Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S4 Ep190: Episode 190: Cold War Horror Stories

Episode Date: October 24, 2024

If you want to take ownership of your health, try AG1 and get a FREE 1-year supply of Vitamin D AND 5 Free AG1 Travel Packs with your first purchase. Go to www.drinkAG1.com/creepen Our opening tale of the macabre is ‘Kilometer 276’, kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license:  https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Kilometer_276 We round things off with all four parts of ‘The Soviets Found Something under the Siberian Snow’, an epic work by Taxi Dancer, kindly shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/Taxi_Dancer/

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Cold War horror stories captivate us because they tap into the deep anxieties of an era defined by secrecy, paranoia, and the looming threat of nuclear annihilation. The Cold War was a time when the world teetered on the edge of destruction, and much of the tension came from the unknown, the shadowy operations, hidden technologies and silent fears of a global conflict that never erupted into full-scale war. This atmosphere of dread makes for purses.

perfect horror, as it combines real historical fears with the terrifying unknown, blurring the line between what was real and what could have been lurking just out of sight. The isolation, distrust, and potential for catastrophe are a fertile ground for the mind to imagine sinister forces lurking beneath the surface of history, as we shall see in tonight's two tales. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin.

Kilometer 276. I look on the railroad as an assistant locomotive driver. I won't go into details of my job, except to say that my position is the lowest in the train operating environment. I'm always busy wiping oil off the diesel, knocking the ice off the running gear, and sipping tea in the cozy cabin. All in all, I'm happy with everything. I was a 20-year-old guy who got a job right after his internship to complain about.

Except for the permanent smell of diesel from the clothes and the sleepless nights. Oh, this is one of those nights that we'll talk about. Happened about two years ago, the middle of January. I just started working independently, and I was assigned to a large station in the middle of a military town. The airfield and the station actually kept the village afloat, how 50 kilometres from my town. I lived in a rented apartment. I wasn't particularly happy with such a situation, but on the other hand,

an independent life also has its advantages, although sometimes I felt homesick. And so, as my fifth shift was coming up, tonight was my night. Sitting at my laptop, I looked at the clock. It was 402. I exiled and thought to myself, Ah, here we go.

Didn't get any sleep before my shirt. shift again and i'll be in a state of boiled beats again oh all right i'll get over it i was distracted from watching my show by a phone call it was andre palliage my driver a cheerful bald man in his 60s he knew his job and the locomotive like the back of his hand i picked up the phone hello palyitch hello demon listen i'm not coming in for my shift today I had to go into town urgently, so I took the day off. When you get to the deep hole, go see the supervisor. He'll be paired with another driver for that shift. And then I'll come over, and he'll be with me again.

His voice was a little different than usual. He was breathing more rapidly as well. Occasionally swallowing, and in general his voice sounded a little scared or something. Oh, I hear you. I'll come in. Everything okay in there. Well, jumped off shift unannounced. Had to leave in a hurry? Eh, I'm fine.

My wife asked me to go see your brother. What fuck you doing poking around in other people's business anyway? You ain't getting out of the engine room till the diesel shines. Okay, don't hit me. Have a good trip. Andre Pollyage hung up without answering anything. I looked at the phone with a disgruntled face. He continued watching my...

show with the sniffle. As time passed, I looked at the weather forecast. Minus 26 and super cooled fog. Just super. Got ready, I went to work. I went to the supervisor, and there I was introduced to the machinist, tall stout guy, 26 years old. As it turned out, he just graduated and got a job there. It was nice to talk to, had a knack for memes and games. That's it, I thought. After all the hustle and bustle with instructions and other foreplay, we headed for our car. You let me know that we were working today at a crumbling plant, an industrial facility that makes crushed rock for the railroad. Well, that's expected. Where to send an inexperienced machinist except to a single track with cars at the ends?

A skull back and forth hauling cars, I thought. It's a good thing, Pollyage left today. Every time we work at the camp, something happens to him. Either he misses a vigilance check, or he exceeds the speed limit. He just has no luck here. Don't want to go back to the boss's carpets. I took the car, got on the road and got to work. Everything was going just fine.

The train was going. I was chatting with a colleague and smoking inside the cabin. What palliage didn't allow that. So half of the shift passed. 117 a.m., the long-cherished bunkhouse at the service yard came through the loud speaker of the radio. We'd had no lunch, well, not officially, but they give us a couple of hours for locomotive inspection and maintenance. And how to use this time, well, everyone decides for himself. We left about midway, about seven kilometers to the station, and the same amount to the train yard.

It was comfortable to sleep. No spotlights in the rumble of locomotive. and other machinery, just a single track and dense woodland on both sides. Pulling on the brake, the driver sent me off to inspect the running gear, while he threw his feet up on the console and began to linger on his phone. What a lazy fuck. He could have helped, I thought, and got down from the locomotive. I had a flashed eye to hammer and mittens with me. Walked around the car in a circle in the deep snow,

and the undercarriage was fine, so I could go back. but the view bewitched me a milky sea of fog the rails going nowhere and a lone locomotive a majestic monster a green metallic hulk whose light was drowning in this shroud literally ten metres away it was breathtaking i lit a cigarette and feeling that half my thermos of tea was begging to go outside and decided to go for a pee didn't take a piss by the car the driver could look in the mirror and in general it's not aesthetically pleasing i walked down the embankment toward the plantings lighting the way with the flashlight i didn't want a break in the dark and as i did my business i noticed a rusty sign with spots of white paint not far from the thicket of trees finished i carefully moved toward it after walking 10 to 15 meters i removed the rusted and corroded plaque from the bottom branch of the tree still

clearly read, TE3-692. It was a license plate from some kind of locomotive. Troika is a pretty old diesel locomotive. Such a fine is a rarity for a connoisseur.

Holy shit. I'll pin it on the bumper of my car. Put it in my room. Wow, what a catch. I was happily looking at the find as suddenly something crunched on the right. I turned sharply, shining the flashlight.

The light was drowning in the fog, and two bright lights were clearly visible a couple of dozen yards away. Oh, the beast is wandering. There's a twinkle in their eyes. Hope is not a wolf. As I said these words, I saw the light slowly fade

and then disappear altogether. The animal didn't turn and walk away, though. Its eyes didn't look away, as if it had started walking. backwards absolutely silently the lights disappeared well i felt uncomfortable goosebumps ran from my top to my heels i turned around a couple of times and lit the space no one was there everything was quiet too quiet even not even the rumble of a diesel either i had gone that far away or the driver would shut it down i must have already got a leak in the hood

from not sleeping enough. All right, we better get back. It's not the month of May, after all. Holding the sign under my left arm, I hurriedly walked through the moderately deep snow toward the locomotive. It was safe, warm, and light. The beast wouldn't get in.

I didn't want to think about what I'd seen. Branches crunched beneath my feet, but suddenly I heard a very different crunch. It sounded as if a large bone or someone's spine had broken. It sounded pretty nasty. The crunch sounded from somewhere behind me. Freezing in place, I stood motionless for about 15 seconds, digging a bunch of thoughts into my head and counting the frequent beats of my heart. My legs were getting exorbitantly cold, and little by little they went numb, either from the cold or from the terror.

and I slowly turned around. The lantern's light was fading again in the thick fog, and ten metres away from me, those lights were there again. But they were higher now, well, higher than they'd been the last time, about the height of my eyes. Now they were moving leisurely, outlining a lying figure of eight.

There was that crunch again. Now I understood what its source was. the creature was turning its head and crunching its vertebrae up to seven seconds of disgusting cervical gymnastics my eyes stopped the crackling of bones stopped too but it was replaced by whispering about ten voices or so were speaking at once male and female far and near

even children's voices could be heard and they all merged into a disorderly noise it was impossible to make out what they were saying, as if they were getting into my head. Through the flood of my own thoughts and the whispering, I was still able to give my body the command. Run! I turned around sharply and accelerated.

I run as fast as the mud under my feet and the heavy winter overalls allowed me to. As I ran, I maneuvered between the trees and jumped over all kinds of holes and ravines. My legs were carrying me on autopilot, and I was carrying my junk, and the cherished plaque. I was surprised I hadn't thrown it away. It wasn't my fault for all this crap, though,

and I was carrying it with me. I ran without feeling tired, but I was starting to stress that the landing seemed longer than it had been before. It felt like I'd run for about a kilometre now, and the trees still wouldn't end. Another couple of minutes of walking I ran out into deep snow, and the lane ended.

The railway track in back, A lightman appeared, and I ran up it like on steps, though there was a good slope and gravel. Standing in the middle of the track, I stopped. A faint sense of calm followed. I got out. Okay. Stop. Where's the locomotive?

I muttered grudgingly in a full voice. Looking around, I couldn't find my car. Pulling myself together, I assumed that I'd gone sideways in that landing, and the local motive was somewhere further down the track. Because of the fog, I couldn't see it, obviously. Well, I had nothing to do, so I went in the direction of the train depot. The snow was crunching under my feet, and I was walking swiftly towards my only goal, to get to my iron fortress.

On the way I began to pay attention to my surroundings. The rails were rusty, the joints were wide. Stopping, I kicked the snow under me a couple of times, and saw that under my feet lay an old rotten wooden sleeper. Twisting the toe of my work boots, I broke off a piece of frozen rotten wood. It smelled characteristically of creosote, a substance used to treat wooden sleepers,

classic railroad smell. This is the wrong track. Where am I? Looking around, I sort of another sign. There was a kilometer post. On the concrete, shaft was a white in place his rusty angular sign. It had the numbers two seven six on it, and on the other half, after the corner, 275. Ah, this was definitely not the way. The track to the

gully depots only 15 kilometres, and it's on concrete sleepers, and there are no posts. Looking at the sign and trying to make sense of this crap, I heard a sound I was already familiar with. It was a same crunching of cervical vertebrae. But now it was so close behind me that it felt like it was my own spine-breaking. But it wasn't. The same moment a cold sweat broke out over me. The blood rushed my temples and I fumbled for the handle of the hammer in the pocket of my orange vest. As I grabbed the tool and squeezed it, ready to strike, I turned sharply.

A meter away from me. It stood. I couldn't call it human, but it looked remotely like a woman, a hunched pale body with twisted limbs in a tattered, dirty rag that looked like a dress. Twisted its head leisurely, arching its neck very violently. This was clearly not something a living person could do. Its face was ghastly, the torn skin exposed a pierced skull, and a scalp of sparse, grey, and long hair hanging over a couple of. centimeters of skin. The mouth was torn to the cheek on one side, revealing brown, rotten, beastly fangs, and a psychopathic smile on the other.

The eyes were devoid of eyelids and eyebrows. They were completely white and emitted a greenish light. On thin hands, without two fingers, it held some kind of lump wrapped in an old newspaper. Out of it could be seen. arms and legs it was a baby it was a baby dark stinking blood

dripped from the newspaper when I saw made my muscles cramp up and the sign from the locomotive fell out of my armpit and crashed onto the rubble with a clad in the same second the thing bent its neck down sharply looking at the sign

when it saw it slowly lifted its head and grinned vilely at me, letting out a uterine wheeze. I knew I had to hit her or she would eat me. I swung my arm back ready to put all my strength into the punch to crack her skull to mush, but someone had done it for me. The hand with a hammer appeared behind the creature and smacked it on the temple. The impact part went into my brain, making a squelching noise. But the bastard didn't. give her shit. She twitched, turned back around and ran off into the landing, bellowing out some pathetic noises. Well, if I had hit her, I would have been dead. Out of the fog, a man stepped

toward me. It was an elderly man in an old-style railway uniform from about the 70s. On his head was a blue cap with a shiny emblem of the USSR railway ministry. He had a wide, stern face with the green eyes and a gorgeous white mustache. Dumbfounded for a moment. I continued to stand in an attacking pose. The grandfather exhaled, brushed the hammer in the snow, staining it black and brown, and looked at me and said,

Put the gun down. Don't strain it. Why are you frozen? His words sounded like an incantation. I immediately put my hand down. and stood straight in front of him father where am i i said swallowing my saliva are you blind you looked at the pause for a minute and you didn't remember the number he said kindly but with a kind of reproach at the same time i know it's 276 but there's no such mile on this track and it's the wrong track and i don't know where the locomotive is and what the fuck was that thing

standing in front of me and it... The grandpa interrupted me. Why are you babbling like a machine gun? Do you believe your eyes? It says 276, so that's the way it is. Where else put on the tracks could your car be? On the highway? Follow the track and you'll find it.

