In 1940, as the Wehrmacht marched through Paris, France was humiliated. But Charles de Gaulle’s “Free France” held a trump card—hundreds of thousands of soldiers from the colonies. The “Senegalese Tirailleurs” (Tirailleurs Sénégalais)—hailing from Senegal, Mali, Guinea, and Burkina Faso—became the fist that helped the French reclaim their homeland.

They fought in the jungles of Gabon, the deserts of Libya, and finally landed in Provence, liberating Toulon and Marseille. Thousands of them endured the horrors of German prisoner-of-war camps, where the Nazis treated Black soldiers with the same brutality as Jews and Slavs.

But when victory arrived, instead of gratitude, they were met with “whitening” (blanchiment). By order of the high command, African soldiers were hastily replaced by white conscripts so that in the photographs and newsreels of liberated Paris, the army would look “European.” The heroes who had carried the burden of the war were simply loaded onto ships and sent back to Africa.

The tragedy unfolded at the Thiaroye transit camp near Dakar. Soldiers returning from German captivity and the battlefields discovered that the French administration refused to pay their back wages for years of service and their discharge bonuses. Furthermore, they were offered an exchange of their accumulated francs at an exploitative, predatory rate.

On December 1, 1944, veterans, outraged by this injustice, staged a protest. It was not an armed mutiny, but a non-violent, albeit loud, demonstration. They even blocked the car of a French general inside the camp, demanding a dialogue.

The general promised to pay their hard-earned wages. However, instead of money, French colonial units and gendarmes surrounded the camp at dawn. Under the cover of armored cars, they opened machine-gun fire on their own rescuers—the very men who had fought beside them in the trenches of Europe.

The official report at the time claimed 35 deaths. Later historical research points to figures as high as 300 or more. Those who survived were sentenced to prison terms and stripped of their medals and pensions.

For decades, France sought to forget this incident. It was only in 2014 that President François Hollande officially recognized the massacre and handed over copies of archival documents to Senegal.

It was a bitter paradox of history: the people who helped France cast off the chains of Nazi occupation received a bullet from “Free France” for attempting to defend their rights.

The Thiaroye massacre became the spark that later ignited the flame of the African colonies’ struggle for independence.

Key Facts for Context:

Economics: Historians believe the French treasury was empty, and colonial authorities decided to save money on payments to those who, in their view, “could not stand up for themselves.”

Memory: In 1988, the film Camp de Thiaroye (dir. Ousmane Sembène) was released. It was banned from being screened in France for many years.

Leningrad. Autumn 1941, the beginning of the blockade. In a wooden house designed for 4 apartments, all the food had run out.

The yard dog, Trezor (a mix between a terrier and a hound), also felt hunger. Only water remained in his bowl.

The residents expected the dog to leave them.

But Trezor did not abandon the people. Every morning, he began to leave the outskirts of the city and return with prey: first a hare, then other small game, but mostly he brought back hares.

This was enough to cook soup or broth for everyone. Four families lived in the house, totaling 16 people (adults and children). Thanks to Trezor, none of them died of starvation throughout the entire blockade.

The dog survived the blockade, but sadly, not for long.

In June 1945, Trezor left for a hunt out of habit, but returned an hour later, leaving a trail of blood.

The dog had stepped on a mine left over from the blockade era. Trezor hobbled back to his home courtyard and died in the arms of the people he had saved throughout the entire war.

On August 15, 1945, the world celebrated victory. World War II had ended, and across the globe, transport echelons began their long journeys: hundreds of thousands of American, British, and Soviet soldiers were returning home from the camps. Families waited for miracles, and those miracles often came true.

In China, however, the anticipation turned into national mourning that did not end with the signing of the surrender. When the time came for the official repatriation of prisoners of war (POWs), Tokyo announced a figure that sounded less like a clerical error and more like a death sentence. Out of the millions of captured Chinese soldiers who had fought against the Japanese army for eight years, Japan officially returned alive only… 56 people.

That is not a typo. Fifty-six. Against the backdrop of millions of prisoners and casualties, this figure looks like a statistical error.

Behind this number lies the darkest chapter of the Pacific War. Unlike the Western Allies, who were formally covered by the norms of the Geneva Convention (though it is well known how poorly the Japanese observed them), in the eyes of the Japanese command, Chinese soldiers had no right to live.

