Chapter 2621 Who is the

As long as he can speak in a friendly manner, Malashenko generally does not like to quarrel with others. After all, the problem cannot be solved even if it takes a lot of effort to quarrel.

With Malashenko's good talk first, the ordinary German soldier who had never seen much of the world calmed down, and then even asked the tall man in front of him in surprise.

"Are you Malashenko? The "Iron Butcher"?"

As soon as the words came out, I felt something was wrong. This ordinary German soldier suddenly began to regret it. After all, the nickname "Iron Butcher" sounded so bloody that it really didn't sound good, didn't it? If the man in front of him had lost his temper and ordered him to be pulled out for a tug-of-war, then the regiment leader would have been killed by himself. He could have survived.

Malashenko didn't know what was going on in the little German's head, but he just thought it was really fun to ask him this question.

"I didn't expect that any German soldier caught on the street would know my name. It seems that I and my nickname are quite famous."

It is true that Malashenko knows a lot of things.

But what Malashenko didn't know was that his name had long been "famous and evil spread far and wide" among the German army.

The bastard German veterans would use Malashenko to frighten new recruits, saying things like "If you beep again, I'll feed you to the steel butcher", it's almost a joke. The propaganda brochure issued internally by the SS also has Malashenko's name printed on it, and it also comes with a photo. If you kill the guy in the photo, you will get the Iron Cross and a lot of money, and the reward is as high as three dollars. 100,000 Reichsmarks, if you scrape together a little more, you can buy a King Tiger tank.

It is said that it was a private reward initiated by the chicken farm owner Himmler. The legend of "killing the Iron Butcher so that he can claim credit from the Führer" has been widely circulated among the SS. But not many people, at least not many people in their right mind, are willing to earn such a lot of money.

Those who want to earn this thing, do you know where they are now?

In the grave.

Ah, no, it should be said that all kinds of rotten land and death pits that are not even graves have long been turned into spring mud to protect potatoes. I really wish I could find somewhere to bury them. If you carry an iron rod over there, you might be able to dig out a heavenly spirit cap that smells like nuts. You can wash it, clean it up, and sell it to an American soldier to send home as an ashtray in exchange for some money. Those Yankees love this. .

Malashenko, who smiled and did not intend to chat, just raised his hand to signal and spoke slowly again.

"Then, do you want to lead the way? Or should I order my men to take you down and dig a hole to bury the bodies of your dead comrades first? Don't worry, I won't bury you in it too. I can guarantee that."

Malashenko said this "peacefully" with a smile, but to the ears of ordinary German soldiers, it sounded like "I buried you alive, do you believe it?", and you don't know how to do it at all. There was no reason to doubt that the unusually tall man in front of him could definitely keep his word.

"Of course, I will lead the way. Please follow me."

"very good."

Malashenko did not lie. At least there was no scene in sight of the ordinary German soldier who just turned his head and took two steps away.

The streets were littered with corpses of dead German soldiers in various poses and everywhere.

Some fell dead on the street with their eyes wide open, and some were lying on their backs with bleeding from all their orifices. Who knows whether they were shocked to death by 130 grenade or their faces were blown away by hand grenades. There was even one with drooping intestines but no upper body. The lower body of the German soldier was hung on a telegraph pole, just like smoked bacon hanging on a wire to dry, and it swayed twice when the wind blew.

You ask, how did this half of stinky meat end up on the telephone pole?

It was impossible that Malashenko ordered his men to hang it up deliberately for fun. It would be better to have a German soldier climb up the telegraph pole and ask if he knew about the half of his large intestine hanging outside.

What is even more unfortunate for the Germans themselves is that the survivors who were lucky enough to survive now have to collect the corpses of these comrades they may have known, and touch with their own eyes and hands the fresh deaths that may still have some warmth left.

"Move quickly, don't dawdle! Get to the car, quickly!"

Several remaining German trucks and half-tracks parked on the streets, with many holes in them, but still driving and usable after all, have been captured and requisitioned by the Red Army.

Don't get me wrong, the leader does not look down upon the "industrial garbage" produced by these Germans.

When it comes to combat vehicles, the tracked armored combat vehicles produced by the Soviet Union are much better than your Germans’ valuables.

As for trucks, the leader's division has a huge amount of U.S. reinforcements trucks. Our Soviet trucks are not very easy to use, so can I just use the ones I bought from the Americans for free? Having sex for free is the happiest thing, isn't it?

These German vehicles were requisitioned for only one purpose: to transport corpses for their final purpose.

The remains of Red Army soldiers will be collected by dedicated personnel from the leading division, transported back to the rear, and buried in a simple collective ceremony.

As for the Nazis, those Germans

Using the leader's own truck to transport this bunch of offenders seems to have been stained by the smelly blood. Malashenko never asked for the proper collection of the remains of the German soldiers. He can take them away from the battlefield and dig a hole for them to bury them. It's not so bad that it doesn't stink on the ground and feeds flies and bugs.

how? Do we really expect that the Red Army soldiers, whose country and family were ruined and whose relatives and comrades-in-arms were wiped out because of these Nazis, can put aside their past grievances and give their sworn enemy a proper burial? Don't make international jokes, there is no hope in this matter.

Some of the German soldiers who had just become prisoners were now "free coolies," the English version of "freedom."

The first order of business was to deal with corpses. Regardless of whether they were lying on the ground, stuck on the wall, or hanging on the telephone poles, every one of them had to be removed and cleaned up. As the victor's leader, there is no reason to stay overnight in a disease-infested and smelly street. It is only normal to exercise the victor's power to clean up the street.

Looking at the expressionless comrades, some of whom looked familiar to me, one by one, with sluggish expressions and silent words, they carried the cold corpses that also looked familiar to them and threw them into the car, one after another, and then looked at those standing aside. The Red Army soldiers standing there were armed with live ammunition and had fierce looks on their faces.

It was only then that ordinary German soldiers who were young and had not seen much of the world felt the true meaning of the nickname "Iron Butcher" for the first time, at least part of the true meaning.

As the name suggests, this is a man who is as cold as a steel knife in a butcher's hand on the battlefield. He can't be warmed up even by the temperature of blood. He doesn't even have any gentleness, and even with him All the soldiers under his command are.

The so-called "Iron Butcher" may not be the nickname of one person at all, but the nickname of an entire group, this group of guys who go from killing the Nazis to dealing with the Nazis without blinking an eye.

The only regret is that it is too late to understand this truth, but it is not absolute.

At least there is a glimmer of hope, at least before Captain Adam is seriously injured and dies after being hidden by himself, it is not completely too late, so he must speed up his pace now.