Chapter 560 Killing the Horse

After arriving at this small village on the grassland of the Don River, I could finally rest for a while and catch my breath. Malashenko, who couldn't remember that he had been in the tank for several nights in a row and stared blankly for a while, felt that his whole body was falling apart, but there were a lot of them. Malashenko could not help but lie down and rest.

"The situation has been calculated, Malashenko. We are currently short of food and fuel, but we have enough ammunition, enough to have a head-on conflict with the Germans. But the most important thing is the lack of medicine. Summer has arrived. If this If this situation continues, I am worried that there will be a plague.”

The "this situation" mentioned by Political Commissar Petrov naturally refers to the current situation where there are many patients in Malashenko's department.

To be honest, it doesn't matter if there are more sick people in winter, there is really a shortage of medical treatment. The hellish weather of minus 40 degrees Celsius has no soil for viruses and bacteria to breed. Even if people die, they will still be there. If frozen into a stick in a very short period of time, it will not rot. There were quite a lot of German corpses left in the snow in the winter and had no time to bury them.

But now that summer has entered, the situation is very different. The hot weather and rampant mosquitoes are the best breeding ground for spreading the plague. Once a person dies in this environment, the body will decay very quickly.

With a lot of illnesses and a lack of medical treatment, soldiers with low immunity are extremely vulnerable to diseases and plagues that are prevalent in the summer. If this spreads among the troops, Malashenko will not be able to recover. There is no hope, it is almost the same as waiting for death.

Thinking of the malaria he contracted in late summer and early autumn last year, Malashenko, who almost lost his life, still has lingering fears about these "combat mosquitoes" that are bigger than wasps on Russian soil.

"Continue to send the report to the front army headquarters, comrade political commissar. We cannot remain silent about what we need to fight for, otherwise the higher-ups will think that our situation has improved now. At least we must let the higher-ups know that we are still in dire straits and must receive support as soon as possible."

Crying children are fed by milk. This principle is universal no matter where you go. What's more, Malashenko's 1st Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment also has priority for supplies and can reach out for things far more than ordinary Red Army troops. More imposing.

At this point, Political Commissar Petrov no longer stops or dissuades Malashenko from reaching out to his superiors to ask for things. After all, the situation has been forced to this point. If he doesn't cry more tightly, I'm afraid it will really happen. To be starved to death.

"I understand. Leave the task of drafting the telegram to me. Let's do it now."

After seeing off political commissar Petrov, Malashenko, who was just about to sit down in the room to rest and drink water, welcomed his deputy Lavrinenko.

"Hey, Malashenko. The situation at Karamov's side is not good. There are a few more people sick than yesterday. It looks like some kind of cold and fever are spreading. Karamov himself is also a little dizzy. He asked me to tell you that only half of the people in the maintenance camp are currently able to work, and the rest either have diarrhea or are lying down with fever. "

""

Malashenko immediately felt speechless when he heard Lavrinenko's hurried report.

The house leaked and it rained all night, and my farts hit my heels.

There were already a lot of sick people in the combat troops, and now even his own logistics wet nurse at the field maintenance camp has started to sing "Liangliang" and sick a lot of people. Malashenko even feels a bit like Xiang Yu who went to Jiangdong back then. .

"Take out some of the medicines from the other battalions and send them to Karamov. We can't lose them without anyone. If the field maintenance battalion collapses, our entire unit will be hunkered down in less than a week. "

"Didn't the dozen cavalrymen gathered along the way still have their horses with them? Let's take out a few and kill them for everyone to eat. If this continues, it will only be a matter of time before they die."

Malashenko's tone was full of helplessness, but Lavrinenko, who was standing aside and listening to himself, was shocked.

"Kill the horse? Malashenko, you know what this means to those cavalry. Don't say that we are not their direct superiors, we are really their direct superiors. This is also an order that may lead to a fight. Are you really going to do this?"

The cavalry is the master of the war horse, and the war horse is the cavalry's partner.

In later generations, Malashenko, who studied in Moscow for three years, did not know the tragic stories of the Red Army cavalry in World War II. Although it was cruel to forcefully order to seize and kill these cavalry companions, Malashenko really had no choice now.

The people were so hungry that their eyes were glowing green, and even the sick and wounded couldn't get good food. How could they feed the war horses whose bellies were big enough to support the boat under such circumstances?

If you kill the horse, you can at least give people a good meal. If you don't kill the horse, you may even die before the horse.

With dull eyes, Malashenko sighed softly as if there was no one around, and waved his hand, apparently determined to carry out the mandatory order.

"People are dying, what's the use of those horses? Are you going to leave them to the Germans? I know what order I gave, Lavery, go down and carry it out, and remember to share more horse meat with the sick and wounded comrades." "

Lavrinenko was speechless for a while, but in the end he said nothing more to Malashenko, and finally turned around without saying a word and left the hut that served as the temporary headquarters and ran away.

Malashenko, who had sent away all the "trouble", felt that his eyelids were getting heavier and heavier, and the military kettle in his hand slowly fell to his feet, opened his mouth and grunted and scattered it all over the floor, saying nothing about it. All we know is that Malashenko had already closed his heavy eyes, leaned against the wall behind him, sat on the ammunition box, and fell asleep.

"Hey, Lin, do you have time after school? My parents are on a business trip. Do you want to come to my house to play? It's very close to the school."

A familiar voice sounded in his dream. Malashenko, who could not control his consciousness and could only witness it like watching a movie, remembered it clearly.

The brown-haired girl's name was Irina. She was in the department next to mine when she was in college. She cooked delicious food and had several wonderful nights with her that were worth remembering.

Hmm - it smells so good - delicious -

"What's wrong with Malashenko? What is he talking about? Why can't I understand a word?"

Facing Lavrinenko's three consecutive questions, Commissar Petrov, who had just replied to the telegram from the Front Army Headquarters, put down his hand and sighed. The expression under his big-brimmed hat was quite distressing for the junior.

"I can't understand it either. Who knows what he encountered in his dream? It's probably the dialect of a place like Poland. Let him sleep for a while, and we will study the supply distribution of the army. The telegram said that it will be available tomorrow. arrive."