Subconsciously startled by this answer without warning, Malashenko didn't even notice the presence of any corpses along the way.
To be precise, Malashenko, who had robbed two cigarettes from the tearful Iushkin, was just puffing away his smoke and did not notice anything directly in front of his car.
"Gan... Did I run over a pile of dead people along the way?"
Malashenko felt a little unbelievable at the conclusion he had come to. If he had really rolled over the body all the way, why did he feel nothing at all while he was hanging outside the turret just now? But the soldier's expression didn't look like that.
Fake.
After thinking for a while, Malashenko finally came closer to the checkpoint, so close that he was only a few meters away from the tank column rumbling past. Then he squatted down and stared closely at the people passing by.
The tank rumbled past in front of him.
"...Four, five, six, six are no problem, it doesn't look like there is a corpse..."
"Huh? Wait, what is this?"
Malashenko, who was squatting on the side of the road and was wondering, suddenly saw a piece of the track plate of a tank that had just passed in front of him, which seemed to have fallen out due to the speed and grinding of the road wheel. After falling to the ground, he immediately
It rolled on the ground twice and then stopped.
Curious about what this thing was, Malashenko stepped forward, stretched out his hand and grabbed the fallen object that he couldn't see clearly in the dark. The instant touch of his fingertips told Malashenko that this was a pretty big thing.
It's soft and feels good to the touch.
"...Why do I have a...not-so-good premonition?"
When the soft touch came from holding this thing in his hand, Malashenko could feel that for a moment, his whole body was frozen as if time had stopped.
When time stopped and his consciousness came back to reality, he had already obtained the original object in front of him under the moonlight. Malashenko couldn't help but frown on the spot.
"...One...one hand?"
Malashenko was very convinced that the thing he held in his palm was a genuine human hand.
It looked like the cut section of the wound started from the wrist. There was no blood flowing out of the cut section. It was obviously a corpse that had been dead for a long time before the hand was cut off and the blood had stopped flowing.
But unfortunately, this is a man's hand, and Malashenko does not have a hand fetish, so "breaking up" and throwing this thing away is the best solution.
"Damn, it looks like it's true. I don't know how many corpses were crushed along the way. Damn!"
Malashenko, who has long been accustomed to crushing his opponents, feels slightly uncomfortable at this moment. Crushing the living and crushing the dead are completely different things. To make matters worse, Malashenko may have to order the troops to spend some time.
Time, dig out the human corpses stuck on the track shoes and road wheels and clean them up. If not handled properly during this mosquito and fly breeding season, plague will easily occur.
"It's really troublesome. Why do bad things like this keep coming to my door lately..."
Malashenko patted the residual smell of corpse on his hands. He rolled up his sleeves and looked at his watch. The time was now 8:30 pm. Normally, if nothing happened, Malashenko would have gone to bed by this time.
, I would have to get up at three or four o'clock the next morning and go straight to fight with the Germans. Lack of sleep would greatly affect the whole day's combat and command efficiency.
Malashenko looked around and thought for a while, but it seemed that there was no other important thing that he had forgotten or left behind.
The work of relocating the troops has been handed over to Lavrinenko, and political commissar Petrov will take care of the establishment of the regiment headquarters and some other miscellaneous, annoying things for the mother-in-law and mother-in-law.
Malashenko, who has become a hands-off shopkeeper, feels that the only thing he can do now is to quickly find a comfortable place where he can barely curl up and sleep. Things like a bed are very important to Malashenko.
It has long been an unattainable luxury. Being able to sleep on a lawn where no one has pooped or peed on is already very satisfying for Malashenko.
"Hurry up and find a place for me to lie down. Don't let any fucking trouble come to your door soon."
There is a Chinese proverb that says, "Whatever you are afraid of will come to you."
Malashenko is not Chinese, but most of the soul and memories in his body come from that distant ancient eastern country.
Therefore, even in a foreign country, the mysterious power from the East is still entangled with Malashenko and has never left.
"Malashenko! I've been looking for you for a long time, but here you are!"
"...Fuck me!"
Malashenko's feet felt as if they were suddenly caught by a pair of hands sticking out of the soil. He was forced to stop moving forward when he heard the shouts from behind.
To Malashenko's surprise, this time the person who stopped him was not Petrov, the political commissar who always waved a telegraph newspaper in his hand, but a busy and sweaty man who had obviously just hurried over from somewhere.
Lavrinenko.
"Petrov's political commissar asked me to tell you when I find you. The army headquarters asked you to report immediately. Commander Chuikov is waiting for you. You'd better act quickly, otherwise you won't sleep tonight. I guess it may be
Call you to a meeting or something."
Lavrinenko's analysis makes sense, and Malashenko thinks so too, feeling that his quality sleep tonight may be completely ruined.
With helplessness written all over his face, Malashenko came to the headquarters of the Army Group, which was not too far away. Ever since he was transferred to Chuikov's 62nd Army by Zhukov, Malashenko had always been a little uncomfortable with being treated like this.
People call you here and there, and you feel like you're always at your call.
Comrade Lao Zhu rarely asked Malashenko to go to the front army headquarters in person in the past. Basically, matters that could be solved over the phone or telegram were not discussed in person. However, Chuikov's style of doing things seemed to be exactly the opposite.
Shenke could no longer count the number of times he had been called to the Army Headquarters by Comrade Lao Cui to discuss matters.
"Hey, it's really troublesome..."
Although he was in a bad mood because he had wasted a good night's sleep, Malashenko shook his head and sighed secretly and walked towards the gate of the headquarters with a guard handle.
It was almost nine o'clock at night, and the lights at the headquarters of the 62nd Army were still brightly lit. His eyes were bloodshot. Chuikov, who almost had the word "tired" branded on his face with a branding iron, was still busy preparing for tomorrow's battle.
"The Guards' First Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment has arrived. They have suffered heavy losses in strength and technical equipment and need to rest. But I decided to put them into battle immediately tomorrow to catch the Germans by surprise! I guess the Guards
The movements of the First Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment have been watched by the Germans. The longer it takes, the worse it will be for us. Those Germans will make all preparations for this."