"It looks like I interrupted your chat. Do you need me to avoid it for a while?"
Hearing the familiar words ringing in his ears, Malashenko, who was describing to Major Malokov how high the turret would fly after the German tank exploded, and using both hands, immediately turned around.
"Uh...Comrade Political Commissar, have you finished handling the matter?"
After hearing Malashenko's awkward reply, he couldn't help but shake his head and smile. Colonel Petrov, who had only one left arm, immediately raised his hand and silently pointed at the clock hanging on the wall nearby.
Malashenko, who was not sure why, subconsciously looked at the position of Colonel Petrov's finger. The hour hand was already pointing to six o'clock in the afternoon, but Malashenko couldn't help but be startled.
"What the hell? I actually had an awkward chat with this guy Malokov all afternoon???"
Malokov and Malashenko, who have found common ground in their words, are like two chatty talkers who can't stop talking. The more careless you are about time, the faster it passes. I feel deeply about this.
The surprised Malashenko could only express his mood at the moment by scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.
After waving goodbye to Malokov, a major of the Ministry of Internal Affairs with a firm belief and sense of integrity, Malashenko, who told his "royal driver" Corporal Valentin that he could go home from get off work, immediately got into Petro Colonel Husband’s own car.
Before Colonel Petrov, who originally planned to ask his chauffeur to drive, could speak, Malashenko, who volunteered, stepped forward and spoke to Colonel Petrov in front of the car door.
"If possible, let me be your driver for once, Comrade Political Commissar, just to fulfill my little wish."
After hearing this unexpected little request from Malashenko, Colonel Petrov immediately smiled, and then raised his remaining left arm and gently touched Malashenko's forehead as if brushing his own child.
.
"You still call me Comrade Political Commissar when there are no outsiders like this? Have you forgotten what we agreed on?"
Facing Colonel Petrov's kind and warm smile, he was stunned for a moment. After a while, Malashenko slowly came back to his senses and then scratched his head in embarrassment and smiled.
"I called him wrong, Uncle Peter."
The GAZ Jeep, which does not have any hydraulic drive-by-wire auxiliary equipment and is driven only by mechanical levers, is like an untamed bull. It is powerful but cannot be easily controlled by ordinary people. This is the best way to describe it, but this is not the case.
As a Red Army tank commander, Malashenko had no problem here at all.
Having graduated from the Ulyanovsk Tank Academy a few years before the outbreak of the Polish campaign, Malashenko, who is already highly skilled so far, has undergone systematic and comprehensive training on all Red Army tanks, including but not limited to tanks.
Driving, gunnery courses, and even loader instruction on how to correctly achieve the highest shell loading efficiency.
Malashenko, who already had memories of how to drive a tank, was holding the steering wheel instead of the joystick at the moment, but he had experienced the "silly, big, black and thick" old cars of Ma Xiong countless times in his later study abroad career.
Malashenko, who has driving experience, does not feel that he is incompetent. Driving an old-fashioned jeep is really not a big problem if you think about it carefully.
Driving this old-fashioned jeep that looked quite dated to him, he was driving in the city of Moscow under the night cover. Malashenko, who drove the car slowly along the directions dictated by Colonel Petrov, was obviously a little absent-minded.
The question that had been holding in my mind for a long time since the reunion came out of my mouth after thinking about it for a moment.
"Uncle Peter, can you tell me what's going on with your right arm?"
Colonel Petrov, who was originally directing Malashenko to drive the car towards the next intersection, couldn't help but be stunned for a moment after hearing this. Natalia, who was sitting in the back seat of the car, was still quiet and well-behaved, sighing softly. Colonel Petrov's thoughts seemed to have returned to the city of Kiev where artillery fire was pouring, and he could not help but shake his head slowly.
"This matter cannot be finished in a short while, Malashenko, I will talk to you slowly later while drinking."
Malashenko, who felt a little regretful as soon as he said the words, heard Colonel Petrov's answer and wanted to slap himself in the face. How could such a scarring idiot question come out of his own mouth? Did it pop out?
Colonel Petrov's assigned residence in Moscow was not large, so much so that in the eyes of Malashenko, who had traveled from later generations, it was even considered a bit dilapidated. This house looked better than a country house at best and was located in A bungalow on the corner of an inconspicuous alley in the city of Moscow can hardly be associated with a colonel listed as a high-ranking official in the Ministry of Internal Affairs.
Colonel Petrov, who read a look in the eyes of Malashenko who had just got out of the car next to him, slowly opened his mouth and responded with a faint self-deprecating smile, immediately spoke.
"Are you a little surprised? In fact, many people think so. But after all these years, I can only live in this kind of house. Those houses that pursue dignity and atmosphere are not suitable for me. Living in that kind of environment will make me feel sorry for those people. For those who have passed away, I think they are already extremely lucky compared to sleeping in tents, on the grass, or even in cold graves."
With Colonel Petrov's soft words echoing in his ears, Malashenko felt a little inexplicably uncomfortable but could not speak. The back of Colonel Petrov walking in front of him was so similar to his father in his previous life. Similarity and overlap.
He does not pursue fame and wealth, but is willing to sacrifice everything for his country and the faith he swore in his heart. Even if his beloved ancestor wants to repay him with an equal reward, he will refuse it with a slow smile. In the 21st century, these purest red hearts, which look like fools, are undoubtedly the most noble imprints of that once great and special era.
"It's a pity. When you were in elementary school, your father jumped over the wall and skipped classes. The leader of the army drove him to the military school and then he escaped through the back door of the school. If he was educated, he wouldn't have stayed in the position of company commander until he retired. In the end, even the retirement fee was only half, you little brat wouldn’t laugh at your dad, would you?”
It was like yesterday's words from his father in his previous life still echoed in Malashenko's ears even now. With a glimmer of crystal clear in the corner of his eyes, Malashenko couldn't find the words to use to describe this kind of battle. The greatness shared by the soldiers under the banner of gòng chǎnism is probably the most indescribable feeling in the world.