For the Imperial Army, raised on the Bushido code, surrender was the ultimate disgrace, and a surrendered enemy was a creature that had lost the right to be called human.

What happened to the rest? The answer is scattered across the mines of Manchuria, the secret laboratories of “Unit 731,” and the nameless pits of Nanjing. Chinese POWs were used as “logs” (maruta) for biological weapons testing, burned alive during the “Three Alls” policy — 三光作戦 (1. Burn all, 2. Kill all, 3. Loot all) — or simply executed on the spot to avoid wasting resources on their maintenance.

The 56 “lucky” ones who managed to return were more than just survivors. They were living witnesses to a system that purposefully and methodically ground millions of people to dust, leaving behind not even their names on prisoner lists.

The Master of the Yauza is a little-known but quite formidable mutant in the Metro 2033 universe, posing a serious threat to stalkers and the residents of nearby stations. This giant anthropomorphic creature inhabits the Yauza River and its surroundings in Moscow, where nature underwent significant mutations following the global catastrophe.

The Master of the Yauza was first mentioned in Sergey Antonov’s novel In the Interests of the Revolution (В интересах революции), where it appears as a certain “sinister force” lurking in the waters of the Yauza. A more detailed development and a full reveal of the character occurred in Anna Kalinkina’s novel The Master of the Yauza (Хозяин Яузы), published in 2014, which became the 49th book in the series and the first part of the Moscow Mysteries (Московские тайны) trilogy. Additionally, the monster appears in the browser application Metro 2033: Clan Wars (Метро 2033: Война кланов) as a raid boss named “Master of the Depths” (Хозяин глубин).

The dimensions of the Master of the Yauza are staggering: it is a truly giant creature whose size is comparable to a multi-story building. Its scale makes it one of the most dangerous threats in the vicinity of Moscow, while the creature’s appearance clearly shows anthropomorphic traits. It is believed that the Master of the Yauza is a hybrid of a human and a reptile, although the exact origin of the creature remains a mystery.

One of the key features of the Master of the Yauza is its telepathic ability, known as “the call.” According to the plot of Anna Kalinkina’s novel, the monster is capable of mentally influencing a chosen victim by sending them an irresistible summons. A person who hears this call loses their peace of mind and cannot rest until they head to the murky waters of the Yauza. This ability goes beyond typical predatory behavior and transforms the Master of the Yauza from a merely dangerous mutant into something akin to a mystical creature with supernatural powers. “The call” makes the monster especially dangerous, as it can attract victims from a distance without relying solely on physical strength.

Interesting Point:

The image of the Master of the Yauza has notable parallels with Dagon—the ancient deity from H.P. Lovecraft’s short story of the same name. Both creatures are tied to the water element. Both evoke primal fear in humans and are perceived not just as dangerous creatures, but as supernatural entities with mystical power. Like Dagon, the Master of the Yauza influences the minds of its victims, subduing their will. This similarity allows one to view the Master of the Yauza as a kind of interpretation of Lovecraftian motifs within the context of the Russian post-apocalyptic universe in a new, mutated form.

I want to tell you about one of the most mysterious organizations: the Federals.

The Federals (also known as the Center or the Staff) are one of the largest and most organized forces in the post-apocalyptic world of Metro 2033.

The Federals are described in detail in the novels Metro 2033: Below Hell (Ниже ада) by Naile Vybornov and Metro 2033: From the Depths (Из глубин) by Ruslan Melnikov, both of which are set in the Yekaterinburg Metro.

Origins and Ideology The organization was formed in 2013, immediately after the outbreak of the nuclear war, based on surviving military structures in Western Siberia—likely within the Omsk Region.

The Federals do not hide their ambitions. They openly declare themselves to be the pre-war government of Russia, and they see their mission as the restoration of the state’s centralized integrity. However, under the guise of ‘martial law,’ they have created a military dictatorship. They demand absolute obedience from survivors and suppress any form of defiance. In the eyes of the Federals, the citizens of various ‘post-apocalyptic states’ are nothing more than separatists and criminals.

The Yekaterinburg Campaign Yekaterinburg was the Federals’ first major target, intended to become the new capital of the reborn country. To capture it, the Federals developed ‘Operation Saigon’—a plan for the forceful suppression of local factions.

