Chapter 2711 Ruined Streets

The actual process of visiting the wounded was hardly complicated.

Because of the special front-line and rear-line hierarchical diagnosis and treatment system of the leadership division, most of the moderately and mildly injured people who were in better condition were not in the field hospital in the city at this moment, but were recuperating in the rear-line hospital in the town outside the city.

Therefore, most of the people Malashenko could actually visit at the front-line field hospital in the city were, to put it bluntly, missing arms and legs, unable to move, or had their heads covered with bandages and their bodies covered with gauze. The seriously wounded.

Seriously injured patients are unable to have too much interaction. Talking too much will only affect the recovery of their injuries. Malashenko only greeted and cared about each one one by one and quickly exited the ward.

In the leader's own world, Malashenko, who is almost the protagonist wherever he goes, also knows that he is not suitable to stay in the ward for too long. When the soldiers are excited, they will inevitably say a few words to him. This chat box If it were really opened, it would be the end.

Gil, who had been following Malashenko, did his duty and took all the photos he thought should be taken and the moments that should be recorded. The dialogue between the injured soldiers and Malashenko was also recorded. I recorded a lot in the form of notes, and it was not finished until I walked out of the ward with Malashenko.

"Are we uh, going anywhere else now?"

Gil, who had been busy with Malashenko all the way, seemed to be a little unfinished. At this moment, he was still full of curiosity about everything in the field hospital, raising his head and looking around from time to time. 【】

Seeing that Jill's situation was probably going to be like this for a while, Malashenko didn't pursue any changes.

Nowadays, Malashenko has an almost Buddhist attitude toward the little girl Jill. As long as she is pretty close to her, he can do whatever he likes. Ever since he got together with this little girl, all kinds of accidents have happened one after another. Malashenko even feels a little exhausted now. He is more tired than fighting a war.

"The trip ends here. I have to rush back to handle military affairs."

"Do you want to meet two doctors and nurses for an interview, or do you want to give me a ride back with me? You decide for yourself."

Seeing Malashenko say this with an indifferent attitude, Gil, who was curious but had not thought about staying in the field hospital longer, replied almost without thinking.

"I'd better go back with you. I don't know anyone else here. No one is familiar to me."

I really didn't expect that this little girl would give "fear of life" as a reason in the film.

If Malashenko understands it according to Malashenko's understanding, how can a journalist be afraid of life? Can a person who is afraid of life still do this? Are you kidding me?

Although he did feel a little confused, Malashenko didn't think about it any further. There was no need to argue with this little girl about such a trivial matter. The reason came out, and the words came out without thinking.

"Come on then, get in the car, it's time to go."

The small convoy escorting Malashenko slowly advanced on the outer streets of Berlin, which had been riddled with holes and devastated by the war. Looking out the car window with the naked eye, you can see various ruins and dilapidated buildings with huge holes blown up everywhere.

There are Red Army soldiers standing guard at regular intervals on the street to maintain order. From time to time, patrols in squads can be seen, fully armed walking on the sidewalk and alerting the surroundings.

At least in the actual control area that has been captured by the leading division, Malashenko is the highest military and political officer who decides everything in this area. Regardless of whether you eat, sleep, or shoot guns and artillery, strictly speaking, Malashenko can make all decisions. The final say.

This is a military-controlled area where everything is strictly enforced in accordance with wartime regulations. The smoke of artillery fire and the smell of blood fill the air, silently proving the unsuitability for survival and the devastation of life here at all times.

However, even in such an environment, people who came out to seek life and struggled in the gap between death and hope were still moving with difficulty.

The streets are sparsely populated but by no means empty. In addition to the Red Army soldiers maintaining order and patrolling, it is not uncommon to see some people with sallow faces and shabby clothes who look like local war refugees.

Some of them were rummaging around in the ruins that could be seen everywhere, carrying coarse cloth bags that were as shabby as the clothes they were wearing, or maybe even shabbier. Try your best to find anything useful for survival from the ruins, take it back and use it for your own use to survive.

Gill noticed that there were still some people lined up in a long queue. Under the supervision of the Red Army soldiers on the street, they were orderly receiving orders from the military trucks belonging to the leadership division from the quartermaster responsible for distribution. Considered a moderate amount of daily necessities.

Jill's eyesight was pretty good. At least when he was with Mary, a woman who smoked, drank, and loved to play with guns, her marksmanship was indeed pretty good based on a beginner's level evaluation. In addition to her high level of understanding and the good teaching skills of her best friend Mary, it is also related to her excellent eyesight with her big, smart eyes.

As the car continued to move forward, Gil, who finally saw clearly what the German refugees were receiving, looked surprised. I had read many reports on the Western Front written by Mary before, and thought I was fairly well-informed, but Jill had never heard of the American troops on the Western Front distributing canned meat in an organized manner on such a large scale to German refugees.

"Oh my God, are those canned meats? Is this allowed to be distributed? Look at it."

"Um?"

Malashenko, who was sitting not far from Gil and in the back seat of the car near the other door, was already drowsy. When Gil suddenly called out, he suddenly had a clever idea and immediately helped him to block the light. He raised the brim of his hat to regain his vision. He looked out the car window and saw a scene that somewhat surprised Gil.

"Oh, those are my orders."

Malashenko, who didn't care much about giving Jill second-hand smoke, felt a little sleepy and sleepy. Then, for the purpose of refreshing himself, he took out the cigarette case and lighter from his pocket, took one out, put it in his mouth and connected it to the fire. When his mouth was full of smoke, he continued to speak.

"Yesterday when I was cleaning the battlefield, I came across two German supply warehouses, one large and one small. They seem to be military supplies reserved for the Nazis' long-term operations in this area, but those damn ghosts can't use them now."

"My soldiers are unlikely to appreciate the German junk food. In every sense, it is not as good as our leader's own three meals a day. I thought it would be a pity to throw it away. If it doesn't taste good, it won't be good. Eat, but don't waste food. It just so happens that the German civilians in the city have been robbed of everything by the Nazis they support. All they have is their pants, which have not been confiscated, and they are about to be unable to survive. "

"Anyway, it was made by the Germans themselves. In the end, it was not sent to the mouths of the Nazis. If these unlucky people ate it, it would be considered a good use of the things in a sense. I am not the kind of person who takes away the land wherever I go. It’s no big deal if the locusts that scrape three feet down are given away, just treat them as garbage.”