Dortmund was the largest and most important industrial city in the eastern Ruhr region, once home to 150,000 people before the war—Germany's fifth-largest city.
In the south, along the banks of the Ruhr River, massive chimneys spewed smoke from steelworks and coal plants into the sky. Industrial waste poured unchecked into the river, staining the waters with filth and filling the air with a stench that spread across the valley.
Like every great industrial city in Europe at the time, Dortmund paid the price for its progress. Its pollution was infamous—though not yet as suffocating as London's fog-choked skies. But just as the Thames had become a poisoned current, so too were nearly all the rivers flowing through the Ruhr blackened by industry.
On the afternoon of 15 November, a squad of soldiers marched a group of hooded prisoners to the riverbank. Their fate was already decided.
"Any last words?" Major Mainz asked coldly.
He had already broken them in interrogation, uncovering their Bolshevik networks, their contacts, their plans. With the city pacified and Republican officials soon to arrive, these men had outlived their usefulness.
Mainz drew his pistol—a brand-new Luger P08, Germany's pride, the first true semi-automatic sidearm. He leveled it without hesitation.
"Hmph! You can kill us, but you can't kill the revolution!" shouted one of the prisoners, defiant even at the edge of the grave. "Long live the great—"
Bang!
The man crumpled mid-sentence, his voice cut short by the crisp crack of gunfire.
The others faltered. A middle-aged prisoner, trembling, fell to his knees, the instinct for survival overpowering every shred of ideology.
"Don't kill me! Please, don't kill me! I'll do anything—anything you want!"
Mainz lowered his pistol slightly, his gaze sharp and mocking.
"Oh? Anything? Then give me a reason. Convince me why I should spare you."
The man stammered, desperate. "If… if you let me go, I can give you names—the list of others assigned to stir uprisings across the Ruhr."
Mainz studied him for a long moment. The man's eyes, wide with terror, flickered with a faint, desperate hope. Finally, a cold smile curved on the major's lips.
"…Deal."
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The man's betrayal proved decisive. Within days, German forces swept up the Bolshevik agitators scattered across the Ruhr. Dortmund, Essen, and the other major cities fell quiet again, their brief chaos crushed in less than ten days.
25 November, Essen — Ruhr Valley
The sun had set behind the smoke-stained skyline. On the banks of the River Emscher, Major Mainz stood in silence, his eyes fixed on the horizon, lost in thought.
"Major, are you really letting him go?" asked Second Lieutenant Gruss, commander of the guard platoon. His voice carried unease. To him, the Bolsheviks were little more than vermin, opportunists who preyed on a wounded nation. Letting one live seemed madness.
Mainz turned slowly, his expression unreadable.
"To the east, on the ruins of Tsarist Russia, a new red empire has been born. They say nearly every soul there is a Bolshevik. Tens of millions, Lieutenant. Tell me—can you kill them all?"
Gruss fell silent, unable to answer.
At that moment, the middle-aged prisoner—the same one who had bargained for his life—was led forward, blindfolded. At Mainz's order, the cloth was removed.
The man blinked against the dim light. When his eyes adjusted, he saw a small boat waiting at the river's edge. Relief flooded his features. For ten days he had lived with the fear that Mainz would break his word. Now, seeing the boat, he realized the German meant to honor the deal.
"Your intelligence was valuable," Mainz said evenly. "It served us well. God alone knows whether you spoke truth, but what matters is this: I know it, and if I wish, your comrades will know it too."
The man froze, realization dawning. Mainz held his life not only in this moment but forever. At any time, he could expose him as a traitor.
The major leaned closer.
"I hear your Soviets are desperate—short of guns, short of bullets, bleeding under the White Army's attacks. Go back and tell them this: we have weapons. We have plenty. If they want them, send a man to arrange it. Better yet, come yourself."
The man's eyes flickered with sudden light. He blurted without thinking:
"You… you want to sell arms to the Soviets?"
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