Chapter 878 The Betrayer of Destiny

It is quite difficult to drive at night, especially when the sky is still overcast. On the dark land where no moonlight can be seen, there is only the creaking sound of heavy tracks running over the snow, accompanied by the sound of diesel fuel. The roar of the engine rang through my ears, sounding like a whisper in the dark night and making me feel a little uncomfortable.

In the IS1 heavy tank at the head of the first echelon of the forward, Malashenko, with his arms folded over his chest and his head lowered, already looked a little sleepy. Iushkin, who was in the gunner's position directly in front of Malashenko, was alone. Smoking a cigarette.

The dim light source inside the tank was only enough for the driver Seryosha to clearly see the joystick and drive the tank. Iushkin, who was bored in every way, had nothing else to do except smoke.

"are you asleep?"

Malashenko, who was curling up with his arms across his chest to make his posture more comfortable, shook his ears. He knew that Iushkin was asking a question to him.

"Not yet. How can I sleep with such loud noise? I just need to rest and prepare for the battle."

Iushkin casually flicked the ash into the ashtray of a 37mm shell that he had asked for from the air defense troops. The corners of his mouth slightly raised, and Iushkin was obviously not sleepy at all.

"Then stop pretending with your eyes closed and come and smoke together."

Malashenko frowned after hearing Iushkin's proposal.

Recently, Malashenko can clearly feel that his throat is not as big as before, and the burden on his lungs seems to be getting heavier and heavier. The physical harm caused by long-term heavy smoking has gradually become apparent.

Although this level of harm is insignificant to the tall and strong body of a man who is more than 1.9 meters tall, Malashenko, who almost never touched a cigarette in later generations, still acted out of instinct The reaction is that there is some ideological resistance to continuing to smoke while committing crimes. The concept that smoking is extremely harmful to the body can be said to have been deeply rooted in the hearts of the people.

"Huh? Next, do you want me to stuff it into your mouth?"

Malashenko gently opened his slightly heavy eyelids and saw the harmless expression of Iushkin who turned around and handed him a cigarette.

""

To smoke or not to smoke, this is the question Malashenko is thinking about at the moment.

I don’t know why, but Malashenko, who was staring at the Iushkin in front of him and extending his hand to hand out the cigarette, suddenly and unconsciously thought of some words from his previous life.

"Dad, stop smoking. You won't be afraid of smoking yourself to death if you take two packs a day."

"Smoking to death? You kid will curse your father in one day! People who go to the battlefield and come back alive can't quit smoking. Your comrades risked their lives to buy you a chance to smoke. If you quit, you will be beaten every time you go down. Become a grandson!”

People who do bad things will always find some excuses for themselves, which is what Malashenko thought when he heard this.

But there are some things that you will understand only after you have experienced them yourself. Those myths that sound crooked are actually not completely unreasonable. Inner trauma sometimes requires poison in the eyes of ordinary people to be relieved. Even if the poisoner knows that what he swallows is a chronic poison that will eventually cause death, he still can do it without hesitation.

Living is not an overly happy thing.

"Give me the fire"

"What about your own?"

"It's in your pocket. It's not convenient to take it out. Lend me yours."

Click——

The tobacco was burning under the mist and firelight. Malashenko, who was already touched in his heart, could basically understand the special flavor of his father's half-joking words.

Through the smoke floating in front of him, Malashenko seemed to be able to see the familiar faces that he had smoked and laughed with in the past, but those faces had long been sealed in the white photo album in this winter.

"Thinking about Nikolai?"

Malashenko was slightly startled. When did this kid Iushkin learn to read minds?

"Don't look so surprised. Whatever you are thinking is written on your face. We have fought side by side for so long. If we don't know what your expression means, how can our No. 177 crew have a tacit understanding?"

Iushkin put out the cigarette butt in his hand and lit a new one. His face and expression looked at least lighter than Malashenko's, and he didn't seem to be so immersed in the memories and sadness of the past.

"I've looked past all this, Comrade Commander."

"I will die, you will die, Kirill will die, Seryosha will die, everyone will die one day. After seeing so many people die, I have become a little numb to it all. Even if you tell I will die tonight, and now I will probably accept it calmly, it’s not a big deal.”

Malashenko, who had a cigarette in his mouth, did not interrupt. Malashenko, who was familiar with Iushkin's character, knew that Iushkin must not have finished speaking.

"But, I, Iushkin, have a dream. I hope that after my death, someone will still remember me, just like Gorky, Ostrovsky, and Tolstoy. Remember my name Iushkin. Remember the name of this hero who bravely defended the motherland and defeated countless fascist lackeys.”

"No matter what you do while you are alive, it will pass with time, but your name may not. If someone can still remember me thirty years after my death, this will probably be my satisfaction and ultimate goal. In a hundred years, I don’t dare to hope that I can do it.”

"We are fish in the ocean of war. We are small and cannot determine our own destiny, so I only hope that one day we will not be forgotten."

Not to be forgotten by future generations, this is a dream that sounds simple but is actually difficult to achieve.

Countless warriors who sacrificed their lives valiantly are buried in the frontier. Their remains are scattered all over the land they once used their lives to protect. They are like the forgotten people in the wasteland, quietly waiting to be seen again one day.

Malashenko can understand Iushkin’s mood.

There is no name of a Soviet hero named Malashenko in the history books of later generations. He was just an unknown martyr who heroically sacrificed his life on the border of the motherland in the first week of the Great Patriotic War.

But with the replacement and inheritance of souls, everything becomes completely different from before.

The gears of fate are beginning to turn in a completely countercurrent direction, and the betrayers of fate who have taken up the banner of resistance are writing a tomorrow that will be truly fought for.

Malashenko, who is constantly tempering his will and soul, knows that he is not a god, and there is no way to ensure that every comrade around him lives until the day of final victory.

But at least it is Iushkin’s dream, which is extremely humble but still difficult to realize. Malashenko must use his power to help Iushkin realize it.

"The classrooms of the future will be filled with the sounds of children reading our names, Iushkin, I promise you."