Six Hundred Thirty Is Better

Kukov was a Soviet Red Army prisoner of war. When he came to the concentration camp prepared for him by the Germans in Poland, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The barracks were clean and tidy, and the streets were neat and straight. When he saw the words written in four languages When he was looking at the convenience store sign, he even felt that it was a very wise decision to hand over his rifle and surrender to the Germans.

Of course, as a Russian, his original situation was not very good. He saw with his own eyes that some prisoners like himself were unloaded from the train on the way and went to work in the dirty and messy coal yard. But he was lucky, because he had worked as an apprentice in a Ukrainian factory, so he was assigned to continue his hard labor in the Polish concentration camp factory with the best conditions.

Here he is wearing a Soviet military uniform that has been patched several times, but some identification marks have been removed, disinfection inspections are carried out every week, and everyone has to strip naked and assemble in an iron cage. It was ravaged by people with water guns and white ash. If there were not machine gun towers equipped with searchlights every few tens of meters here, life might be better.

What makes Kukov feel unsatisfied is that there are always SS soldiers on patrol here, leading purebred German shepherd dogs, sticking out scary tongues. These soldiers wore SS military uniforms, with red flag armbands on their arms, and Mauser 98k rifles on their backs, looking majestic.

These guards are always replaced by new faces. I heard that the old guards have been transferred to the front line. The recruits who come here are all recruits who have just finished their military training.

If he could also receive formal military training, wouldn't he be so embarrassed on the battlefield? Thinking of the fact that he dropped the bullet and ran around with the people around him, and eventually became a prisoner, Kukov felt a little embarrassed. He has been here for two months and more than ten days, and he is not considered a newcomer in this concentration camp.

The German internal number of this factory is 402 factory, which is responsible for the production of some equipment accessories. In fact, Kukov himself may not know what he is producing, because all the products here cannot guess the original appearance of the entire equipment. Only a few managers and guard leaders know that the windshield brackets and fixed cross-stick landing gear of the German Crusader helicopter are produced here.

The sun at noon is very venomous, and Kukov and all the workers here have an hour of rest at this time. Of course, some people go to eat at 11:30 and come back to work at 12:30, and some people go to eat at 12:30 and come back to work at 1:30.

As a positive reward for the production of parts, every worker here who reaches the specified output will get a "salary". If you don't have bad habits such as gambling and you haven't been blackmailed by the hunk in the dormitory, then you can accumulate two months to rely on these concentration camps. The issued bill goes to the convenience store to exchange for a pack of cigarettes.

Kukov just received the second receipt with the official seal, and he was not in a hurry to save up 20 receipts to buy quilts.

So I rushed to the convenience store in a hurry to change a pack of cigarettes that could comfort me mentally.

A smoker can enjoy cigarettes even in a prisoner of war camp, which is simply a heavenly enjoyment. With his oily hands, Kukov clumsily opened the white pack of simple packs of low-quality cigarettes with only German words for cigarettes on them, like a soldier touching his steel gun, like a man in love touching his own spouse.

These inferior cigarettes are all produced in Germany. They were originally supplied to ordinary Germans when supplies were scarce. Although the quality is low, but because there is no other choice, it still exists in Germany for several years. In the past nearly a year, the German army has been invincible on the battlefield, and the flattened area is enough to provide Germany with better supplies, so these cigarettes have also withdrawn from the German market.

After all, the supply of cigarettes in Germany has returned to normal now, and ordinary people can smoke German hardcover cigarettes of average quality. And some officials and some people who are particular about it are already enjoying French cigarettes with finer shredded tobacco and better taste. As for these cheap and low-quality cigarettes in simple white packaging, they were sent to Poland as second-class supplies along with the production line and the remaining reserves.

Shrewd Jewish businessmen and some German concentration camp contractors saw the benefits and introduced this cigarette into the concentration camp, so Kukov had the opportunity to smoke in the concentration camp, and he also had the opportunity to look at the cigarette surface. This moment of happiness. In the Soviet Union, the quality of cigarettes was about the same as these inferior German cigarettes, so these Poles and Soviet prisoners of war didn't mind the inferior quality at all, as long as they had this kind of cigarettes for them, they were satisfied.

