[Karl I. Slanina, MPSE]

at the bodies piled there, he looked

49

more intently at the feeble struggle of a dying man. Pull-
ing out his revolver he shot him in the head, then re-
holstered his gun and walked off to the half track without
a backward glance.
I was given a seat on the back of the half track. The
soldiers were in a good mood, boasting that no foreigner
ever crossed the Border when they were on duty, telling
me that their platoon held the Red Star award for com-
petency. I told them that I was making my way to Vladi-
vostok to see the great city for the first time, and hoping
I would have no difficulty with the language. "Aw!"
guffawed the corporal. "We have a supply truck going
there tomorrow, taking these dogs for a rest, because with
too much human blood they get too savage so that even we
cannot handle them. You have a way with them. Look
after them for us and we will take you to Vladi tomorrow.
You understand us, you will be understood everywhere in
this district-this is not Moscow!"
So I, a confirmed hater of Communism, spent that night
as a guest of the soldiers of the Russian Frontier Patrol.
Wine, women and song were offered me, but I pleaded age
and ill-health. With a good plain meal inside me, the best
for a long, long time, I went to bed on the floor, and slept
with an untroubled conscience.
In the morning we set out for Vladivostok, the corporal,
one other rank, three dogs and me. And so, through the
friendship of fierce animals, I got to Vladivostok without
trouble, without walking, and with good food inside me.












50




CHAPTER THREE

The road was dusty and