The Jurav air-raid shelter had become an accidental storage site for a large cache of military supplies.
Dmitri recalled a story from his visit to Brest Fortress in modern times. The tour guide had said:
"Before the outbreak of the war, a shipment of supplies arrived at Kobrin Fortress. But it was late at night, and Captain Herzsky—the officer in charge of the warehouse—was on vacation in Brest. So the motor transport soldiers temporarily parked the cargo in the Jurav air-raid shelter, planning to move it to the warehouse the next day. No one realized the supplies were there until Major Gavrilov retreated to the fortress and tried to use the shelter as a temporary hideout. By that time, his forces had dwindled to fewer than a hundred men."
Dmitri was determined that this would never happen under his watch.
"There's no water there, I'm sure of it!" Matvey insisted. "That shelter has even been used as a latrine by the 372nd regiment."
Several soldiers snickered at his bluntness.
"I'm sure there's water there, Comrade Matvey!" Dmitri countered. "Even if there isn't, what do we have to lose? The worst thing would be failing the mission, don't you think?"
Matvey fell silent.
"Lead us there, Comrade Matvey!" Dmitri ordered. "If the platoon leader punishes us, I take full responsibility. I'll say it was my order!"
"Yes, Comrade Squad Leader." Matvey responded, resigned, then glanced toward the rear. "We'll proceed this way, but carefully. Any sentry who sees us moving backward might think we're deserters."
Walking backward in the fortress under German observation was indeed considered desertion—and arguing against it was nearly impossible. Dmitri had seen it happen before. But he didn't hesitate; Matvey would lead the way.
As the group advanced toward the shelter, a sudden burst of German machine-gun fire cracked from behind. Clearly, other squads had encountered trouble fetching water.
"What are you doing, Comrade Dmitri?" Okunev whispered sharply. "Fetching water is dangerous enough. But what you're doing—sneaking off—is far riskier!"
"Don't worry, Okunev." Dmitri said calmly. "This isn't just fetching water—it's a mission."
The Jurav air-raid shelter was distant, but Matvey knew the fortress terrain intimately. Despite his poor eyesight, he claimed he could traverse the fortress blindfolded.
And he wasn't exaggerating. Under the dim starlight and moonlight, when Okunev sometimes hesitated, Matvey's steps never faltered. The veteran had memorized the fortress like a map in his mind—every Soviet outpost, every patrol path, and how to avoid them.
Twenty minutes later, they reached the Jurav shelter.
"Here it is!" Matvey said, looking ahead—surprised to find the iron door locked.
"Strange, it's never locked before."
"Maybe the Germans were tipped off." Okunev speculated.
Matvey picked up a stone to break the lock, but Dmitri stopped him.
"Don't!" he whispered. "That would make too much noise. The Germans might mistake us for their patrol."
Matvey shot Shulka a glance, embarrassed. Even a seasoned veteran could be caught off guard.
"Let me try!" volunteered a private named Fovalikov, stepping forward.
"Try what?" Dmitri asked.
Fovalikov silently produced a thin wire from his hand, slipped it into the keyhole, and after a few seconds, a crisp click echoed—the lock released.
"Amazing, Fovalikov!" the soldiers exclaimed, including Dmitri. Only Matvey remained skeptical, though he said nothing.
Dmitri would later learn that Fovalikov's skill had inadvertently revealed his background—he had been a thief in civilian life, responsible for many of the small disappearances among the troops, including some items taken from Matvey himself.
The iron door swung open, and as Matvey predicted, a foul odor hit them immediately.
Even though they expected the shelter to be empty of people, the soldiers kept their weapons at the ready and moved carefully along the walls, forming two cautious lines.
Inside, it was spacious but pitch-dark. Only when Okunev flicked on a flashlight did the contents become clear.
"God, what is this?" Okunev exclaimed. "A vehicle… and it's full of supplies!"
The truck's cargo was stacked high, covered in army-green canvas, but the sharp corners of crates betrayed its contents.
Matvey hurried forward, pried off the canvas with a military entrenching tool, and revealed a cart brimming with supplies.
"Quick open it, Comrade Matvey!" Okunev said, impatiently holding the flashlight.
Matvey lifted a crate and pried off the lid—it contained mortars.
"Excellent!" Matvey said. "Just what we've been lacking!"
"Food!" Fovalikov shouted from the other side. "A whole truckload of bread!"
"And water!" another soldier exclaimed. "And vodka! Comrade Squad Leader, you were right! This is the place!"
Okunev counted quickly. "There are more than twenty trucks! This is a treasure trove!"
Indeed, Okunev was right. In wartime—especially surrounded by the enemy, with supplies and ammunition critically low—nothing was more valuable than these caches.
The soldiers couldn't contain their excitement. Several grabbed bread and began eating immediately.
Dmitri should have stopped them—it was army property. Even if they discovered it first, no individual had the right to indulge before rationing. A squad leader was expected to enforce discipline and provide ideological guidance.
But Dmitri didn't stop them. He didn't even scold them. He joined in, taking a bite himself. What else could he do? Without discovering this cache, everyone would still be starving. A few bites didn't matter out of a ton or two—this was a victory worth savoring.