Chapter 826 Hero’s Story

In later generations, you can occasionally see on TV that when swine flu or bird flu broke out in a certain place, a large number of dead pigs and chickens were thrown into the pit like sacks and buried. At that time, Marashen saw these scenes. Coe also felt like nothing was just bland.

But after experiencing so much, Malashenko now watched helplessly as human corpses were thrown into the pit like animals.

The corpses killed by bullets or fragments had basically drained of blood long ago. The German prisoners, supervised by the armed Red Army soldiers, were carrying and throwing these corpses into the pit one by one. Of course, this was only limited to those German soldiers. Just the bodies of soldiers.

Another large pit next to the pit of German corpses was dug specifically for Red Army soldiers. More than 200 Red Army soldiers and commanders died in this short but fierce offensive and defensive battle for the Army Headquarters.

Those elite German commandos, armed to the teeth, caused huge casualties to the guard troops who lacked heavy weapons and fire support weapons. The number of sacrifices and injuries was much higher than that of the German troops acting as the attackers.

The bodies of the Red Army soldiers, whose temperature had long since been lost, were placed in the pit one after another in order. The person responsible for burying them was the comrade-in-arms of these bodies.

Mountains and rivers were shattered, homes were lost, and the once prosperous motherland was covered in black smoke and devastated under the iron heel of the invaders.

Countless brave warriors died tragic deaths.

"Do you know his name?"

The stiffened body was placed on the ground by Malashenko himself. The rank of major general on his shoulders was shining brightly in the moonlight. A Soviet flag that had been dyed black and red in the flames of war was gently pulled over. His forehead was completely covered on his body.

"I don't know, but I know every hero's story."

Malashenko, who straightened up from a squatting position, looked back at each corpse neatly placed beside him. These mothers' sons, wives' husbands, children's fathers, and soldiers of the motherland did not have their own names and surnames. Tombstones, this is the only place where all heroes are buried.

When Malashenko first entered Stalingrad, he led the dissatisfied 1st Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment. Although it was seriously damaged, it was at least much better than the current situation.

A few months later, when Malashenko received the order to leave the city, which was still shrouded in the smoke of war, there were only a handful of soldiers left around Malashenko, and there were only more than a hundred people in the whole regiment. Malashenko, who was standing in front of the motorcade, was almost on the verge of tears.

"Everything will be fine. The difficulties are only temporary. Don't be too sad."

The person who stood up to comfort Malashenko at the critical moment was still Political Commissar Petrov. The battle situation in which almost all combatants of the entire 1st Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment were lost can be equated with the annihilation of the entire army. This is what is left Among the more than 100 people, most of them were field maintenance battalion personnel and other logistics and medical personnel under Karamov.

Those who can really drive tanks and directly participate in battles, including Malashenko and Lavrinenko, have to decide whether they can form an infantry platoon.

Malashenko did not directly answer Commissar Petrov's comforting words. Too many things happened in just a few hours, which made Malashenko feel mixed emotions and speechless. He left Petrov The political commissar's back was silent as he turned around and got into the car.

"After you finish the work of rebuilding the army, you should be able to apply for one to two weeks of leave. You always complained before that you didn't have time to take a good rest, but now the opportunity has come."

The voice came from the mouth of Commissar Petrov in the back seat of the car, but Malashenko, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, did not seem to be much happy about the upcoming vacation.

As if to avoid some problem that he did not want to face, Malashenko deliberately changed the subject.

"What about you? You have been on the front line since this year. Why don't you go home and take a look?"

"you ask me?"

Commissar Petrov smiled, but his smile looked a little sad.

"Without a wife, no children, and the death of my parents, where do you think my home is?"

""

The definition of home can be very broad or very narrow. At a large level, it is a country, and at a small level, it can be a family of two people or a family of three.

But for Commissar Petrov, the latter obviously does not apply.

"There are not many relatives left alive. Now I just want to take good care of Kirill. I can watch him mature and become responsible. This is my greatest happiness."

"As long as I am still on the land of my motherland, no matter where I go, it is home to me, and I am willing to give everything I have for this family, just like I swore to do when I was young."

Political Commissar Petrov’s words are often not easy to understand instantly. There are often deeper meanings beneath the superficial meaning. This is one of the reasons why Malashenko always likes to chat with Political Commissar Petrov. .

Thinking can indeed soothe a person's tired and lost soul.

"Is it just Kirill? You don't count me?"

Malashenko's irrational words suddenly popped out, catching Petrov, the political commissar in the back row, off guard.

But after a little thought and understanding of the specific meaning of Malashenko's words, Commissar Petrov seemed much more relaxed after smiling.

"Of course, you are indispensable. You are as important to me as Kirill. Is this a satisfactory answer? Comrade Leader."

There are many ways to regulate emotions, and chatting is one of the most well-known and widely applicable.

The night wind outside the car window blew into the car along with the rolled down window. Malashenko, who was getting farther and farther away from the core area of ​​​​the war, felt a long-lost tranquility in the wind.

Although he has lost too many things to count, at least Malashenko, who has been struggling to survive in the quagmire of death, finally has a chance to breathe. The foreseeable tomorrow is just as Commissar Petrov said. That will get better little by little.

The road from the army headquarters to the dock on the west bank of the Volga River is not long, but it is not easy to walk.

The 1st Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment, which kept bypassing the ruins of air raids and bomb craters along the way, took nearly two hours to walk on a straight-line distance of less than ten kilometers. Along the way, I raised my hand to look at my watch from time to time. Malashenko hurriedly hurriedly arrived at the dock half an hour before the agreed time.

"We are here, Comrade Commander."

The soldier in charge of driving gave a somewhat unnecessary reminder. This was not because the soldier was really stupid or simply careless, but because Malashenko's expression on the side seemed to be a little off.