Traiko Ivanoff saves his family from the Communists in Bulgaria in 1958
CHAPTER ONE
Banging on the front door of their two-story farmhouse awakened Traiko Ivanoff and his wife, Maria, from a deep sleep.
“Who could that be at this hour?” A startled Maria bolted upright in bed.
Continued pounding rattled the heavy wooden door. Traiko rubbed his eyes, shook his full head of black hair, and slid out of bed. He drew on his twill work trousers and bounded down the stairs. “Who is it?” He demanded, before opening the door.
“It’s me.” Zevko Slavkov, a towering compatriot and Bulgarian Resistance member, filled the open doorway.
“Zev, what are you doing here?” Traiko yanked on his flannel shirt.
“They’ve got your brother, Korle.” Zev’s breath frosted in the cold. “Come on.”
“Who has him?”
“The Secret Police.”
“Where?”
“Red Earth.” Zev wished those two words would never have to come out of his mouth.
“Not Korle.” Traiko knew Red Earth was named for the many brave Bulgarians who had given their blood for freedom. He grabbed his jacket and shoes from the hall bench and bolted out the door.
“I pray we’ll be in time.” Zev started his truck.
From the bedroom window, Maria watched them leave. Her hand trembled as she covered her open mouth. The stillness throughout the farmhouse made her shudder. She had heard ‘Secret Police.’ When they took people away, they never returned alive.
Dawn broke in gray streaks as grim-faced Traiko and Zev raced through Dupnista’s deserted streets. Light from candles or lamps seeped through thin curtains or cracks in boarded up windows around the town square.
The year was 1958. At each entrance to the village sandbags and barbed wire surrounded guard towers. Tanks with large red stars painted on their sides stood guard inside the military compound.
Zev’s truck bounced along uneven holes in the road. Traiko gripped the dash. “How did the police capture Korle?”
“I don’t know.” Zev shrugged and turned onto the main road out of town.
Traiko’s eyes widened. “They must know about us.”
“How would they find out?”
“Perhaps we have an informant in our ranks.” Traiko’s eyes narrowed; his jaw tightened.
Zev kept his eyes on the road, but his thoughts raced to Red Earth. Korle might already be dead. He pressed harder on the accelerator.
After a few more kilometers, Zev cut the engine, halted the truck behind a thick cluster of trees at the far edge of an alfalfa field. They quietly stepped out and crouched in a ditch. Traiko’s eyes widened when he gazed at the middle of the field.
A detail of Bulgarian militia with rifles lined up at attention. Facing them, a beaten and drained man braced himself. Nearby, soldiers in a canvas-covered truck trained two machine guns on witnesses from the town. They stood in the dirt staring at the prisoner. Their faces twisted in anguish.
Captain Georgi Lukanov, Commandant of the Secret Police, barked orders to the firing squad. They raised their rifles to the ready.
“. . . Aim!” Lukanov watched his tight-lipped prisoner’s glassy eyes stare at the ten rifle barrels. “Fire!”
Korle Ivanoff jerked backward as the bullets tore into him. Blood spurted onto the earth beneath him. The citizens watching groaned, pushed toward the firing squad. The cocking of the machine guns halted everyone’s forward motion.
Traiko’s rage exploded. He lunged from his hiding place.
Zev grabbed him, held him down. “Quiet, you fool!”
The captain turned to the villagers. “You see! I will not tolerate any resistance.” He turned and walked stiffly to his command car.
Lieutenant Stepan Stoyanov opened the car door. The captain entered without looking back. The lieutenant saluted and the car sped past the troop truck, spewing dust on the witnesses.
Traiko tried to break free.
“Not now.” Zev restrained him. “We have no chance.”
They struggled. Traiko, on his hands and knees in the dirt, twisted and grabbed Zev’s shirt, but Zev’s superior weight prevailed. Traiko relaxed his grip, dropped his head into his rough hands, and cried.
“Too many of them.” Zev also felt the rage and pain. Traiko stared at his brother’s body in the middle of the bloodstained field. “I will come back for you, Korle.” Tears smudged the dirt on his weathered face.
“Look,” Zev pointed. “The townspeople are milling around. We better wait.”
Traiko shifted his gaze from Korle to the villagers. He saw the frightened looks on many faces. “They too know the wrath of the Communist Party.”
“Now, maybe more will join our cause.”
Traiko glanced at Zev. “I fear some in our cause are not for our cause.”
“What do you mean?”
“Petroff and Zarov are not here,” Traiko said.
“They must not have been picked this time.”
Traiko raised an eyebrow. “I wonder if they are ever picked.”
Certainly, an action opening that will lead to some serious decisions by Traiko in upcoming chapters with his family mortal danger. I wonder if this is based on a true story that you learned from someone who escaped.
In 1968, I had two strapping Czech young men who had been working in Western Canada after escaping during the rebellion there ride in my car for 100 miles. It would have been interesting to have known their stories.
This is the second novel in Frank P Ryan's acclaimed fantasy series, The Three Powers. The first in the series, The Snowmelt River, is a top ten epic fantasy bestseller on amazon.
