Primal Hunger – Chapter V

The camp itself was nothing like Dieter had expected.  This was one of the most feared and notorious Gulags in all of Russia; people killed themselves rather than be shipped here.

He really hadn’t painted a picture in his head of what he expected—who would want to?  It was just that a handful of old timber shacks, a single barracks structure, and four wooden guard towers didn’t seem to fit the fearsome reputation.  There were not even any fences or walls.

Eight guards with rifles came out and ushered the prisoners off the trucks, and immediately put the freezing, starving, and dehydrated newcomers to unloading the supplies.  Another prisoner died during this.

After unloading they were ordered to strip in the -50˚ centigrade blowing snow.  They would have only two minutes exposed like this before passing the point of no return, Dieter knew.

Dieter counted seconds in his head to distract himself from the cold; 79 was the total in which they stood there.  It seemed to him to have been many more.

Finally they were ushered inside where they were crammed into tiny rooms; four prisoners to each.  Dieter, Yulka, and two Czechs shared the space enough for two.

Dieter’s manhood was against Yulka’s belly, and despite the cold, despite he was in Hell, and despite his mental curses at the fact, he stiffened against her.

Yulka looked up at him.  He shrugged as best he could in the cramped space and smiled.  “Admiration, not intent.  My apologies.”

She stared at him a moment, then laughed.  He joined her.

A guard shouted, “Cover your nose, close your mouth and eyes.”

Delousing powder came down on them from above.  It burned the soft-skin areas, mucus membranes, and genitals.

After delousing they were returned their clothes and assigned bunks; whoever you shared the delousing with you also bunked with.

Just as in Beketovka, the wooden sleeping platforms were for four prisoners each, but here only two bunks high.  There were no pillows, no mattresses, and only one small wool blanket per bed.

Maximum camp capacity of seven hundred was nearly achieved with the arrival of the new prisoners. Six hundred eighty-nine was the total.

They sat through an orientation that specified the rules, schedules, and what was to be expected of them.  Then they were given a crash-course on the cheerful occupation of tin mining in Siberia.

They would be fed only once per day—in the evening—and that scrumptious meal would be a small block of hard, black bread, and a bowl of watery soup.  Prisoners received only one liter of water per day.  As was custom with Gulags, hard work meant more rations.  Of course the inverse existed as well; failing quotas would be met with restriction, or worse.

They were introduced to the P.I.G.; Prisoner Internal Guards, called simply, the Pigs.  The smallest was Dieter’s size.  These feared and well-fed pets of the Commandant were named Yuri, Peter, Ivan and the standout, with brutish eyes and physique to match, was Arkady.  The guards watched the outside, and the Pigs watched the inside.  Their authority, the new arrivals were informed, was to be consider the same as the NKVD Guards.

Dieter saw that Arkady was sizing Kolektoru from the start; the big men were nearly the same size, with the Czech being taller, but Arkady having the edge on mass, undoubtedly due to a far superior diet.

After the orientation the Commandant, Colonel Vitali Baskov, spoke to the entire assembly of prisoners.

“These are our new ‘guests’, make them welcome. Show them how things are done here at Dneprovski.  Lastly, I would like to introduce our first, and only German prisoner, Heir Dieter Müller, former member of the SS, and soldier of the Reich’s 6th army.”

This is a fucking nightmare.

Indeed.

“…the very same army that laid to waste our beloved cities of Kiev, Moscow, Leningrad, and of course Stalingrad, and raped and murdered untold thousands of our fellow citizens.  Please welcome him as well.  Goodnight.”

The Colonel left the barrack with his guards.

Hundreds of eyes were on Dieter.  He could feel the hate and intent on him like a freakish drop in the barometer.

My heart is racing.

They will come for you.

I know.

Dieter’s eyes were everywhere at once; looking for a weapon, looking at his fellow inmates, and scanning his new environment, studying it to determine where he would fight when needed, and where he would avoid combat if at all possible.

Chow was eaten at the long table that ran half the length of the barracks down its center aisle between the two rows of bunks.

Yulka sat on the bench next to Dieter.

“I think you might actually be worse off than me.”

How clever and witty it is.

“I hope we are both overly fearful, Yulka.”

“Well don’t worry, scared bunny, I’ll protect you.”

“A comforting thought.”

“Mocking me?”

