Chapter 2155 Smoke and Stories

"Legs, my legs! Doctor, doctor, where are my legs? Where are my legs? Ahhh!!!"

"Calm down, comrade, calm down. Life is more important than legs. You must be alive before you can consider other things."

"There is another one here, Alena, bring the stretcher over! Quick!"

A brutal battle for positions caused heavy casualties on both sides. The repeated change of the main positions caused the infantry who were constantly pulling and fighting to suffer huge casualties, whether it was the German side or the Soviet side.

Malashenko, walking between the positions, had to lift his legs from time to time to step over the three or five consecutive corpses piled up under his feet.

It doesn't have to be either the German or Soviet army alone. More often, three or five corpses in military uniforms of different camps are stacked and intertwined, like sandbags, and they have long lost their breath under one pressure.

But the Red Army medical soldiers searching the battlefield still tried their best to find the living comrades among the pile of corpses, and they were determined not to miss any of them even if there was little hope.

"Comrade, do you have cigarettes? I can't move now, and I can't ask others for them. Can you give me one?"

Malashenko stood on the edge outside the trench, looking around at the busy positions cleaning the battlefield and rescuing people, and the soldiers under his command were helping the 267th Infantry Division to repair and reinforce the positions.

But he never thought that at this moment, in the trench beside him, which he had not paid attention to just now, a hoarse voice suddenly spoke quietly. Judging from the tone, it should be a greeting to him.

Subconsciously turning his head in the direction of the voice, Malashenko saw that it was an old soldier who was dragging a wounded leg and sitting against the trench wall, hugging the Mosin-Nagant in his arms, looking at him with a simple smile.

The wound on the leg has been bandaged and the bleeding has been stopped. The medical soldier who has finished the emergency treatment has left to treat other wounded. It will probably take some time before the stretcher team can spare some manpower.

"Of course, I just happened to be addicted, let's smoke one together."

Malashenko in the wartime state is the same as before, as always, without any military badges that can distinguish the military rank, just an ordinary, old and wrinkled tank soldier's fireproof combat uniform, and a velvet winter tank hat on his head.

If you don't recognize this face at a glance, you will definitely think that this is a Red Army tank soldier, and this old soldier who happens to be sitting in the trench with a wounded leg and unable to move is it.

"Oh, young man, this is a good thing, a box of cigarettes, I haven't smoked it for a long time, are you an officer?"

Just after taking the cigarette box out of his pocket, Malashenko, who was squatting next to the old soldier, grinned. Just like many young soldiers of the same age who fought in ordinary tank positions, he looked honest and respectful. The old soldiers in their forties and fifties who still carried guns to fight against the fascists really deserve this respect.

"No, I'm just an ordinary soldier. This is a reward from our leader. I have made meritorious contributions in combat, hehe"

Malashenko deliberately concealed his identity, not for anything else, but sometimes it's good to experience the feeling of being an ordinary tank soldier again.

If you immerse yourself in the glory of the general for too long, you may lose yourself. Malashenko wants to personally understand some things as a soldier, that's all.

"Then you must be very popular with your leader. Young man, you must work hard. The future of our motherland and the Red Army belongs to you. You are the hope."

Listening to the old soldier's earnest teachings, Malashenko smiled and handed the big man a cigarette and lit it for him, but the lighter in his hand also attracted attention.

"The lighter is not bad. Did you take it from the German? There are really a lot of good things."

"Yeah"

Malashenko, who lit a cigarette for himself, leaned back in the trench and sat side by side with the old soldier. The old soldier, who felt the extraordinary mellow taste between his lips and teeth, soon spoke again.

"It's really a good cigarette. I have never smoked it before. Is this for a colonel?"

Different military ranks have different supplies. The old soldier guessed that this might be something that colonels such as regiment commanders or brigade commanders smoke. Malashenko did not lie again this time.

"No, it's a general officer's box. I only have this one box."

"Oh? General officer's box? Then you must have made some military achievements and received commendations from the division commander or the army commander, right? That's even more remarkable. I have to salute you."

Before he finished speaking, the old soldier had put down the Mosin-Nagant he had been holding in his arms and saluted to Malashenko. Malashenko, who was caught off guard, quickly raised his hand to return the salute and then smiled.

"It's not a big deal, old comrade. But you, there are not many soldiers as old as you. Can you tell me your story? Just like telling stories to the younger generation."

""

I don't know if it was an illusion, Malashenko just felt that the old soldier was moved and slightly startled for a moment, but he quickly covered it up with a smile like before.

"Well, I haven't talked to anyone for a while. Young people have young people's topics and don't like to talk to an old guy like me. It's rare to meet someone who wants to listen to stories, and it just happens to relieve my boredom."

Malashenko put the cigarette box at hand and did not put it back into his pocket. After finishing one cigarette, he could take another one at any time. There was still enough left in the cigarette box. The story can be told slowly. Now Just be quiet and listen.

"Let me think about it, where should I start?"

"By the way, let's start with the children. Fighting side by side with you young people always reminds me of the past. At that time, I was a middle school teacher. My children and students were all about the same age as you. Even Even younger, some of them are only fifteen or sixteen years old.”

"Teacher? You said you were a middle school teacher before, is that true?"

Malashenko looked slightly surprised, but the smiling veteran just nodded.

"Yeah, I'm a middle school teacher, teaching history, at least I used to be."

"Then why?"

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Malashenko felt a little regretful. Perhaps such a question that could obviously predict the possible outcome should not be asked at all, but the old soldier just leaned against the trench wall and continued to smile.

"When I took my children to evacuate from Minsk, the German planes roared above us. The head teacher stood on the haystack and shouted loudly for the students to get down, but by then it was too late."

"The German bomb exploded right next to us. It only took a moment for my eyes to go dark and I couldn't remember anything. I only knew that when I woke up, I was already being carried to the car and was already far away from Minsk and evacuated to rear."

"Later, I tried to find my children. I took 73 student ID cards, such a thick stack, and searched among the refugees and at any evacuation point. But I couldn't find any of them. It was like It was as if these children had never existed at all. All that was left were those 73 cold student ID cards, and me holding this thick stack of student ID cards in my arms and crying in the dark. I never thought that one day It will become like this”