So Kukov works hard every day, does not cause trouble at all, and rarely even talks to the people around him. Every time he buys cigarettes, he gives two cigarettes to the most powerful Ukrainian translator. He has been living an ordinary life like this day. In the eyes of those around him, he was regarded as the most law-abiding and model prisoner in this concentration camp.

Kukov carefully borrowed a fire from the German soldier in charge of the matches at the smoking place, and enjoyed his happy life in the barbed wire corridor where the smoking was released. He looked into the distance and felt that he did not die in Poland. It is already a very satisfying thing on the battlefield.

Unexpectedly, a German military officer wearing a brand-new military uniform came across. He was talking to a man in a neat suit beside him. Because smoking is prohibited in other places in the concentration camp, the two of them came here to spend a while with the prisoners of war. Smoke addiction. Neither side walked looking straight ahead, so Kukov bumped into the officer in the new uniform as they passed each other.

The man dressed as an SS officer stumbled unexpectedly, because he was slightly smaller than Kukov in stature. But this man, who is two centimeters shorter, obviously doesn't need to rely on his stature to make a living, because he wears the rank epaulettes of a major officer on his shoulders.

"Bastard! Don't you have eyes when you walk?" The officer looked at his oil-stained arm and the distorted red flag armband, cursed and then looked at Kukov.

"Wow!" As the officer yelled, Kukov saw two guards behind the officer take off their rifles from behind, and some of the German soldiers standing guard around even pulled the bolts. He was so frightened that his face turned blue, and he quickly knelt on the ground and raised his hands: "I'm sorry! Sir! I... I didn't mean it!"

His action startled the officer, but he still didn't intend to spare Kukov. One arm had already been raised. As long as he lowered his arm vigorously, the kneeling Soviet prisoner in front of him would be beaten. Wear a dozen holes. The most valuable thing here is the profit, and the least valuable thing is human life.

"It's just a new uniform, just a few bucks for the laundry." The man standing next to the officer finally spoke. He was of medium build, about 1.8 meters tall, with short blond hair and a pair of very charming eyes. . The man looked very handsome and had a warm smile.

"Frank! I know this is your concentration camp, but the SS is inviolable, and we represent the Führer..." The officer looked at the man in the suit, and said intransigent words, but the The arms that were raised high did not let go.

Frank Elstoner, the manager of this concentration camp, is also the actual owner of Factory 402. His factory here is responsible for the production of helicopter parts, and near Little Frankfurt on the German border, there is a helicopter assembly workshop wholly owned by him, where many crusader helicopters of various types are provided to the German army every day.

I heard that this very handsome man has hands and eyes, and he has met the head of state Accardo several times. It is said that he has friendship with Krupp and Augustus, and he is the best among the new nobles. One of the entrepreneurs. The new nobles in Germany who broke away from the Junkers vaguely took him as their talker, and his uncle was a big Jewish businessman nicknamed "Jesus" in Poland.

"Every prisoner here is my property, and I have heard of this Russian prisoner named Kukov. He is very obedient and has created a lot of profits for me." No matter when, Frank Elstone Nadou laughed and talked, but anyone who knew him knew that he killed people when he laughed, played with women when he laughed, slapped himself when he laughed-he was a German businessman with half Jewish blood: "You most For the helicopter parts he needs, he can produce 70 a day."

"This matter can't be left alone!" The officer lowered his arm, and Kukov felt himself come alive again, because at least a dozen guns were missing from the guns pointed at him. Although he couldn't understand what the two Germans were talking about, he knew that the handsome man in the suit had saved him.

"I have a gold ring in my office. I got it from the corpse of a prisoner of war. It seems to be an object from the seventeenth century. I heard that you are very interested in this kind of thing." Frank Elstoner immediately said Out of his own price tag, he is a businessman, as long as there are more profits and can bring more benefits, he will continue to do business.

"Is it worth it?" The officer laughed, as if he had forgotten the unhappiness just now.

"Of course! He is a role model. With him, others will work harder." Frank Elstoner smiled and took out a pack of French cigarettes from his pocket, shook it twice, and threw it to the Kukov, who was still kneeling on the ground, said in unproficient Russian: "You are very good, I hope you are better!"