"Hey... ha, today is not a special day, why are you joking like this? I said, don't joke about your nephew, okay? Even if you give me a vaccination to make me mentally prepared, you can't
You can’t joke about this kind of thing, huh?”
"..."
Malashenko's voice trembled like a fool, and he smiled with tears in his eyes. His weird look was no better than the guy who danced and ran out of the mental hospital after the wall collapsed.
But in contrast, Comrade Political Commissar remained silent, with no half-syllable answer, and no additional comments of yes or no.
Malashenko could not get the results he wanted from Comrade Political Commissar, and the most terrifying and frightening fact was slowly gathering over Malashenko's head like a haze.
The harmonica in his hand seemed to be as heavy as a thousand pounds and could not be held. The other arm raised his hand to cover his mouth and nose. The tears that started at an unknown time flowed to his chin and gathered together, forcing them to stop.
Malashenko, who let himself cry, did not look like a tank major general, a hero of the Soviet Union, a leader and division commander praised by people.
When the sky falls, there are only desperate people who are about to be killed by the sky, regardless of occupation or status. Malashenko now feels that the sky above his head has hit the top of his head accurately. It is simply
I want to completely crush and destroy everything about myself.
"You...Kili...what the hell is going on!!!???"
Such words were not shouted in an angry tone, but in a tone as if one was imprisoned in an abyss and begging for salvation.
Malashenko is still praying for salvation and hope, and wants to hear a word from the political commissar that is not true or to deny it, but the cruel facts that follow are completely contrary to this.
"A little-known village, even inconspicuous on the map, no one could have expected that it would be the battlefield of a brutal armored strangulation battle."
"Kirill was ordered to lead the team to capture it. Everything went smoothly at first. He drove away the Germans inside and then stayed there. However, a sudden battle broke out in the south and the infantry was mobilized. The follow-up infantry could arrive within an hour.
, so let the tank troops stay behind first. What kind of wave can the Germans who have just been repelled make in an hour? They don't even have enough time to regroup their troops."
"..."
Malashenko did not interrupt, but continued to stand there as he was. For a moment, Comrade Political Commissar, who almost didn't know how to continue speaking, was in a bad mood. After a while, he calmed down and then continued to speak.
"Then, a German heavy armored force attacked the village, just after the infantry left. It was obviously premeditated and waiting for this time."
"Of course Kirill is not willing to just give up the village to others. When has the leader ever done such a cowardly thing and retreated without a fight? The Germans who came to his door will make him regret it."
"Kirill commanded the troops to fight from the village to the outside of the village, and finally a decisive battle broke out in the suburbs outside the village entrance with the Germans who came up to kill them. The entire company was wiped out, and all tanks including Kirill were destroyed. Germany
He deployed carefully planned tactics and used tactical advantages to make up for the lack of equipment. Kirill, who was isolated and helpless, fought until he fell at the last moment, just as he had personally promised and sworn under the party's banner."
"..."
Bada——
When a soft and crisp sound came from under the feet, it was the sound of a dropped harmonica touching the ground, as if the strings of a harmonica were broken in an instant and could never be restored to their original shape.
No one knew exactly how long it had been before Malashenko spoke again and only asked a brief question.
"Kiril... where is he now?"
The warrior has passed away, but there will always be something left behind.
Be it relics or corpses, Comrade Political Commissar understood what Malashenko was asking about.
"Come with me......"
There were many stretchers lined up in the open space behind the division headquarters tent, covered with snow-white cloth that had just been covered up. There were dots of bright red oozing out from the pure white color, which is the color that symbolizes life.
Either exists or passes away.
A few lonely figures knelt down in front of the stretchers lined up in rows and covered with white cloths. They seemed to be covering their faces with their hands or holding their heads. Their faces could not be seen clearly.
Comrade Political Commissar was in front, Malashenko was behind, and they walked slowly one after another until they came to one of the stretchers.
"Maybe you shouldn't watch it, I... you can decide for yourself."
"..."
There was no answer. Malashenko, who was stiff, didn't know how much strength and courage he had to expend before he could move the body that did not belong to him and slowly squat down.
His empty right hand seemed to be as heavy as a thousand pounds. The moment he reached out to touch the white cloth, he wanted to retract it as if he was electrocuted. However, he still held the corner of the white cloth while trembling. He didn't know whether he had enough strength.
It took a lot of courage to slowly open it.
The face lying under the snow-white cloth is calm and familiar, but under the cold and lifeless temperature, there will never be a familiar voice again. The cruel fact that tears the whole soul to pieces is so cold.
Put it before you and you can't deny it.
For just a moment, Malashenko felt that his soul had left his body. His center of gravity was unstable as if his Achilles tendon had been ruptured. His trembling right hand instantly let go. The body embedded in the godless Shuangmu seemed like a puppet with its strings broken.
He usually leaned back in a daze and suddenly fell to the ground.
"It's not true, it's a lie, it's not true, it's not..."
The muttering and loss of consciousness cannot change the cruel reality. The political commissar who has never opened his eyes and slightly closed his eyes seems to be just talking to himself.
"Kirill and the entire company fought bravely and tenaciously."
"The enemy left tank wreckage everywhere outside the village, and their entire army was almost wiped out."
"The German reinforcements arrived at almost the same time as our reinforcements. Our troops had an absolute advantage. The Germans just hurriedly gathered some of the corpses and wounded and fled in a hurry. There...the village called Marinovo
The place is now under our control, and Kirill's sacrifice was not in vain."
The extremely familiar place name engraved in his memory is no longer important now. Malashenko, whose eyes are blank, just keeps mumbling like a fool and collapses on the ground, standing next to him.
Comrade Political Commissar also stayed with me every step of the way and never moved a step.
A figure who was kneeling in front of many stretchers rubbed his knees on the ground and almost crawled to Malashenko's side. Regardless of the fact that his head was wrapped like a rice dumpling and his arms were still bandaged, he just kept going.
The people on the ground were wailing and mourning uncontrollably towards the teacher and comrade.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, in comparison, comrade division commander! I failed to protect comrade company commander, it's all my fault, I really deserve to die! Damn it! Why is he the one who died and not me!? I really want to take his place.