Chapter 1180: Practitioner of the Oath (4400 Words Long Chapter)

It was only recently that Malashenko realized a serious problem after looking around. He didn't have a single tank that he could still command!

At least in the area within sight, no Stalin heavy tank could continue to maintain a fighting posture. In addition to the burning steel wreckage after being destroyed, there were only abandoned steel figures that had been abandoned and had been motionless.

Malashenko had planned to call on the remaining tanks under his command to kill the German orange cat, but the situation that there was no tank left was obviously unexpected.

At this point, he could only continue to retreat in the direction of Lavrinenko. Malashenko hoped that his good brother still had tanks that could be put into battle.

Otherwise, if he wanted to kill this damn German orange cat, he didn't know how many soldiers' lives would be lost. The action of rushing up with a pack of explosives was too Showa-like. Malashenko would never give such an order to the soldiers.

Seeing Varosha taking orders and looking back every few steps, he gritted his teeth and stood up despite the feeling of his waist almost breaking and the tearing feeling coming from his chest.

Knowing that he was probably injured internally, Malashenko had no time to worry about other things. He had to continue to do something at such a critical moment of life and death, otherwise he would really be dead.

"I have to inform Commander Suvorov that we can't defend here anymore."

Malashenko, who had made up his mind, looked around for his target, and finally saw Commander Suvorov fighting with his division staff behind a trench.

Malashenko, who was about to run over quickly, had not had time to take action, but saw a whistling shell from nowhere with a shrill scream, and fell on his head. Malashenko, who felt as if the whole world was infinitely stretched, stopped for a moment.

Boom——

""

Malachenko, who had just taken the first step, was stunned.

The mortar shell flew from nowhere and landed right in front of the trench very close to Division Commander Suvorov, exploding with a bang.

In the dust, sand and rocks flew everywhere, and Malachenko saw the tall figure who was about the same height as himself fell straight down. The wide-brimmed military cap on his head and the PPSh submachine gun in his hand fell to the ground like a puppet whose soul had been taken away. In an instant, Malachenko's pupils dilated and his eyes widened, and he rushed up without saying a word.

"Bastards! These damn bastards!"

Malachenko, who witnessed this scene so close, was instantly furious. Among the dead bodies lying on the ground, there were Division Commander Suvorov, whose life and death were unknown, as well as his adjutant, the guard company commander, and his political commissar partner.

Holding the gun belt, he threw the Sumi in his hand behind his back and carried it on his back. With the last glimmer of hope, Malashenko ran forward, stretched out his arms and lifted up the bloody Suvorov, the division commander. His firm belief in never abandoning his comrades still exists.

"Is Malashenko Malashenko?"

Suvorov, who was mumbling a large lump of blood in his throat, had not died on the spot. He was still asking questions under the last bit of vitality.

"Yes! It's me, comrade division commander, Malashenko is here!"

"Puff cough cough damn fascists! I can't see my eyes anymore, cough cough"

The flying shell fragments not only seriously injured Suvorov's body, but also caused his eyes to bleed and become bloody.

Through the vague blood and blood, Malashenko could even see that the deep eye sockets were now empty. No one knows what Division Commander Suvorov went through at the moment of the explosion. Because he spoke, large mouthfuls of blood continued to pour out of his throat, but even so, Division Commander Suvorov did not stop.

"Take this, Malashenko! I fell, but the Red Army and our heroic Guards must not fall! From now on, you are the commander of the 9th Guards Airborne Division, and I will hand over the command to you! Lead the comrades to continue fighting, and you must fight the fascists to the end! Today, there will not be a Red Army soldier who surrenders to the enemy!"

Human life is fragile, and it is often only in that moment that is difficult to estimate in advance.

His blood-stained right hand tightly grasped the Nagant revolver that Division Commander Suvorov gave him before his death.

Malashenko, who once again experienced the unfinished burden from his fallen comrades, gently put down the body of Division Commander Suvorov, who was held in his arms. He was so angry that even his teeth were trembling with hatred that he wanted to eat the fascists alive.

"Comrade Brigade Commander, Comrade Brigade Commander!"

Before he could do anything else, Malashenko heard someone calling his name. He looked in the direction of the voice and found that the person was Valosha, who he had sent to lead the team to retreat.

