Chapter 416 Rescue

The KV85 heavy tank sped forward at a speed that could hardly be called a drag race and reached the final destination. Political Commissar Petrov, who stayed at the regiment headquarters, had learned all the situations through the car radio. A medical team directly under the regiment headquarters of the 1st Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment of the Guards under Malashenko was on standby in the cold wind.

Looking at the No. 177 heavy tank with battle scars all over its body, which was less than a hundred meters away but still speeding at full speed, Political Commissar Petrov, who was full of concern and extremely worried about his little nephew, could not help but turn his head again and asked the old military doctor standing beside him for the last time with the almost consistent words that had been repeated for the ninth time.

"Comrade Zhuskov, are you sure you can save Kirill? This is not a question asked by a superior. I just hope you can give me a truthful answer."

When Malashenko almost died in Leningrad after contracting malaria in that city shrouded in despair and hunger, relying on the only last medicine in hand and the experience of fighting the malaria that swept across the entire Russian land more than a decade ago, Malashenko's death was delayed at the most critical moment until he was finally transferred to Moscow for better treatment and fully recovered.

Zhuskov, a military doctor who calmly accepted Iushkin's sincere apology, finally gladly listened to Lavrinenko's invitation, took a plane from the magnificent holy city that still stood firm under the crazy offensive of the German army, and finally joined the newly formed First Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment with Malashenko's personal appearance and gratitude.

Now, Dr. Zhuskov, who had personally pulled Malashenko back from the hands of death, was faced with another problem. It had been nearly half an hour since he was shot and fell into a coma, which made it difficult for Dr. Zhuskov to ask the political commissar beside him to issue a military order and make a promise.

"If it were ordinary Red Army soldiers, I might still comfort them with kind words, but comrade political commissar, your nephew Kirill has been shot and fell into a coma for half an hour, and the bullet hit the most dangerous part of the upper body. Based on my previous experience, this description of the situation alone is enough to cause excessive blood loss and death. Please understand that I really have no way to make a promise to you now."

Although he had expected such a final result, after hearing these desperate words, Political Commissar Petrov still showed a rare sadness.

"Kirill is his mother's only son, and also the only child in the whole family. As a soldier, I should say that it is very honorable, but there are some things I believe you can do, Comrade Zhuskov. After all, you personally saved Comrade Malashenko who was suffering from malaria. This is a miracle that is almost impossible to achieve, isn't it?" Before the voice fell, the KV85 heavy tank, which had driven just a few meters in front of him and braked accurately, had completely stopped. I don't know what words I should use to respond to Political Commissar Petrov, an uncle who cares about his nephew. Under the lenses blown by the whistling cold wind, only a pair of eyes without any turbidity are firming up their will. "Let's go, comrades, and rescue our hero alive!"

The severe winter of 1941 had already called up almost all the young and middle-aged men in the city of Moss to the front line. The severely understaffed Red Army medical support troops had to employ those young girls who could not do heavy work on weekdays to take on the task of rescuing the wounded on the front line in the flames of war.

Fortunately, these young girls who also grew up under the red flag and had faith in their hearts performed better than expected. Except for not being able to take up weapons and kill the enemy without weapon training, these young and beautiful girls in the medical corps did their best to do every job within their responsibilities.

Before the car had time to stop completely, he had already stretched out his hand and suddenly pushed open the turret hatch above his head. He was anxious in his heart, fearing that Kirill's life would be completely ruined in his own hands because of the delay that could have been avoided.

With his right arm around the not-so-heavy body that had completely lost consciousness, Malashenko suddenly climbed out of the turret with his left hand. Just as he was about to call for help, Malashenko saw the faces waiting for him by the tank.

"Comrade Malashenko, hurry up and hand the wounded to us!"

Zhushenkov, an old military doctor in his fifties, was the first to climb onto the tank, regardless of his physical fitness that could no longer keep up with the pace, and took the initiative to extend his hands to Malashenko, who had half of his body out of the turret.

Malashenko looked up in the direction of the voice and immediately saw the anxious face in front of him. Malashenko recognized his savior at a glance and did not hesitate at all. He immediately used his right hand to push Kirill, who was in his arms, slightly forward and into the waiting hands of military doctor Zhushenkov.

"Sarah, Anya, catch him, go slowly, and hold him tight!"

The few young girls who were temporarily recruited into the medical team were still a little unfamiliar with the movements. With their slightly unconfident and trembling hands, they followed Zhuskov's orders and took over the rather heavy body.

Zhuskov, a military doctor who didn't know the extent of Kirill's injury, quickly jumped out of the car and reached forward to look at Kirill's wound.

After careful observation, Zhuskov, who roughly determined from the shape of the wound that the bullet should not have been in a rolling state when it entered the body, nodded slowly. Kirill, who was pressed by Malashenko with a gauze bandage all the way, seemed to still have a chance of survival.

"Press the wound and continue to stop the bleeding, Anya, the rest of you immediately carry the stretcher to the field hospital. Surgery must be performed immediately to remove the bullet, quickly!"

Malashenko, whose hands were already covered with blood, did not bother to wipe the slightly sticky marks on his hands and jumped out of the car. Political Commissar Petrov, who also stepped forward, did not make any unexpected moves after seeing the already embarrassed Malashenko.

Looking at Kirill, who was gradually moving away from the field hospital and had been carried far away, Political Commissar Petrov, who was feeling mixed emotions, immediately stopped Malashenko who was about to follow and called him aside.

"Tell me how Kirill got hurt, Malashenko. The wound on his back was caused by a bullet. I saw it clearly just now."