Chapter 595 Mind

Malashenko couldn't help but recall the real reason why Commissar Petrov stopped him from killing these prisoners a few hours ago.

Malashenko firmly believes that Commissar Petrov is an undoubted ideal communist, and Commissar Petrov has always set an example, and Malashenko has learned many things from him that will benefit him throughout his life.

For Malashenko, Commissar Petrov is no longer a simple comrade or partner.

This cordial, heroic and resolute Red Army veteran is more like Malashenko's mentor and relative, and the two are almost equal parts.

The expression on the young German prisoner's face when he was beaten until he was so sad that he shed tears was like a question originating from his heart. There was no doubt that that expression was not pretended or forced to show to himself, but a kind of expression. Expressions of sadness and grievance from the heart.

Malashenko clearly remembers that the last time he had a similar expression, it was probably the expression when his little Kegene, whom he had raised for four years, died of an illness when he was a freshman in college in his motherland before studying abroad in his previous life.

It was a kind of ignorant cry that could not get rid of the immature youth and was not deeply involved in society. It was 100% sincere and not mixed with any hypocrisy. It was even hypocritical and artificial to protect oneself from being hurt after leaving society. The mask was not on either.

Malashenko continued to sit on the small slope and smoke a cigarette alone without saying a word.

He had already vaguely sensed the reason why Commissar Petrov stopped him, but this inexplicable feeling made Malashenko unable to determine its true meaning for a while.

I don’t know when, Lavrinenko, who had been staring at Malashenko’s lonely back not far away, quietly came to his old classmate, and then handed his right hand out of thin air to Malashenko’s eyes. Beside the face.

"Any more? Give me one."

Malashenko said nothing, just took out the cigarette case from his pocket and handed it directly to Lavrinenko's hand.

Seeing that Malashenko was not even in the mood to smoke a cigarette and hand it to him, Lavrinenko smiled calmly and simply took the cigarette box with his right hand and prepared to do it himself, but the cigarette was reflected in the moonlight. The appearance of the box made him stunned for a moment.

"A German cigarette? I remember you said it was harder to smoke than horse manure. How did you get into smoking it?"

"Maxim gave it to me. When he heard that I had run out of cigarettes, he specially picked out more than 20 boxes from the corpses of the German vanguard troops, packed them in cloth bags and sent them to me. His own cigarettes had already been He smoked them all without leaving a single pack. By the afternoon and before his death, he had not smoked any of the more than 20 packs of cigarettes!”

Malashenko's voice became more and more trembling as he spoke. By the time he blurted out the last syllable, his face was filled with tears. His trembling hands holding the cigarette holder were like a sinner confessing his crimes, and he unconsciously covered his eyes covered with tears. Wet cheeks. The choked sobs that were held in the throat but did not come out were extremely harsh on this quiet hillside.

Lavrinenko, who looked surprised, obviously did not expect that the small box of cigarettes in his hand had such a story behind it.

The index finger and thumb of his right hand, which had already held the cigarette holder and was about to pull it out from the box, paused for more than ten seconds. After a helpless sigh, he finally took out the German cigarette that he was not used to smoking and put it into his mouth. inside.

"Did he have anything to say or anything to leave you?"

"who?"

"Of course Maxim."

Malashenko paused. The bearded battalion commander who didn't even have time to write a suicide note seemed to have only memories left to him.

Half a minute passed without waiting for Malashenko's answer. Lavrinenko, who gently blew out the smoke ring from his mouth, simply continued talking to himself.

"It seems not. I have talked with him several times before and heard him mention some situations in his family."

"Maxim also had a sister who was married to a Red Army commander, but she died last fall. His father was a technician at the arsenal in Tula. He joined the workers' armed forces and died under the city of Tula in the winter. ”

"Maxim often writes home, comforting his sister to stay with her mother, don't be too sad, and everything will pass. This is the latest letter he gave me the day before yesterday. It was written during the retreat. Max M said he hasn’t sent a letter home for three months and asked me to find an opportunity to deliver this letter. What are you going to do? "

With wet tears hanging from the corners of his eyes, Malashenko stared at the envelope Lavrinenko handed him with a pair of red eyes. He was obviously a little surprised that Lavrinenko often chatted with Maxim on weekdays.

"Is that all? Does he have a wife and children?"

Malashenko was more worried about Maxim's sister and mother than whether he had started a family.

""

"I originally hoped you hadn't thought of asking these things. This is the most difficult thing to do. Maxim has an only son who is less than one year old. His wife has just turned 20 and is the same child as him. Growing up in the village.”

Everyone is accustomed to calling Maxim the "bearded comrade", but in fact, the somewhat precocious Maxim's beard is only a few centimeters longer than that of his peers, and he deliberately grows it without taking care of it. According to Malashenko, his beard is a bit similar to that of a Middle Easterner. His real age is actually the same age as Malashenko.

As for Maxim's sister and mother, Malashenko didn't think it was that difficult to deal with.

But when he heard that Maxim had a young wife and a child waiting to be fed, Malashenko's face instantly turned livid, as if he was frozen alive by frost.

I don’t know how long he was silent thinking about it. When Malashenko lit his eighth cigarette, he had no choice but to come up with the most unreliable solution.

"Send the letter, and we will keep the matter of sacrifice under wraps. Don't report it, and don't tell his family. We will write the next letter for Maxim. No matter what, keep this matter hidden for now."

The solution given by Malashenko obviously exceeded Lavrinenko's expectations. Even if one can guess why Malashenko did this, the worry that has not subsided still exists in his heart.

"You know this matter can't be hidden forever, Malashenko! When his family knows all this, the pain will still come!"

Malashenko took a sharp sip of the butt of his cigarette that burned out quickly and flicked the cigarette butt away, but he looked extremely determined when the cold wind blew over his face.

"You have to know that after this pain, they may never have happiness and joy in their lives! In this case, why can't we try to extend this short-term happiness and joy for a little longer? Even if it is a lie. Wait until the news of victory spreads All over the motherland, when the red flag is planted in the evil hearts of the Germans, the glory that will come then will ease their pain, won't it? "