Beauty with short hair and beauty with long hair are two completely different concepts. This is just like you think Lexington is gentle, virtuous and extremely beautiful, but it is undeniable that the model worker Zi Baicai actually has pretty good looks. These are two completely different things but in the end they reach the same goal.
the concept of.
Malashenko is used to seeing the wonderful feeling brought by Natalia's bun-top short hair. Strictly speaking, Natalia's hairstyle suits Malashenko's taste.
But it is undeniable that the somewhat gray-faced girl in front of her is also very beautiful. Her long golden hair cascading down her shoulders like a waterfall has obviously been wrapped in the little nurse hat and deliberately tied up, maybe for work needs.
It was done intentionally.
The scene was a little awkward for a while. Malashenko coughed twice first to lighten the atmosphere. The girl who was also looking directly at Malashenko also had a warm face and avoided his gaze.
"Okay, can you tell me your name?"
Although Malashenko's sudden question without warning was a bit abrupt, the girl finally said her name slowly after thinking about it for a moment.
"Anya, Anya Pokoreva, just call me Anya."
Anya is a very common name in the Soviet Union. Malashenko has seen at least seven or eight girls named Anya from last year to now, but the only one left to Malashenko is the Anya at this moment.
What impressed me most.
"Nice name..."
Now that the embarrassment was relieved, Malashenko simply gave up his intention to leave immediately, walked to a small chair in the room, pulled it out and sat down.
"What do you do? I think your clothes suggest you are a nurse."
Malashenko, who was sitting in a chair and talking to himself, was fiddling with the gadgets on the table next to him in a bored manner. A small metal container that looked like a wine bottle aroused Malashenko's interest.
"An army nurse, a field hospital establishment. I was just recruited into the army last year. However, my unit has been disbanded, and now I am responsible for helping the people and handling some emergencies in Stalingrad."
The metal container, which looked like an American hip flask, was still new. Malashenko brought it close to his ear and shook it gently, and found that there was still the sound of liquid sloshing inside.
When he opened the lid and smelled it, an overflowing aroma of high-intensity wine immediately hit Malashenko's face.
"Oh, look what I found. I haven't had a drink in at least three months. Do you want a sip?"
Looking at Malashenko shaking the flask at her, Anya, a teetotaler, shook her head and remained silent.
"Well, I have seen some female warriors drinking. I thought you would drink too, but it seems I thought too much."
There was a huge demand for alcohol and cigarettes, two things that could relieve boredom. Malashenko, who had already opened the lid of the pot, raised his head and drank more than one or two vodka in one breath like an old cow drinking water.
As the smell of alcohol surged up, he felt his whole body heat up instantly. Malashenko, who had not experienced this kind of hearty pleasure for a long time, couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief as he took in the strong smell of alcohol.
"It would be nice if I could have more. I can kill more Germans after drinking it, but it's a pity that there are too few..."
She still lacked enough knowledge and understanding of Malashenko, so Anya stood quietly and watched the man in front of her who saved her life continue to operate.
After taking a sip of strong alcohol, Malashenko took out a lighter and cigarettes from his pocket.
Although the Kraut cigarettes that Maxim left for Malashenko had a strange smell and were extremely difficult to smoke, Malashenko was already used to the slightly painful smell and was immersed in it.
Click——
The high-end lighter that had been taken from the corpse of the former colonel of the National Defense Forces was now used by Malashenko. Malashenko, who was holding a lit cigarette in his mouth, could not help but feel a little disappointed when he felt the bitter taste on his lips and teeth.
How great would that scene be if Maxim was still alive and could smoke a cigarette with him?
The sight of Malashenko leaning on the back of his chair in a daze with a cigarette in his mouth was seen by Anya standing beside him.
Anya, who had come into contact with many wounded soldiers and took care of them personally, could understand the sadness in Malashenko's eyes. The look in Malashenko's eyes at this moment was the sadness shared by many Red Army soldiers when they looked at the corpses of their dead comrades in helpless eyes.
"You lost a very important comrade, right?"
Anya's crisp words suddenly rang out in the still room where pindrops could be heard. Malashenko, who came to his senses in a blink of an eye, cast a somewhat surprised look at the girl beside him.
"...Yes, I have lost a lot along the way. They are all the best soldiers and commanders, as well as the best fathers, sons, brothers, and husbands. They give the best of their lives
My years were fixed in the moment of heroic dedication to the greatest cause of the motherland, and I often deceived myself how great it would be if they were still alive."
He has recovered from his previous collapse and nearly lost his mind and has cooled down.
Now Malashenko is like a soul frozen in the abyss, solid and bitingly cold. He retains a deep obsession with his comrades who have passed away forever that is difficult for ordinary people to understand.
His somewhat helpless eyes regained some of their energy. The expressionless Malashenko shook his head and gently stubbed out the cigarette butt in his hand.
"No one can come back, no one. Everything is just wishful thinking that I deceived myself. Sometimes I really look like a poor beggar reaching out to the capitalists to beg. Ha, it's really sad."
Malashenko, whose time spent with a cigarette has passed, no longer has time to cultivate his sentiments selflessly.
The cold Somi submachine gun beside him is waiting for his master's call. The battlefield still filled with artillery fire in the endless smoke is calling for the most loyal warriors. Malashenko, who has inherited a lot, still has many things to do.
The sun shining into the room from the street slanted on the floor, and the retreating figure in the scorching sun seemed a bit dazzling to Anya. She believed that there was more hidden in this man who saved her life than what he showed.
Much more.
"But this is not the way people praise you by word of mouth and in reports. Your figure is portrayed as leading the most elite Red Army tank unit to march forward bravely. Shouldn't this be the real you?"
Taking advantage of the opportunity of looking at each other just now, he stared at the man who saved his life from the corner of his eye for a while.
Anya is now convinced that he is the Red Army tank hero who is already a living legend.
From being complacent at the beginning to being ordinary now, Malashenko, who has seen so many people admiring and admiring him, clearly knows what kind of wounds and tortured blood dripping behind the hero's glory.
Malashenko stood in front of the door that he had just knocked open and stared at the sky above him for a long time. Malashenko, who could not open his eyes under the dazzling sunlight, finally left a sentence that Anya didn't quite understand.