What do they teach you? He grinned then. What the hell is that thing standing there? You hit it with a hammer. Well, the less you know, the better you sleep. Don't worry about it. Go on. The driver's waiting, he said, and then pointed behind me.

Well, all right. We'll see about that later. Thanks, Dad. Take care of yourself. I said. I was about to pick up the side, but the old man grabbed it first. Well, it's not okay to steal, though. That's mine.

And say hi to Andre. Tell him it's from Egorage. he said with a slight frown on his eyebrows I pretended to be like okay boss whatever and turned around and went in the right direction after about twenty seconds I heard a dawn to turn around behind me it already sounded like a kilometer away from me even though I'd only walked about a hundred meters after walking about two kilometers I noticed that the rails had become shiny from the tecata and were lying on the iron and concrete sleepers, and then I saw a huge square silhouette ahead. It was my diesel locomotive. The rumble of the diesel charged me with momentum, and I sprinted to what my target. I ran into the locomotive, closed all the exterior doors, climbed into the cab, and sat down, and just fell asleep on my desk. The driver woke me up in the morning. We turned in our shift

and then went home. In the smoking room, the old workers were talking about palliage. They said it was hard for the man. He'd been through so much, and they were sending him to this place on the anniversary of the crash. When I'd finished,

I caught up with one of the locksmiths and asked him everything I could. We told me that, earlier, back in the 60s, there was no way out of the wrecking yard, nor was there all way into it. There was a line. between the stations and there was a machinist's wife the poor woman went blind and crazy at 32

she took her infant child went onto the track and threw herself in front of the train that train was driven by her husband since then there's been a lot of shit going on at kilometer 276 traffic lights turn red radio communication gives out some noise whispering and baby crying and in the fog or rain you you can often see some kind of kicky-mora with glowing eyes. Trains would be there afterwards, and the track would collapse. Then the track was dismantled, and another one was laid to the communal base. Well, the men don't like that place. Does all of this have something to do with a certain eagoritch?

I asked, lighting another cigarette. The locksmith looked as if I'd found out something I wasn't supposed to know, lit up and reluctantly told me that in 1977 this Yegorich was the machinist and his assistant was Andrei Palli. For some unknown reason, half of the crutches were torn out of the sleepers at that kilometer. The train was derailed and the driver perished. He sent his assistant to the diesel room and kept the train brake crane till the last moment and radioed back. Since then, Paliich constantly sees Jegaric on the side of the track at Kilometer 276. They were travelling in Ateshka of the third series with the factory number 692.

It turned out that Paliish didn't go to his wife's brother, but rather to the cemetery. To visit his fallen colleague who'd given him a chance at life. A week later I applied for a transfer to a station in my own city. It was smaller and paid less, but the main thing was I was less likely to meet that bastard again. I've been working that way ever since. Paliich retired and is living peacefully, as peaceful as possible after all this. Last week, I got a telegram saying they found inhumanly mutilated bodies of a locomotive crew and an abandoned locomotive. I'll never go back there.

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Moscow, January 1960. What is this? I asked Mr. Satchikov as I reached across the top of his highly polished teakwood desk, stained with burn marks from Cuban cigars, to take the thick folder which he slid towards me. Pavel Satchikov was a well-built man with thick dark hair framing his receding hairline. Years ago he was a journalist, just as I am. now, before the party appointed him editor-in-chief of Pravda back in 1956.

Though in his early 50s, Satchikov still retained the inquisitive demeaner of a young and enthusiastic correspondent, an aspect about him that seemed to keep him looking perpetually young. He motioned me to take a seat in front of his desk as his secretary, a beautiful young intern named Dorettia, turned to leave his spacious and very well-organized office. Miss Ilyan, said Mr. Satchikov in his baritone voice, always reminded me of an American singer Elvis Presley, some tea for myself and Mr. Zymianin, please, and kindly make it hot.

Of course, Mr. Satchikov, smiled Dorotia, as she closed the door behind her, showing us from the noise of endless conversations, typewriters and telephone calls, which one would expect to come from the party's official newspaper workroom. Outside the Pravda office building, Moscow was blanketed under a foot of snow, and our building's heating system was struggling just to keep the temperature at a tolerable level. That, my dear Mikhail, said Mr. Satchikov, turning his attention to me.

Is your next assignment? Look it over, my boy. Do you remember the story? A sticker on the folder read? Collat Shakir Mountain Incident, February 1959. This happened a little over again. a year ago, I said, opening the file and removing several newspaper articles, pictures, as well as official government documents which I had not seen before. This story caused quite a stir of speculation for a while. Indeed, said Mr. Satchukov, staring at me intently. I took out a few grainy black

and white photographs of young people dressed as if they were going hiking in the mountains. It was attached by a paperclip to an article dated 20th of February 1959, which read, Army and local militia units searched from missing hikers on snow-covered Kolatsyaki slopes. The article mentioned that nine students from the Euro Polytechnic Institute had formed a hiking club and had set out in January of that year on a hiking trip up the eastern slopes of Kolatsyaki Mountains, which the native Manasi people called the Dead Mountain. The eldest of the nine hikers was a 38-year-old male named Semyon A. Zolatariov. the youngest was a 20-year-old female named Ljudmilia a Dubinnia.

The leader of the hiking expedition was a 23-year-old radio engineering student by the name of Igor A. Diatlov. The article continues that when 20th of February rolled around and no telegram of the hiker's progress was received. The worried families appealed to the military and locals to begin a search of the area as a winter storm had arisen on the slope sometime between late January to the first week of February. The second set of pictures that I looked at was much clearer and obviously taken with a higher-quality camera. The four images showed several men in dark uniforms looking over what remained of a campsite on a gently sloping hill which was covered in snow. The remains of a relatively large tent, half buried in the snow, was in the foreground with only the front and rear stake sticking up. The sides and the rear flap had collapsed, as if they'd been cut away, leaving only the front flap drooping off the stake. These pictures were attached to a larger newspaper article dated 1 March 1959 which read,

searches find damaged and abandoned campsites. The subheading of the article read. Tents found torn and cut open from the inside and nine sets of footprints seen running towards the woods. This was an unusual case, I said, reading the names of the nine victims. All nine of the victims were found some distance away from the shelter of the tent. wearing very little clothing, some not even wearing socks. It was concluded that six of the hikers, including Diadlov, died of extreme hypothermia. Where three of the hikers, including young Miss Dubinia and the eldest, Mr. Zolatayayov,

died of severe chest trauma and not hyperfirmia. I put the file down and looked at Mr. Satchikov. Why are we looking into this again, sir? Last May, the official investigation closed with the... finding that the nine died of fatal natural forces. There was no evidence of other footprints outside of the nine hikers, and thus no ruling of foul play by the menassi people or predation by wild animals. They came a knocking at the door as Miss Ilyan returned with a serving tray of spiced Kusmi tea.

Pouring the steaming drink into two china cups, Miss I politely excused herself, leaving Mr. Satchikov and I to finish our discussion. again you are right my dear michaille said satchikov taking a sip of his hot tea and smiling in approval as he leaned back in his chair that is the official filing of what's now being called the diatlov past incident in memory of ego diatlov and i assume that would have been the official conclusion and the case would be closed except for two details which did not make it into the official statement on the matter I sweetened my tea with a little honey and blue in it to cool it down a bit before taking a sip. The hot, spicy beverage warned me greatly, instantly taking the chill out of my body. I arched my eyebrows at my editor-in-chief. Hmm, there was something left out of the official conclusion, I asked.

I'm not really surprised that the party would leave out other details in order to preserve security in order. Mr. Satchikov took another sip of tea and said nothing as he motioned with a nod for me to keep looking into the file. There were two other reports in their own separate envelopes, and both of these designated as secret by the Ministry of Defence. I looked at my boss with hesitation. Go ahead, Mikhail, said Mr. Satchikov. Go ahead and open them. Trying to restrain my eagerness, I opened the first letter, dated twenty-year-ness. of February. It was a copy of a simple one-page memo written by an officer in charge of an army

radiation detection unit that was part of the search team. The letter was addressed to an army divisional commander stationed in the area. In short, it stated that low levels of radiation had been found on the clothing which the hikers wore, but none on the clothing which was found inside the remains of their tent. Curious, I opened the second envelope. This one contained copies of four separate reports, two from Manasi villages, one from a hunter, and one from a military meteorological unit who had been on the ridge-line several kilometres opposite of the slope in which the hikers had camped, all of them describing seeing some type of glowing orange orb descending out of the sky like fire in the vicinity of Diatlov's paths. As I sat contemplating the ramifications

of what I just read, I noticed a small brown envelope, like one in which to keep photographs. tucked under the last report. Taking another hot sip of my tea, I nearly spat it out onto Satchikov's desk as I poured the photograph from the envelope. Good Lord, I said. Mr. Satchikov, what is that? Like I said, my boss responded calmly.

The government was well and perfectly happy with the conclusion of their investigation, and would have been content to leave the story as is. He leaned forwards and put his elbows on his desk. His eyebrows furrowed in concern. However, since the investigation concluded in May of last year, 17 other people have vanished in the vicinity of the past. Three disappeared in May that year, then four in December, and ten since January of this year. Mikhail, the military is going back into Diadlov's past, with considerably more resources. News of the disappearances cannot be covered up for long,

especially with the military going back in force. They think that it is wise to have a civilian correspondent embedded with them, which is why I'm sending you. I lean back, looking in disbelief at the picture, and they think that the disappearances of Diadla's group and the subsequent missing people have something to do with this thing in the picture? "'Perhaps,' said Satchikov. "'That is what they're going to find out. "'You'll be filing your reports directly to the mission commander. "'His name's Colonel Stanislav Andrev.

"'The military feels that having a civilian reporter, "'as opposed to a military one, "'will bring some element of transparency to the operation, "'or rather the investigation. "'Of course, anything you report will naturally "'have to go through military intelligence "'to be edited and redacted in order to keep secure. and order. It was a five-hour flight from Moscow International to the Urales, not including the two-hour

delay while maintenance cruised the ice the runways. It was a little over 1,500 hours when our sturdy aeroflot IL18 turboprop landed on the snow-swept runway of Koldsova International. The middle stairs were brought to the plane and, after the doors opened, the biting chill in the air drove away any heat in the passenger cabin. Lord, I thought Moscow. was a deep freezer. I gathered my things and descended the stairs to the tarmac, pulling the hood of my white winter coat over my face. To my surprise, an army major wearing a heavy, cold-weather coat, and his driver were waiting for me, with a Garz-67 jeep at the foot of the stairs, a look of annoyance on his face. Mr. Zimian, he said. Mr. Mikhail Zimagnan.

Yes, Major, that's me. The name of the officer's uniform red Rogov you're late he said briskly grabbing my bag and putting it in the trunk i've been told specifically what i could and could not bring by the military which was basically warm clothing for the trip to the urals toilet articles a camera and a few other small things the military said that they would provide everything that i would need for the duration of their investigation the major rogov looked suspiciously at me when he noticed that i'd rather keep my camera with me than have it packed in the back. He belonged to the newspaper, and I could not afford to have it damaged. There was a two-hour weather delay in Moscow, I said. I'm sorry. I see, answered Rogoff,

ushering me into the back seat before climbing into the passenger side. Colonel Andrev will not be pleased with the delay. He was expecting you hours ago. You and the others were the last element that he was waiting for before he could start this operation. The others, I asked. You'll see, Mr. Zimianin. Rogo answered. Driver, take us to the hangar. The five-minute jeep ride

took us across the entire airport to a lonely dilapidated hangar on the far side of the runway. In front of it was part a military MI4 transport helicopter, painted in shades of white, light olive and light grey, a big red star emblazoned on its side.

The engines were already started and warming by the time we arrived, as the Major let from his seat before the Jeep fully stopped and ran to a door next to the hangar that was barely on its hinges. Not knowing what to do next, I simply followed Major Rogoff out of the Jeep. Throwing open the door to the hangar, Major Rogoff shouted. Okay, lads, the reporter is here. Pick up your gear and get on the helicopter quickly.

The weather is getting worse and the window is closing to fly. Colonel Andreev does not want to waste another day. immediately eight young soldiers began filing out of the ramshackle old hangar, each carrying SKS rifles as well as peculiar-looking equipment which I would not usually associate with a combat unit. This was some kind of specialised unit, and the equipment and devices which they hauled into the helicopter filled me with apprehension.