An emissary of the Staff, Aleksey Krasnov, was sent to the city. He took control of the remnants of the local army sheltered in the ‘Beta’ bunker and, with their help, seized two stations of the Yekaterinburg Metro: Botanicheskaya and Chkalovskaya. When resistance intensified, the Center did not hesitate; by its order, a nuclear/missile strike destroyed two other stations: Dinamo and 1905 Square. It was a clear message: the Federals do not negotiate. They dictate terms.

The army was supplied through convoys. For instance, a convoy codenamed ‘Saigon’s Redemption’ was dispatched to Yekaterinburg. This column, carrying medicine, ammunition, and food, traveled from Omsk to Yekaterinburg, proving that the Federals are capable of mobilizing significant resources.

Despite their harsh methods and authoritarian ideology, the Federals offer an alternative to chaos and fragmentation: a centralized state, even if built on force. Their future in the Metro 2033 lore remains an open question, but their role in shaping the new world is hard to ignore.

Theories

• Theory 1: While no specific leader is named in the lore, there is a hypothesis that they are ruled by the surviving President of Russia (or his successor) hiding in a Siberian bunker. This would explain their claim to supreme authority and their centralized structure.
• Theory 2: A connection between the Federals and the soldiers from the dilogy Metro 2033: The Passage (Переход) and The Passage 2. The military units appearing in Naberezhnye Chelny in Naile Vybornov’s books raise questions due to their equipment. ‘Ratnik’ exoskeletons, pre-war weapons in mint condition, and strict discipline—this does not look like a typical band of deserters. Their actions are too well-coordinated and their gear is of too high a quality. It is logical to assume they were a forward detachment sent to seize strategic points outside their main region of influence.

Interesting Facts

• Fact 1: So far, this is the only organization in the Metro 2033 universe that features the actual government of the Russian Federation. (The ‘Invisible Watchers’ in Moscow are merely the regional Moscow government).
• Fact 2: During the ‘Autumn’ level of the game Metro Exodus, it is the Federals who are heard over the radio reporting on the contamination of Siberian cities.
• Fact 2.1: The broadcasts regarding the contamination of Omsk and Biysk contradict the books Metro 2033: Reactor and the short story The Milky Way, where these cities are depicted as relatively safe and populated. It is highly likely that by 2035, the Federals took control of these cities and are using disinformation to scare off wandering stalkers.
• Fact 3: In the game Metro 2033: Arkaim, a character (a refugee from the Yekaterinburg Metro) makes a brief appearance. According to him, the Center did not stop at Yekaterinburg but began a large-scale expansion to the North.

P.S. One cannot help but notice the similarity between the Federals and the Enclave from Fallout. Like the Enclave, the Federals claim the role of legal authority after the catastrophe, rely on advanced military technology, and are willing to use extreme measures to achieve their goals. However, unlike the elitist and radical Enclave, the Federals are more focused on pragmatism and rebuilding infrastructure. Both organizations show how old power structures transform in a post-apocalyptic world—though the Federals bet on discipline and centralization rather than elitism.

He was born on November 23, 1882, in Hamburg. He spent nearly 30 years of his life in China, working for the Siemens company. In 1934, like many German citizens of that time, he joined the NSDAP. A typical expat, a successful businessman, a loyal citizen of the Third Reich. It would seem his story could have been lost in the archives as just another biography of an ordinary party functionary.

However, in 1937, when the Japanese army invaded Nanking, something awakened in Rabe that Nazi ideology tried to root out of a person—compassion. While other foreigners hastily left the city, Rabe decided to stay. Together with a group of like-minded individuals, he organized the “Nanking Safety Zone.”

It was here that the most bitter paradox of the war manifested: Rabe used his status as an NSDAP member and the swastika as a shield. He was certain that the Japanese—Germany’s allies—would not dare to bomb an object flying the flag of the Third Reich. He placed swastika flags on the roofs of hospitals and shelters where civilians were hiding. And it worked. Risking his life, Rabe personally stood in the way of Japanese soldiers, preventing massacres, and documented the horrors of the Nanking Massacre, hoping that Hitler would stop his “allies.”

In the Safety Zone, Rabe managed to save between 200,000 and 250,000 Chinese. He shared his last food supplies, nursed the wounded, and literally snatched people from the hands of executioners, appealing to “Aryan dignity” and his party badges.

