The intermittent snowstorm that started the day before continued when the next day arrived. The snowflakes were flying sometimes big and sometimes small, sometimes violent and sometimes light. No one knew when the dark clouds would disperse and the sky would be seen again.
While making the already frozen land even more bone-chilling, it also blocked the dreams of those eagles in the sky who claimed to be the proud sons of heaven.
The harsh nature will not favor any party because of the defenders of the motherland who are fighting each other on this land or the foreign invaders. All the battles are felt by the people living on this land.
Extremely cold, bone-chilling cold like hell.
But this severe cold has more advantages than disadvantages for Malashenko. At least he no longer has to worry about flies that may appear above his head at any time. The German Air Force, which still has the upper hand, cannot participate in the war.
The happiest thing about Rashenko.
The fierce fighting on various fronts lasted for a whole day and was about to come to an end as the sun set behind the dark clouds.
There may be other friendly forces with missions who are still fighting, so hurry up, but Malashenko, who was only ordered to stay in place, can relax a little, even if this short-term relaxation is not enough.
Only temporarily.
After wandering around the battlefield, Malashenko was so cold that he planned to go back to his tent to get warm. If conditions allowed, he could even secretly take a sip of wine with the permission of his political commissar comrades. This would be fatal at minus 30 degrees Celsius.
With the temperature rising, even Malashenko, who doesn't like drinking very much, couldn't help but want to warm up.
"Huh...it's really cold outside. I don't know when this blizzard will stop, but it's best to keep it blowing for a while, so you don't have to worry about those damn German flies."
Malashenko, who was rubbing his hands because of the cold after taking off his gloves, had just entered the tent and before he could finish the words he was mumbling, political commissar Petrov, who was sitting on a chair smoking with his back to Malashenko, raised his hand.
The hand handed over the paper he was holding.
"It was just sent. I'm about to send someone to find you. Take a look."
Looking at Commissar Petrov's posture, Malashenko naturally knew that another telegram about him had been photographed at the brigade headquarters.
"Who took the photo? Front Army Headquarters?"
Political Commissar Petrov was noncommittal, but Malashenko reached out and took the telegram in front of him without asking any more questions.
"...Comrade Commander, you want to come here in person? Is this...information accurate?"
Malashenko, who glanced at the short telegram, grasped the very crucial and necessary information, and his whole expression looked quite unbelievable, even astonished.
But on the contrary, Commissar Petrov's expression looked much more normal, as if he was looking at an ordinary, everyday thing that happened as expected.
"The front army headquarters directly sent the message. Do you think there may be a mistake?"
Commissar Petrov, who put out the cigarette butt in his hand and took a last puff of smoke, stood up from his chair and was obviously ready.
"Let's go get ready together with Lavry. The telegram sent out indicates that Comrade Commander and the others have already set off. According to the timetable, they should arrive soon. I'll go keep an eye on the position and strengthen the security."
Political Commissar Petrov, who had just finished speaking, picked up the military cap on the table and put it on his forehead and strode out of the tent. Malashenko, who still felt a little incredible, held the telegram and checked it again.
.
Since the upgrade and reorganization of the 1st Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment did not leave Malashenko with much preparation time, the newly upgraded 1st Guards Heavy Tank Brigade has been placed in the primary offensive queue for Operation Uranus.
Malashenko, who has been busy preparing to build the 1st Guards Heavy Tank Brigade from beginning to end, has not reported to the front army headquarters once so far.
Even attending meetings to receive combat deployment documents was done on his behalf by political commissar Petrov. Malashenko, who was devoted to the troops, stayed with the soldiers all day long and was extremely busy personally overseeing the preparation and reorganization of the troops.
In other words, Malashenko has not even seen what Vatutin looks like at the moment. At best, he only has some memories from black and white photos of his previous life.
"It's really troublesome...can't you just stay at the front army headquarters? Why do you have to come here in person?"
Malashenko, who was secretly complaining in his heart, did not realize that he, a dignified colonel and commander of the Guards Tank Brigade and a newly minted Hero of the Soviet Union, would always command his vehicle to rush to the front of the team whenever a battle broke out.
His reckless behavior is really no better than that of Vatutin, who is the commander of the front army but has to go to the firing line to inspect the situation. In other words, this is the overall situation of the entire Red Army commanders and fighters. After all, Zhukov is as high as the official
The big boss at that level was still leading people to run around on the front line all day long, and in the end, everyone was in love with each other.
Malashenko, who did not dare to neglect, called his old friend Lavrinenko to get busy.
When leaders come to inspect more or less, they have to show some decent spirit of the troops. The usual scene where tanks are erratic and parked everywhere like tortoises fighting is definitely not acceptable.
The 1st Guards Heavy Tank Brigade, which is good at physically conquering German soldiers but is unkempt, is rarely busy with military appearance issues.
The fully fueled tank was warmed up again and parked more neatly, as if it could engage the enemy at any time, which was more pleasing to the eye.
Those tank soldiers who were so slovenly and so slovenly that they looked like they had escaped from a mental hospital after the wall collapsed were chased by the deputy brigade commander, Comrade Lavrinenko, and were severely criticized one by one. They didn’t even fasten their belt buckles.
, the way his pants are about to fall off his hips is simply unsightly, not to mention the crooked tank hat that looks more like a bandit than a Red Army soldier.
"Look at how you look! The wild bears running in the jungle are more respectable than you. At least the bears know how to go to the river to wash their fur that is stained by mud!"
"...The river has long been frozen in winter, and the bears have hibernated. Where would the wild bears go to wash their fur..."
"What? The wind was too strong and I didn't hear it. Come over to me and repeat it again."
"My driver is calling me, I'll go over first..."
Lavrinenko, who had never paid attention to these details on weekdays, was very angry. He was so slovenly that it was several times worse than himself and his comrade brigade commander not washing their hair for half a year.
"I have to talk to Comrade Political Commissar later. If this continues, there will be no elites. They will look like a bunch of beggars! We must take coercive measures."