"Why are you back again? Didn't I ask you to prepare for the retreat?"

Malashenko leaned against the trench wall behind him for cover. The three Iushkin brothers, who had almost lost the tank commander, almost rushed to Malashenko's side with Valosha, who was running fast.

"Comrade Deputy Brigade Commander and the others have also been repelled and are approaching us! Oleg told me this personally. He just ran to confirm it! What should we do now? Comrade Brigade Commander!"

""

The moment he heard that Lavrinenko's situation was as bad as his own, Malashenko's face did not show much surprise.

Silently, he lowered his head and looked at the blood-stained Nagant revolver in his hand. What echoed in his ears were the German commands that were so close that he could clearly hear the content.

When Malashenko opened his eyes again after his eyes were slightly closed for less than two seconds, the soul living in the body no longer pursued any way or hope of living, only the fire of hatred in his eyes. Burning.

"Hold the gun and load it!"

With extreme calmness and strong hatred, Malashenko raised his right hand holding the gun, which was full of blood. He never imagined that one day he would command the battle in this way, let alone that he would direct the battle in such a way. Step towards the end of life.

"Guards! For the sake of the motherland, attack! Ula!!!"

A roar with arms raised covered all the surrounding gunfire and resounded throughout the battlefield. The SS soldiers who were attacking in an orderly manner in a skirmish line heard this sudden cry. Anyone who knows what "Ula" means The veteran trembled all over, immediately braced himself up, clenched the weapon in his hand and opened his eyes wide.

Most of the SS soldiers participating in the attack thought that their opponents were almost dead, but it turned out that "thinking" was just "thinking" and could not replace reality. A wave of people jumped out from under the trenches in front of them like a tide and from behind the broken walls in an instant. A large group of enemies instantly shattered the victory that the SS soldiers thought was close at hand.

"Stop them! Shoot, shoot, shoot!"

The panicked SS soldiers raised their guns and fired, but they were so close that they could even hear each other shouting orders. The battle at a distance could no longer be solved with guns alone.

The Red Army soldiers at the front were hit by the entire row and fell face to face in a pool of blood. However, more Red Army soldiers continued to charge with deafening roars. The SS, who were in an offensive formation rather than a defensive position, were soon thrust into their faces, and the most brutal close-quarters hand-to-hand combat in the era of hot weapons, burning blood and will, began again.

Malashenko, who was in the charge team, fulfilled his oath and fulfilled his last promise to Division Commander Suvorov before his death.

The Somi submachine gun in his hand sprayed with fury, knocking down all the SS soldiers within sight. Even the aim was directly erased by the hip shot, which quickly emptied the drum, and the sound of the firing pin hitting the air was heard from the gun. There was no more ammunition in the chamber.

"Ah ah--"

An SS soldier who saw the opportunity rushed over with a Mauser 98K with a bayonet in his hand, screaming strangely. Malashenko, who had no more prepared drums on his body, held the hot barrel of the gun with his backhand and pressed hard. Wai,,. The Somi submachine gun thrown out in a spin hit the SS soldier's face, and his huge hand knocked him upside down on the spot.

"Fuck you son of a bitch!"

Bang bang bang——

He pulled out his Tokarev TT33 pistol from the holster on his waist and fired three times. The SS soldier who was hit with blood on his face and was struggling to get up died on the spot and became motionless.

With his other free left hand, he once again took out the bloody Nagant revolver from his belt. Malashenko, with Tokarev in his right hand and Nagant revolver in his left hand, directly entered the dual-gun state, and used it as never before. He carried out this battle that was probably his last with the attitude he had had.

"Come on, comrade division commander! Let's kill all these fascist pigs together!"

Bang-bang-bang——

The unique gunshots of Nagant's revolver and Tokarev alternately sounded, and one after another the SS soldiers who were fighting in close combat with the Red Army soldiers were shot and fell to the ground.

The crazy opponent, who did not have any distinctive features and only wore a simple and tattered tank soldier's uniform and a tank cap, quickly attracted the attention of the SS commander.

"That's the Malashenko! There's no mistake, I remember! It's him!"

Enemies often meet on narrow roads. At this moment, Malashenko did not realize that the commander of the enemy group in front of him was the SS who had been sprayed bloody by him not long ago. Captain of the first-level assault brigade of the army!

