Chapter 3016 Congratulations, You Passed the Interview

Malashenko did tell Alsim to take it easy and be merciful.

This SS leader who fights in an armored tin box is not a human punching bag that can withstand your willful torment. In terms of melee combat skills and skills, he may not even be as good as any ordinary soldier you have encountered before.

Not to mention that this guy has suffered from hunger since he was captured, but his quality of life is indeed not as good as before, and he is definitely not as able to withstand the torture as before.

Just one cigarette and three minutes.

When Malashenko pushed in the door three minutes later, the scene in front of him was miserable, but it wasn't much better.

Alsim continued to hammer there, or after finishing speaking, he returned to his original position, still as motionless as an iron tower.

As for Wittmann, he still sat back on his interrogation chair, or he was pushed back by Alsim in some way.

Now, although there are no handcuffs, Wittmann's condition is already more honest than wearing handcuffs.

Malashenko clearly saw the look in Wittmann's eyes, looking at Alsim standing still in front of him as if he were looking at a monster, as if Alsim was some indescribable fear rather than a person.

As for that knife, that heavy Nazi knife that Alsim brought back from the top of the Capitol as a trophy was once the exclusive weapon of Heisenberg, who was capable of fighting Alsim.

It is now placed on the table in front of Wittmann, but it has been directly inserted vertically into the iron interrogation table by a strong external force, instead of being left on the table in the state when Malashenko left.

He looked at Alsim, who was still calm, as if nothing had happened, and then at Wittmann, who was sitting there without saying a word.

Malashenko, who felt that this guy must have been stimulated in some way, remained silent. He took a step forward and came to his side. Seeing that he was still silent and motionless, he immediately reached out and grasped the heavy knife inserted in the iron table in front of him. , try to pull it out. I found that this thing couldn't be pulled out with one hand by my own strength. It was stuck and couldn't move.

You must know that Malashenko is not an ordinary person in terms of strength.

Not only does he have a tall and powerful figure of over 1.9 meters, but he also has the experience of playing with 122 shells in the past and now having fun with 130 shells. The entire Stalin series of heavy tanks can be rounded off as an "armor gym". The various daily activities of carrying artillery shells are enough to build a pair of unicorn arms.

Just like this, the knife that seemed to be simply inserted into the iron table in front of him, Malashenko could not move at all with one hand, let alone pull it out.

It can be seen that this thing is definitely not a two-time or even multiple insertions, but a one-time slam into shape to lock it so tightly.

Malashenko didn't know what happened in the room just now, but he guessed that Wittmann's appearance had a lot to do with the knife in front of him.

Who knows what Wittmann went through and what kind of strength he witnessed Alsim’s display, but in short, it’s good that he is fine.

I wasn't worried about whether Alsim was okay, I was just worried about whether Wittmann was missing an arm or a leg.

Looking up and down, I found that Wittmann's body parts were all still alive except for his complicated expression.

Malashenko, who was thinking that Alsim's work efficiency should be praised, sat down again. Before he could speak, he heard Wittmann, who had been silent until now, take the initiative to speak.

"Can you give me a cigarette?"

"Um?"

Although he deliberately tried to hide it, Malashenko could clearly hear Wittmann's tone and his voice was trembling to some extent, as if he had just climbed out of the sinking Titanic.

After hearing this, Malashenko did not respond directly. He turned to look at Alsim and found that his face was still calm. It seemed that Wittmann's bells and whistles were not even qualified to catch his eye.

“When was the last time you smoked?”

He took out the cigarette case and refilled himself with another cigarette. He held the cigarette in his mouth and opened his mouth, and at the same time passed one to Wittmann.

Wittmann reached out to take the cigarette, shakily put it into his mouth and held it in his mouth. This action also failed to escape Malashenko's eyes, and the tone he spoke next was slightly calmer than before.

"Before I was caught by you, I smoked the last cigarette in the remains of the Tiger King before I came out and shared it with others."

That's right, at least I can speak human words, instead of just opening my mouth and starting to curse or be weird.

Malashenko's guess was correct. Asking Alsim to teach Wittmann was indeed effective. If you don't listen to the good words, you can only give you a "little Slavic shock."

"Well, it was indeed a long time ago. It has been a while. It has been quite uncomfortable, right?"

Depressed and mentally tortured all day long without the comfort of nicotine, Malashenko could imagine that Wittmann must not be living a very good life these days. This look is more beggars than a gang of beggars. prove.

If they hadn't known it in advance, who would have thought that the slovenly man in front of him, like a beggar, was actually the famous Nazi number one armored ace, the king of the rankings with a record of 196 vehicles.

Whether it's fate or don't judge people by their appearance, it applies to Wittmann now.

"What do you want? Do you want me to treat you like a dog, just like the coward of the National Defense Force? I tell you clearly that this is impossible, even if you make me feel scared, you still can't make me give in!"

"fear?"

""

After Malashenko singled out the key words and emphasized the question, Wittmann realized that he had let the cat out of the bag subconsciously and looked a little embarrassed.

He glanced at Alsim from the corner of his eye but still dared not look directly at him, as if the person standing there was not a human but a ghost. Malashenko, who saw it and remembered it in his heart, just smiled slightly.

"I never intended to make you surrender, and I don't want to take two-legged people as dogs. You completely misunderstood what I meant."

