Chapter 10: Proskurov

The ringing of the telephone interrupted the commotion in the room. Viktor buried his sweaty face in Anlina's neck, his hands tightly clutching her chest, giving two more forceful thrusts before finally calming his breath.

The phone continued to ring, unhurried and persistent. Viktor took a few seconds to catch his breath, then reached out to grab the receiver.

"This is Proskurov," came a stern voice from the other end of the line, even before Viktor could speak. "I am Major Ivan Alexandrovich Serov."

Hearing the string of words, Viktor held his breath, instinctively raising his free hand to cover Anlina's softly gasping mouth. After composing himself, he said, "Hello, Comrade Major Ivan Alexandrovich, this is Viktor Viktorovich Tarasov."

"Very good," Major Serov said, though it was unclear what exactly he was referring to. He then immediately issued an order: "Lieutenant Viktor Viktorovich, I now order you to drop everything and come to Proskurov immediately. I want to see you by this time tomorrow."

"Yes, Comrade Major Ivan Alexandrovich, I will leave at once," Viktor responded without hesitation.

"Then, see you at this time tomorrow," Major Serov said, and the call ended abruptly.

Staring at the phone receiver in his hand, now emitting a busy signal, Viktor hesitated for a moment before hanging up.

He braced himself on the table and climbed off Anlina's soft back, reaching for a nearby chair and sinking into it, pondering the purpose behind Serov's summons to Proskurov.

Having been in the security department for a while, Viktor knew who Serov was and had a slight understanding of his work style. Serov was known to be leading the purges within the People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs in Ukraine. It was said that he was a stern man with no leniency when it came to work. In such a specialized department, a leader without such a personality wouldn't last long.

Anlina, seeing Viktor sitting expressionless in the chair, did not dare to disturb him. She quietly tidied up her clothes.

The distance from Shevchenkovo to Proskurov was nearly 370 kilometers. Not exactly far, but not very close either. The key point was that the journey wasn't particularly convenient. There were no trains and not many smooth roads. To avoid any delays, an early departure was necessary.

Despite the need for an early start, Viktor only left Shevchenkovo at 1 PM after taking a bath, packing some spare clothes, and having lunch. He traveled by car, with Valenka driving as usual.

To his shame, since his rebirth, Viktor hadn't left Shevchenkovo. This trip to Proskurov would be his furthest journey yet.

Proskurov, currently the most developed city in Soviet-controlled Western Ukraine, is an industrial hub. During Viktor's previous life at the end of World War II, it was the site of the largest Front offensive in the Soviet-German war history, where the Soviets deployed three tank armies in one direction and their air force made over 400 sorties daily. However, in this current world, that brutal war had not yet erupted, and Proskurov, the jewel of Western Ukraine, had not been ravaged by artillery.

It took Viktor six hours to travel from Shevchenkovo to Proskurov, arriving after dark. Following protocol, he first reported to the People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs and was then assigned to rest at the Soldiers' Club in the city. The "Soldiers' Club" officially named the "Soviet Red Army Revolutionary Soldiers' Club," had two such clubs in large cities like Proskurov, one for the Red Army and one for the Red Navy, akin to military guesthouses in his home country.

After resting at the club for the night, Viktor received a notice before 9 AM the next day that Major Serov wanted to meet him immediately.

In a spacious, carpeted hallway, Viktor sat on a bench along the right side, sitting upright with a straight back, listening intently to the sounds coming from the end of the corridor. Around him, there were about a dozen others in similar uniforms, all sitting with the same rigid posture. Upon closer inspection, the lowest rank among them was lieutenant, and they were all quite young, with the oldest looking to be no more than forty.

A soft creak broke the silence. At the end of the hallway, a blonde lieutenant emerged from a double door, followed by a young man in a grey Lenin suit.

"Lieutenant Vakim Vissarionovich," the young man in grey called out loudly from the doorway.

"Here!" A lieutenant sitting diagonally across from Viktor quickly stood up and responded loudly. He then walked briskly towards the end of the corridor.

The blonde lieutenant who had just exited looked dejected, his face pale and eyes unfocused, appearing rather disoriented. He walked past Viktor and headed towards the other end of the corridor.

Silence quickly resumed in the hallway. Despite the presence of over a dozen people, not even a breath could be heard. Viktor could sense the tension in the air, which was almost comical. These people, like him, were undoubtedly powerful figures in their respective postings, people no one would dare to offend lightly unless they were insane. Yet here, they were all as anxious as crickets in late autumn, too nervous to make a sound.

The People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs, especially its State Security Directorate, was such a place. It wielded great power, but the hierarchy was extremely strict. The term "comrade" meant little here, for this was not a place for fostering class unity, but one for engaging in class struggle.