“No, not at all.  ‘I’ll blind you and rip your balls off’ remember?  I pity the man who comes for me with you watching my back.”

“Eyes and balls is right.”  She laughs.

Arkady and the Pigs witness the carefree banter from the far end of the table.

All prisoners were in their bunks, and lights were out at 2100 local time.

Dieter laid down on the cold, hard planks exhausted, and scared to death of what was to come.  He had to sleep when he could though.  Darkness would, as always, watch his back.

Yulka laid on the outside of the bunk with Dieter next to her.  She rolled over and whispered, “Did you mean what you said when we were in the delousing chamber and you were … against me?  You said, ‘admiration.’”

“Yes, I meant it.”

She laid back and sighed deeply.

“I’m going to get raped again.  I accept this and…”

“No, Yulka, don’t say that.  I’ll…”

“Shut up, Dieter, and let me finish.  You can’t do anything anyway—you’ll probably be killed before I get raped; everyone in the camp hates you.”

“I’m saying that I will do what I can.”

Noble lies…

Shut up.

“I believe you will.  I really do.  I don’t know why.  Were you an officer?”

“Oberscharführer … First Sergeant.”

“I guess that’s why … you’re refined somehow, not like these animals.”

It has you pegged dead-on.

Stop it.

“They’re going to come; could even be tonight…”

You two have so much in common.

Stop it, Darkness!

She rolls to her side to look in his eyes.  “I want tenderness before being savaged.  Will you do that for me, Dieter?”

He’s struck dumb a moment.  Then, “Yes, I would like that.  Here?  Now?”

She nods and kisses him, then pulls her layers of wool trousers off, lays back, and opens for him.  Dieter unfastens his pants, maneuvers between her legs, and enters her.  They both let out a quiet gasp.  He kisses her tenderly, as she wished him to.

The warmth inside of her is an intensifying contrast to the ambient cold of the barracks. No part of Dieter had been this warm for months.  He pushes her shirt up and kisses her breasts.  Yulka bites her sleeve, her head turning right then left as she struggles with her reined passion and pleasure.

Dieter feels her chest rise and fall against his, hears her panting breaths and stifled moans, sees her breast shake with every thrust that becomes harder and harder.

They come!

Sweat trickles down his back.  He pounds into her, slamming his hips into hers with all his might.  Yulka yanks the sleeve from her teeth and moans freely.  Dieter feels himself become completely engorged—huge inside her!—and he rises up and with a grunting snarl, he drives back into her with all his strength, over and over and over; teeth bared, and veins bulging from his neck and forehead.

They are coming!

Yulca arches up, she cries out—almost a scream.  Dieter howls with her as their climaxes rise together, building like a great crescendo ready to explode.  His hands go to her neck, and squeezes.

Wake!  They are upon you!

“Come with me Nazi-boy.” She whispers in a deep manly voice, her foul breath smelling of sour mash alcohol.

What?

You fool!

Dieter wakes horrified, and sits up ready for action.  He gets it.  A potato sack is pulled over his head and powerful hands secure his wrists and ankles.

Why didn’t you warn me?

Thrice I did!  You and your pathetic weakness.

“We’re going to have some fun with you, Nazi-boy.”

Arkady!

Dieter is hoisted up.  He thrashes about.  A foot escapes, his subsequent kick finds its mark.

A grunt and, “Motherfucker!”  Several powerful blows to Dieter’s gut sucks the wind from him, but not the fight.  He struggles more.

“Hold him!” Arkady orders, but they can’t get his ankle again.  Dieter kicks out wildly.

He’s lowered to the floor.

“Keep a hold, Goddamnit!” the hulking Russian orders again.  Then he delivers Dieter the male’s most feared misery; a hard, undefended kick to the groin.

A yelp like an animal blast out of Dieter’s mouth, and withers to a whine.  All he wants—as that terrible pain overtakes him in slow, seeping waves from his testicles up through the abdomen and beyond—is to go fetal, to curl up as tight as he possibly can until the pain fades.  Restraining hands won’t let him.

“Put your fire right out, didn’t it?”  Arkady kicks Dieter’s ribs.

They carry Dieter into the kitchen and lay him bent over across the chopping table, and tie his hands and feet.  Then they drop someone else onto the table next to Dieter.  The grunt issues from a woman.

