Chapter 2081 Death Factory (1)

Labor makes people free. How can there be such a ridiculous joke in this world?

Roskov would never have thought that he, who was born and grew up under the red flag and took the glory of workers as his motto, would one day think so.

But when he was defeated and captured as a Red Army soldier, everything began to change.

Roskov would never have imagined that the slogan written on the sign hanging on that damn door would be so ironic that everyone who had ever believed it to be true would feel like a complete fool in the end.

"Welcome to the animal cage, comrades. Don't misunderstand, and don't trust the sign hung by the Germans on the door. You will soon know how the Germans cruelly tortured and killed livestock here, that is, us. Here. There are countless workers like us, but death is the only final product produced here."

Roskov still remembers what the unshaven, scrawny old Red Army soldier who was captured earlier said to him when he first came here.

To be honest, Roskov was quite unconvinced at the time, because he told him that he surrendered voluntarily and was captured by the Nazis, but he was different. After being stunned by the shells, his troops were defeated and withdrew, and the Germans cleaned up the battlefield. Sneaking out from among the dead to wake up the captives was not something he did willingly.

Otherwise, Roskov believed that he would die on the battlefield like a real soldier, draining his last drop of blood for the motherland and sacred faith, instead of being a prisoner of a German like he is now.

"Don't keep thinking about suicide. The Germans will fail one day. I believe we can still go back alive. I believe that our comrades can come to rescue us. Be more optimistic, boy. We have been dejected all day. The Germans didn't do it. If you kill yourself, you will end up depressed first, cheer up."

Roskov has forgotten the specific name of the person who said this to him and advised him to struggle to survive in this hellish place, and he doesn't even remember his appearance.

After all, the mobility of people in this damn place is really high.

The roommate who just moved in today may disappear when he gets off work tomorrow. The bed will be empty and no one will come back.

Maybe he died while working, maybe he was shot to death by German guards while trying to escape, or maybe he was caught and "bathed" after being found out to be a Jew.

In short, the reason is not important. Anyway, this person's name and traces of his existence will soon be forgotten. This is the case for everyone who comes here and disappears here. Roskov feels that he may be no exception. , and my sickly body may not be able to hold on for long under such high-intensity labor, and will soon collapse completely.

Hoo-ooo-hoo-

The cold wind in the middle of the night outside the house howled incessantly and shrilly, and the long wooden house called the "dormitory" where Roskov lived could not stop the severe cold at all.

Simple long wooden boards were simply fixed together with nails to form the wall. The gaps between the wooden boards were so big that Roskov's index finger could completely fit through them.

It was impossible to withstand the severe cold in such a shabby house, so we had to find another way.

Roskov found an opportunity to steal some rags and sheets from the bed of the "disappeared roommate" and hide them before the Germans came to check. Although they did not come every day but randomly checked, these Nazis The lackey hates people hiding public property, even a few rags.

Roskov once saw with his own eyes a man who was caught hiding rags and was dragged out by the Germans to feed the dog. He was torn into pieces alive by several big and thick ferocious military dogs and put into the dog's belly as food.

The Germans never check the ward late at night, but they may come during the day, so you can feel relatively at ease at night.

Because of this, Roskov took out a few rags from his private collection and reluctantly stuffed them at the head of his bunk to block the gaps and holes in the wooden boards and resist the cold wind. Doing this would allow him to live for at least one more week. Otherwise, Roskov felt that he, who was already suffering from a severe cold, would be so sick that he died in the cold wind of the dark night.

Even if he could persist one day at a time, there was no telling what would happen tomorrow. Roskov always felt that it was better to try to think of good things while living in such a hellish place. He must not give up hope, otherwise he would have to work so hard to survive. Haven't all your efforts been wasted by now? Everything you do must have a beginning and an end, let alone your own life.

squeak - ah -

"Oh oh oh, it's so cold tonight! I'm almost freezing, comrades! You'd better thank me quickly, because I brought you good things back!"

The broken door of the long wooden house rang, and someone pushed it open from the outside in. Along with it, the cold wind of the endless night and the drifting snow blew in. Roskov, who was busy hanging rags, turned around and saw the thin figure flashing in from the door. Then he quickly stopped what he was doing, got out of bed and said.

"We thought you wouldn't come back tonight, little Ivan. Weren't you taken by the Germans to work overtime? Can you come back so soon?"

The person who walked in in the dark outside the door was called Little Ivan. As his name suggests, he was indeed a very thin man. Long-term malnutrition and hunger coupled with his height of less than 1.7 meters made him look like a tall man. A stunted carrot head that looks more like an adult human male.

Since there is little Ivan, then naturally there must be big Ivan.

Following Roskov's footsteps, among the other people who gathered around from the other beds in the long wooden cabin, there was the tall man with a thick beard all over his chin.

"Damn, is it snowing outside? That's not good news."

Big Ivan with a beard was cursing, but Little Ivan, who had come all the way back and was wearing only rags and single clothes and was freezing, had some joy on his face.

"I'll think about the snow later. Comrades, I brought back bread and dried meat. They are not moldy. I estimate they have only been stored for about three or four days. They are older than the ones I brought back last time. The moldy stuff of the week is much better, let’s share it together.”

Living in this hellish place, being able to eat fresh dried meat and bread that is not moldy is a rare thing comparable to the Chinese New Year.

The comrades in the room soon gathered around the shabby little round table, on which were placed the "high-end goods" that little Ivan poured out of the rag bag. Everyone was eating quite happily, and their faces were full of happiness and joy that they had not seen for a long time. There was a hint of warmth under the slightly dark kerosene lamp.

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