Upon returning to Germany in 1938, he tried to show the Reich leadership photographs of the atrocities committed by the Japanese. In response, the Gestapo confiscated all his evidence, and Rabe himself was detained for a time. After the war, the paradox reached an absurd level: due to his NSDAP membership, Rabe underwent denazification, was stripped of his livelihood, and was interrogated by both Soviet and British intelligence services.

A hero who saved hundreds of thousands of lives, he died in 1950 in poverty and obscurity. His name was rehabilitated only decades later, when the world learned of his diaries. He is often called the “Oskar Schindler of Nanking”—a man who remained human even while being part of an inhuman system.

Note: The story of John Rabe formed the basis of the biographical drama “John Rabe” (2009), which details his confrontation with the Japanese occupiers.

He was born on November 23, 1882, in Hamburg. He spent nearly 30 years of his life in China, working for the Siemens company. In 1934, like many German citizens of that time, he joined the NSDAP. A typical expat, a successful businessman, a loyal citizen of the Third Reich. It would seem his story could have been lost in the archives as just another biography of an ordinary party functionary.

However, in 1937, when the Japanese army invaded Nanking, something awakened in Rabe that Nazi ideology tried to root out of a person—compassion. While other foreigners hastily left the city, Rabe decided to stay. Together with a group of like-minded individuals, he organized the “Nanking Safety Zone.”

It was here that the most bitter paradox of the war manifested: Rabe used his status as an NSDAP member and the swastika as a shield. He was certain that the Japanese—Germany’s allies—would not dare to bomb an object flying the flag of the Third Reich. He placed swastika flags on the roofs of hospitals and shelters where civilians were hiding. And it worked. Risking his life, Rabe personally stood in the way of Japanese soldiers, preventing massacres, and documented the horrors of the Nanking Massacre, hoping that Hitler would stop his “allies.”

In the Safety Zone, Rabe managed to save between 200,000 and 250,000 Chinese. He shared his last food supplies, nursed the wounded, and literally snatched people from the hands of executioners, appealing to “Aryan dignity” and his party badges.

Upon returning to Germany in 1938, he tried to show the Reich leadership photographs of the atrocities committed by the Japanese. In response, the Gestapo confiscated all his evidence, and Rabe himself was detained for a time. After the war, the paradox reached an absurd level: due to his NSDAP membership, Rabe underwent denazification, was stripped of his livelihood, and was interrogated by both Soviet and British intelligence services.

A hero who saved hundreds of thousands of lives, he died in 1950 in poverty and obscurity. His name was rehabilitated only decades later, when the world learned of his diaries. He is often called the “Oskar Schindler of Nanking”—a man who remained human even while being part of an inhuman system.

Note: The story of John Rabe formed the basis of the biographical drama “John Rabe” (2009), which details his confrontation with the Japanese occupiers.

He was born on September 26, 1895, in Würzburg into the family of a commercial agent. He served in the First World War as a machine-gun officer, receiving the Iron Cross of both classes and sustaining several wounds. After the war, he became involved with the Freikorps, suppressing communist uprisings, then joined the NSDAP, graduated from university, and earned a doctorate in political science. Seemingly, a typical Nazi careerist.

However, even then, another side of him was emerging: alcoholism, gambling addiction, thievery, and, most importantly, a pathological attraction to minors. In 1934, he was convicted of the sexual abuse of a minor, stripped of his titles and doctorate, and sentenced to two years in prison. Another similar case followed. A normal society would have long since written him off. But Dirlewanger had an old friend from the Freikorps—Gottlob Berger, who was close to Himmler. Thanks to him, in 1937, he was sent to the Condor Legion in Spain, where he once again distinguished himself through brutality.

In 1940, Berger and Himmler decided to fully utilize his “talents.” Thus, the SS Sonderkommando Dirlewanger was formed—initially composed of convicted poachers (whose skills in the woods and with weapons were deemed useful for anti-partisan operations). Later, they began recruiting all sorts of criminals, rapists, murderers, deserters, and eventually, political and foreign collaborators. The unit grew from a company to a battalion, regiment, assault brigade, and finally, to an entire SS division.

This was not an army but a gang in black uniforms. Their mission was fighting partisans in the occupied territories, primarily in Belarus and Poland. In practice, they carried out mass punitive actions against the civilian population. Khatyn, Borki, Ola, and dozens of other Belarusian hamlets and villages are on their conscience. During the Warsaw Uprising in 1944, the “Dirlewanger men,” alongside the Kaminski Brigade, carried out a massacre in Wola.