The implications of what we were bringing with us made me extremely nervous. Why would the army need so much radiation detection equipment? Turning to me, the Major looked down at my camera and said, You won't be taking any pictures until you officially have permission from Colonel Andreev. I understand, Major, I answered. The sky was still relatively clear. The wind was picking up, indicating that another snow flurry was not far off. Where are we going?

Ganti Manziske. It's about 400 kilometres northeast of here. Major Rogoff turned to fetch my bag from the back of the jeeper. and handed it to me. You'll be there within two hours or so. I waited until the soldiers had loaded all their equipment into the helicopter, as the rotors began picking up speed and spinning faster.

Though the MI4 could hold up to 14 soldiers, it was still rather cramped with the nine of us in the passenger cabin, what with all the radiological detection equipment the soldiers had brought. Yelling to be heard above the roar of the rotor blades, the Major had some last-minute instructions to the junior lieutenant, who was in charge of the group of soldiers, telling them that he would be arriving separately later that evening. I'd boarded last and was seated near the exit door when Major Rogoff came to me and yelled. Mr. Zemyan, after you get to Khanty, Manziesk, as soon as you get the opportunity,

go see Sergeant Gulkin. He's the unit's supply sergeant and armourer. He will have your additional winter clothing and other supplies that you'll need to complete your mission. Okay, I yelled down at the captain from my seat, perched up in the helicopter. Sergeant Galkin, thank you. One more thing, Yod Rogoff as the helicopter throttled up to take off. Asked Sergeant Galkin, if you can sign for a pistol, just in case. The long helicopter flight through the bleak cold skies was reasonably comfortable. The cabin heaters were working fine and the vibration of the engine served to make some of the soldiers drowsy.

I tried to strike up a conversation with the team's commanding officer, a young junior lieutenant named Leonid Orlov. He stated that he and his men had recently completed training in the use of the army's most advanced radiological detecting and monitoring equipment when they were suddenly tasked to be a part of this mission to the Ural Mountains. He mentioned that there would also be two mechanized infantry companies attached to the mission, but aside from that, he had little other useful information. seeing as I was a civilian reporter who was also embedded to this mission Oloff asked me if I had any information about the nature of this unusual assignment and if the rumours were true that we'd be looking for missing people around what they were now calling Diatlov's pass

I shook my head and said that I was as clueless as everyone else even as I remembered the picture of the strange object that I'd seen in Mr Satchikov's office Lieutenant O'olov nodded though I sensed that he didn't quite believe me To my great surprise, Kanti Manzias Airport looked more like a military encampment rather than a small regional airport. Spread out across the small parking lot and runway, there were military vehicles of all shapes and sizes. BTR 152, six-wheeled light armored transport vehicles, newer BTR 50 tracked armored transports, and several Gaz 67 jeeps. We landed next to a line of MI4 transport helicopters and smaller MI1-1. one light utility helicopters.

Lieutenant Orlov immediately ordered his men to secure their weapons and equipment and to get off the helicopter. Though it was after 1700 hours, the skies were noticeably clearer in this higher elevation, though still quite cold. Another captain who was wearing a comfortable-looking tan fleece winter coat and a thick fleece Shanka winter cap was waiting for our helicopter to land. He directed Orlov's men to secure their equipment and made. make their way to one of the twelve tents which were erected next to the airport's modest terminal building.

Turning to me and Lieutenant Orlov, the captain introduced himself. I'm Captain Siderov, 15th Mountain Infantry Battalion of the 128 Motor Rifle Division. He will be falling under our command. Follow me to the terminal, gentlemen. Colonel Andrieve has turned it into his command post for this operation, and he's eager to get started. Captain Siderov turned and walked briskly towards the glass-fronted white terminal building, which had just recently been rebuilt and expanded. As I shoulder my travel bag and followed Oloff and Captain Siderov across the tarmac towards the airport terminal,

I was puzzled to see several dozen of our soldiers hustling about, attending to their vehicles, weapons and equipment. I was even more surprised to see them mounting DSHK-1938 heavy machine guns on both the tract and wheeled armored vehicles. I'd served with the 106th Guard Division during the Great Patriotic War as an airborne infantryman, so to me this looked less like preparations for a military search mission to find missing people, and more like preparations for a ground assault into enemy territory. My mind was racing faster than the chilling winds which blew around us as we neared the terminal. Could that be the answer?

Over three million Germans invaded our country during the war. Could a group of those rogue fascist Nazi soldiers have held out in the vast lonely Ural mountains, killing anyone who might have gotten too close to their hideaway? Well, it's not an unheard-off scenario, as abandoned Japanese soldiers were still turning up on isolated islands in South Pacific, who didn't know the war was long over? Well, that had to be the answer. But then, why the need for radiological equipment? Worse?

Could the Americans somehow be involved? Could they have used some type of weapon against us, one which left radioactive residue behind? The warm Russia vair greeted us as we entered the building, the expanded terminal empty of all civilian travellers. The government closed down the airport to all travel when this investigation started, said Captain Siderov, picking up the pace as he ascended the main stairwell to the second floor. No civilian flights were allowed in or out of the area within a radius of 1,500 kilometres, and only authorised military flights were allowed inside of that exclusion zone. He turned to me, saying,

Mr. Zimyan, I'm not sure if you've already been told, but all correspondence that you write and photographs that you take must go through the colonel personally before they are sent to your editor. I understand, Captain, I said, as we reached the second story. Unlike downstairs, the second story was awash with military activity. rooms lie in the large circular landing which look down on the ground floor each seemingly assigned to fulfil a certain function as captain sidderoff led us around the landing i saw a large room filled with communication specialists another with maps and meteorological specialists radar operators service to air missiles operation specialists and a host of other specialized military elements which apparently were needed for this so-called investigation Sidorov stopped in front of a wooden door and knocked three times before turning the knob. The door opened to a surprisingly small room, which looked to have been converted into an office.

A grim-faced officer with close-cropped white hair and cold blue unblinking eyes that seemed to criticise everything he saw, looked up at us from behind a simple metal desk. Colonel Landrieve, saluted Captain Sidorov. The last elements have arrived. "'Thank you, Siderov,' said the Colonel, standing up abruptly, his chair screeching across the floor. "'We join your men. They will have an early morning start to-morrow, and I want all equipment and vehicles staged and ready to go no later than oh, 600 hours.' Siderov saluted again before he turned to leave. Colonel Andreev was a huge man, with broad shoulders.

Instead of wearing a formal officer's uniform, complete with a rows of medals he had, no doubt, earned, Andreev wore a combat uniform, the same as his men. I knew that this was no parade ground officer. Andreev was all business. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table and glaring at Lieutenant O'Oloff and me. "'Your late, gentlemen, I expected you hours ago.' "'Apology, sir,' stammered Lieutenant O'Olloff, coming to attention. and saluting. The weather,

Lieutenant Orlov. Colonel Andreev's deep, menacing voice quickly silenced the young lieutenant. How old are you? Twenty-three, sir. Got poor, Lieutenant Orlov. Twenty-three, huh? Replied Colonel Andreev.

Too young to have participated in the great patriotic war, then. Twenty-one hour as a lieutenant, just like you. And I commanded a battery of Catatouille. "'Duskear rocket launches. "'During those dark days we did not have the luxury of blaming the weather for failure. "'Not when our infantrymen needed us to continue the fight against the fascists. "'Do you understand, Lieutenant?'

"'Colonel,' I said, seeing young Lieutenant Orlov seeming to shrink, "'Lieutenant Orlov and his men were late because they were waiting for meat, were I.' "'I am aware of that,' said Andreev, "'holding up his hand at me while leaving his gaze first. firmly on Oloff. Lieutenant O'Oloff is your equipment operational? Has it been winterized against the cold? Yes, yes, sir, replied Lieutenant O'Olov.

And did Mr. Zimianin discuss any aspect of the investigation with you on the ride over? Andreav ignored me, holding his gaze on the young lieutenant. What, sir? said Olov, briefly looking at me nervously before returning his attention to the colonel. No, no, sir, said Andreev, eyeing me with doubt on his face. Okay, Lieutenant Orlov, half of your men will be attached to Captain Sidorov's infantry company. The other half will go with Captain Craftstow's men. However your men will be under command of Major Rogov, my executive officer. They will report immediately to Major Rogov and only Major Rogov.

if they pick up any unusual increases in radiation during the course of the operation. Understand, Lieutenant. Yes, sir, replied Lieutenant Oloff, confidence slowly returning to his voice. May I know what we are looking for? No, replied Andréev. You and your men will do your duties, nothing more, nothing less, and with no excuses for failure. At 0,500 hours in the morning, you and your men will report. to Major Rogov to receive your orders. Your senior sergeant will lead one team and you the other.

You are dismissed, Lieutenant. Oloff saluted swiftly before leaving, grateful that the ordeal of meeting the mission commander was over. He flashed me a sympathetic look before leaving the room. You are a grumpy old ogre. Do you know that, Stanislaw? I said, after Lieutenant Oloff had closed the door behind him. Do you always insist on making junior officers shit themselves. Andrea chuckled mirthlessly as he stepped around and took a seat on the corner of the desk. Ah, kids these days, always asking questions instead of simply following orders. We could never have beaten the fascists with offices like that.

He poured out a cigarette and lit it before offering one to me. How's your mother doing, Mikhail? My older cousin asked me, How is Auntie Milly Anne? "'She's doing fine,' I answered, accepting the smoke. "'Good, good, dear,' said Andrév, smiling, inhaling deeply as he looked at a military map on the wall of the surrounding area. Circles were drawn on it, indicating the approximate places of the latest disappearances of people

and areas of increased levels of radiation. Normally I would rather have one of our military reporters with us, as opposed to having a civilian journalist with us, but the Kremlin thought it was wise to have a civilian with us for credibility purposes once we conclude this investigation to make the results public. Colonel Andrei F, Stunislav, and I grew up together. He was my cousin, older than me, by three years. He'd always been the strong, confident one,

while I tended to be more shy and timid. I always looked up to him because of his brave and daring personality, and no more so than when we went camping in the Kuragan Mountain. I was ten and Stunislav was thirteen when we hiked up the foothills of the Kurgan just outside of our village near Moscow. I caught some nice trout at the stream and was hiking back to our little camp when the centre attracted a rather large and hungry wolf. I'm not thinking to simply drop my pole and my catch, I ran with them up the trail screaming for Stunislav to come and help. The wolf was nearly upon me when Stunislav appeared suddenly at my side, batting

the wolf with a sturdy branch which he'd set a blow. with their campfire. As he got older, Stanislava garnered the reputation of being a hard and stern man, uncompromising and intolerant of ineptitude and incompetence, especially during the war. But to me, he was always the big brother that I never had who could save me from the wolves. So, I said, what exactly are we investigating? Why does the army need air defense missiles and heavy machine guns to conduct a search for missing people? Miguel, my cousin said calmly, though he stared at me with cold unblinking eyes. You served as a paratrooper during the war, so you know the value of secrecy and the importance

of military intelligence. He is therefore of the utmost importance that the people trust in the results of our findings. More importantly, we need the Americans to trust in our findings. Therefore, nothing you write and no pitches you take are to leave from here until I personally say that they can go. He paused and inhaled deeply on his cigarette, and he never took his eyes off of me. You came highly recommended by Pravda's editor-in-chief, Mikhail.

However, if you cannot follow orders, you can also be highly recommended to be replaced. It's not my call. Those are simply my orders. I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled a picture out of a small envelope, placing it on the desk in front of the colonel. Stanislav, I said, is this what we're searching for? Stanislav picked up the photograph and stared at the image of the glowing object, seemingly descending from the sky.

