"Every empire thinks that it is not like the others, that this will not happen to it. They forget the lessons of the past, even the most recent ones."
J. Stroud
— November 28, 1945. —
— The Northern Urals. —
— Concentration camp.
-#-
Despite the heroic resistance, having not the largest fleet, the Northern Parliament was defeated…
Two weeks have passed since his fall. The government was evacuated, along with most of the Kansen, but due to the lack of central management, and some panic, the beginning of the fall, it was unknown where they were.
The Siren cultists quickly took advantage of the situation, starting to capture many soldiers of the former Red Army… Many generals were killed.
-#-
Two men were dragging a third across the cold stone floor. He could no longer walk by himself. Those two cultists captured him and his squad during an attempt to free the prisoners of this prison a week ago. During this attack, he lost an eye and a leg.
He was dragged into an interrogation room. During the week he was brought here, he had already managed to get used to it. A single lamp hung over a simple table, and opposite in an armchair sat the one who was the culprit of all this. Viktor Volkov is his former deputy, who betrayed him and his entire unit.
He looked coldly at the two soldiers before pointing to the chair opposite him. "Put him down and leave us," he said. They threw him on a chair and left the room themselves. — Well? Comrade Mannerov, will you tell me what you know? Where is the Union, Russia and Belarus?
The one-eyed Major just grinned. — You have betrayed your country, your people, and you hope that I will tell you something? You overestimate your ability to extract information, Top ... — After the sarcastic comment, there was an oppressive silence, which was again broken by the major. — By the way, I wanted to ask, aren't you tired? You've been dragging me here for a week, Ex-Captain.
It was obvious that Victor was trying to restrain himself, clenching his fists. — You always! Always been like this! Why can't you say anything?! Eh?! Vanya tell me!
Mannerov, with an effort, jerked across the table, grabbing Victor by the collar. "You are forbidden to call me by my first name, traitor. You don't understand why I'm doing this, or what motivates me. But I'll tell you what I think of you… You're a coward. A coward who went the "Easy" way!
Victor pushed him back into his chair. — You said it right, I don't understand why you won't tell me, but don't you dare call me a coward! They have my wife hostage, and I will do anything to save her! But why you don't protect yours is another question. He reached into the inside pocket of his tunic, pulling out a small purse, and then several photos, handing them to Ivan.
— Your wife and son are being held hostage by them... if you don't tell them where the Parliament fleet is, they will be killed. He said the last sentence with deep sadness.
Mannerov picked up all the photos, looking through them one by one. — I ... miss you ... — a single tear came out of the remaining eye. Volkov already thought that he would get the data now, but something happened that he did not expect. "But you won't forgive me if I do!" — In an instant, all the photos were torn in half. — My answer is unchanged, traitor!
Victor looked at him with undisguised surprise. — You don't care about your family?! Are you ready to kill them in order to preserve the information of an already destroyed state?
Ivan looked at the scattered, torn photos. "They'll understand me. They would have done the same in my place. Besides... I don't sacrifice them. He said with a soft, sad smile.
Victor grinned and called the soldiers. Those who dragged Ivan back. — Take him out and return him to the cell.
He was again grabbed by the arms and dragged to his cell. Passing by numerous cells in which both his subordinates and old prisoners were sitting. Mannerov was thrown into the last cell, the farthest and smallest. There was only one person in it with him
— Mikhail Villersky, an artillery officer of the old school. Even despite his captivity, he maintained his beard and mustache in the Russian style. — How did it go, Your Honor? What did this brat threaten this time?
The Manners were helped up and put on the bed. — He threatened my family… that she was a prisoner.
— And you, Your Honor, do not worry about them? If I had a family and they would have got into such a situation, I do not know what I would have done," Villersky said.
Mannerov's face quickly darkened. — My family died in the forty-second year under the bombs. I haven't told anyone about this, and that's why he thinks they're alive. If that were the case... I do not know what I would do…
"I'm... sorry for your loss, Major... if you don't mind, can I ask you a question?"
