Chapter 2081 Death Factory (I)

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

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

But when he was defeated and captured as a Red Army soldier, everything changed from then on.

Roskov never thought that the slogan on the sign hanging on the damn gate would be so ironic, making all those who believed it to be true feel that they were complete fools in the end.

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

Roskov still remembers what the bearded, skinny 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 said that he surrendered voluntarily and was captured by the Nazis, but he was different. He was knocked unconscious by the shells, and the troops were defeated and evacuated. He was dragged out from the pile of dead bodies when the Germans were cleaning the battlefield. He was not willing to be captured.

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

"Don't always think about suicide. The Germans will fail one day. I believe we can still go back alive and believe that our comrades can come to rescue us. Think more positively, kid, you are depressed all day long. The Germans didn't kill you, but you died of depression first. Cheer up."

Roskov has forgotten the name of the person who said this to him and persuaded him to struggle to survive in this hellhole. He doesn't even remember his appearance.

After all, the personnel turnover in this hellhole is too strong.

The roommate who just moved in today may disappear when he gets off work tomorrow. The bed is empty and he won't come back.

Maybe he died while working, or he was shot dead by the German guards when he tried to escape, or he was caught and "taken a bath" 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. Moreover, his sick body will not be able to hold on for long under such high-intensity labor and will soon fall down completely.

Hu-wu-hu-

The cold wind outside the house in the middle of the night is howling and shrill. Roskov's place of residence, this long wooden house called "dormitory", can't resist such severe cold at all.

Simple long wooden boards are simply fixed together with nails to form the wall. The gaps between the wooden boards are so large that Roskov's index finger can be completely inserted.

It is impossible to resist the severe cold in such a broken house, so he can only think of other ways.

Roskoff found an opportunity to steal some rags and sheets from the bed of the "missing roommate" and hid them before the Germans came to check. Although they did not come every day, but randomly checked, these Nazi lackeys hated people hiding public property, even a few pieces of rags.

Roskoff had seen with his own eyes that someone was caught for hiding rags and was dragged out by the Germans to feed the dogs. He was torn into pieces by several big and fierce military dogs and entered the dogs' stomachs as food.

The Germans never checked the room late at night, but they might come during the day, so he could be relatively at ease at night.

It was for this reason that Roskoff took out the few pieces of rags he had hidden and stuffed them at the head of his bunk to block the gaps and holes in the wooden boards and resist the cold wind. Doing so would at least allow him to live another week. Otherwise, Roskoff felt that he, who had already suffered from a severe cold, would have to get worse and die in the cold wind at night.

He could only live one day at a time. He could never tell what would happen tomorrow. Roskov always felt that it was better to think of good things when living in such a hellhole. He must never give up hope, otherwise, wouldn't all his efforts to survive until now be in vain? Things must be done from beginning to end, not to mention treating one's own life.

Squeak-ah-

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

The broken door of the long wooden house rang and was pushed open from the outside, and the cold wind and drifting snow of the endless night blew in together. Roskov, who was busy hanging rags, saw a thin figure flashing in from the door as soon as he turned around. He quickly stopped his work, 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? How could you come back so soon?"

The man who flashed in from the darkness 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 a height of less than 1.7 meters, made him look more like a stunted carrot head than an adult human male.

Since there is Little Ivan, there must be Big Ivan.

Following Roskov's steps, the other people who came over from other beds in the long cabin were the big man with a thick beard.

"Damn, is it snowing outside? This is not good news."

Big Ivan with a beard was cursing, while Little Ivan, who rushed back with only rags and was freezing, had a happy look on his face.

"Think about the snow later, comrades. I brought back bread and dried meat, none of which are moldy. It is estimated that they have only been stored for about three or four days, which is much better than the moldy ones that were stored for a week last time. Let's share them together."

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

A room of comrades soon sat around the shabby little round table, on which was placed the "high-end goods" that Little Ivan poured out of the rag bag. Everyone was eating happily, with a look of joy and happiness that had not been seen for a long time on their faces. There was a hint of warmth under the slightly dark kerosene lamp.

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