The object seemed to be metallic and emitted a bright orange flame. I am aware that you were given this picture, cousin, said Colonel Andreev, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. He dropped the picture on the desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a large mailing envelope. here take a look at this picture the picture was the same as the one I had of the mysterious object only blown up into greater detail I put my hand to my mouth my mind reeling at the implications of what I was seeing before me as you can see said Andreov we enlarged the image so you can just barely see the swastika on the side part two

So this is a search mission, I thought. But why are we not looking for missing hikers and campers? I put my travel back down on the narrow cot in my room. I told Andreev that I'd be perfectly happy to stay with the common soldiers in one of the tents outside. But the colonel, my older cousin, insisted that I stay inside one of the small rooms in the terminal building, which, to be honest, it would have been nothing but a large windowless janitor's closet that was only large enough for my army cot. a small folding table and room on the floor for me to drop my travel back. It was not hard to surmise that the reason he kept me inside the terminal

was because the colonel wanted to keep close tabs on me as he had complete and total control of what news left this base. It was understandable that the colonel did not want the true nature of this mission to get out or what we were actually looking for. Moreover, it was especially important that the Americans be completely left in the dark about what was happening here. telling me where I could find Sergeant Galkin, Andraev dismissed me abruptly,

telling me to be dressed and ready to move out in the morning. I would be reporting to the intelligence officer Major Rogoff, who I had met at Coltsorfer Airport. There was a small wooden table in the room where I set my camera and my typewriter before I stepped out again to find the terminal's baggage collection point which the army had turned into the unit supply area. Sergeant Galkin was a stout, bearded, aging,

supply sergeant who, like me, was a veteran of the great patriotic war, who was biding his time before he retired. Barking orders at his two supply assistants, Galkin issued me two sets of white, military cold weather uniforms and a large overcoat. It had been a few years since I put on a military uniform over a decade, and I'd put on quite a bit of weight. Finding that the overcoat they'd issued me was rather small. I decided that I would stay with my much better fitting and warmer civilian overcoats. Sergeant Galkin also gave me a set of winter gloves in a blanket,

as well as a few notepad's pens and extra flashes and rolls of film for my camera. Colonel Andrea said to issue everything you needed in order to document this mission, said Sergeant Galkin. Is there anything else you might need, Mr. Zimianin? Is there some reason why Major Rogov would suggest that I be issued a pistol? I asked. Sergeant Galkin scratched his beard.

No reason I can think of. This is just a search mission for lost civilians. But if Major Rogoff suggested that you carry a pistol, it would be best that you carry a pistol. Turning, Sergeant Galkin bellowed, Damn it, private. Lad, get up off your ass and issue Mr. Zimian in here with a makarov. Dinner consisted of pre-packaged military field rations

distributed by Sergeant Galkin and his assistance in the converted supply area, along with a ladle full of potato soup and a chunk of freshly baked bread. The regular infantry soldiers took their trays back outside to eat their meals in their tents, but for those of us housed inside the terminal, tables had been set out where we could eat in the relative warmth and comfort of the building. Colonel Andreev and his infantry company commanders, Captain Sideroff and Kravstol, as well as the executive officer, Major Rogov,

were sitting at a large table, all dining on the same field rations that the regular soldiers were eating and seemingly discussing final details of the coming mission. Over dinner I discovered that I was not the only civilian who joined this mission. There were two others, a bespectacled elderly man with a grey and white beard

wearing a worn but warm-looking brown coat who was sitting at a small round table with a young lady with pale skin and light brown hair tied two in a tight bun. She was wearing khaki pants and a matching tight-fitting khaki jacket, a white scarf loosely wrapped around her neck. As I approached the table, I could hear the older gentleman regaling the young lady with tales of the war.

Ah, Alina, he said, waving his hand around his head. The Battle of Kusk was not as bad as everyone says it was. It was far worse. Did I tell you about the time when? "'Excuse me,' I said as I approached the table, "'metal tray in hand. "'I am sorry to interrupt. "'Would you mind if I joined you for dinner?'

"'The young lady whom the older gentleman referred to as Alina "'looked up at me and smiled broadly. "'She was far more attractive up close than at a distance. "'Well, of course, sir, Professor, you wouldn't mind, would you?' "'The elderly man looked up at me somewhat perturbed "'that I'd unintentionally interrupted his tale. I, no, of course not, please join us. He scooted his chair over as I set my tray down.

Well, there was barely enough room at the table for all three of our metal trays. My name is Yvgeny. Yvgeny Golubev. I'm professor of history at St. Petersburg University, specializing in the great patriotic war. And this lovely young lady is my assistant, Miss Salina Hivanov, and in turn specializing in. Nazi occultism.

Thank you. I return their smiles. I'd feel rather uncomfortable eating with our young military lads. My name is Zimian. Mikhail Zimani. I am a correspondent for Pravda. Ah, yes,

Professor Golovev said. I'm familiar with your articles, Mr. Zimian. You have a way of getting the facts out to the people without kowtowing too much to the party narrative. I must admit to being rather surprised that the military allowed a civilian journalist on this mission. Indeed, Professor, I nodded. Usually the military would have their own correspondence on operations such as this.

I'm curious, though. Why do they need a history professor and they... I looked with even more bewilderment at Alina, a specialist in Nazi occultism for this mission. To tell you the truth, Mr. Zimian, said Alina, regarding me with bright blue eyes and smiling with thin, perky and totally kissable lips. Oh, if only I wasn't old enough to be her father, Professor Golubef and I were wondering the same thing. The military had requested both of us to be a part of this mission to search for missing people,

but to be honest, I don't know what good we would do. Professor Golubev even asked Colonel Andrea as much. Really? I looked at the professor. Yes, indeed, said Golub. I did question that Colonel as to why the military needed us and also asked what exactly we were looking for. And what did Colonel Andrei have said that we'd know why we were here once we found what we were looking for, said the professor. Even the soldiers don't seem to be curious as to why they're here with so many military assets and weapons. They simply think we're searching for missing people.

Hmm, curious, I said. "'And what about you, Mr. Jim Mayn? asked Alina. "'Would you have some idea of what we're really searching for?' "'I might. "'I couldn't say no to her beautiful, captivating eyes. "'Although I knew that I was not to disclose anything of the true nature of this mission, "'I told Professor Golibov and Alina "'everything that I knew so far about the Diadlov Pass incident,

"'the strange glowing orange orb seen in the sky, and of the photograph that was taken the night that the hikers had perished, the one which seemed to show that the glowing orb was some type of metallic craft, and of the Nazi symbol emblazoned on its side. said the professor, nodding silently when I was done telling them what I knew. He noticed that Colonel Andreev was done with his meeting and was now walking across the room towards their table. Alina, said the professor,

"'Would you please be a dear and refresh my cup of tea? "'I'm afraid that it's grown quite cold.' "'Of course,' smiled Alina, "'hopping up and taking the Professor's cup. "'Mr. Zimian, would you like some more tea?' "'No, no thank you,' I answered. "'Okay,' she said, smiling sweetly as she passed Colonel Andreev. "'Good evening, sir.'

"'Carl Andreev nodded in return, "'producing what I could only assume to be a smile from the usual dower and sour expression on his face I'm glad that you thought had the chance to meet said Andraev would you gentlemen mind if I sat down he said as he pulled up the chair in which Alina had been sitting oh please join us colonel said Professor Golubev we were just discussing the mission in the morning and contemplating what we should pack and what needs to say behind I see answered Colonel Andraev eyeing me suspiciously Well, you needn't worry about that.

There's been a slight change in plans for the three of you in the morning. I raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Really, sir? Yes, Mikhail, said Andreev, offering us a cigarette before taking one himself. I've decided to keep you all here at the terminal, while the two infantry companies conduct their searches around the slopes of the Kolat-Yaki Mountains and Diadlov's Pass. There's no sense in youth. trudging through the snow and ice with the rest of the lads for however many days this search will take.

But, sir, I protested, I thought my assignment was to take pictures and record the mission. It is, nodded Andreiov. I'm assured if and when my men find anything of significance, you and Professor Golubev will be flown out straight away. Professor, did I hear you mention that Alina could speak and understand German? Why, yes, nodded the professor. She had to learn the language in order to read and understand the manuscripts which we recaptured from the fascists during the war. Why will those skills be needed during this mission?

My cousin, Colonel Andreev, glanced at me. Um, hopefully, he said. The sun still hadn't risen when I awoke in the morning, not that it would have helped to stave off the chill outside. I rolled out of my cot, remembering that the last time I'd slept on one was in my younger days in the army, only this time my back and butt were sore. Putting on my military-issued cold-weather clothing, I left my little janitor's closet and followed a line of young soldiers down to the supply area, where breakfast was being served. Already the terminal was bustling with activity as the soldiers prepared themselves and their equipment, starting generators, warming up vehicle engines and defrosting helicopter rotor. blades in order to proceed with their mission. I sat with Professor Golubo Fandolina at the same table we'd sat during dinner with my tray of eggs,

fatty sausage, a chunk of bread and hot tea. It wasn't much, but it was hot and far more preferable to field rations. With nothing for us to do for now, we all sat and watched as sergeants barred orders, soldiers stood in formation, and the first scout vehicles rolled out of the airport perimeter. somewhat selfishly I was grateful that we weren't going out with them for although the skies were clear and cloudless it was still bitterly cold outside Colonel Andréyev's search pattern was actually fairly simple

Captain Maxim Krafsov would lead his motorised infantry company on 120 men along with four of Lieutenant Orlov's radiological detection team 50 kilometres north-west of the airport towards Jadlov's pass and begin a clover leaf search pattern in the area and collect reports from the local Monassi people. This area was reportedly where most of the missing people from earlier this year had vanished. Meanwhile, Captain Sidorov and his motorised infantry company

were fan out 50 kilometres northeast of the airport and further away from Diaklov's palace to an area more mountainous and forested, where spikes in radiation levels had been recorded. Lieutenant Orlov and the rest of the radiological detection team would be assigned to Siderov's unit. In addition, the executive officer, Major Rogoff, would also be attached to Captain Siderov's infantry company,

although Major Rogoff would be in overall command of the two infantry companies and would be coordinating their movements. This would be considerably more challenging if the initial search pattern failed to find anything of significance, at which case Colonel Andreev ordered that the units would then push out for an additional 25 kilometres until they eventually found what Andrews, was looking for for his part colonel andrea would remain at the airport terminal which had been converted to the main base of operations he would be an overall command of the entire operation including communications and logistics with him along with all the air defense communications aviations and supply assets colonel andrea also retained a ready reserve platoon of heliborne riflemen just in case ironically although this military effort was several times larger than the one conducted just last year, there still weren't

enough men or equipment to effectively search an area which could potentially span several hundred square kilometres, but bringing in more troops into the area would likely arouse attention which the Kremlin did not want to attract to the area, as the US and its NATO allies had eyes and ears everywhere. Therefore, this will be a slow, tedious and methodical search with what few assets we had. By 0.7.30 in the morning of the first day, both infantry companies had left the base, over 250 soldiers in all, along with their tracked and wheeled transport vehicles, while two MI4 helicopters, one attached to each company, scouted overhead. Professor Golubev, Alina and I, along with Colonel Andreev,

stood inside the large but crowded room which had been converted into the communications section. We were anxiously listening to radio traffic and monitoring the movement, movement of both units. In the middle of the room was a large round table upon which a topographical map of the area was laid out. Signal soldiers moved plastic symbols representing the two maneuver units as they tracked their progress towards the designated search areas. It was relatively easy-going for the first half of the move, as the military vehicles were travelling on paved rows which had previously been cleared of snow and ice. However, as the ground sloped steadily upwards and the roads became trails. The going became noticeably slower as the track vehicles were now at the head of the

columns, ploughing a path through the snow for the wheeled vehicles to follow. Captain Siderov's column in the east was having a harder time in their sister company in the west, as the ground rose much steeper in the area to the northeast, and their progress, though, never halted by the snow, was still agonizingly slow. Meanwhile, overhead, the two helicopters scouted around and ahead of their perspective units, each carrying with them two members of Lieutenant Orlov's radiation detective team and their equipment. Detecting almost no increase in radiation levels, Major Rogoff instructed the pilots to fly as low to the ground as was safely possible, admonishing the pilots to avoid contact with the treetops. This produced a slight increase in the detection team's fighting spikes

in radiation levels, but not to a very significant degree, and all readings were still well within what could be considered safe levels. By late morning, the two infantry companies finally reached their initial search areas roughly 50 kilometres northwest and northeast of the airport. By this point, the helicopters returned to the airport to refuel, having dropped off the radiation detection teams back where their assigned companies. Colonel Andreev held off on sending another airborne scouting sortie, coming to the conclusion that the detection equipment was more effective on the ground than hundreds of feet in the air. In any case, Captain Kravdsov's company operating to the northwest near Diatlov's Pass did not detect any significant increases in radiation

levels during their search pattern across the frozen, forested landscape. Over the radio, Major Rogoff instead directed Kravsov to make contact with the Manasi people living in the area to see if they'd seen or heard anything unusual in the past months regarding the missing people, but to report immediately if they detected a significant spike in radiation. To the northeast, where the ground was steeper and more mountainous, Captain Siderov's men were having slightly better luck as Lieutenant Orlov and his men had detected several spikes in radiation levels in the area, although the readings were just inside the spectrum of what was considered safe.