"What I want to say remains unchanged. I came to see you today for an interview. You probably won't get a better job opportunity than today in the rest of your life. You don't really want to be locked up in a labor camp for ten or twenty years, and when you get out, you'll only have a sick body to write some memoirs of painless groans, right?"

"Maybe it's redundant for me to say this, but I still want to remind you, Wittmann."

"Don't forget, you're not even a soldier in the legal sense. Strictly speaking, you can only be regarded as a stubborn militant, and an illegal one. Do you understand what I mean?"

""

Of course, Wittmann understood what his SS identity meant, and the iron butcher in front of him was indeed not trying to scare him.

The only legitimate armed force recognized by Germany from the beginning to the end was the Wehrmacht. As for the SS, it was just a group of illegal militants kept by the Nazis.

Ordinary prisoners of the Wehrmacht could be released early and go home after Germany's defeat, but these losers of the SS were not even qualified as prisoners of war, so what kind of treatment should they be given to prisoners of war?

The Soviets had ten thousand legitimate reasons to imprison themselves until death and to work them to death in labor camps. As for the kind of ten or twenty years that the Iron Butcher said, it was already promising and relatively good to some extent.

"In addition, if I remember correctly, your pregnant wife should be giving birth soon, and the due date is this fall, right? Wouldn't it be nice to get a good and decent new job and go back to support your family and accompany your wife and children? She misses you very much and is waiting for her hero to come home."

""

If Wittmann's expression just now was fear and despair, and he was almost overwhelmed by the completely dark future that could be seen.

Now, this expression so vividly reflected in Malashenko's sight was completely panic-stricken and at a loss.

"What did you do!? What did you do to Hilde!!!"

Seeing that he was about to lose control, Wittmann almost stood up from his chair and rushed towards Malashenko.

Alsim, who had been standing behind Malashenko, didn't even need to speak. He just took a step forward and stared at the crazy SS leader whose brain was about to lose control of his body.

Wittmann's uncontrollable movements stopped, just like the pause button of Contra was pressed. The picture turned from dynamic to static and froze. To be more precise, he couldn't move.

"Calm down, Mr. Wittmann. I, Malashenko, am not a tyrant, and I have no interest in your wife."

"But you also know that Germany is now in ruins. Mrs. Wittmann is pregnant and has no food or clothing. I, Malashenko, think that I should help her if I can. After all, although you and I are rivals, it has nothing to do with women, wives, and even less with the unborn child in your belly, right?"

He stood up and walked to Wittmann's side while talking, while raising his hand to support Wittmann's shoulder, and gently pressed him back to sit in the chair.

He took out a lighter with his right hand and personally lit the cigarette that Wittmann had been holding in his mouth but had not received a light; his other left hand also reached into the lining of his coat, took out the handwritten letter he brought with him, and handed it to Wittmann.

"She loves you and needs you. She is helpless and has no one to rely on. She asks me to bring this letter to you."

"You and I are both soldiers, and we are both men. Before you show your loyalty and filial piety to the Nazis who have gone to hell, shouldn't you consider your unborn child and your wife who has been pregnant for ten months? Are they not as good as the Nazis who have gone to hell? Are the living worse than the dead ghosts?"

"Think about it carefully, think about what you should do."

While Wittmann was opening his wife's handwritten letter with trembling hands and reading it, Malashenko was strolling around the interrogation room and talking quietly.

"Germany is already terminally ill and rotten to the root. There is no hope."

"The Nazis have polluted this land. What we need to do is to thoroughly purify it and burn it to ashes."

"A new Germany will be reborn on this purified land, a Germany that is completely uncontaminated by the Nazis!"

"The Nazi remnants will be lost in history, and the patriots will rise again, giving everything for the motherland they love deeply, and they will make Germany great again!"

"So, what do you think?"

After wandering around the interrogation room for a week, he returned to Wittmann. Malashenko, who was looking down from above, left the last question with a condescending attitude.

"Is it to be a Nazi burial object and become a history of failure and destruction, or to become a reborn patriot who fights for tomorrow."

"Your wife and unborn child are waiting for your answer. Tell them your decision."

""

With a cigarette in one hand and a letter in both hands, Wittmann raised his head tremblingly, and the final answer was still blurted out as a rhetorical question.

"Then what have I been fighting for?"

"In order to witness the defeat and destruction of the Nazis with your own eyes, and then remember the history and pass it on to the next generation to avoid repeating the same mistakes. Then build everything destroyed by the Nazis into a better tomorrow, use your own hands!"

""

Without any more words, the right hand stretched out towards Malashenko after quietly putting down the letter was already the best answer.

"Congratulations, you passed the interview and the job is yours."

Malashenko responded with an upward smile and held Wittmann's hand. What he had been preparing for since he was still in Berlin could finally be said to have been in vain.

Malashenko left with Alsim, but there was crying in the interrogation room where no one was left behind.

She was crying so loudly that the sky was dark, so loud that the sound could be heard even through the iron door, making people in the corridor outside the door hear her clearly.

"What's wrong with him? Why are he crying?"

Krauser, who had just arrived, was puzzled and asked questions with doubts, but he did not understand why a die-hard SS leader was crying so heartbrokenly. Only Malashenko's answer remained calm as before.

"Let him cry. Give him some time and space. If he wants to see me, please contact me."

"Also, pay attention and observe. It is best to get to know him again in the future. I hope you can have a happy working relationship with him in the future."