Mannerov shrugged his shoulders. - of course.
— What was it like to have a family? Willersky asked, with obvious interest and a slight sadness in his voice.
Mannerov glanced at him slightly. — Mish, don't tell me that you, at your forty-eight, don't even have a wife.
— Yes, just like that... when I was young, I was sixteen years old then... I wanted to get married, but I couldn't, then the war started, then ... we swore but ... she disappeared in the middle of the war, an unpleasant incident occurred. Everyone said she was dead, but I searched... and I didn't find her… although... if she wanted to, no one would have found her.
— Was she a scout?
— What are you. Mikhail chuckled slightly. — Then there were no scouts, she was just special, my father and mother would have been against it, as well as her... relatives, and it was forbidden then. She disappeared... then the revolution, the war, emigration, return and war again... and somehow, I didn't have time to fall in love again, or I couldn't..." he shrugged his shoulders.
Mannerov listened attentively, occasionally nodding - I even envy you ... it's better not to love than to realize it and lose. But even so, I don't regret that I felt it. — He replied.
Footsteps were heard in the corridor again, this time they sounded much quieter than usual. It was impossible to enter the concentration camp from the outside, because, apart from the guards consisting of cultists, there was also one Navigator-class battle siren. That is why, as well as the betrayal of Volkov, they were captured. Out of almost a thousand people of his unit, no more than three hundred remained. A young man, about twenty years old, came up to the bars. By tapping on it, he drew attention to himself.
— Captain. He turned to Villersky. — Listen to me carefully, there is a cache of weapons in a closed cell, the one near the exit. There are old, decommissioned machine guns and rifles. When the chance comes, you can run.
Mannerov sat up slightly and became animated.- Why should we believe you? You've already betrayed everyone you can. What's stopping you from doing it again?
— Come on, Comrade Major, if he wants to atone for his sin, then it is possible, because God has given us such an opportunity.
The boy stood and listened to the conversation before intervening. — I have my own reasons, what was, what is now. I cannot release you myself, otherwise we will all die. Run away tonight. Fifteen kilometers to the Southeast there will be a railway station. There should be a train locomotive there, well, I heard it was there. To convince you, here's a map and your weapon captain.
He reached for his belt, pulling out an old, cleaned Mauser from behind it, and stretching it through the bars of the cage. A map followed, with a detailed description of the nearest area. — In this camp, almost all the cells are opened with one key. I couldn't get it out of my position, but if you can find the key, you can let everyone out.
— What's the catch? Mannerov squinted at him.
— I have my own scores with them, Major, so…
Their conversation was interrupted by a thud, and a second later a series of explosions thundered. Mannerov and Villersky were showered with glass fragments. The kid who had just been standing next to them ran away. The guards became alert, slinging their submachine guns over their shoulders. Another series of pops shook the air, and more explosions. One of them thundered next to the wall, bringing it down. The path to freedom was open.
Villersky ran out of the cell, bumping into one of the guards, who clearly did not expect this. He started to raise the machine gun, but Mikhail pulled out the gun before. Two pops shook the air. With a thud, the supervisor fell to the floor, a crimson puddle began to form around him. The last thing he saw was a man hovering over him, and a gun pointed at himself.
Another thud sounded, finally killing him. — Rest in peace. And may God accept your soul. Villersky said, closing his eyes. He snatched the keys from his belt, running up to the nearest cell. There were four people sitting in it, who immediately ran to the bars. With a strong screech, the door swung open. — Odin, help Mannerov! The other one, grab the machine gun and run after me! Villersky shouted.
A guy with a scar on the floor of his face ran up to the cultist's corpse, taking the machine gun from him. At the same time, the second brought Mannerov, who was walking leaning on his shoulder, out of the cell. — Release all prisoners, arm yourself and break through to the railway. These are all orders! Execute!
