check as are we. come ON!.
Finally! We move out.
As soon as possible i find a decent cover, a shallow hole in the ground, between roots of some tree. By the size of those roots it must be huge, but i can't see it that well in the darkness yet. Night vision on. Others have deployed east of me, and my spotter is somewhat ahead, i hear a faint noise of his gear rattling. Idiot! If i weren't this messed up, it'd really, really piss me off. He can't even check the wind silently. I take my kit out, systematically working, my Gyurza cocked, round chambered.
It took me a while to get the proper technique down. Cooking up under night vision, while sheltering the flame. It goes without a glitch now. 20 second, not more. Now finding a vein under night vision is something altogether different, as is spotting a register in a syringe. Takes skill. Takes feel. I listen to the night, Death is all around us. I hit it on a second try. Seep in Afghanistan, seep in; may I never see you again if I get alive out of Chechnya.
Yes.
This is it. Hatred is metabolically impossible now.
Faint, rhythmic rat clicking as i take the sling off my leg. Spotter confirms the position ahead. Naturally, I feel a lot more sympathetic now. He's not so bad...
I take the cover off of my scopes' lenses. Now, we can go to work.

........

2010-12-12T07:37:00.001-08:00

" Who do we have here?"
" Seven of Kaminskys' men and four Germans, comrade Commissar".
" What? Kaminskys'? Russian or Ukrainians?"
" Russian comrade Commissar, all of them".
" Any officers among them?"
" One comrade Commissar".
" Good. Good. Take him to Nevski. Shoot the rest. No. Wait…. wait….. Take them all to Nevski first. Yes. Take them all."
" Yes comrade Commissar, take all to Nevski. Understood".
" The Germans, do we know anything?"
" They said nothing so far comrade Commissar. They have destroyed their documents and all of their insignia".
" What? All of it?"
" Yes comrade Commissar; even the ranks and markings of their uniforms!"
" Well, than… destroyed all means of identification AND taken prisoner with Kaminskys criminals… They are either Dirlewangers animals or those… what was the damn word… Einsatz… Einsatz something… kommando, gruppen…Einsatzgruppen, yes. Nebes' murderers…"
" Yes comrade Commissar?"
" What?"
" I men, what should i do with them, comrade Commissar?"
" Yes, yes… i am thinking… What about their gear, weapons? Anything out of the ordinary?"
" Not particularly comrade Commissar; three rifles, one machine pistol. Ours, by the way…. Knives. That's it."
" Nothing. Well… fine! Take them all to Nevski than. And everything they had on them or that you found on the site. Send a few men to search the arrest site again, thoroughly this time, maybe you missed something, something they didn't get the chance to destroy. NKVD will send their own squad for sure, but do it any way. Secure the site. Civilians that have survived, even so few, will surely get there as well, if for nothing more than a dropped spoon. They loot everything. So… yes. Go. Prisoners to Nevski, secure the site, give anything you might find to NKVD."
" Yes comrade Commissar, understood!"

Commissar Valeriy Yusupovich has taken his pipe apart and now was cleaning it meticulously.It was difficult to acquire good tobacco, if any at all, and it couldn't be wasted. Mustn't. What a bloody day. He had to shoot two of their own soldiers this morning, when they ambushed the remains of a German tank battalion. Engineers. They panicked and started to run when one of the Tigers broke through their line. Engineers were not antitank crew nor infantry, he knew that and understood; however, that made no difference under the given circumstances. Discipline can not be jeopardized under any excuse. Never. He, on the other hand, felt horribly enough for doing it. And now these Russian traitors… RONA… Well… As soon as Nevski squeezes all he can out of them…." I'll strap them to the tanks!! Give Anton Ivanovich some extra armor! Ha!!!" He assembled the pipe satisfied with the results, and even more with his tank idea. He stepped out, into the misty evening, guard by the door straightening up instantly. Commissar walked across the ankle deep mud that was, perhaps, a street, dragging his feet over the ridges of deep tank tracks careful not to lose his boots. He ripped some burning straw off the roof of a low, charred house and lit his pipe. All around him men were putting out the flames, or at least trying to. Most of the village was ablaze when they moved in and caught these Russian and German swines. Passing by another house, this one only smoking and smoldering as the fire has consumed everything flammable, he saw some bodies through a collapsed wall. Four, no, five of them, carbonized. All by the door and windows… Probably locked in there alive… He felt incredibly tired and old, standing there a bit hunched, watching the soldiers and a few surviving villagers as they run around the place, more or less helpless. After the second burning house collapsed, he left and went to Nevskis' quarters to see what is going on…