Yulka!

Dieter strains in spite of his agony.  Two hard, digging punches to his kidneys sends new flares of pain exploding like air-burst artillery over the suffering he already struggles to contain.

Nausea floods through him.  Dieter sucks in large breaths, trying to control his body.  His face is hot, and sweat beads behind the burlap potato sack, the earthy aroma thick in his nostrils.

They’ve tied me up in the kitchen … they’re going to burn me, brand me … cut me!  God, there’s no one to stop them.  No one!  They’re going to hurt me bad, Darkness … might kill me!

Ivan yanks the potato sacks off.  Immediately gags are pulled tight across their mouths.

Dieter looks over at Yulka.  Dust cakes her face from the filthy sack.  She stares ahead at nothing, eyes dull, her face a blank.

Arkady, Peter, Ivan and Yuri stand in Dieter’s and Yulka’s line of sight, cruel, secretive smiles from each.  Arkady takes center stage.

“Well, Dieter Müller of the 6th Army,” mocking now, “infamous Night Stalker, the German Ghoul of Beketovka.”  The Pigs all laugh.  “Yeah, we heard that.  Was in your file.  A real terror down there, huh?  Well you’re in Kolyma now, Nazi-boy, and we were told to welcome you special—you did hear the Commandant say that, right?—and since it was obvious you and this little whore here are sweet on each other, we figured we’d just invite her to the welcoming party too.”

Ivan takes his cock out and begins masturbating furiously.  Yuri decides it’s a good idea and follows suit, eyeing Yulka and chuckling.

Oh no…

“You Germans fucked us Russians pretty good, so now we’re going to return the favor, and we’re going to fuck you.  Boys…”

NO!

They yank Dieter’s and Yulka’s pants down.  From behind Dieter Arkady says, “No, no, no, you take the bitch.  I’m going to take care of our Nazi-boy myself.”  He slaps Dieter’s ass.

Help me, Darkness!  Help me!  You can do something, I know it!  Help me, Goddamn you!  I’ve killed for you!  HELP ME!!!

Arkady savagely forces himself inside Dieter’s anus.  Dieter yelps through the gag.  Ivan does the same to Yulka.

The pain is incredible, like a burning brand thrusts in and out.  Dieter wants to endure it, take the suffering in silence and offer the Pigs no satisfaction, but he can’t; the agony of his soft insides tearing with every vicious thrust is too much.  He half grunts, half yelps with every plunge into him.

“Get that Nazi fucker, ‘Kady!”  Yuri encourages.  “Get him!”

“Get me something from one of the drawers … a big spoon or something.  Let’s have some fun.”

Yuri brings a large metal spatula back for Arkady.

“Oh, yeah, this’ll work nice.  You ready, boy?”

“He looks ready.  I think he likes it, ‘Kady.”

Arkady leans over and whispers in Dieter’s ear.  “That right, Nazi-boy, you like it?  Getting sweet on me?  Let’s see if you like this.”

He swats Dieter on his ass with the spatula using all his considerable might.  Dieter cries out.

“Oh yeah, clenched up good for me.  So you do like it.  Alright then…”  He thrust even harder now, and rains down with the spatula on Dieter’s ass and back.

Pain and humiliation mix in equal parts to slowly shut Dieter’s brain down.  He drifts … hears laughing from somewhere … girls laughing … and now voices.  He knows them but they’re far away.  No, they’re in his head … laughing in his head.  He hears Gretchen, the young Jew girl, others … even Darkness.  Why Darkness?

“Take it, Dieter!  Rape me, Dieter!”  A Daughter of Israel.  Humiliate her.  Yes, take me, Dieter, rape this Jew whore!  Make me bleed!  Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  Yes! Yes!

The spatula hits Dieter across the head bringing him back to the kitchen, back to torment, back to Arkady’s ruthless pounding and growling, “Yes!  Yes!”

Dieter feels Arkady’s large cock expand even further.

Arkady arches back with a final thrust and, “Oh, YEESSS!”  Dieter can feel the hot semen shooting inside himself.  A moaning whimper escapes him.

Dieter Müller, ex-Waffen SS Oberscharführer, survivor of Stalingrad, and a host to a demon soul-killer from the Underworld, breaks down and cries.  He can’t prevent it and he can’t stop it.

