Chapter 1356 Like a Clown

Malashenko, holding the receiver, did not wait too long. Karamov on the other end of the phone quickly gave the answer.

"It is a batch of new light weapons, comrade division commander. Uh, I opened one of the boxes and took a look. It is now at my hand. I don't know how to describe this gun. I have never seen a similar weapon before."

"It is one size larger than a submachine gun and one size smaller than a light machine gun. It has a very long curved feeder. It looks like it has a large capacity, but the size of this bullet is much larger than that of a submachine gun. It is more like a bullet used by rifles and machine guns."

Karamov never lied to Malalashenko, and this time was no exception.

At this moment, he was holding the receiver in one hand and a strange weapon he had never seen before in the other hand. The whole gun looked like a hybrid of a submachine gun and a light machine gun. It did not use a drum magazine like the PPSh, but a curved long magazine similar to the PPSh 43.

However, the size of this bullet is obviously much larger, longer and thicker than that of ordinary submachine gun bullets. The bullet head is not round but pointed, and it feels heavy in the hand. However, it is slightly shorter than the regular rifle bullets and machine gun bullets.

Karamov, who thinks he is quite proficient in all kinds of enemy and friendly firearms, really can't tell what kind of weapon this big guy in his hand should be classified into.

Karamov doesn't know the truth behind it, but it doesn't mean that Malashenko, the initiator of all this, doesn't know it himself.

Through Karamov's brief and straightforward description, Malashenko roughly understands what the appearance of this new light weapon that he hasn't seen yet is, and how elusive its specific features are.

All the descriptions are briefly and straightforwardly pointing to a common answer: Kalashnikov and Kotin probably really got the job done! If the newly delivered weapons were not AKs, then Malashenko could not think of any other new gadgets that looked like what Karamov described.

How excited was Malashenko at this moment? It could almost be said that he could not restrain himself.

It was no exaggeration to say that Malashenko even felt that his right hand holding the phone was shaking constantly!

I want an AK! These damn Germans, wash your necks and wait for death! No matter what P40, they will all crawl! This time, from light weapons to heavy weapons, we will beat the Germans in all directions.

"Keep an eye on the things! No one is allowed to touch them before I arrive! If anyone dares to mess around, send your people to catch them first, I will set off now and arrive soon!"

After hanging up the phone, Malashenko was about to set off quickly, and was quite impatient, but he did not expect the political commissar to take the initiative to step forward at this time.

"What happened? Why are you so impatient?"

Since everything has been revealed, there is no need to hide anything. Malashenko answered the political commissar without thinking.

"The batch of new guns I told you about just now has just been delivered to Karamov. This is very important. I have to go and see it myself immediately. Do you want to come with me?"

For some reason, Malashenko subconsciously invited the political commissar to see if he needed to come and see the new things he had worked on.

Even Malashenko himself couldn't explain the reason, but some things are like this, you don't need to care about the reason. In short, you just put it into practice without thinking, it's that simple.

"It's been delivered? So fast?"

"Yeah"

Malashenko spoke softly and nodded in answer, and picked up the military coat on the hanger at the door of the tent. The political commissar gave the answer immediately after a brief thought.

"No problem, I'll go with you. I'm also interested."

"Wait for me here for a while. I'll arrange the work. There are some reports and documents that need to be processed. I'll arrange to transfer them to other people. It will be done soon."

Even though he is terminally ill and has little time left, the political commissar is still responsible for a lot of work and a wide variety of things.

There are too many trivial matters, major matters and important matters in the division headquarters that the political commissar is worried about.

It is not only due to his mission, but also responsible to Malashenko and the division commander. The political commissar, whose health is getting worse day by day, continues to work like this, fighting on this smokeless but extremely important front, and has never said that he will give up voluntarily.

Leaning against the door of the tent, Malashenko lit a cigarette for himself. The lighter that he had taken from the corpse of the German colonel earlier was a little difficult to use. It might be because he had used it for too long and was too worn out. After repeated attempts, Malashenko finally produced sparks when he pressed it for the eighth time.

"Damn, this German's rag is probably going to retire soon, I have to prepare a new one in advance"

While muttering, he looked up and saw the political commissar, who was busy directing a group of staff to arrange work.

Seeing such a scene, Malashenko suddenly felt a little dazed. He didn't know how long such a scene could accompany him and appear in his eyes.

Malachenko was really worried, even scared, that one day such scenes would suddenly not appear again, and no one would take care of the mess in the division, and the person he respected and cherished would bid farewell to the world and never see it again.

People often say that only when you lose something will you know how to cherish it, but what Malachenko wants to say is that he has lost too much, again and again. He cherishes everything in front of him, and even regards these things as more precious than his own life. Some subtle changes have already been imposed on himself.

But why do I have to endure such painful things bit by bit, as if I was being tortured, but I have no way to change it and I am powerless. Is there anything called ridicule in this world that really exists? Malachenko sometimes feels like the whole world is quietly mocking him, as if the greater his ability, the more real this ridicule is.

"Look, what can a Soviet hero, a young tank major general, do? He still can't protect the most important person around him, as always, like a waste, even more like a clown"