Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 5: Last Grandson of the Emperor (1)

Dragon Raja 3

At 3 AM, the entire Black Swan Bay was asleep. The searchlights cast circular spots of light on the black clouds, and below them stood a bronze statue of Lenin. A figure stood before the statue, the wind lifting his woolen coat. Major Bondarev, instead of resting in the warmth of his guest room, chose to expose himself to the wind and snow in the dead of night to gaze at the bronze Lenin. 

The statue stood ten meters tall, originally placed on a black marble pedestal, with Lenin pointing forward as if guiding the way of revolution. The snow was more than two meters thick, completely burying the marble base and covering the feet of the statue. The statue’s location was odd—not in the center of Black Swan Bay, nor standing at the entrance, but rather at the back of the port. Although Lenin statues could be found at research institutes and universities everywhere, raising such a large one in this resource-scarce location seemed a bit excessive.

“You once said that forgetting the past is betrayal, and now even the country you built with your own hands is about to become a thing of the past. I wonder if anyone in the future will come to pay homage to your statue like I do now,” Bondarev said, looking up at the Lenin statue. “So perhaps it’s better to blow it up now.”

He pressed the detonator in his hand. After a short, muffled explosion, the marble base buried in the snow was destroyed, and the Lenin statue tilted and fell into the snow. The sound of the explosion was minimal and was quickly drowned out by the wind. Despite the tight security at Black Swan Bay, the bitter cold was the most important defense. Staying outside for even a few minutes on a night like this would result in severe frostbite. Due to the blizzard, visibility was less than five meters, and the soldiers didn’t expect anyone would dare move about outside. They had overlooked Bondarev’s extraordinary tolerance to the cold.

Bondarev glanced into the hole created by the explosion and saw a black cast iron foundation. Hundreds of tons of cast iron had been poured into the ground as the base for the Lenin statue. Bondarev jumped into the snow hole and turned on his tactical flashlight, finding a tightly sealed iron door embedded in the cast iron foundation. It was perfectly fitted, with a red five-pointed star and military unit numbers engraved on the edge. Bondarev inserted the probes of an electrical balance meter into the seams of the door. The needle didn’t move, indicating that the door was in perfect electrical balance, with no wiring or electronic devices behind it.

“A mechanical lock, as expected,” Bondarev muttered.

The absence of electronic equipment didn’t mean the door was safe—in fact, it was deadly. It used an old mechanical combination lock, similar to a clock mechanism, purely mechanical. It wouldn’t trigger an alarm but would explode. The door’s interior was filled with hundreds of kilograms of refined explosives, which would remain potent for centuries. The tombs of tsars had similar doors, capable of blowing grave robbers and tomb passages to pieces. These doors were never meant to be reopened once sealed.

Bondarev took out a pre-prepared duplicate key, took a deep breath, and flexed his wrists. The duplicate key wasn’t an exact match, and failure would send him flying into the sky along with the Lenin statue. He inserted the key and precisely turned the combination dial on the door. He had practiced this motion thousands of times and could now perform it perfectly, even in his sleep. The key turned, and there was a faint click from within the combination dial. Bondarev pushed the iron door. It didn’t open, but Bondarev hadn’t been blown to pieces either. It seemed the door was rusted shut.

Scratching his head in puzzlement, Bondarev took a miniature blowtorch from his toolkit and heated the key handle. Using fire on a door filled with hundreds of kilograms of explosives was as dangerous as smoking a cigar on top of an oil well, but Bondarev hummed softly, unconcerned. A faint ticking sound came from the lock as the complex mechanical system began to move. Slowly, twelve bolts retracted, and the door made a dull “bang” as it sprang open a crack. Bondarev smiled triumphantly—just as he had expected, the unlocking procedure was correct. The problem lay in the lock’s lubricant. The lock had been lubricated with beef tallow, which, like the kerosene in the sentry’s lighter, froze easily.

A cold draft flowed out from the crack in the door, whistling loudly. Bondarev tested the temperature of the air with his hand, and even he shivered.

“It feels like wind from the deepest part of hell,” he muttered, drawing his Makarov pistol and leaping into the black space beyond the iron door.

Beneath the iron door was a pitch-black tunnel. The walls of the tunnel were made of hard permafrost. Bondarev tapped it with the butt of his gun, and sparks flew. Black Swan Bay was built on permafrost, where the water in the soil hadn’t melted for millions of years. The permafrost was harder than concrete, hinting at the difficulty of excavating the tunnel. The tunnel led deep into the permafrost, and the beam of Bondarev’s flashlight revealed a staircase made of iron steps leading downward.

On the ceiling, Bondarev found an inscription: “June 12, 1923—arrived here.”

He continued down the tunnel, only about 100 meters further, where he found another inscription: “June 30, 1936—arrived here.”

The history of excavating this tunnel dated back to 1923, and with the technology of that time, it had taken the workers 13 years to advance less than 100 meters.

Bondarev continued exploring. The tunnel was extremely winding, with countless side passages, but Bondarev had a construction map, which guided him on the correct path. The tunnel was like a branching vine, its total length astonishing. Sometimes they had dug dozens of meters in one direction only to realize it was wrong and had to backtrack to start another route. To bypass rock formations, they often had to detour, and it could take years to circumvent a single large boulder.

Back then, there were no heavy machines. The workers had only gas-powered picks and iron chisels, yet year after year, they pressed forward, sacrificing their lives to the permafrost. What were they searching for?

As Bondarev continued, the tunnel walls grew smoother. It was clear that the workers had switched to newer tools, likely electric diamond drills. Bondarev found another inscription: “September 19, 1951—arrived here. 13th Guards Infantry Division, Engineer Corps.”

The 13th Guards Infantry Division was an elite force stationed in Moscow, and its engineer corps was the best of the best. That such a prestigious unit had been deployed from Moscow to this desolate place to continue a decades-long excavation project was surprising.

“April 27, 1953—arrived here. Deputy Commander Vikhri died here. 13th Guards Infantry Division, Engineer Corps.” Beside this inscription was Deputy Commander Vikhri’s red-star hat badge.

“May 9, 1956—arrived here. I don’t know where this path ultimately leads—perhaps to a grave, perhaps to hell, but it certainly won’t be anything good.”

“April 13, 1961—arrived here. God save us. Please don’t let us be the ones to open that door—it must be cursed.”

It was clear that the engineers had sensed some sort of impending crisis, prompting them to turn to God. Such thoughts would have been considered a stain on their record if discovered by the Party Secretary at that time.

Bondarev understood the soldiers’ fear—it stemmed from the patterns on the tunnel walls. These patterns weren’t carved but were the cross-sections of animal skeletons within the permafrost: snakes, lizards, cats, sea lions, and even polar bears, many of which shouldn’t have existed in this frigid land. 

The bones had been exposed by the workers’ diamond drills, revealing them to the engineers. Despite being just bones, they still radiated an eerie vitality, and it was easy to see the terror in the animals’ remains, as if some massive disaster had befallen them suddenly, leaving them no escape. They had died in agony, biting and clawing at each other in a futile attempt to survive. 

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