The infantry men pushed through the close-packed trees, snow-crunching under their snow-boots and weapons-ready as they followed the radiation detection team. But just like that, the needle on the detection meter would suddenly drop from light yellow to green, indicating that the radiation levels had just returned to normal. During the course of their search of this sector, Captain Siderov's man encountered this anomaly twice more in an area encompassing roughly six square kilometers while searching on foot, the vehicles having to stage in a large clearing as they could not traverse through the tightly packed forest of snow-covered trees. Major Rogoff reported this finding to Colonel Andreev,

suggesting that the anomaly responsible for creating these slight spikes in the radiation levels appear to be moving somehow. Determined to press on with the search before nightfall, Major Rogov instructed Captain Sidorov to have his men mount up on their vehicles and continue to follow a well-worn path which led upwards towards the mountain and deeper into the forest. Five kilometres further, Orlov's team detected another spike in radiation, this time reaching levels higher than before, but still within the safe zone, if only just barely.

Once again, Captain Siderov's men scoured the forest on both sides of the trail end, just as before, the residual radiation levels dropped back to normal. However, the soldiers did find something very peculiar in the form of a near straight line of fallen trees which stretched about 100 metres, which led to a wide clearing that disappeared further north. The path of fallen trees was about 100 metres wide, and it appeared as if the trees had fallen facing generally due north, as if something had pushed its way across the forest, headed towards the clearing.

"'What an odd sight,' said Captain Sideroff to Major Rogoff. "'Any idea what might have caused this, sir?' Rogoff shook his head. Avalanche. Flash flood, perhaps. In any event, this happened fairly recently. I would say no more than two months. Three at the most, by the look of the vegetation which was sprung up amongst the fallen timber.

I agree, sir, said Sidorov. But what bothers me is that the spike in radiation levels goes right down the middle of that path. An hour before nightfall, Colonel Andréve radioed Major Rogov to order a halt for the day. The skies had been clear. No new snow had fallen, and thankfully the meteorologists had reported that the weather for the evening would remain the same. Captain Kravzov's unit to the west would establish a camp on a gentle slope about a kilometre west of a Manasi village, while Captain Siderov's men would pull off the trail they were on and spend the night in the tree line. Colonel Andreev sent two helicopters to resupply his two manoeuvre companies with water and field rations before it got too dark for night operations. but because Captain Siderov's unit was so deep in the forest,

the resupply had to be dropped in by slingload from the helicopter through the thick top cover of trees to the ground. I stayed in the communications room intently listening to the last reports of the day coming in from our two infantry companies. To the west, Captain Kravstov reported no detection of elevated radiation levels in their search area, or reports from the local Monarsi people, revealed nothing useful or significant report regarding the missing. people, although four of the locals did say that their relatives living in the villages further to

the east have reported unusual occurrences revolving around large game animals being found slaughtered and eerie cries in the night. More than likely, however, the culprit was probably wolves. Colonel Andréve instructed Captain Kravsov to continue his search in the morning, but if nothing useful is learned by afternoon to shift his search and begin moving eastwards away from Diatlov's pass and towards Captain Siderov's search area. Captain Siderov's report was more compelling, with his unit encountering three mysterious spikes in radiation levels, but finding no source of the anomaly.

While the odd path of fallen trees they discovered was intriguing, it was not totally unexplainable. Major Rogov recommended that Siderov's men continue pushing east in the morning, while continuing to use the helicopters to scout ahead, although clearly the radiation detection teams were best kept on the ground. Colonel Andrea agreed,

after which radio communication with the lads in the field was reduced to simple hourly communication checks for the remainder of the evening. After breakfast the next morning, we were again gathered in the communications room, waiting for reports from the field as the two infantry companies prepared to take up search again. There was one unusual report

which came in around oh, 100 hours in the morning, when a sentry at Captain Cravesog's location reported eerie screeching sounds which seemed to emanate from the forested hills several kilometers to the east across a shallow valley. The odd noises were faint, and the communications officer in charge of the night shift dismissed it as simply the howling echo of wind being carried across the night air. By late morning, Captain Krabsov's westward search was coming up empty, with no unusual spikes in radiation being encountered, and reports by the few menassie people they encountered revealing nothing of significance. In 1100 hours, Major Rogov radio Kravzov, instructing him to begin moving east and continue their search. By the end of the day, the reports we received from the field were more productive and far more ominous than the day before.

Late in the day, Captain Kravzov's men finally detected a slight radiation spikened. Because the vehicles were still bound to the roads and trails, a platoon of soldiers were sent into the woods to find the source of this radiation. After a while they came across a small Manasi homestead hidden under the forest canopy. It had been completely destroyed. The makeshift corral torn down and the ripped and gutted carcasses of three reindeer scattered about and half buried in the pink-stained snub. Grabsoff would report later that bizarre occurrence which befell this small homestead probably happened one or two months prior.

Of the inhabitants of the small wooden cabin, there was no sign and any sort of the small. traces of footprints or tracks had long been covered by the recent stone force the soldiers discovered a wide trail of fallen timber similar to the one discovered by Sidderoff's men the night before leading northeast away from the homestead the scout helicopter followed the trail of fallen trees for approximately six kilometers before it disappeared into a more thickly wooded area at the base of a line of steep snow-covered foothills making camp at that location, Captain Krupsov doubled the sentry guards for the night, intending to investigate the trail once it became light again in the morning. Farther east, Captain Siderov's unit

encountered several more radiation spikes, one reading actually exceeding what was considered safe, but all eventually returning to normal after being followed for several hundred meters. The scout helicopter had discovered something unusual in a valley three kilometers to Siderov south, and they set forth to investigate. There, at a wide clearing in the base of the valley, they discovered the slaughtered carcasses of over a dozen ripped and torn reindeer. Whatever had befallen the animals had happened fairly recently,

perhaps no more than a week or two, as the snowfall still showed faint traces of tracks as if the reindeer had been chased out at the forest. In addition, bizarre holes in the ground as if gigantic spears had been stabbed through the snow and earth, seemed to surround the dead animals. These strange tracks in the snow followed the reindeer out of the forest

and overtook the animals before disappearing again through yet another trail of fallen timber. The carcasses of the dead animals seem to not have suffered any type of scavenger predation after they'd been slaughtered, as Lieutenant Oloff reported

that here the radiation levels were at their highest. Because the sun was now beginning to set, Captain Sideroff pulled his unit back away from the irradiated air. intending to follow the trail at first light, thus ending the search for day two. There was a growing sense of excitement inside the terminal, as the feeling spread that we would soon find whatever it was that Colonel Andraev was searching for.

This was coupled in equal parts by a deep feeling of dread that we would find what Colonel Andraev was searching for. Despite Colonel Andrea's warnings against spreading unfounded rumours, there was almost widespread and unspoken speculation amongst the military. personnel stationed at the airport terminal that the two infantry companies were looking for something other than the missing bodies of the people who'd vanished over the past year. There were even whispers that what they were actually looking for was a demon that screeched in the dark forests after midnight.

Professor Golibov, Alina and I found herself seated again at our usual dinner table that evening, feeling totally useless as we had done nothing the past few days except listen to reports coming in from the units. and although it was considerably less crowded now in the terminal, as the majority of the soldiers were out in the snow, we still spoke in hushed yet excited tones about what we believe to be occurring out in the fields. Colonel Andreev was at the other larger table across the room

with his communications officer, meteorologist specialist, helicopter pilots, and his maintenance and supply chiefs, no doubt discussing the next morning's operations. When his meeting concluded, andreaev dismissed his men before walking back to the communications room. Excuse me, Colonel, said Alina, her voice echoing like a song. Would you care to join us for dinner? I'd be happy to bring you a fresh cup of coffee.

Colonel Andréive stopped and looked at our lovely young intern, and I tried to suppress a laugh as Andreaev attempted to produce a smile. And his face simply didn't work that way, and his smile looked more like a grimace. Thank you, Miss Searle. Ivanov, that I must return to the communications room. Perhaps when this operation is finished. Well, then, continued Alina, may I bring you a tray of food then? I've noticed that you've hardly eaten since last night.

Professor Golubev eyed her suspiciously, as if thinking, What are you up to, go? That is very kind of you to offer, answered Andreev. Perhaps later on I will have a runner bring me a sandwich, and some coffee and for now it's getting rather late for you and the companies will be pulling out at first light you all should get some rest i expect you to be at the communications room first thing in the morning one more thing colonel persisted alina as colonel andrea turned to leave to my surprise andrea turned again and smiled although clearly trying to hide a perturbed look on his face yes miss ivanov

Is there anything else I can do for you? Colonel, she started. What exactly are we looking for? Why are the professor and I really here? To my even greater surprise, Andréve let out a hearty chuckle as he looked around, as if to see if someone was close enough to hear them. I thought Mr. Zimianin already told you.

He looked at me sternly. Ah, my younger cousin was never good at keeping secrets. Were you, Mikhail? Turning to the professor and Delina, the stern expression never leaving his face. Andraev said, Hopefully you two will do a better job at it. Believe me, when we find what I'm looking for, you and Professor Golabev will be the first to know.

Good evening, he said as he turned and walked away. Well, he's a psychopath, said Golobev, when Colonel Andreaev was far enough not to hear. It was a little after 0.5.30 in the morning when I was awoken by a frantic beating at the door to my janitor's closet. I sat up right away, hearing the sounds of commotion coming from outside. Throwing on some pants, I opened my door to see Alina and Professor Golabev standing outside, dressed in their army-issued cold weather clothing. Behind them, sleepy-looking soldiers were rushing to their duty stations. Before I could utter anything, Alina excitedly said,

"'Get dressed in your cold weather clothing, Mr. Zimian. "'Colonel Andréev didn't lie. "'They found something buried in the snow this morning, "'and we were the first to know. "'Your cousin told us to come get you "'and to tell you to bring your camera.' "'Snapped instantly awake by the news, "'I threw on my military-issued cold-weather gear,

"'put on my civilian winter jacket "'with extra rolls of film and flashes stuffed into the pockets, "'and within 15 minutes the three of us "'were standing in the pre-dorn cold out at the tarmac, an MI-1 light utility helicopter warming its engines behind us. Colonel Andréi was also there, but there were no other soldiers with him. Okay, he announced over a bitterly cold wind that blew across the tarmac. Now that we are alone, I can tell you what happened.

But around three this morning, the sentries at Captain Siderov's location reported hearing a high-pitched guttural screech coming from the hills, about three kilometers due south of their position, followed by the sound of trees being toppled over. Against my better judgment, I allowed Major Rogoff and Captain Siderov to pursue whatever was making that noise through the dark, and although they failed to catch up to it, Siderov's men did find a long trail of toppled trees at least a kilometer long. The trees appear to be charred and there's a deep gouge in the ground, as if something had crashed there from a great height.

The radiation levels here are elevated, about 15,000 millerams. Andréve looked at me. They followed the trail, found something buried in a clearing under the snow. It was under the forest canopy, so that's why it was unseen from the air. Siderov and his men are attempting to clear the snow away from it now. Stanislav, I said. Is it the Americans, or is it...

I don't know, he interrupted. If my suspicions are true, then that's the question that Professor Golbev and Alina will be best able to answer. You, Mikhail, will be there to document everything. It'll be about an hour's flight from here to Captain Siderov's location, so it should be getting lighter by the time you arrive there. Remember, he said, pointing to all three of us. Though there are soldiers at the site doing the digging and excavating, you are only to report any of your findings to Major Rogoff or to meet.

personally nothing gets discussed with anyone else and no notes would be taken only pictures and Mikhail I only want pictures of the object and anything else related to the objects I don't know what any personnel who can be identified in the photos especially the professor and his assistants understand I could only nod dumbly as Colonel Andrei have us into the small helicopter giving us one file instruction to radio him immediately if something unexpected occurs. Part 3. The flight from the airport to the site was roughly 45 minutes long, at which time the sky was

gradually lightning to a light purple. Because the actual site was deep within the forest, the pilot was forced to land in a clearing some ways away, where the infantry company's larger vehicles had also been parked. The coal was even worse here than it was at the airport, and I was proud that our young lads could still thrive in weather that froze the Wehrmacht and Stalingrad and the gates of Moscow. The squad of soldiers were there to meet us and to escort us to the rest of the unit, where Major Rogoff was supervising the excavation of the thing that they'd stumbled upon earlier. The going was rough in some places as we entered the tree line, the snow going up to my knees.