Dirlewanger himself encouraged all of this. An alcoholic and a sadist, he personally participated in torture and executions, allowing his subordinates any atrocities. His unit became a symbol of the extreme horror of the Nazi occupation.

Toward the end of the war, the division was crushed in the pocket near Halbe. Dirlewanger himself was wounded for the 12th time and captured by the French in May 1945 (in Althausen, Baden-Württemberg). He was guarded by Polish soldiers serving in the French Corps. Between June 4th and 5th, 1945, he was brutally beaten in the prison with rifle butts to his head and abdomen. Oskar died from the beatings around June 7th at the age of 49. Officially, the cause of death was listed as “natural causes.”

Note: It was the SS Dirlewanger unit that the partisans fought against in the Soviet film “Come and See.”

USSR, 1963. Moscow decided to strengthen its influence in Africa and began to befriend Morocco. King Hassan II had a problem: his citrus fruits were rotting on the plantations, and he was short on money.

The Kremlin proposed a barter. The USSR would send tractors, combine harvesters, nitrogen fertilizers, and glassware to Africa, while the holds of the ships returning to the USSR would be packed with those very Moroccan tangerines. These tangerines were far superior to the Georgian ones—they were bright orange, seedless, sweet, and incredibly easy to peel.

This massive import of fruit gave birth to the main hero of Soviet animation: Cheburashka. Eduard Uspensky came up with the character exactly when the flow of Moroccan cargo was at its peak. In the story, the big-eared creature is found in a crate of oranges, and this was not just the author’s fantasy. At the port of Odessa, dockers frequently found exotic small animals or lizards in crates from Africa that had fallen asleep among the fruit.

The harvest in Morocco took place at the end of November. By the time the ships reached Leningrad and Odessa, it was December, which is when the tangerines appeared on the shelves of Soviet grocery stores (gastronoms). They became the signature scent of New Year’s in the USSR.

Felix was not a cat, but a Polish Szlachcic (Nobleman) in the Russian Empire.

In his youth, he was so religious that he dreamed of becoming a Catholic priest. However, upon witnessing poverty and injustice, the place of the Bible in his soul was taken by Karl Marx’s Das Kapital. He paid dearly for his beliefs, enduring 11 years of hard labor, imprisonment, and exile. This experience forged the “Iron Felix.”

After the Revolution, Lenin entrusted him with the creation of the Cheka (All-Russian Extraordinary Commission), the shield of Soviet power. Dzerzhinsky built the gigantic state security apparatus from scratch. His formula for the ideal Chekist became a classic: a cool head, a warm heart, and clean hands. Felix was the perfect executor of the Party’s will.

The paradox: the country’s most feared man became the savior for 5 million homeless children left behind after the Civil War and World War I. Dzerzhinsky created and headed the “All-Russian Commission for Improving the Lives of Children” and successfully raised orphans into full-fledged citizens.

Possessing nearly absolute power, he lived like a monk, sleeping in his office at Lubyanka behind a screen on a simple soldier’s cot. No dachas or gold. After his death, only a change of underwear and an old Nagant revolver were found in his safe.

Dzerzhinsky died on July 20, 1926 (Felix was 48 years old). At a Central Committee Plenum, Dzerzhinsky delivered a furious speech, defending the economy against bureaucrats and the opposition. His nerves were frayed. A few hours after his two-hour speech, his heart stopped due to a heart attack.

Leningrad. The Siege lasted from September 8, 1941, to January 27, 1944 (872 days).

The first blockade winter was the most horrifying: bread rations plummeted to 125 grams per day for dependents, people ate carpenter’s glue, wallpaper, leather from belts, collapsed in the streets and did not rise again. Hundreds of thousands of lives were claimed by January-February 1942. The city seemed doomed—without food, without warmth, under constant shelling.

But in the spring of 1942, a decision came that saved thousands: vegetable gardens. In March, the executive committee of the Leningrad Soviet passed a resolution “On Personal Consumer Gardens for Workers and Their Associations.” Every resident, every enterprise, every organization had to provide themselves with vegetables. Everything that could be dug up was allocated for garden beds: vacant lots, stadiums, parks, squares, river and canal embankments, courtyards, even central squares.