The Pigs point and mock him with boo-hoos and the like.

“You brought the boy to tears, Arkady.  Damn good fucking, ay, Nazi?”

Arkady wipes his bloody cock on Dieter’s face.  “Welcome to Kolyma, Nazi-boy.”

Then Yuri is in, slamming manically into Dieter from the start.  Dieter looks at Yulka.  Her face is a mask; detached, expressionless.  He loses his will to fight the suffering.  Dieter closes his eyes, lets go, and fades away…

“Deedee.  Deedee!”

Mother!

Ten year old Dieter stands up from his occupation.  He looks at the blood on his hands.  He makes to wipe them on his dungarees then thinks better of it.

“Deedee!”

He scoops up a handful of dirt and rubs it all over his hands.  He does it again until his hands look dirty rather than bloody.

“Deedee, where are you?”

Young Dieter steps from behind the gardening barn at the far corner of the spacious yard.

“I’m here, mother.”

Fräulein Müller stands picturesque on the porch at the back door, her lovely blond hair and makeup perfectly done, her afternoon dress immaculate, cooking apron to match and tied about her waist just-so.  Her beauty and perfection almost surreal.  The red, white and black Reich flag hangs from the pole behind her.

“What are you doing back there?”

Dieter holds up his hand.  “Mixing potting soil for our flowers, mother.”

“Dinner will be ready soon.”

“I will be ready, mother.”

Fräu Müller smiles lovingly, then returns indoors.

Dieter steps back behind the barn.  He looks down at the girl lying naked on the ground; her eyes red and tearful, her face flushed, and legs crossed.  Her skirt hangs on the end of a shovel handle leaning against the wall.

“I told you not to move.”  He gestures angrily for her to spread her legs.  She whimpers and complies, diverting her face in shame.

Dieter looks at her bloody genitals, his expression one of vague curiosity, almost boredom.

“What do I do now?”

The girl shakes her head.

“Not you, idiot!”

Dieter’s posture and aspect shifts as if he is listening to someone only he can hear.  He nods, peeks around the corner, then locks eyes onto the girl.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Someone could find out.  I could get caught.”

The girl quietly cries and sniffles.

“She’s my neighbor.  They’d know.”

“But what if they find her?”

The girl begins sobbing in earnest now, unable to hold back her growing terror.

“Shut up.”

She doesn’t.  She can’t, though she tries.

Dieter points at her.  “You shut up!”

Again she attempt to stop sobbing, and fails.  Deiter snatches up the shovel and raises it over his head, and warns, “I’ll make you!”

She bites into the meaty part of her hand between thumb and forefinger, and quiets a bit.

“Stupid girl, you want to get caught?  Stay quite or I’ll hit you.”

He grins, then frowns.

“Will it hurt?”

“Yes, I’ll do that for you.”

His smile returns bigger than before.  He looks up as if searching, then declares, “I want to be a Hero of Germany, like father.  But not die, though.”

He looks hard at the girl, his eyes boring into her.  He chews his thumb nervously, and peeks around the corner again.

“You can?  You promise?”

“Riches and power?”

“Okay.  Deal.”  He jumps on the girl.  Her scream is quickly silenced.

The interior of the Müller home is as should be expected; pristine and in perfect order.  Photos of Colonel Müller, and World War One memorabilia decorate the parlor and several walls of the living room.

The dining table is impeccably set with places for three.  Wearing potholders to match her apron, Fräu Müller sets a casserole dish down at center-table, just as Dieter dashes in and takes his seat.  He smiles at his mother.  She returns it, her eyes beaming a mother’s love and pride, then she exits into the kitchen.  Fräu Müller returns quickly, sans apron and potholders, and takes her place at the table.

“Would you like to say grace, Deedee?”

“Um…”  His eyes look down and left.  “No, mother.  Would you please?”

“Of course.”

Dieter grins secretly.

“What brings that smile, Deedee?”

Dieter hesitates a moment, then looks her straight in the eyes, and with absolute conviction replies, “I’m going to be a Hero of Germany, and make father so proud up in Heaven; you too, mother.  I’m going to be rich and powerful and you will both be so proud!”

A slap in the face brings Dieter back to the searing, penetrating pain of the present.  Arkady’s face leers an inch in front of Dieter’s, his breath foul.

