Chapter 415: Confusion

The Red Army soldiers who kept charging forward and crossing around the car were not enough to arouse any interest of Malashenko. Malashenko, who was only thinking about saving people, wished that he was driving a flying tank T80U instead of this bulky KV1. However, no matter what, it was still faster than running on foot with a person on his back, which finally prompted Malashenko to give up the idea in his mind.

"Seryosha, can't you go faster? It's too slow now!"

Holding the joystick in his hand, he pressed the sole of his foot on the accelerator pedal and never let go from beginning to end. Seryosha, who had already driven the tank at full speed, was also helpless in the face of Malashenko's repeated questions.

"This is already the fastest speed, comrade tank commander, our KV1 can only run at this speed, the off-road road conditions are really too bad!"

Although the Soviet Union, which has never been used to building roads, greatly delayed the advancement of the German mechanized armored forces, it bought time for its own side to build a subsequent deep defense line from a passive perspective.

But the Soviet tank troops, which were also greatly limited by this, also faced the problem of slowed off-road mobility. Before this, they had complained about the endless off-road conditions because of the poor transmission system of the KV1 heavy tank. Now, Malashenko, who was in a hurry to rescue people, was so anxious that his hair was almost burning when he faced the endless snowfield where there was no way to go.

"This damn broken road, damn snow! Why can't these bastards build a few smoother roads outside Moscow? Do we really have nothing but railways!?"

The manic howling in his heart did not help the cruel and real reality in front of him. Malashenko, who had accumulated so much annoyance and anger in his heart, felt the body in his arms that did not move at all. The still warm blood had completely wet the white flag used by the French and soaked Malashenko's hands.

"Damn it, the bleeding won't stop! Iushkin! Are there any decent medical supplies in the car, even gauze will do!"

"I'm looking for it, comrade commander! Damn it, this damn shell collection box is all over the floor again!"

Iushkin, who was constantly searching for anything useful in the storage space of the vehicle body just below the turret seat, was a little flustered. His right foot accidentally kicked over the shell collection box, which was already a little unstable, just below the breech block.

With a clanging sound, the shells rolled out of the overturned collection box and fell all over the floor. Iushkin, who was already running out of time and every second counted, was even more annoyed when he saw this scene.

"Even your shells are helping those Germans, where are these damn medical supplies? I remember I put them here last time."

The Soviet tank troops, who have never been used to equipping their vehicles with first aid kits, naturally look a bit shabby. Before Kirill was injured this time, Malashenko, who always wondered whether his crew would be injured in the vehicle during a battle, prepared for a rainy day. He used his connections to get a few first aid kits seized from crashed German planes, and equipped one for each of his regiment's vehicles and Lavrinenko's and his own vehicles.

But the Soviet tank soldiers, who already had relatively narrow space in the vehicle, usually didn't like these German-made things. The emergency medical kits, which were much larger than shoe boxes, were not very useful in normal times. They were too inconvenient to put them under their feet and too blocked to put them by their hands. The Soviet tank soldiers did their best to stuff these emergency medical kits into places where Lei couldn't see them on weekdays to save space.

There is no doubt that Iushkin, who is in a hurry to save Kirill at this critical moment, is such a Soviet tank gunner.

He searched the turret storage box, the body storage box, the shell collection box, the bottom of the seat, and even the bottom of the seat of the mechanic Nikolai, who had nothing to do with him. Iushkin, who was as anxious as an ant on a hot pot, searched for more than a minute, but still couldn't find the German iron box that he usually thought was in the way.

Just as Iushkin, who was full of resentment, was about to go back to the turret storage box to search again, he heard a crisp sound of metal products hitting each other because of the bumpy off-road road.

Iushkin, who almost missed this critical sound, was stunned for a moment and immediately turned his head and looked behind him. The crisp metal collision sound was obviously coming from the invisible dark corner next to the fuel tank on both sides of the vehicle body.

"I think I found it, Comrade Tank Commander!"

After shouting with a hint of surprise, he immediately bent down again and pounced on the dark corner of the fuel tank. The fireproof combat uniform on the outermost part of the cotton-padded jacket was immediately rubbed by the black oil stains mixed with dust. Iushkin, who didn't take it seriously and completely forgot about it, immediately touched a cold square iron box with his right hand.

"That's it, I found it, Comrade Tank Commander!"

Holding the first aid medical kit he just found, he suddenly stood up and almost hit his head. Iushkin, who didn't care about these insignificant things, hurriedly lifted the iron box tightly in his arms and threw it over his head, throwing this heavy captured trophy into the hands of Malashenko who was holding Kirill in the turret.

Malashenko, who successfully received the life-saving iron box, did not dare to neglect at all. After placing the box beside him, he immediately reached out and opened the lock mechanism to reveal the contents in front of his eyes.

Pure white medical gauze, white tape bundled in rolls, metal syringes filled with unknown medicines, and several small and large medicine bottles with words written in German that he could not understand were Malashenko's list. Everything I saw after Wuyu.

"Medicine, do the Germans distribute antibiotics right now? Damn, I can't remember! Fuck the syringe, just put a bandage on it to stop the bleeding first."

In desperation, Malashenko, who blurted out his authentic native dialect, no longer cared too much. Iushkin, who was sweating profusely from work and had climbed back into the turret, also cared. Don't listen to the few words said by the comrade commander that you don't understand at all.

The two people who rushed to rescue the man immediately took out the medical gauze and white tape that could be used for explosions from the box. They pulled the stuff in their hands and put it on Kirill's back in an unprofessional way. As for the wound on his back, the white French flag that had been dyed crimson by communism was thrown into the bullet casing collection box at his feet by Malashenko like throwing snot paper, and he was no longer in the mood to take care of it.