The world exploded over and through his senses, dim and cold. He gasped for air, swallowing it, coughing.
" Rogoza…." A thought tried to formulate in his mind… " Rogoza`… Viktor!"… a lot louder now… " my name…" he realized. A heavy slap across his face and a sharp, burning pain from where his left ear used to be until recently.
" Rogoza, whores' son, look at me!" He did. NKVD officer. Short, solid, thick dark mustache. One younger stood behind him, a little to the right, a metal bucket in his hands.
He was stretched on the floor, on his back; all limbs bound. Apparently he was tied inside of an upturned table. Water pooled around and underneath him, dark with his blood. He was soaked through, and the water was freezing.
" Rogoza, where are Kaminskys forces now?"
" I told you".
" I don't believe what you said. So I'm asking you again. Where are your headquarters? Where are your outposts?"
" I told you…" He did. Halfway through his right fist, he told them everything they asked. He could turn his head enough, but was terrified of what it might look like. It didn't hurt so bad right now; all the different pains have solidified into a huge, throbbing pulse. NKVD officer was at his desk, writing something while standing.
" Rogoza, how many of you were here before we came?" Again. He answered that question as well…
" Twenty six. And five Germans".
" Where are they now?"
" I don't know. We spread when the attack begun. Took positions in the houses that weren't burning. I don't know what happened to the others later… A tank shell hit our shelter, and i passed out."
" Where is your rally point?"
" Nowhere…"
The officer nodded sharply and the young one stepped savagely on his crippled fist.
He screamed.
The soldier kicked him in the face. Everything floated away from him again.

" Comrade Nevski, commissar Yusupovich is here to see you. Should i let him in?"
" Yes".
…..………….
" Comrade Nevski! Good to see you are still in one piece!"
" Still am Valeriy, still am. What can i do for you?"
" I came to see this filth. There are a couple of houses out there full of people. Burned alive by the look of it".
" Yes, i am aware of that Valeriy. I am aware. We are working on them. You know i will have to ask you to leave when we resume our interrogation?'
" I know, I know… Just… Some of our soldiers out there are… aggravated. Very. I would suggest you give them a few of these bastards. When you are through with them, that is… A few that are not important to your work."
" Can't you and their unit commanders keep them disciplined!?"
" We can. But it would make it a lot easier."
" … I will send the ones that we can spare."

" Rogoza…"
More water.
" Rogoza what were those Germans doing here?"…" Rogoza! Look at me son of a whore! The Germans?!"
" Fighting bandits… partizans…. they were a … special support…"
" Special support? What does that mean exactly? They've been doing what Rogoza?"
" They helped us… with organization…"
" What unit were they a part of? What detachment?"
" I don't know…"
Nod.
The young soldier leaned over him and began to cut off another one of his fingers.

.......

2010-12-12T07:36:00.000-08:00

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 always 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, no doubt.
" You and you" i point at the two of them " get the wood". They already 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 out 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, 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 already, as it is.
" How is that muck going Nikitin? I already 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!" says 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 already. 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 everyone 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.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 sand 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 always.

........