But a path had been tramped out in the snow by the soldiers earlier, and after a while we reached the area where the trees and ground have been scorched by something which, indeed, looked to have crashed into the frozen forest at great speed from some height. The path of destruction seemed to go on for at least two kilometres. I quickly began snapping photographs of the damage as the soldiers led us down the path of charred and fallen trees, about another 500 metres, when we finally ended under a section of the forest which was heavy with trees. As we drew closer, all concerns that I had about the cold vanished, replaced by a different chill

which froze my spirit. There we found Major Rogoff and Captain Sidorov, along with at least two dozen soldiers clearing snow away from a large grey-coloured metallic object buried in the snow. Professor Golubev, said Major Rogov briskly. His eyes were red and bloodshot. This way, quickly. Mr. Zimianen, Miss Sivanov, you two. Watch your steps over these fallen logs. The soldiers had worked hard to move snow and trees away to form a relatively clear a 20-meter perimeter around the object. There were only a few soldiers near the object now, the rest standing around the perimeter that they cleared and looking nervously at us.

Rogov turned to me. Mr. Jim Yannin, I'm sure that Colonel Andreev has instructed you as to the parameters and limitations of the pitches you're about to take. You know what pictures you're allowed to take and what you're not allowed to take, correct? Yes, comrade major, I answered, turn into one of the soldiers standing within the parieter lieutenant oloff i said shaking the young office's hand good morning is it safe to be here the radiation levels here are elevated mr zimyanin he answered frankly we can operate here for a few hours at a time which is why we are rotating soldiers

in and out every couple of hours we will have more specialized uniforms brought in later on once it gets lighter. Over here, Professor, motioned Ruggoff. What can you tell us of this thing? I followed Golubev and Alina, snapping pictures of the object as I walked. The object was still more than halfway buried in the snow. It was five metres high and three metres wide,

and seemed to be made of a very thick metal. It was shaped like a bell, although one that was caved in and was laying on its side. Several deep gouges were torn into its side, though it didn't appear that the crash was the cause of the damage. The object had crashed in such a way that the barely visible Nazi swastika on the side of the object was almost face-up. Deglock, Alina muttered, eyes wide and both hands over her mouth.

The what? said Major Rogoff. Deglocker, replied Professor Golubev. It means that the bell. It was supposedly one of Nazi Germany's last wonder weapons, one that supposedly was far more powerful than their V-series rockets, and perhaps even more threatening than their nuclear bomb program. The soldiers around the perimeter step back away from the Nazi contraption which had fallen from the sky over a year ago.

Turn about, lads, yelled Major Rogoff. Keep an eye out. Something in the hills was screaming last night, and you would not want it to take you while your backs were turned. While Major Rogoff was admonishing his men, I stepped closer to the thing which Alina called, Glock, snapping pictures of every inch of it. The object was indeed caved in and covered in what looked like deep scratches and gouges. What appeared to be a door or a hatch mounted next to the burn-faded swastikosch was blown out, allowing me to peer into the darkness inside. All the

while I was snapping photographs. Professor Golovev, said Major Rockoff impatiently. What exactly is this thing? What is this bell? I'm afraid that I am not. I'm afraid that I am not the subject matter expert on this thing, Major, answered Golovev. That honour goes to my assistant, Miss Ivanov. Miss Ivanov, asked Major Brogov. Well, come here, go. Tell me what you know of this thing. I was still taking pictures when I heard Alina step forwards and then yell as she tripped and fell in the snow. I got up and turned, seeing that a tree branch had snagged her boot and caused her to fall. Alina turned over, screaming as she crawled away from the tree branch. Professor Golovev was at her side, picking her up and pulling her away, as Rogov stooped over the tree branch sticking out of the snow.

Reaching down, Rogov pulled it out from the snow. It wasn't a tree branch. It was a gloved hand. It was attached to a desiccated arm which had been ripped from a body. The torn and bloodstained sleeve in which the arm was in was that of a Nazi Wuff and SS officer. "'This—this is impossible,' he urged Rogoff. "'Whoever this was, he died not long ago. "'Maybe within the last year.'

"'Gomrade Rogov,' said Captain Sidorov. "'Shall I order my men to clear away more of the area? "'Perhaps we can find more—' "'No, Captain Sidorov,' answered Rogov. "'In fact, except for Lieutenant Orlov and yourself, "'pull your men back another fifty metres. I will continue the search here with a professor and his assistant. Okay, lads, ordered Siderov,

pulled the perimeter back another 50 metres out of the cone of radiation. I'm sure you lads were one to have children, some day. We stood around, Major Rogoff, staring with disbelief at the amputated arm, which she still carried. There was no doubt that the black leather uniform sleeve was, indeed that of a Wafn SS officer, as it bore the patch of a black eagle over the Nazi's swastika, the SS in a black circle. Comrade Rogoff, said Captain Sideroff, after the last of his

man had left the clearing. The last of the Nazis were driven from our lands over 15 years ago. Yet here is one of the fascists. How is that possible? Could there be more? He turned, looking nervously at the collapsed bell-shaped object. Perhaps he died in the crash. Major, I said, May I take photographs of the evidence? Of course, Mr. Zymyain, said Rogov, putting the arm back down to the ground. Meanwhile, everyone else, I want you to begin feeling around under the snow. Let us see if we can find any more pieces of our friend here. I took several pictures of the arm, while the others, including Lieutenant Orlov and his men,

began poking around in the snow. To my surprise, Alina was enthusiastically jabbing down at the snow with a tree branch, probing around to find more pieces of the dead Nazi's body. Ten metres from where she tripped over the arm, she found something else. Scooping snow away from around an unusual black mound, she announced, I found the torso, and it has an arm. Lieutenant Orlov's men completed the process of scooping away the snow, revealing the headless, legless torso over the Nazi officer.

The left arm was still attached, frozen entrails hanging out at the gregers, gaping wound below the abdomen. He looked to have been ripped in half. Major Rogoff stood over the remains, lighting a cigarette. Mr. Zimianen, he asked. Did you see any signs of flesh or human tissue within the wreckage? No, Comrade Major, I said. None that I could see.

You do not think that this man died in the crash. It appears he died after he walked away. Major Rogoff searched within the torn black leather cover. for any identity of the dead Nazi, but found nothing. Mr. Zimyanin, please document this. The rest of you continue searching for any signs that there may be of others. As I stepped forward and began taking pictures, I noticed that the arm was extended,

a gloved hand frozen in the shape of a sea as if it was holding something. I began digging around the area where the arm had been, wiping away snow until my hand brushed against something hard and roughly square-shaped. It was a brown leather pout. lifting it out of the snow I undid the straps and gingerly pulled out the contents it was a book comrade roghoff i yelled i found something the others quit their searching and came to see me eyes focused on the strange artifact i discovered what have you found michael asked rogov standing next to me and looking over my shoulder i carefully opened the book surprised at how well preserved it was despite being buried for a year It appears to be a handwritten journal, I answered. It's written by an Oberst Hans Kamlish, a Nazi colonel, I said, shaking my head.

The name does not ring a bell. Professor Golobov, said Major Rogoff. What can you tell us about this Oberst Kamlish? As I said earlier, Comrade Major, said Golubev. If a tiger or a panther tank fell out of the sky, or if the journal was written by Romer or Himmler, I could be of better service, but I'm afraid that Miss Savanov would be the subject matter expert here. Alina, said Major Rogoff.

Alley's turned to the young university intern. Colonel Hans Kamlish, she said, rubbing her chin in thought. I wonder if it could be Colonel Hans Kamler. There is some speculation as to his actual name, but the man known as Hans Kamler or Hans Kamlish was a Waffin SS officer who was said to be in charge of the research and development of some of Germany's secret Wunderwaffe wonder weapons. May I please see the manuscript, Mr. Zimianen? I looked at Major Rogoff and he nodded. Taking the Nazi artifact from me, Alina carefully leaped through the pages.

I do not believe that these pages are brittle with age, but from intense heat. This is interesting. Colonel Kamlisch opens his journal with a long dissertation on something he describes as Schneller alzaitresten, or travelling faster than time, carefully turning the pages lest they crumble and fall apart. She came to a section in the middle of Kamlish's journal. Here he is describing de Glocker as not being a vehicle for conventional travel, but rather deslussle de j'ozeit, the key to time.

She turned to look at the bell-shaped wreckage half buried in the snow, regarding it with a growing sense of awe. Remarkable, said Professor Golubev. We'd long heard that the Nazis had been experimenting such things as time travel from the German soldiers we'd capture that Painemund, but we dismissed them as the boastful ravings of soldiers who knew that their war was lost. Professor Golabev noticed the look of grave concern on Alina's face as she turned to the end of the journal.

What is it, Alina? It's nothing, Professor Goloboveth, she answered. It's just that the last entry in the journal reads, De Lera is Nicht Lair. Alina shuddered. What does that mean, Alina? said Rogoff impatiently. Spit it out, girl.

De Lera is Nick Tlera, I said, annoyed at the Major Rogoff for being so gruff with the young intern. He means the void is not empty. "'Hm, I see,' said Rogoff, staring back at me with barely hidden contempt as he held out his hand towards Alina. "'I'll be taking that journal now, Miss Zavanov. We don't want any more damage to it before we can—' The piercing screech echoed across the frozen valley, causing the soldiers to bring up their weapons and look nervously around them as the unearthly sound continued to reverberate, so powerful that it actually shook snow off the skeletal limbs of the trees. There, said Captain Siderov, binoculars to his eyes and pointing to an elevated spot in the snow-covered forest to our northwest, in almost a kilometer and a half distant, where trees were being toppled over by some violent, unseen force, moving slowly away from us.

Lieutenant, ordered Siderov. Get your men aboard your BTIRs and investigate what it is. Then turn into Lieutenant Orlov, Siderov said, O'Lov, your lads accompany the infantry. see if that thing is a source of her unusual radiation spikes. Another horrifying screech pierced the air, sending icicles through my veins and making me grateful that my days as a soldier were behind me. It took some time to race back through the forest to get back to the vehicles, but to their credit, our young soldiers did not hesitate to follow orders,

as they immediately mounted their BTR-50-tracked armored transports and dashed across the open tundra, throwing up plumes of snow and a frozen ground behind them. them. The rest of us, along with the remainder of Sideroff's Infantry Company, mounted back onto the wheel BTRs in gauze light utility trucks and followed the track vehicles. Because the track vehicles had far better traction on the snow and ice, they quickly pulled ahead of us as our wheeled vehicles attempted to follow behind in the tracks which they just made. The unseen thing, which was making the unholy screeching as it toppled trees down, was about one kilometer ahead of

the lead tracked BTRs. They followed up to the treeline where the wide-armoured vehicles could no longer follow. Radioing back that the tracks could go no further, Major Rogoff instructed the forward platoons, almost 80 men in total, to dismount and continue the pursuit on foot. The remainder of the infantry company would follow up once we'd reach their location. He was still half a kilometre from the tracks, and wheeled vehicles having difficulty keeping up in the thick snow.

Siderov's men were in constant contact with a heart. over the radio, informing us that whatever they were pursuing was also being slowed down by the dense forest. Minutes later, we finally arrived at the location where the track BTRs were parked, when the radio erupted with soldiers screaming. Automatic weapons fire echoed from the forest. Both Captain Siderov and Major Rogoff were yelling into their radios, demanding a situation report from the two platoons who were in contact with the something. Horific screeches from an other-worldly throat were mixed with frantic automatic weapons fire,

somewhere unseen in the forest ahead of us. A radio man from the first platoon was screaming incoherently, crying that his platoon leader had been torn apart by a demon. Lieutenant Orlov, the odd Major Rogoff into the radio. Put him on the radio. He's dead, sir, screamed the radio man. His team was ahead of us. They died when the thing...