The leader of the SS First Class Assault Battalion, who had confirmed the opponent's identity, was extremely excited. A sinister smile appeared on the corner of his mouth, leaning on his face behind a broken wall. He raised his right hand out of thin air and then stretched it out in front of the guard who was protecting him. .

"Give me the rifle and load it!"

The rifleman in charge of the personal guard immediately complied and handed over the Mauser 98K rifle with the magazine already filled with bullets.

"Haha, let's see how stubborn you, a dirty Russian guy, are going to be later."

With a smooth and quick action of pulling the bolt and loading the bullet, he instantly pushed the Mauser 98K bullet in his hand into the chamber. He narrowed his left eye and knelt down in a standard three-point-one-line shooting position to firmly set the crosshair on the prey, smiling evilly. The captain of the SS First Class Assault Group, who was getting more and more popular, immediately pulled the trigger without any hesitation.

boom--

The clear and long sound of gunshots streaked across the sky. On a battlefield where close combat was common, submachine gunshots were rare, and rifle sounds were almost non-existent, it seemed so sudden and without warning.

The Nagant revolver in the left hand has emptied the magazine, and the Tokarev in the right hand has the slide rebounded.

Malachenko, who had used up all his bullets, slowly lowered his head and looked at the wound on the right side of his abdomen where his uniform was torn and blood was gushing out. He felt that his body, which had lost a lot of strength in an instant, could no longer hold on and fell to the ground, but his strong will that refused to fall completely was still forcing his left hand to support the ground so as not to fall completely.

The shouts and screams around him were gradually fading, and the sound of gunfire was getting less and less.

With blood dripping from the corners of his mouth, Malachenko lowered his head and faced the ground. His originally clear consciousness was becoming increasingly blurred until the arrogant footsteps and familiar tone in front of him sounded again.

"Look who this dog-like guy is? Your people are almost dead, Russian pigs! A bunch of incompetent, brainwashed idiots and waste!"

Malachenko, with blood all over his chin, slowly raised his head and saw the SS-level assault captain in front of him, who he had threatened to kill with his own hands. The head, speechless and expressionless, lowered silently again like a dying patient.

"Don't worry, I'll send you to meet your brainwashed idiot friends!"

The shadow facing the sun was reflected in Malashenko's vision. He had already raised the pistol in his hand. His right hand, which was full of sticky blood, had already quietly released the Tokarev pistol with an empty magazine. Instead, he used a flat-headed razor that Soviet carpenters often used to do handmade wood work and smooth the surface of wood blocks.

The flat blade that looked like a hammerhead shark was even stained with the flowing blood that the previous Red Army soldier used to kill the enemy. This knife was the last hope in Malashenko's hand, who had no other weapons available.

The reflection holding the Luger pistol was already still. Malashenko, who was holding the handle of the knife, used his last strength to suddenly jump up, and swung his left fist outward to instantly knock away the Luger pistol that was pointing at his head. In panic, he pulled the trigger and the bullet passed over Malashenko's shoulder and hit the ground behind him.

His left hand was like a claw and he stepped forward to strangle the opponent's throat. His right hand, which was tightly holding the flat-headed razor, used all the strength he could mobilize in his body and stabbed desperately. The flat-headed razor, which was not able to cut iron like mud, at least could cut flesh and break bones, cut through with a torrent of blood without any drag.

After a burst of blood gushing into the sky, what fell was the headless body as predicted earlier.

Malashenko, who still held the head of a good man tightly in his left hand, fell to the ground before the SS guards who were in a moment of shock and panic could come to their senses.

"Fuck you, stupid fascists, I told you to clean your neck, and I will definitely do what I say"

Maybe it was the last illusion at the moment of death, or it could be the scene that can only be seen when the soul leaves the body.

Before the darkness completely swallowed up his complete consciousness, Malashenko seemed to see countless Red Army soldiers who were shouting slogans and charging bravely from the direction he was facing away.

One after another, the T34 medium tanks knocked open the wreckage of the SS tanks, and the Il-2 attack aircraft and the Figure 2 tactical bomber in the sky seemed to cover the sky.

The echoing voices of Valosha, Iushkin, Kirill, and Seryosha, who were crying out their own names while rolling and crawling, finally disappeared into the endless darkness with the lingering echoes.