Even before the last word left his lips, Villersky and the other prisoners headed for the cells. The second sentry was killed pretty quickly. He was riddled with a machine gun. Gradually, more and more people were released. All this time, the cannonade did not stop, only occasionally interrupted by steel screeching and electric shocks.
Mannerov, Villersky and a few others gathered together, at one of the far walls. Mannerov was put on the floor.
— Apparently, this is an attack from the outside. If it wasn't, we'd be dead.
— Do you think they are repelling an external attack now, Comrade Major? — One of the fighters, apparently a lieutenant, asked. — If so, then we can stab in the back and…
"Oh, no, my dear friend. Villersky interrupted him. — If you listen closely, you can hear the Siren shots. This is clearly her main caliber, which means that someone of equal strength is against her.
— Kansen? The lieutenant asked. Villersky nodded.
— The only question is what she's doing here, and who it is. The last thing I heard was that they were retreating to wherever, but the fact is that there shouldn't be any in the north.
"But you can't argue with the facts, Brother Manners, that she's here.
There was an oppressive silence, which, every now and then, was interrupted by bursts and explosions outside. Former prisoners, many were already wounded. Mannerov was not the only one who lacked limbs. There was one with a severed arm, but the other was holding a revolver. Everyone was exhausted and slightly skinny, from malnutrition, which did not have time to affect them much. Many had circles under their eyes, but all held firm. They stood behind walls and in shelters to kill anyone who entered.
As for weapons, there were very few of them. Although there were weapons where the boy said, but it was enough for only thirty people. There were about a dozen Mosin rifles, the same number of PPS-43, two DP-28, several pistols and anti-tank rifles. Weapons were distributed to the healthiest and most ready fighters.
— Major. Villersky called Mannerov. — We need to evacuate as many people as possible… Let me take a small group and go outside. We'll start a fight and distract them. And you evacuate to the railway. We'll come up later.
Mannerov thought about it before asking. — How many people do you need?
— Ten.
- ... Permission granted…
A small group was quickly assembled, led by Villersky. Outside, machine-gun and machine-gun bursts were constantly subsiding, but the Siren shots and the roar of guns did not stop.
Ten meters from the exit of the building there was a small concrete structure — the remains of another building. It could serve as a good hiding place. Villersky leaned out from around the corner, risking getting shot, or worse.
What was a concentration camp turned into ashes. The prison building, their barracks, remained one of the few intact buildings. Only the headquarters was intact, only the broken windows were lying on the snow. Barracks, canteens — everything was burned. The soldiers of the sirens were sitting behind shelters and only some tried to shoot, and in the center there was a fierce battle.
The Navigator siren, a sister Ocean class, was hanging a few meters above the ground, and a girl was standing on the ground. She was wearing a long, black, loose dress that reached to the ground. It smoothly turned into a black uniform. There were gilded epaulettes on her shoulders, and white gloves on her hands, which stood out greatly from the rest of her clothes. Her hair, which almost reached her waist, was long and fluffed, dark brown in color.
Her equipment was represented by six manipulators, four of which had turrets with three guns, and the two remaining pieces of the side, with protruding guns. Behind her was a chimney, with an obvious bore hole.
Villersky flinched slightly when the siren fired again, but Kansen dodged and struck back at the siren. The navigator managed to expose her rigging to the blow of the saber, but it was visible how small fragments were being dug out of it.
Villersky called a soldier to him. — Tell Mannerov that we can all evacuate. Let them get ready to go out.
— There is! The soldier saluted before retiring. Villersky thought for a while. Old memories kept popping up in his head, but it was hard to believe in them.
— "We swear before God that after the end of the war we will return to our beloved home" — Old words that he said a very, very long time ago. Almost a lifetime ago.
A minute later the soldier returned with a report. Everyone was ready. - Go ahead! May God help us! Villersky shouted as they opened the main door, raining down a hail of bullets on the cultists.