The thing. The sinkering crunch came over the radio, like a spear going through bone and flesh, followed by a gurgling sound coming from the radio man. Oh, it's coming your way. After that, the radio fell dead to static. The thing that emerged from the trees froze my blood in terror, making me a statue,

my brain screaming vainly at my legs to move. It looks like a crab, only its bony exoskeleton was black, and the six armoured and spine-covered legs upon which it used to scuttle across the frozen ground were at least twenty metres long ending in a point, much like that of a crab. The flat, oblong-shaped body was at least forty-five to fifty metres in width and tapered at either side to two very long points, resembling spears, while all along the horrors armoured flanks were a multitude of smaller spike-shaped protrusions. Twin black pincer arms extended 20 metres from the front of the body, each ending in four,

three-meter-long, grasping claws. From its rear end, a thick, segmented tail rose 15 meters into the air, much like a scorpion's tail. However, where the stinger should have been, a black skeletal head-shaped like some misshapen prehistoric alligator rested. And it was from within its horrific moor, lined with row upon row of pointed black teeth, that the blood-chilling screech came, which echoed for kilometers, emanating a foul odour which followed the maustrosity from the blackest pits of hell. That thing, that thing from the void, that thing which dwelt in the unspeakable in-between of time and space,

and which had somehow clung onto the Nazi time machine, and was then dragged to Earth, to our motherland, scuttled with surprising speed towards us. It made us sound like armour clanking as it raced, for indeed its outer shell proved to be as hard as tank armour as the rifle and machine-gun rounds fired at it by our brave lads had no effect. With a terrifying screech as if it were howling in victory, the demon pounced upon the hasty skirmish line established by our soldiers,

mercilessly tearing into them and their BTR transports. One brave heavy machine gunner aboard a wheel BTR transport opened fire on the beast, attracting its attention and buying his comrades a few futile seconds to retreat. The BTR was snatched up by one of the demon's clawed appendages and nearly snapped in half, crushing in the courageous heavy machine gunner that was trapped within. Captain Sideroff was aboard another BTR, directing his gunner to continue firing his heavy machine gun while yelling at what was left of his unit to quickly climb aboard the remaining BTR transports.

In an unsettling display of intelligence and understanding, the demon from the void launched the crushed BTR in its claws at Captain Siderov's vehicle. It landed with a terrible crash of metal and gore, instantly crushing Siderov and the soldiers within. As if to ensure that no one remained alive in the twisted wreckage, the monster slammed its own claws down upon the ruined vehicles, flattening them and any soldier unlucky enough to have survived.

Yet despite the bloodshed and carnage that I saw taking place, only a hundred metres in front of me, now young lads screaming and gurgling as they were ruthlessly impelled and taken up into the air to be fed into the thing's hungry moors. I unconsciously had my camera up, snapping photo after photo. Only a handful of soldiers were still alive, a few still firing their weapons, but mostly retreating to any vehicle available. my mind was just a fog of horrific images my ears ringing from the sounds of the chaos and destruction

when i felt an urgent tug at my coat sleeve turning in shock i saw elena pulling at me her mouth was moving but i couldn't hear what she was saying still tugging frantically at my sleeve she was desperately pointing behind her towards major rogov rogoff was only ten meters away waving his hands towards us to hurry up and get to his vehicle. Me, Alina, and Professor Golubev were only able to take two steps towards Rogoff when we were overcome by a huge shadow. Major Rogov was literally split in half

from a spike-tip-leg which punctured him from head to foot. The second spike-tiped-tri-leg crashed down on his Guz-67 jeep, impaling the driver as the gigantic spike crashed through the roof of the vehicle. The thing looked down at us with his drive. black reptilian skull, and its hungry moor opened. It stared at us with black eyes seemingly hidden behind empty eye sockets. I reached into my coat pocket, feeling for the Makarov pistol which Sergeant Galkin issued me, and realized that I'd forgotten it back in the terminal, not that it would have helped us. The air was hot now, reeking with the stench of burning sulphur, reeking from

the demon, and the sickening metallic odour of spill blood. I held Alina and the Professor close, awaiting the inevitable when the chatter of machine gunfire ripped into the side of the beast's head. It turned, raging in anger, as it saw the last two wheel BTIRs escaping towards the north. The demon from the void turned and bounded after them. Quickly, I yelled, they may not get far or last long. I hustled Alina and the Professor across the bloody snow towards the last remaining vehicle that looked, still to be operable, a tract and armoured BTR-50. Though it was only 50 metres away from us,

it felt as if we had slog through several kilometres over several hours just to reach it. My heart sank as I heard the machine guns fall silent behind me, followed by the tearing of metal and the horrified screams of doomed soldiers. Not wanting to turn around because I was too fearful of what I knew I would see, I literally tossed Alina and the professor into the tract vehicle, motioning them to lie quiet and still in the hopes that the demon might somehow have forgotten us, and praying that the armoured sides of the vehicle would shield us if the demon didn't.

I looked up to see a soldier standing out of the hatch, stoically manning a machine gun. Where is the driver? I yelled up at him. The soldier was young, perhaps, not even in his twenties, and tears were flowing down his face. The driver is dead, the soldier said. The driver is dead, and I don't know how to operate this thing. "'Ah, leave this to me!' I jumped back in surprise as Professor Golibeth hustled up the troop compartment towards the front of the vehicle, with all the energy and enthusiasm of a man half his age.

"'Professor!' said Alina, her hands reaching out as if to stop him. "'Where are you going?' "'Oh, to the driver's compartment,' Golibov yelled back. "'There's nothing in the modern Soviet army that I cannot drive, "'and that especially includes armored vehicles.' The engine of the BTR 50 roared to live, just as the rattle of machine-gun fire echoed into the hull of the vehicle. Wait, I yelled. What are you doing, soldier? You'll only attract its attention.

That demon killed my unit, yelled the officer, as he fired his machine gun. He was screaming in anger as he fired, hundreds of spent shell casings falling into the vehicle. From my vantage point inside the vehicle, I could only see the soldier's lower-torn. and legs. There was a hard thump on the roof, and the soldier's yells were abruptly cut short, as his body was literally lifted up and out of the gunner's hatch. I ran forwards to pull him back, but it was far too late. I caught a brief glimpse of the demon bringing the unfortunate soldier up into its mouth

before I reached up and slammed shut the gunner's hatch. Immediately I was tossed forwards as the professor put the BTR in gear, and we launch backwards. The rear of the vehicle hit something hard, and I heard something like a tree branch snapping, followed by the beast shrieking in pain and surprise. The others, forwards, I yelled into the driver's command. I know, answered the professor.

It's been nearly 20 years since I last drove of one of these things. Slamming the vehicle into gear again, I was tossed into Alina's lap as the professor launched the ungainly vehicle forwards. I looked up from between Alina's legs. She was blushing as she stared down at me. Completely embarrassed, I said. I'm sorry, Alina. Oh, my goodness, I'm so sorry.

I stood up quickly, legs wobbling as the BTR rolled over the snow at speeds that it was not safely designed to travel. Thankfully, the tracks of this heavier vehicle gave it much better maneuverability and speed on the ice and snow over its wheel counterparts. They cautiously popped open the gunner's hatch and looked behind us. The demon was still in pursuit, but two of its front legs were bent in an odd angle, a result of the professor's fortuitous mistake in shifting gears, thus making it difficult

for the demon to keep up with us. Still, though the injury had forced it to slow down, the horror was persistent and angry as it scuttled after us, creating with its movements the clanking sound as if we were being pursued by knights on horseback. I pulled out my camera and began snapping pictures of the demon as it lumbered after us. Then sloughing the hat shut again, I began rummaging through the BTR's commander station. What are you looking for, Mr. Zymanen? asked Alina, as she hung on for dear life while the BTR rumbled and shook.

I'm looking for the radio equipment, I said. Aha! I yelled finally, finding the handmike and turning on the radio. Professor, do you have any idea where you were headed? Of course, my boss. "'Yard the professor, sounding as if he were having the time of his life. "'We're on a trail headed roughly north-west, towards Jadlov's pass. "'However, the trail we are now on will become significantly narrower soon.' "'Okay,' I said.

"'Got it.' "'Then, yelling into the radio,' I said, "'Colonel Andrieve, this is Zimyan. "'Any unit on this frequency, this is Mikhail Zimyanin. "'Konel Andriev, are you there?' "'I had not learned any. of the core signals and frankly we didn't have time for such formalities last station last station this is oscar one three who is this how did you get on a military frequency the voice on the other end was angry

this is michael zimyanin i said again i'm a civilian journalist something has gone terribly wrong major roghoff captain sideroff we found mr zimianin you're the voice on the other end it is strictly forbidden for unauthorized civilians to utilize military radio frequency. Put Captain Sidorov on the line. Break, break, break, break, came another voice over the radio. This is Colonel Adreyev. I breathed a sigh of relief. Miguel, is that you?

Yes, I yelled. It's me, look, we found something. It took Major Rolkoff and Captain... Break, break, break, break, yelled Andrei, angrily into the radio again. Mikhail, calm down. Listen carefully. Are you facing another incident like the one in the Kuraghan Mountains? I slowed my breathing, remembering the time as a child when Stanislaff had rescued me from being eaten by a wolf. Yes, I said as calmly as I could, but this is far worse. Okay, Mikhail, listen closely. Tune the radio to the following frequency. It's a secured channel.

doing as I was told I switched the frequency to the one in which Stanislav had given me behind us I could hear the screeches of the demon outside of our armored hole getting closer it seemed that not only did it not grow tired it was also getting closer how are we looking professor i yelled oh this clunking thing isn't as responsive or maneuverable as my old t34 tank he replied how are we supposed to defend the motherland against NATO using equipment like this piece of shit, huh? Anyway, the answer to your question, we'll either run out of road or fuel if something doesn't happen soon. Miguel, this is Andreas. This voice boomed over the secure channel. What is happening out there? Where are you? We're approximately 80 kilometres northeast of your position, I said. We're leaving Captain Siderov's designated search area, traveling roughly due east of the path at least to Diadlov's

pass. As quickly as possible, I explained our desperate and impossible situation of the thing which ambushed us and the loss of Captain Siderov's entire motorized infantry company. To my surprise, Stanislav did not sound the least bit doubtful of my story. Okay, he said once I was finished. Is the target still pursuing it? Yes, I said. This was followed by a loud high-pitched roar coming from behind us, which echoed inside the crew compartment. Oh my God, Mikhail, said my cousin. Was that it? Yes, Stanislav, I answered.

It's right behind us, even as I speak. No more than a hundred meters, I'd estimate. The professor says we'll either run out of road or fuel soon. Golubev is driving the BTR, said Stanislav. How do you get yourself into such misadventures, Mikhail? andrea's voice returned to being cold and collected look michael i have two mig twenty-one fighters on route to your location they're about five minutes away and are armed with air to ground weaponry i'm also on the way with my security platoon armed with r pgues we're coming in by helicopter from the southeast just stay ahead of the beast until we get there part four we rummeled along as fast as the professor could get the btart go, but it was with growing horror that we could hear the demon screeching getting louder and louder the closer it came.

My heart sank when I heard the roar of the beast seems to overtake our vehicle, and I realized that we'd be torn apart long before the fighters arrived. Then, with a shock which ran up my spine, I felt a glimmer of hope. That last ground-shaking roar was that of the fighter jets. I popped open the hatch to see their beautiful, sleek, silver form zoom-partum. us and then bank sharply around. Attention, attention, attention. The radio suddenly came to life. This is strike lead.

Do you read? Pilots! Pilots! I yelled frantically into the radio. This is Mikhail Zymyanin. I'm in the BTR below you. I see you Zinyan, said the Mig 21 fight leader. Where is Major Rogel?

Never mind that right now, I yelled. What type of ordinance do you carry? We have air-to-ground rockets and two 500-kilogram bombs. The two silver MiG-21 fighters flashed low over our heads again, and the horror behind us stopped briefly to shriek at them, raising one of its massive claw arms to swipe at the jets. They are unguided, the pilot added. The professor gunned the engines of the BTR harder,

trying to widen the distance between us and the demon from the void. At this point, we were less than 100 metres away from the thing, so um it's likely we may be here as well is that what you're saying i yelled perhaps said the pilot apologetically you are danger close to the blast what is that thing that's chasing you that is the last gift of the Nazis to the motherland i answered at this point the narrow trail curved towards the right around an outcropping The heavy snow-laden sloping mountain to our right rose nearly 300 metres while the drop-offs still to our left fell away into a ravine 50 metres below us. The Professor had to slow the vehicle to make the tight turn on the slippery snow and ice as the creature lumbered steadily on behind us.