2010-12-12T07:34:00.001-08:00

The interrogator was soaking his feet and drinking tea. Hot water was a blessing. A commodity not to be taken for granted in this shit hole..... Tea was awful.
Having nothing better to do, he read through the files of newly arrived candidates. Boring. A dozen or so lawyers and engineers.... A couple of teachers. Boring. Mostly fragile material that could be handed down to his subordinates for processing.
Ah, a general. Smorawitsky? Smorawinsky? Yes Smorawinsky. 47 years old. Good. That should be more challenging.....
He reached for a pot of hot water beside his armchair, planing the approach and the tactics of interrogation. The tub was getting cold. "Surprise me" he thought, " I'll give you time, surprise me."
"Semyon!" he let out a yell, and Semyon appeared in the door shaved, sharp edged and fully awake as all ways; it made no difference that dawn was about to break. Semyon was fully functional while on duty, no matter what time it was.
"Yes comrade Zarubin?"
"Get me the doctor, and please make it fast, i have to leave soon". "Yes, comrade Zarubin".
He leaned back in the armchair, drying his feet, the warmness and softness of the towel stirring something close to a fond, yet distant and amorphous memory... "When all this is done...."
Checking his uniform, standing in front of a huge Polish mirror that somehow got here from Lvov. His mood deteriorating as he noticed several dark stains on the outside of his left sleeve... " Damn that idiot Gireyev! Swinging that whip of his like a madman! Damn blood is impossible to get out off these uniforms when it dries! Damn!"
Checking his Nagant, noticing the well cleaned barrel and action, every round polished and shining dully in the lantern light. This cheered him up a little bit. "General...."
Steps approaching; a weak cough in the corridor, than a firm knock on the door.
" Doctor is here, comrade Zarubin".
" Good, good, let him in".
" Good morning comrade Zarubin, how are you feeling today?"
" Not bad Aleksiy Timofeevich, not bad. And you?"
" Fine comrade Zarubin, thank you".
" Vodka Aleksiy Timofeevich?"
" Just what i need comrade Zarubin, you are indeed adept in looking into mans mind and heart!" They laughed at this for a short while.
" Semyon!" interrogator yelled as he poured the drinks.
" Yes comrade Zarubin?"
" Vodka, my good Semyon?" Semyon thought about this for a good part of a second. A test? Or a treat?
" Yes comrade Zarubin, thank you" he decided.
Interrogator poured a third glass and handed it to Semyon, instead of offering him the plate to take it himself. This meant: drink up and leave us. Semyon did.
" Well, Aleksiy Timofeevich, shall wee? I am expected at the office" he said, taking off his jacket.
" Certainly comrade Zarubin, certainly...as usual?"
" Up it a bit Aleksiy Timofeevich, i slept no more than an hour."
The doctor took his bag to the table under the window. Greyish morning outside and a young NKVD man smoking and pacing nowhere in particular.
" I have visited some of the cells last night comrade Zarubin", the doctor said as he prepared a cocaine shot.
" Yes?"
" There is a lot of them in there comrade Zarubin."
Interrogator thought about this, rolling up his sleeve. The doctor raised the glass syringe against the bleak morning in the window, looking for bubbles.
" Is there Aleksiy Timofeevich?"
Satisfied with the syringe, doctor turned and approached the armchair.
" Well, I guess you are right Aleksiy Timofeevich. There is a lot of them!" Needle slid into his arm. " Battalions of traitors, spies and enemies of the Revolution. Divisions!"
Cocaine hit him, lighting up the words inside his head, making him grow like a forest fire. Thunder. " Surprise me general" his thoughts now a thunder bouncing of the inside walls of his skull, "or i will skin you like the rest of the worthless scum!"
" Thank you Aleksiy Timofeevich, just what i needed. There is a long and laborious day ahead, i might send for you in the afternoon."
" Yes comrade Zarubin, of course. Is this new case you are working on difficult?" the doctor asked before his brain could halt his tongue, and he froze halfway through packing his bag. "Shit."
Interrogator seemed unaware of this breach of protocol; he was buttoning up his jacket, absently staring in the general direction of the door. " General Smorawinsky..." he thought. Cocaine pumped cold rage, his eyes felt almost too large for his head. " Surprise me general, entertain me...." The doctor dared to move, breathing again.
" Shall we Aleksiy Timofeevich?"
" Of course comrade Zarubin, of course. After you".

28 night shifts

2010-12-12T07:33:00.001-08:00

All night long, and a full case of Walther model 2's.
There is a large, yet dried callus on my right thumb from loading all those clips.
"What day it is anyway?" i ask Sergiy, and he says "14". What i asked him was, in fact, what day of the week, but he gave me the correct answer anyway.
I think i can hear Rubanov in the Red Room, but i can't be sure. The hose is making a lot of noise.
Sergiy is done, most of the blood is washed down and i send the signal to the front.
Commander has this leather apron and long, long leather gloves. Butcher like, you know? He rather does look like a butcher, wide, hard faced.

I try not to tremble. There is some more vodka stashed in the desk, but i think it would be a bad idea, taking a sip here and now. Commander is all formality and revolutionary fire. Work first, drink later.
I try not to look at the man they bring in from the Red Room. Not that i am particularly sensitive anymore. Things i have seen, things i have done... And willingly too. But i certainly don't enjoy it....
Durak... All this work to be done, and i let my mind just wander about....
Commander never trembled. I pass him the pistol, and his hand is perfectly still. Like the hands of a surgeon who took the bullet out of my thigh a few months ago. He was a morphinist, though. Commander is certainly not.
I watch him, unwillingly, against my general dislike for what is about to happen. He aims carefully every time. It is Impossible to miss from that distance, and yet he aims every time very carefully. Work tolerates no haste. From where i stand by the desk, the man is partially covered by Commanders huge bulk, but i know exactly how it looks anyway. Now, any second, a bullet, a spray of blood and little fragments of spine are going to erupt out of the mans mouth. Some teeth also, if he had his jaw clenched.

The wall is coated and full of holes. 14 days. And 14 night shifts.
This one got stuck in the drain. Sergiy and I are supposed to get it unstuck when such thing occurs. The floor is slippery from water and blood and probably some urine too. Sweat runs around our noses and ears collecting under our chins.

Commander lights up a cigarette and blows long streaks of smoke, standing there and watching nothing in particular, right arm over left.
There, done.
I signal for the next.
Commander stomps out his cigarette and focus returns to his eyes.
Commander is a great man.