Chapter 540 A Fat Beating

There is a time when everyone cannot bear the tremendous pressure and is on the verge of collapse. Sometimes this time is very close and sometimes it is very far away. The difference lies in how far a person's limit of pressure can be extended.

Exuding a strong smell of blood, the car facing Malashenko's car all the way was clearly beyond the endurance limit of the German soldiers. The tracks that were almost crushing the face were almost making people collapse.

After dinner, I always laugh when I talk about the French who surrendered at the speed of light after only fighting for seven weeks. But when the German soldiers faced a scene that was even harsher than what the French had faced. At this time, it became natural and reasonable for the contempt for the French to transform into empathy.

After all, surrendering doesn't seem that shameful right now, does it?

Although the languages ​​​​are different, the white color blowing in the wind is ultimately universal.

Holding the commander's periscope in his hand, he saw the white flag raised in a small pit less than 20 meters away in front of him. Malashenko, who was somewhat wondering how these Germans could find the white thing in time every time they surrendered, couldn't help but shake his head slightly.

“I really don’t know where these Germans found such a white flag so easily accessible.”

"All crews, stop immediately! Go and disarm those Germans!"

Accepting the surrender of the German army may be very rare and worthy of bragging for other Red Army tank units, but for the 1st Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment under the leadership of Malashenko, it has long been commonplace.

Holding the Bobosha submachine guns that had begun to be installed on a large scale in 1942, they all jumped out of the vehicle. Except for a small number of tank crews who still stayed in the vehicle to maintain combat alertness, other tanks following Malashenko The tank crews had already followed the orders and got out of the tanks, raising the black muzzles of their guns and pointing them at the German troops who had raised their hands to surrender.

The Red Army soldiers who were trotting behind the tanks rushed forward and punched and kicked the Germans. When capturing prisoners, they would beat them up first regardless of their circumstances. This was one of the glorious traditions of the Red Army. There was enough Practical cases show that doing so can make those Germans who are still slightly unconvinced become much more honest.

"Shit-eating Fasis! Come on, do you want me to put a bayonet on you?!"

The Red Army soldiers holding bayonet-mounted Mosin Nagant rifles were not polite to the enemy. The sharp scolding after the fist fight and the cold light flashing on the bayonets were enough to frighten the German soldiers who had already raised their hands to surrender, but there was one German officers with the rank of lieutenant obviously do not fall into this category.

"I want to see your commander! Let me see your commander! Don't touch me!"

"Damn Kraut! Do you want to be shot?"

A mixture of curses and shouts in German and Russian coming from about a hundred meters away to the right attracted Malashenko's attention.

Through intensive homework after the winter war came to an end, Malashenko can now basically understand some relatively simple and commonly used German, and military words such as "sir" are one of them.

"What happened over there? Lavry, come with me to have a look."

"OK!"

Carrying his Somi submachine gun in his hand, he and his good friend Lavrinenko came to the source of the sound. They saw the German lieutenant who was shouting that he could not understand German being killed by the Red Army. The warriors rode on the ground and beat them with bare hands.

The two fists swung with open arms fell like raindrops on the face of the German lieutenant. Knowing that he was a prisoner and had been disarmed, the German lieutenant did not dare to fight back and had to hold his head with both hands to barely block. The surrounding Red Army soldiers who were watching the excitement did not stop them, but instead laughed with relish as if they were watching a play.

"Chekov, use your strength! Beat this German to death! Let him see the power of the Red Army's iron fist!"

"Hit his nose and make him squirt some nosebleeds!"

"Hardest! Chekov! Beat this German guy like Hitler, and I'll reward you with a pack of cigarettes. Hurry up!"

The applause and laughter of his comrades around him made the Red Army soldier, who was called Chekhov, fight harder and harder. His fists became more and more vigorous, and he probably would not stop until he beat the German guy under his crotch to death. Fierce momentum.

Chekov's concentration on beating people was so concentrated that he didn't even notice that the original cheering shouts around him stopped suddenly, until a strong and powerful hand held his little arm. Only then did he stop what he was doing in sudden shock.

"That's almost enough, comrade. If the fight continues, this German guy will die. A dead German guy won't be able to get any useful information out of his mouth."

Malashenko's close proximity to stop the opening obviously worked.

Chekov turned around and recognized the person in front of him at a glance, straightened up quickly and gave Malashenko a military salute. Chekov, who was afraid that Malashenko would be punished, looked like he had done something wrong. Things are going wrong for the father as well as for the child.

"Comrade Commander, I struck too hard! But I really didn't mean it, it's just that these German guys are so hateful. My uncle was killed by their bombs. If I don't beat these German guys hard, I can’t relieve my anger!”

Malashenko, who had listened to all of Chekov's excuses with an expressionless face, slightly raised his right hand and waved it back slightly, indicating that the matter could be ended here and let it go without further investigation. He understood Malashenko. Chekov, who understood the meaning of Schenko's action, immediately stepped aside quickly with surprise and gratitude in his eyes.

"Maxim! Go and call Sasha over and tell him it's his turn!"

"Okay, comrade leader!"

He yelled an order to the crowd on the side and received a timely reply. He reached out to light the cigarette in his mouth and took a slow breath before slowly squatting down. go.

Seeing that although the German lieutenant had a nosebleed on his face, he was at least fine and could barely speak. Malashenko raised the corner of his mouth slightly and then took off the cigarette in his mouth and blew the smoke into the other man's face.

"You're lucky to have survived in my hands! You're worth bragging about in the prison camp."

In order to learn this pretentious German phrase used when capturing prisoners, Malashenko had to burn the midnight oil and work hard for most of the night. Fortunately, it finally came in use and he didn't learn it in vain.

The beaten German lieutenant, whose nose was bruised and his face was swollen, struggled to sit up with one hand on the ground. He barely understood this slightly lame sentence, and a question came out of his mouth immediately afterwards.