Pilot, I yelled, we are at the approaches to the Kolatsky Mountains that lead to the Diadlov Pass. Can you strike the outcroppings that are ahead of us and to our right? The two makes sword overhead again, their powerful jet engines drowning out the screeches of the monster. You cannot be serious, Mr. Zinyani, said the pilot. Your vehicle would be caught up as well. Not if Professor Golbav is as good a driver as he was a T-34 driver, I answered. I was the best in the entire damned red army.

Yeah, the professor from the driver's compartment. This tin can is nothing. Go ahead, do what you. have to do. I'll make this thing fly if I have to." Pilot, I yelled into the radio. Commence your run. I repeat. Commence your run. Okay, responded the pilot. Quit going in. Keep your heads down and fly as quickly as possible. You'll only have two seconds to react. The fighter jets dove out of the sky, engines roaring as the two pilots targeted an outcropping of the snow-cat mountain above us and slightly ahead.

Thank you, I answered, climbing down from the hatch and taking a seat next to Alina. I plopped an oversized vehicle crewman's helmet on her head before hugging it close to me. Hold on tightly, Alina. Things are going to get bumpy. What's happening, Mr. Zimian. Something crazy, I said. Hang on. The air was suddenly filled with a hollow, whooshing sound like that of a hurricane being forcefully pushed through a metal pipe as dozens of rockets impacted into the mountain beside us,

followed by the earth-shattering vibrations of four, 500-kilogram bombs, exploding nearly above us on the slopes as we rush past. The rumble of the ground did not subside after the ordinance exploded, but rather picked up greatly, causing our little armored BTR to toss and tumble like a trawler caught up in a tidal wave as millions of tons of snow came crashing down the mountainside toward us. Hang on, the other professor. this is going to be close

the BTR violently heaved to one side and I hit my head against something metallic as a raging avalanche of snow and ice crashed down the slopes of the mountain tipping our BTR over and into the ravine Colonel Andreif sir there are survivors In the cold dark space in which I found myself I could hear the muffled voice of a soldier

somewhere outside followed by frantic digging I'm not sure how long I was unconscious but I was absolutely freezing. My breathing laboured. I wasn't upright, at least. Not that I could tell. I could feel a warm body wrapped in my arms,

soft moans filling the cold pitch blackness. Alina, I said. Are you okay? My head was pounding and I feared that I'd suffered a concussion. I think so, came the soft pained reply. Professor? She suddenly yelled out. I'm fine, dear, came a weak voice from the driver's compartment.

This isn't the first time I've been upside down in a tracked vehicle. I'd to tell you the truth, after the Battle of Kursk, I thought that would be my last time. Professor Golubev chuckled and then said, Oh, okay, that was a bad idea. Try to relax, Professor, I said, talking to the darkness. Don't try to move. You may have some broken ribs. I tried to move inside this pitch black metal coffin, but found that I was pinned by something heavy which was pushing on my back, trapping my legs, probably the radio mount.

I reached up and gently touched my temple, feeling something warm and sticky running down my fingers. Ah, damn Nazis, you are Professor Golibiv. In 1943, a kirk, my T-34 was struck by a Nazi tiger tank, flipping hours over. They tried to kill me then, and they're still trying to kill me now. "'You tell them, newsman,' Goughgolobovoveth. "'You tell the next generation to always remember to fight the Nazis, "'or else they'll send space goblins after you or something. "'I will, Professor.

"'If we get out of here, I promise. "'From what I could tell, the BTR had flipped over on top of us. "'From what I could tell, the BTR had flipped over in on top of us, "'trapping us in a small pocket of air under its bolts. "'I was on my side pressed against a bed of seat of... snow. Alina was in the fetal position next to me. The unfortunate accident had protected us from the avalanche, but this may have also been our frozen tomb had it not been for the valiant efforts of the soldiers outside to dig us out. 30 frigid minutes later, I was standing in the

glorious sunshine of that frigid mountain pass, my head bandaged and my arm in a sling, looking down at the hole which the soldiers had dug under the snow to rescue us. In reality, the situation wasn't as bad as it it seemed at the time. The professor, true to his word, had just narrowly gotten us past the edge of the avalanche, which had only just clipped the rear of the BTR, flipping it over, but only burying the back end. Most of the BTR was actually sticking up out of the snow, though it was inverted. You are very fortunate, Mikhail, said Colonel Andriev, offering me a cigarette. The MIG pilots managed to radio as your coordinates before they left the station. I leaned over. lighting the cigarette on the colonel's lighter.

Inhaling deeply, I looked across the overturned BTR to the narrow pass, Ruralina, attentive as always, was standing next to Professor Golubev, telling him to sit still while the medics checked him over. Golabev was seated on a canvas chair, regaling the two medics of his time in the great patriotic war. So there we were. Four of the Motherlands T-37s against ten,

no, twenty of the fascist tiger tanks. my tank got nine of those bastards before the remaining 30 Nazi bastards put my tank out of commission so this he said waving his hand at the overturned BTR this is nothing did your friend hit his head miss said one of the medics no said elina at least i don't think so the professor is always like this last week it was 50 tiger tanks well i allowed myself a quick smile what relationship did sweet young Alina have with her professor, and why was she always so attentive to him? I look sideways at my cousin. How much of what we were searching for did you already know existed, Stanislau? I whispered.

I knew about as much as you'll be allowed to report, Miguel, he answered, lighting a cigarette of his own. Around him armed soldiers were securing the area, looking for surviving comrades, which I knew they would not find. Other soldiers were. were busily taking pictures of the avalanche and the overturned BTR, while the other team of Lieutenant Oloff's unit was scanning the area for traces of radiation, looking to me, but not daring to ask what had happened to their lieutenants. So, Major Rogoff, Lieutenant O'Olov, the other soldiers, I said. All unfortunately lost in the avalanche, said André, just like those people who have gone missing this past year. Just as those hikers at what were.

what they now call diadlov's past and just like the demon that was chasing you or lost to free avalanches the colonel took a long drag of his cigarette and uh just like your camera michael i'm sorry instinctively i felt for my camera realizing with horror that all the proof of everything that we'd sacrificed and died to find the nazi glock the monster from the void was somewhere lost under the overturned beat here. Don't worry, Mikhail, continued Andreev. We will recover your camera, though I fear it will be too damaged to return to you. No matter, though, the pictures which my men are taking of the avalanche

will be proof enough of the tragedy which befell Captain Siderov's men when you post your story. Two days later, Colonel Andreev's driver brought me, Professor Golovev and Alina, to the train station. by then almost all traces of the Soviet military ever being at the airport had vanished, although Captain Kravstov's men remained at the sight of the avalanche for an additional week, just in case. My official report to Pravda, which I already suspected had been tossed in the trash, had been redacted and rewritten for me by the military. My cousin, Colonel Andreev, brought me the latest copy of Pravda the morning that we left the airport terminal.

As promised, the front-page story was a dedication. to the heroic Major Rogoff, Captain Sideroff, and the rest of the soldiers who were caught up in an avalanche while attempting to find the missing people who, more than likely, had also been swept up in a similar sudden avalanche months earlier. The story was credited to me,

Mikhail Zimianin, a trusted civilian journalist. All the government needed was my name and my presence to lend credence to the narrative that avalanches were the cause of all the loss of life in the area surrounding Diadlov's paths. Within a week, all of the events at the pass faded into obscurity. In addition, there was absolutely no reporting of the night a highly secretive military convoy, which escorted a large flatbed truck, carrying an unusual bell-shaped object hidden under a heavy tarpaulin,

down from the region of Diatlov's pass. Colonel Andreev's men searched me and Professor Golubev thoroughly for any contraband items, which might have pointed to a different conclusion from that which the military was. literally wanted the world to know. Alina was a different story. She pretending to just be a naive young girl who simply tagged along behind her mentor, Professor Golubeth. The soldiers didn't give her much of a search

other than a few pats on her bum and perhaps a few unwanted squeezes on places which their hands should not have been. Other than that, she was free to go. The train ride to Coltservo was quiet, each of us contemplating the events of the last few days and still feeling the shock of being alive. It reminded me of how I found all those years ago

when my airborne unit was in Romania and I'd heard that the war against the fascist was over and I was still in one piece. Alina sat next to Professor Golubev, sleeping most of the way as the professor regaled me with tears from the war. Sometime later I excused myself and went to the dining carriage to stretch my legs

and to bring some bread and cheese back to our coach. By the time I got back, the professor was all right. ready fast asleep, and a few minutes later I joined them in the blissful void of slumber. It was early evening when our train finally pulled into Coltsoffa station, and the call came for those who were leaving to disembark. The professor and Alina gathered their things and opened the door to the coach to leave. Alina hesitated, stopping to turn and kiss me on both cheeks. It was good to meet you, Mr. Zimianin, she said. Thank you for protecting me when our vehicle

turned over. I wouldn't be here if you hadn't. I wish you much success with the paper. Alina, I said quietly before she and Professor Golovev could leave the train at Konservova, for the connecting train which would take them back to St. Petersburg. Elina looked around as passengers began disembarking behind her. Then, seeing as no one was paying her at any attention, slipped a small leather pouch out of her bag and handed it to me. You took a big risk getting this out. I wish. whispered. I did it for those whom we lost. She nodded. It's up to you now. Make sure that the truth gets out someday, will you, Mikhail? said the professor before taking Alina's hand and

stepping out to blend in with the crowd. Say, Alina, do I tell you about the time I shot down famous German ace Hans Roodle? Ah, it was a cold afternoon as we approached the German border, and a line of fascist stucca dive bombers descended from the clouds to greet our battalion. "'Yes, Professor,' said Alina. "'But I'd be happy to hear the story again.' "'Really?' said the Professor. "'Oh, how about the time when I shot a fascist U-boat right out from under them with my tank? "'We were on the Baltic coast, you see.'

"'Yes, Professor, you told me that one also,' said Alina. "'hmm,' said the Professor. "'Then it appears that I have no more tales of heroism to tell anymore.' "'Not even the one where you drove a tank while being chased by a horror. horrible monster which the Nazis accidentally brought back with them from the void, giggled Alina. No, replied the professor. Technically, it wasn't a tank, but tell me how that one goes, really, my girl.

I chuckled to myself as I watched the two get swallowed up by the crowd, disappearing down the terminal as a light snow began to fall. I walked back to my now empty coach, clinging tightly to my travel bag as the train pulled out of the station. It took almost two days of travel and was well after dark before my train finally arrived to Moscow station. The weather had warmed up slightly since I'd left, and already the first sign of streets and cobblestone sidewalks were peering tentatively out from under the snow. I debated as to whether or not to call Mr. Satchikov and tell him that I was home,

but I decided against it, not because it was already dark and I was afraid of disturbing him. Quite the opposite. For an older gentleman, Satchikov was quite active, and he'd more. than lightly want to meet me at the pub for drinks and maybe a bowl of hearty solianka soup, Mr. Sajikov, thinking that the hot meats, sausages and vegetables in the soup will be just the thing to fill my belly as we discussed my trip. And though I did admit to being hungry, I was rather anxious to get back home to my flat as quickly as possible. There was no telling if there were any eyes on me at that moment. It was past ten o'clock when the cab finally dropped me off

at my flats. It was dark inside as I quickly off my coat and put my shoes on my chair and made my way to the study where I laid my travel bag on the desk. Closing the blinds, I then flicked on the desk slap, unstrapping my bag and pulling out the small leather pouch which I'd stuffed under my clothes. Unwrapping it, I carefully laid out its contents. There before me sat the journal of Oberst Hans Kammercher, along with the last roll of film from my camera. Leaning back, I sighed deep. "'Halina, you clever, clever girl,' I thought. "'Pouring myself a glass of vodka,

"'I raised a toast to my cousin, Colonel Andreev, "'who had, once again, save me from being devoured by wolves. "'You were right, Stunislav. "'I was never good at keeping secrets. "'And so once again, reach the end of tonight's podcast. "'My thanks, as always, to the authors of those wonderful stories, "'and to you for taking the time. to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast wrong, please write a few

nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.