The moment he walked into the division headquarters camp, Malashenko seemed to realize something, but in the end he still did not dare to say that he was sure, but there was a feeling in the dark that the situation was heading towards
The last thing I want to see is the development in the worst direction.
As for what the worst-case scenario is, Malashenko himself can't say clearly. He only hopes that after asking the political commissar for verification in person, the worst result he expected will not happen.
"What's wrong? Why...why is everyone looking so bad and looking so bad? What happened?"
Malashenko's words were intended to stir up the atmosphere, as if as long as the scene where he spoke was more lively and warm, the worst-case scenario expected would not befall him.
Comrade Comrade Political Commissar was sitting on a chair, with his only remaining hand holding the corner of the table, holding a half-burned cigarette between his fingers. Not to mention the expression on his face, this state alone made Comrade Ma very nervous.
It's surprise.
Since being diagnosed with late-stage pancreatic cancer, Commissar Petrov has followed Dr. Karachev's advice and almost changed his habit of smoking cigarettes like Comrade Ma.
Unless you are working overtime late at night or doing something else that requires refreshing your mind, you will almost never see cigarettes being caught in the hands of political commissar comrades. But now Malashenko does not see political commissar comrades working overtime.
Or maybe he was busy with something else, just sitting like this with a clearly half-smoked cigarette in his hand.
Malashenko subconsciously turned his head, but then he saw that the ashtray made of a German helmet on the table was stuffed with a lot of cigarette butts, which was at least as much as a pack of cigarettes.
Maybe it was smoked by more than just Comrade Political Commissar. After all, that big smoker Lavri had just left the division headquarters camp. Who knows how much he had smoked here before.
But there is only one thing that Malashenko can be sure of at this moment. The cigarette in his hand must not be the first one that the political commissar has smoked.
"What's wrong with you? You're talking. What happened to make you welcome me back in this state? We went south to complete the mission, and also severely defeated the bastards of the Skeleton Master. You know this. This
Shouldn't it be a great joy? Why bother like this?"
Malashenko really didn't understand why everyone was either a Riddler or taciturn with a strange look on his face. What's more, after seeing him, his eyes even flickered and he didn't dare to look directly into his eyes. What the hell is this?
What could have happened to make it like this? Even the political commissar has ended up in this state.
Malashenko's face was filled with impatience. Comrade Comrade Political Commissar seemed to be thinking about something. Without commenting, he did not directly answer. Instead, he flicked the cigarette ashes in his hand and threw the cigarette butt into the ashes.
In the tank, after a soft but heavy sigh, he slowly spoke to Malashenko.
"Before I tell you, I have to give you something first. I hope this will make you mentally prepared."
"...."
Malashenko blinked his eyes twice and was speechless. He had no idea what Comrade Comrade Political Commissar meant or what he would give him next. The staff officers and other comrades in the entire division were busy with their own affairs.
Yes, no one dared to look over here, and no one spoke. It was eerily quiet.
When Comrade Comrade Political Commissar threw away his cigarette butt, he reached into his pocket and took out something, put it on the table and placed it safely in front of Malashenko. Mara, who had never guessed what Comrade Comrade Political Commissar would give him,
Only then did Shenke realize that what Comrade Political Commissar took out of his pocket was actually a harmonica.
"...This, I thought it was something. What's so strange about this thing? Isn't it just a..."
Malashenko tried to pretend to be relaxed, smiling, as if he had breathed a long sigh of relief.
But the words he was laughing at suddenly stopped, because the harmonica in front of him looked familiar and stained with blood.
After taking a closer look, Malashenko realized that this harmonica... this harmonica really looked inexplicably familiar and had definitely been seen before.
The blood stains on it have dried and stopped, but they have not turned black enough to be stained by the passage of time.
With his head blank, Malashenko didn't think about too many other things, or he didn't dare to think about it at all, and he didn't have the consciousness to think about it. He just mechanically stretched out his arm like a machine on a factory assembly line and picked up the
He took the things on the table in front of him and placed them in his palms.
It was only after he took the harmonica in front of him and took a closer look at it that Malashenko realized in shock that his heart suddenly felt like a mountain was falling apart and the earth was shaking.
This harmonica, which made me feel strangely familiar, was actually Kirill's personal belongings. I once borrowed it to perform Midnight Nocturne with Natalia, letting the leisurely singing and melody resound through the Moscow night sky.
"...Why, why did you give this to me? Why would Kirill give it to me if he can't keep it for himself?"
Is Malashenko unaware of the implications?
Comrade Political Commissar raised his eyes slightly and glanced at Malashenko in front of him with such doubts.
However, I found that Malashenko's facial expression was not completely ignorant. There was obviously a look of disbelief and fear in his familiar eyes, just like a child who had done something wrong and was afraid of what would happen.
It's like I'm about to lose something.
But the more Malashenko looked like this, the more Comrade Comrade Political Commissar did not dare to look at him, or even speak the next words.
I don’t know how long passed in a dead silence. When Malashenko did not continue to ask questions, but just held the harmonica in his hand and kept a rigid and fixed face, Comrade Comrade Political Commissar, who knew that what had happened was absolutely inescapable, finally
Open your mouth again.
"Kirill died. It was the thing he cherished most during his lifetime. It was a gift given to him by his mother before he left when he was admitted to college."
"You are more suitable to hold this thing than me. You are the one who guided him to become a true Red Army soldier, a party member, and a brave man. Giving it to you is what Kirill hopes."
"..."
"..."
There was no subsequent dialogue. What remained between this pair of old and young partners who had been tested in the battlefield and had a tacit understanding of cooperation was only silence between you and me.
After an unknown amount of time passed, the stiff-faced Malashenko suddenly laughed, but the way his tears were about to flow out and his voice was trembling really didn't look like a good smile.