In the command vehicle of the commander of the 1st Guards Heavy Tank Brigade, Malashenko, who was sitting in the commander's position, was debugging the radio at hand. A hoarse blind tone came from the radio transmitter in his other hand.
, it does not look like effective communication has been established.
"Miss the days of having someone set up your radio for you?"
Malashenko, who was sitting in the turret, was stunned. His right hand that was dialing the frequency of the radio button suddenly stopped. Iushkin, who was sitting outside the turret and smoking, heard the sound of continuing to speak.
"Sometimes I think how nice it would be if our tanks had always been crewed by five people. If that were the case, Nikolay might not have to die in the train station."
On the surface, it sounds a bit like Iushkin deliberately not opening and lifting certain pots.
But in fact, the severe pain of losing a comrade is the same for every member of the No. 177 crew. This pain and the avoidance of not wanting to remember are not only burdened by Malashenko.
After returning to this city full of sad memories, Iushkin, who seemed to be getting more and more sentimental, would always be idle and dazed. Several times, he did not even notice the footsteps of Malashenko coming from behind.
Until he was patted on the shoulder by Malashenko and his whole body started to tremble.
Although he was somewhat evasive when asked why, Iushkin's eyes could not lie according to his will.
Malashenko knew what Iushkin was thinking, but at the same time, this sadness was unknowingly infecting Malashenko, and Malashenko could not control or escape it with his own subjective consciousness.
Human hearts are made of flesh, and even the hearts of heroes are not stone-hearted and emotionless.
Iushkin said this casually, intentionally or unintentionally, and Malashenko, who stopped what he was doing, fell into memories.
"Ideal? I...I haven't thought about that kind of thing, Comrade Commander. I just want to go home and take care of my wife and children after the war is over. I owe them a lot because of this war. I want my children to
Growing up in a family with a father is probably my ideal."
"Promote me to commander? Let me command a tank alone? This...can I do it? Comrade Commander."
"Let's go! Let's go quickly! Don't let everyone be unable to leave!"
Scenes of the past flashed through Malashenko's mind like a slideshow. The bits and pieces that Nikolai left in his memory are still complete and clear. But the numb soul covered with bruises is still intact.
I can no longer recall the heartbreaking feeling and what it was like.
"It's my fault. I shouldn't have sent him to command a tank. Changing tanks is only a minor condition..."
Iushkin, who was sitting outside the turret, did not reply immediately. Instead, he held a cigarette in his mouth and raised his head to stare at the distant horizon. The smoke-filled sky above Stalingrad still cannot see the full sun under the blue sky.
"Have you told his family about Nikolai?"
The top cover of the turret was opened outwards. Malashenko, who was sitting in the turret, could see Iushkin sitting next to the turret. When he asked this question, there was a hint of sadness and touch on his face that was not easy to detect.
, as if saying this sentence itself would make him feel uneasy and in pain.
"I don't know. This matter has been left to Comrade Political Commissar. He is more professional than you and me in this matter. I don't think we have the courage to tell the truth..."
Relying on the armor on his back, Malashenko regained his composure from his contemplation and cheered up again.
People who are immersed in the memories of the past cannot move towards the future, and Malashenko knows this very well.
The dead can never come back to life. The living must continue to move forward with sad memories and the responsibilities and inheritance left behind. It is so simple to respect the deceased.
Dila—ZiZiZi—
After repeatedly debugging the radio station at hand, Malashenko finally found a suitable channel. After confirming that the connection was correct, Malashenko immediately pressed the call button on the microphone in his hand, put it to his mouth and spoke.
"Can you hear the call of the golden bear? Please reply."
The temporary blind tone from the wireless transmitter lasted for a while. Malashenko, who was a little impatient, mistakenly thought that he had tuned the wrong channel. He was about to reach out and fiddle with the control panel again, fine-tuning it.
Suddenly a familiar voice came from the microphone speaker.
"I heard you very clearly. This is the giant bear's den. How is the progress on your side?"
Even if he couldn't see the other person's face from a long distance, Malashenko could be sure that the person he was talking to at this moment was none other than Petrov, the political commissar who stayed behind at the brigade headquarters and was responsible for coordinating the overall work.
Hearing the familiar voice of comrade political commissar again made Malashenko, who had just fucked a foot, couldn't help but feel happy. Being alive to hear those familiar voices after every battle can be regarded as the best reward for winning the battle.
"Everything is going well on our side. The expected advancement goal has been completed. This place is now ours. If there are no problems, I plan to continue to lead the team forward. I feel that our brigade has the hope of being the first to defeat Paulus.
Gui Lao’s ass, this is a great honor.”
"Oh, I almost forgot, what's going on with Lavrinenko and Kulbalov? Have you contacted them?"
As the war continues to progress smoothly, the frontline brigade headquarters of the 1st Guards Heavy Tank Brigade can now be located only a few kilometers away from the attacking troops. And as the troops continue to advance smoothly, they are still changing positions from time to time.
to keep up with progress.
At this point in the war, there was no longer any need to worry about the possibility of a counterattack by the lingering German troops. The Kraut flies in the sky had been suppressed by the superior Soviet annihilation aviation units and turned into an erratic guerrilla force.
With the air and ground advantages under control, there is nothing wrong with locating the brigade headquarters so close to the front line. This was done after discussion between Malashenko, political commissar Petrov, and their brigade leadership team.
decision made.
There is another advantage to locating the brigade headquarters closer to the front.
Malashenko's command vehicle has a dedicated high-power radio station, which allows him to directly communicate with the political commissar Petrov in the rear. This efficient communication method of instant contact is much better than the troublesome radio station, but the disadvantage is the signal
Sometimes it may not work well or exceed the communication range.
This is a common occurrence in Stalingrad, a city with scorched earth ruins and complex terrain.
Malashenko, who was holding a microphone in his hand, did not wait too long. The voice of political commissar Petrov on the other end soon sounded again.