“Wake up, Nazi-boy.  We’re not done yet.”  He laughs and slaps Dieter again.

Are you here?

Yes.

Can you do something please?

You know I cannot.

There must be something…

Vengeance, Dieter … think of vengeance.

The rapes continue for hours in this way, with the Pigs taking breaks and drinking more sour mash, then starting again until they are finally spent.  They untie both their victims.

Yulka immediately stands, though shakily.  She pulls her pants up, and glares at the four men.

Dieter doesn’t move.

Arkady steps up to Yulka.  “Be careful how you look at me, woman.”

Yulka doesn’t flinch.

Arkady grunts.  “You have spirit.  I like that.  I’ll make sure no one else touches you but me.”  He looks at Dieter.  “Him, though … he’s weak.  SS, my ass!”  He hawks and spits on Dieter’s back.  “A real Hero of Germany, eh boys?”

They all laugh as they exit the kitchen leaving the two victims alone.

Yulka finds a rag and cleans the mess of blood and semen off Dieter’s legs, then his buttocks.  Dieter winces and tenses but otherwise doesn’t move.  Yulka gets his layers of trousers up and fastened, then takes his arm and tries to get the stricken man to rise.

“Come on, Dieter.  Let’s get you to bed.”

He remains as he is, limp and staring off into memories.  Yulka leans across the table and lays next to him.  She pets his head.

“I know … I know what you’re feeling.  You have to bury it, Dieter; bury it deep down inside you, and never dig it up.  You have to be strong.”

“Vengeance…”

“Yes, vengeance.  We will have ours.  Now stand up and show them you’re strong.”

Dieter sways, his face twitches as he clenches his jaw and takes the pain.

“I’ll show you how to treat your … your injury.  You’re going to be in a lot of pain for weeks, but you must bury that too.  They can’t touch you, Dieter.  Nothing can touch you that you can’t bury inside.”

Dieter nods and hobbles out.

The Pigs snicker as the pair pass their bunks.  Dieter makes it to their wooden bed and lies down with extreme difficulty.  Yulka squeezes in next to him, and takes his hand in hers.

Dieter stares up at the bottom of the bunk above for the remainder of the night, until the clang of a rusty bell signals time to wake, and prepare for the day’s labors.

The new prisoners’ first morning at the camp began at six, long before the vodka from the previous night had allowed the camp physician to wake, and so Dieter was hauled off to work his first shift barely able to move.

Many jeers were served-up for him as the word spread.  Only Kolektoru and his crew left Dieter to his misery without mockery.

The tin mine Dieter’s camp worked was a kilometer hike away.  There, the prisoners were grouped into teams of ten.  The Foreman, also a prisoner, showed them the diesel-powered crusher that breaks the rock from the mines down, smashing it into gravel so the tin ore can be retrieved.

Each prisoner would be assigned a shaft they were to dig using pick-axes, and haul the rock out with a wheel barrel or buckets, and dump the loads down the chute into the crusher.

Each team’s required daily quota was five metric tons—approximately five cubic meters of rock that would make a pile waist high, and as long as the large trucks that hauled it away.

The new prisoners thought it was not too bad actually; ten picks and shovels working all day could do that.  The Foreman watched them amused, then took them into the mine.

Now five metric tons seemed impossible.  Some shafts were a kilometer or longer, and there were multiple levels.  Every haul out would need to be loaded as full as one could manage because it would take so long.  Now they understood; this was indeed going to be Hell.

It was worse than their imagined Hell, and none suffered as greatly as Dieter.

Halfway through the day, Kolektoru and Pavel, carrying their tools, came to the end of the shaft Dieter had been assigned to work.

Dieter sees them and holds his pick-axe at the ready.

Kolektoru waives it off.  “No need, Dieter.  We’re not your enemy.  You’re behind your quota.”

“I’m doing what I can.”

“They’ll cut our rations,” Pavel declares.

“As I said…  If you’re worried about your slop and brick of bread, then why don’t you shut up and fucking help.  Otherwise, leave me be.”  He returns to his painful labors.

Kolektoru and Pavel share a look, then start shoveling rock into the wooden wheel barrel as fast as they can manage.   Kolektoru sends other Czechs from their team throughout the day to help Dieter catch up so the whole team doesn’t suffer.

