Talking to a person who acts as a megaphone will not have any constructive effect, and it will be very troublesome and waste time unnecessarily. This is what Malashenko wants to express.
Of course, Colonel Adam, who had already been immersed in human sperm in the big dye vat of the Army Group Headquarters, should be able to understand the implications of what Malashenko wanted to express.
As Paulus's chief adjutant, if Colonel Adam didn't even have this kind of vision, he wouldn't have to mess around. It would be more suitable for him to be a commander on the front line.
Colonel Adam clearly understood that he had no choice and no possibility of refusal.
After giving a slight nod to Malashenko in front of him to show his understanding, he immediately stepped aside and allowed the man who had been following him to fully walk up to the front desk.
"Yes, it's him. This guy is Paulus himself..."
Malashenko, who was in the purgatory city of Stalingrad, had searched his memory countless times, trying to find any information related to Paulus from the memory fragments of his distant past life.
The face of the man in front of him looked even thinner and sluggish than the black and white photo in his memory, like a drug addict. Unimaginable mental torture tortured this originally elegant Germanic man to the point where he looked like he had just left a black coal kiln in the future.
Like a miserable laborer who struggled to escape, it can be said that his whole body is filled with an smell that is incompatible with the brand-new marshal's military uniform.
But even so, no matter how big the gap between the man in front of him and the black-and-white photo in his memory, Malashenko was still able to convince himself that the man in front of him was Paulus himself, and it was guaranteed to be true.
After all, there was only one marshal in the entire Sixth Army, and the silent field marshal's scepter in his hand could not lie.
"Can you tell me your name? I want to know whose hands my security forces and I lost in the end."
Although his appearance is indeed not very good, this old guy Paulus is still showing off!
A condescending aura and tone of voice emerged from his bones, and Malashenko instantly felt very unhappy just by looking at him.
"Damn it, why do these German guys have such bad habits? After losing the war, they still act like nobles coming to a party. Do I owe you eight hundred coins or did I fucking sleep with your wife? Oh, no, his wife is too
The old man must have slept with his daughter."
Malashenko, who was complaining in his heart, could not spoil the bad habits of these Germans. He wanted to kill these Germans. The aggressive Malashenko raised the corner of his mouth and did not take the other party seriously at all.
Then blurted out in a general tone.
"Don't get me wrong, Paulus."
"Don't you think that before you, as a prisoner, ask me my name, you shouldn't do something first?"
"..."
The corners of Paulus's mouth and eyelids obviously trembled because of Malashenko's irrelevant words.
Bowing before the man in front of him who was dressed as a poor farmer and even smelled of sweat, Paulus felt that all his glory and dignity had really disappeared into the dog's belly.
Even if he was defeated no matter how miserable he was, he would not be reduced to this kind of treatment. At the very least, a Soviet marshal with the same military rank and level as himself should come over and discuss the specific matters of surrender in an attitude of respect and equality. Why did he have to be treated like this now?
A poor, sweaty, disgusting farmer?
Paulus, whose eyelids were twitching, even wanted to have a fit on the spot for a moment, just like he had been a little crazy recently and often dropped things and smashed the table over trivial things in the office.
But in the end it was reason that defeated impulse. Paulus, who was not old enough to be sent to a mental hospital, forced himself to calm down.
The current situation that forms are stronger than people cannot help his poor self-esteem and sense of glory to make fun of the lives of so many people present, including his own. Paulus was very aware of this and quickly took practical action.
Without saying a word, Paulus walked slowly in front of Malashenko with a poker face.
After stopping to stare at the opponent's face for more than ten seconds, Paulus gritted his teeth and finally handed the marshal's scepter that he had been holding tightly in his hand into the air, and placed it on his horse with one hand stretched forward.
In front of Rashenko.
"Do you still remember your elementary school teacher's name?"
Paulus, who was already prepared to be humiliated, was stunned. What were these nonsense words?
"Didn't your primary school teacher teach you the meaning of "sincerity"? I have very good eyesight but now I can't see any sincerity. What's wrong with showing it to me?"
Malashenko asked Paulus in a rather ridiculing tone. Paulus, who had never dared to talk to him like this, was really angry. Malashenko could even see the corners of his eyes flashing.
A hint of evil passed by.
"Don't look at me with such a cannibalistic look! Fasis! If you are not convinced, pick up the gun and let's continue fighting. Let's see who can show the other's sincerity first! What do you think?"
Malashenko was not in the mood to know the specific expression of Paulus with his head lowered, and naturally he would not lower his posture and tilt his head to look. As long as Paulus, an old bastard, was not a complete idiot, he would definitely
Malashenko has absolute confidence in following the direction he envisioned.
Fortunately, Paulus, who was able to realize his dream of becoming a marshal at the last moment of his military career, was not unfaithful after all. A pair of hands with practical actions is better than useless talk, and he soon handed over the marshal's scepter to Malashenko again.
before.
"Huh, if you do this earlier, we will all save time..."
The public humiliation of Paulus did not end there.
Malashenko, who had just touched the marshal's scepter with his right hand, gently moved his thumb. The round marshal's scepter in his palm immediately rolled under the force, and fell to the ground with a clear sound like
The midnight bell echoed in the silent air.
"Uh, I'm sorry, Mr. Paulus. The weather is really too cold. My hands have been cramping recently. I hope you can help me pick it up so we can do it again."
...
After hesitating for about five seconds, what was Paulus thinking and what was his expression? Malashenko, who pretended to be fine and looked around at the scenery, didn't see it at all. Of course, there was no need to look.
.
It was only when Paulus, who had endured so much humiliation and burden, finally bent down in front of Malashenko that his right hand had just grasped the marshal's scepter that had fallen to the ground.
The clicking sound, which was forever fixed in a black and white photo, came suddenly without anyone expecting it.
"Are you sure you took the photo? Iushkin."
"Of course, it's as perfect as killing the German's junk tank with one shot! At least the German's camera is not like their junk tank."
"Very good! If you take really good pictures, I will give you a reward. How about two packs of cigarettes?"
Iushkin shook his head, raised his right hand with three thumbs up and giggled.
"Three boxes? You want three boxes of cigarettes?! You greedy guy!"
...
What does it look like when a black-and-white photo from 70 years ago is printed in a patriotic textbook for Russian primary school students?
Paulus, who felt that his world had completely collapsed, would probably never have the chance to know.