Leningrad transformed into one enormous vegetable garden. Cabbage grew in St. Isaac’s Square; the cobblestones were dug up and replaced by neat rows of cabbage heads surrounding the cathedral. Turnips, potatoes, and rutabaga were planted in the Field of Mars. In the Summer Garden—carrots, beets, cauliflower, dill. The Hanging Garden of the Hermitage, the Round Court of the Academy of Arts, Decembrists’ Square—everywhere stone was replaced by agricultural plantings. Lawns, flowerbeds, even Palace Square, all went under potatoes. They planted everything that could sprout: potato peels with “eyes,” skins, leftover seeds.

633 subsidiary farms of enterprises and 1,468 associations of individual gardeners were organized—over 176,000 people took to the land. Seeds were distributed free of charge, brochures like “How to Grow Vegetables in a Besieged City” were published, and people were taught how to fight rats and pests. Schoolchildren, women, the elderly—everyone who could hold a shovel went to the garden beds. The harvest was guarded strictly: in wartime, vegetable theft was punishable immediately by bullet.

The 1942 harvest was modest—the plan was only 45% fulfilled, but this amounted to 136,400 tons of vegetables. Three times better than in 1941. In 1943, there were even more gardens—almost every family had their own plot.

The diet was entirely vegan. But it provided vitamins, fiber, and at least some calories. Most importantly, it gave people the strength to survive the subsequent winters. Hunger did not disappear completely, but it no longer killed on such a massive scale.

The city fed itself. It didn’t wait for handouts from above but dug the earth, sowed, weeded, and harvested.

My thoughts: Why do people in all post-apocalyptic media immediately start eating each other, looting, and fighting over canned goods? Is it simply easier for movies to show a raider with a gun than a shovel in hand? No, in the first winter in Leningrad, such things also happened, but the NKVD earned its ration well…

From November 20th to December 25th, 1941, the bread ration reached its lowest point throughout the entire blockade: 125 grams per day for employees, dependents, and children, and 250 grams for soldiers, industrial workers, and engineering/technical staff. It was a piece the size of a child’s palm—black, heavy, and sticky. Yet, this piece was what separated life from death. People cut it with thread so it wouldn’t crumble, hid it under their pillows, and ate it slowly, stretching it out for the entire day. This 125-gram piece became the symbol of the Siege.

The bread was baked at 13 bread factories and in several city bakeries—production did not stop for a single day, despite bombings, shelling, and the lack of electricity. Ovens were fired with firewood, flour was ground by hand, and dough was kneaded in barrels. But there was almost no real flour left. Stocks ran out quickly, and then substitutions began—one after another, each more desperate than the last.

In the early days of the blockade, the bread still consisted of a mixture of rye, oat, barley, soy, and malt flour. A month later, flax and hemp oil cake (residue after oil pressing), bran, sweepings from sacks (flour stuck to the walls), and wallpaper dust were added. By the winter of 1941–1942, the recipe had changed completely—it contained only 50–75% flour, with the rest filled by additives:

1. Edible cellulose (from wood) — 10–15%,
2. Oil cake and malt — 10–15%,
3. Wallpaper dust and sack sweepings — 2% each,
4. Pine needles — up to 1%,
5. Sometimes husks, sawdust, bark, and even carpenter’s glue (which was boiled and added for stickiness).

The bread turned out almost black, bitter, with a taste of pine needles or oil cake, heavy as a stone. It crumbled in the hands, stuck to the teeth, caused swelling and stomach pains—but it provided at least some calories and vitamins. Scientists from the Leningrad Technological Institute and the central laboratory of Glavkhleb (Main Bread Directorate) worked on the recipe around the clock: they tried to preserve even a small amount of nutritional value, increase the volume, and make it edible.

The rations changed several times. After November 1941, when the “Road of Life” opened across Lake Ladoga, the ration gradually increased:

• December 1941: 350 g for workers, 200 g for others.
• January–February 1942: 400–500 g for workers, 300 g for children and dependents.

But even 500 grams of blockade bread was insufficient. People ate it with water, with soup made from carpenter’s glue, with leaves, or with leather strips. Bread ration cards became the new currency. Queues for bread stretched for hours, under shelling and in the frost. Many people died right at the doors of the distribution points, yet the blockade bread helped millions of people survive.