That night, Dieter finds the physician awake.  The old man, already red-faced and drunk, opens the door long enough to say, “There’s no medicine here for Germans.”  Then he slams the door in Dieter’s face.

Dialog between Dieter and Darkness was rare after the rape.  Though Darkness denied it, Dieter could not let go of his belief that Darkness could’ve done something to help him.  Like a starving dog on a bone, he would not let go of the point.

On the other hand, Yulka and he had grown as close as Dieter had been to a woman since Gretchen, perhaps more so.  Darkness did not approve.

It was several weeks before Dieter could function normally without extreme discomfort.  He gave up half his rations to Pavel and Kolektoru for their efforts to keep the team on quota.

He was weakening, and Darkness was hungering.

Dieter had looked for opportunities, but there just wasn’t anywhere in the camp to kill someone and get away with it.

The mine was the only place.  But only the Czechs were in shafts near his.  He would have to go to one of the Russian’s tunnels, but he’d need to be able to run, and he couldn’t yet.  Darkness would just have to wait, and the demon was not pleased.

Dieter’s chance to return to full health was brutally robbed, as once again, he and Yulka were taken and raped.  Dieter fought like a wild animal and inflicted some damage on his violators, but the Pigs and their Russian accomplices beat him until his resistance diminished.

The following morning Kolektoru and Pavel saw the obvious evidence of the assault.  At mid-day they came to Dieter’s shaft again.

“We can’t carry your weight forever, Dieter.”  Kolektoru says matter-of-factly.

“Then kill me, because somehow I don’t see the Russian foreman changing the personnel for a Czech team’s benefit.”

“That would solve our problem.”  Pavel agrees with a shrug.

“No,” Smrt Kolektoru interjects.  “I have another solution.  Stand under the Czech flag.”

Dieter turns to face the Czech.  “What is this protection costing me?”

“Killings, my friend.” Kolektoru answers.  “When you’re healthy we’ll discuss specifics.”

“Yulka too.”

“Arkady’s claimed her.  You know this.  It would be a direct…”

“Forget it then.”  Dieter swings his pick-axe into the wall.  A handful of rock drops.

Pavel makes a cutting gesture across his throat to Kolektoru who shakes his head.

“Alright, it’s agreed.”

Dieter faces him.  “Good, and when I’m healthy, I’ll kill anybody you want.”

“Yes you will.  I’ll send someone down to help.”  He and Pavel march up the shaft.

If one’s rations were taken, one could simply eat the tension in the air it hung so thick.  Protecting Dieter was one thing, but to declare Yulka under his protection as well was a direct challenge to Arkady’s power as the camp Alpha.  The gauntlet had been thrown down, and violence was quick in coming.

Every week a prisoner on one side or the other was injured in a “mining misfortune” of some kind.

Three weeks later two Russians were found with their heads caved in.  Dieter had taken a shovel to them, and Darkness had finally feasted.

The Commandant had had enough.  All rations were revoked, and the quotas were increased for the week by fifteen percent.

It was a harsh punishment, but not a deterrent.  Two days later a Czech had “fallen” down the gated elevator shaft to the lower levels.

When the prisoners returned to camp that evening, they were assembled outside in the deteriorating conditions.  As night began to fall the wind chill dropped below -70˚ centigrade.

Even the guards, in their thick, modern, arctic gear stood chilled through, and struggled to remain still, as they were strictly prohibited from showing any sign of sharing in the prisoners’ suffering.

Finally the Commandant came out and addressed them, shouting over the gusting wind.

“It seems that it has been forgotten who commands this camp.  It seems you prisoners feel it is you who are in charge, and that I am here only to replace the workers that you choose to kill.  When I take your rations and increase your workload, you kill another; a statement to me that I only make the rules, and that I don’t actually rule anything.  Very well.  When you prisoners return inside you will find that some of the bunks have been marked with white chalk.  If you find that it is your bunk, you are to report immediately back here and reassemble.  You have one minute.  Tardiness will be met with gunfire.  Dismissed.”

The prisoners hurried inside, the “old timers” mumbling fearfully about the Commandants manner not being like that before, and that something very bad was going to happen.

Dieter got to his bunk to find Yulka staring at a big ‘X’ in white chalk on the wood.  She looked at Dieter, the first time he’d seen her look truly afraid.