After waiting for another ten minutes, the door at the end of the corridor opened once more. The lieutenant who had entered earlier emerged, looking pleased, and the young man in gray called out loudly, "Second Lieutenant Viktor Viktorovich!"

"Here!" Viktor quickly stood up, responding loudly. He picked up the military hat from his lap and placed it neatly on his head before striding towards the young man.

Inside the room, which was spacious and well-lit by the sunlight streaming through open windows, Viktor saw a small desk directly opposite the door. A female soldier, wearing a side cap, sat behind it, looking at him with interest.

Turning his gaze, he noticed a large desk at the eastern end of the room. Behind it sat a disheveled-looking man, appearing no older than forty, facing the window and smoking a cigarette.

Following the young man's direction, Viktor approached the large desk. Only when he was standing before it did the man behind the desk turn his attention to him.

"Second Lieutenant Viktor Viktorovich Tarasyev," Major Serov said after sizing him up, "Please, have a seat."

Viktor saluted before taking off his hat and carefully sitting down on the chair by the desk.

"Your work in Shevchenkovo has been commendable," Major Serov began, his tone even. "Based on the results from the past two weeks, you appear experienced and dedicated."

Viktor remained silent, knowing it wasn't his place to speak just yet.

"However, beyond your work, there are some areas where your performance is lacking," Major Serov continued, pulling out a few envelopes from a drawer and tossing them in front of Viktor. "Look, these are complaint letters I've received in the past two weeks. Some accuse you of imposing unauthorized punishments and harming the interests of collective farm households. Others accuse you of indiscriminate killing. And some allege improper relations with exiled prisoners."

Viktor's lips twitched, but he remained silent.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Major Serov asked, his face expressionless.

"Major, I have nothing to explain," Viktor hesitated briefly before responding honestly.

"Good, I wasn't interested in your explanations anyway," Major Serov's stern face broke into a slight smile. He pushed the stack of complaint letters towards Viktor and tapped the topmost one with a finger. "Handling national security work requires strategy. My strategy is to always prioritize our core duties. Don't be afraid to offend people, and never let fear of offending others hinder you. Take these complaint letters back with you. Deal with them in whatever manner you see fit, but at least spare me the distraction of these damn things."

"Your strategy for dealing with these letters should be whatever you deem appropriate," Major Serov's words echoed in Viktor's mind. What exactly did "whatever you deem appropriate" mean? A thousand people might have a thousand different interpretations. For Viktor, the only solution that came to mind was to track down the authors of these complaint letters, slam the letters in their faces, and then retaliate using every possible means. They needed to understand why the flowers bloom so brightly!

With this resolve, Viktor took the stack of complaint letters and left the room. He walked through the corridor with a sense of determination, his mind already formulating a plan to identify and deal with the complainers. As he exited the building and made his way to the vehicle, Viktor's expression was cold and focused.

Back in Shevchenkovo, Viktor wasted no time. He summoned his most trusted men and shared his intentions. "We need to identify the sources of these complaints," he instructed. "Once we have their names, we'll make sure they regret ever picking up a pen."

His men, well-acquainted with Viktor's methods and loyal to a fault, set to work immediately. They began with the most obvious leads: the disgruntled villagers, the exiled prisoners, and even some lower-ranking officials who might have been harboring a grudge. Every piece of information was meticulously gathered and cross-referenced.

As the days passed, Viktor's determination only grew stronger. He conducted his official duties with the same ruthless efficiency, but now with an added layer of resolve. He knew that in the world of national security, power and fear were his greatest allies. Those who dared to challenge his authority would learn the consequences the hard way.

One by one, the names behind the complaint letters were uncovered. Viktor ensured that each of them received a clear message. For some, it was a direct confrontation, with Viktor throwing the letters in their faces and making it abundantly clear that he would not tolerate such insubordination. For others, it was more subtle: a sudden reassignment to a less desirable post, or a thorough investigation into their personal affairs that uncovered just enough to keep them in line.

Viktor's approach was unrelenting. He knew that in order to maintain his authority and the fear that came with it, he had to be merciless. By the time he was finished, the atmosphere in Shevchenkovo had shifted. Complaints dwindled, and those who had once thought to challenge Viktor's methods now thought twice before lifting a finger against him.

In the end, Viktor knew that this was the way it had to be. In a world where strength and ruthlessness were paramount, showing any sign of weakness was not an option. And so, with the complaint letters dealt with and his authority firmly reestablished, Viktor continued his work, ever vigilant and ever ready to crush any dissent that dared to rise against him.