“It’ll be okay.  Bury it.” He said.  She nodded.

Ten bunks were marked.  Eighty prisoners hurried woefully back into the freezing cold, including Kolektoru, Pavel, Arkady, Ivan, Yuri, and Peter.  The four Pigs looking baffled and betrayed.

The prisoners were directed to line up side-by-side facing the barracks some forty feet away.  Twenty guards marched in formation around the corner and lined up facing them.

Dieter saw Arkady and the other Pigs down the line to his left, looking like farm geese on Christmas who thought they were family pets.  Dieter smiled a bit inside; at least he’d go out with a little satisfaction.

Dieter shared a final look with Kolektoru, who stood two men over to the right.  Dieter nodded to the big Czech gangster.  Smrt Kolektoru returned it then faced forward, chin high.  Dieter looked down at Yulka, who only stared ahead at the firing squad, then he did his best to follow the Death Collector’s example.

The Sergeant stepped up.  “Ready weapons!”

The firing squad raised their rifles vertically.

Corporal Piotr Reznikov had marched out with nineteen of his comrades, having been chosen for the firing squad.  He had no problem with execution duty.  They were all enemies of Stalin and therefore enemies of the Soviets.  This time, however, it wasn’t just duty; this time he marched out with a little extra pride in his step.

The orders were to shoot every fourth prisoner.  There were exceptions made that were not to be shot at all, like that Pig, Arkady, but whoever was in front of him was to aim at him and make him shit his pants, then shoot someone else.

But the Major had singled out the German and assigned Piotr to send the hated invader of the Motherland to Hell.  He was pleased to be picked, and happy to do it; his brother Dmitri had been killed at Kiev.  Now he’d have some semblance of revenge.  He would write father tonight.  Maybe he could take something of the German’s, something personal, and send it with the letter.  That would please father.

“Take aim!”

Yulka grabbed Dieter’s hand.

This is it.

Father would be proud Piotr had avenged their family.  A grin stretched its way up his cheek.  Piotr brought the sights of his rifle to bear over the heart of the German.  He exhaled slowly, waiting for the final command.  This was going to be…

What is that?  Like a shadow…  Piotr lifted his eyes from the sights for a split second.  Black mist or something…

“Fire!”

The black phantom rose up behind the German forming a terrifying, monstrous head with gaping mouth that silently howled at Piotr.  He jerked and fired a split second late.  He wasn’t alone.  Maybe six or seven other shots from the men near him were delayed.

Fifteen prisoners dropped dead on the snow.  There was supposed to be twenty.

Dieter couldn’t believe he was still alive.  The shot had HISS-CRACKED right past his head.  How had the guard missed at that range?  He didn’t care.  He was alive still and that’s all that mattered.

He squeezes Yulka’s hand then lets it go, trying not to smile.  The firing squad would take another shot at him if he gloated.  Dieter took a deep breath looked right, knowing what he would see.  He was dead wrong.

Kolektoru stood as proud and erect as before, blood now streaming down his cheek and ear, but Pavel had fallen.

To the left, Arkady remained standing too, with Ivan beside him.  Yuri and Peter lay dead in the snow.

The Sergeant was furious, but he attempted to contain it in front of the prisoners.  The survivors were ordered inside.  The bodies of the slain would be left there for the winter as a warning.

There was little talk of what had happened.  Any who asked were answered with either silence, or violence.

 

ATTENTION READERS: I REALLY WOULD LIKE TO GET FEEDBACK ON THE CHAPTERS OF PRIMAL HUNGER, PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT REGARDING YOUR THOUGHTS OR EMAIL WITH THE LINK PROVIDED IN THE SHARE SECTION,  chrisshawbell@gmail.com    — THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT

-Chris

Leave a comment

4 Comments

  1. Again! Excellent! I am hanging on every word!

    Reply
  2. This is my kind of horror. Unafraid to explore the very depths to which humanity can, and has plunged. Nothing is off-limits.

    Reply
  3. ltdalin

     /  January 13, 2013

    It’s one hell of a journey. I’ll need to watch Care Bears after this to recover!

    Reply
  4. alexzandrastgrimm

     /  December 16, 2012

    This story is just…so sickeningly brutal. I love it beyond words. Haha. So happy you finished it! It’s amazing, and that’s definitely an understatement.

    Reply

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