Chapter 417 Kirill's Story

Regarding the question raised by political commissar Petrov, Malashenko, who had no intention of hiding anything, immediately spoke with a silent expression.

"It's my fault. I got out of the car without permission on the battlefield to contact the friendly forces to change the battle plan. Kirill stuck out of the turret to help me, and the next thing you know, Comrade Political Commissar."

After hearing Malashenko's reply, Commissar Petrov was mentally prepared but still couldn't help being stunned.

"So, he is trying to save you?"

"Yes, Comrade Political Commissar."

After getting a confirmed answer from Malashenko again, Malashenko, who originally thought that Petrov's political commissar would suddenly rush up and punch him, did not wait for the punch.

Even when the snow stopped, the cold wind whistled along Commissar Petrov's broad back, and his fluttering sleeves, with nothing inside them, drifted in the wind.

"Kirill has always asked me the same question since he was a child, why all his friends have fathers and he doesn't. It was difficult for me to answer him at that time. I could only try to integrate myself into the role of father as much as possible. It made him feel a little atone."

The somewhat difficult words almost poured out slowly from the cracks in his mouth. Political Commissar Petrov, with an indescribable sadness on his face, recalled the memories that had long been sealed in his heart.

"I originally thought that he would never go back to the old path that belonged to his father because he hated his father's absence. Now it seems that this child is still too deeply influenced by me."

"Kiril's father?"

Something seemed to be reflected in the hint blurted out by Political Commissar Petrov. The answer was almost ready to come out, prompting Malashenko to take a step forward with a somewhat impatient expression.

"What does this have to do with his father? Comrade Political Commissar. Kirill has never mentioned this to me. Even the letters are only from his mother. What is going on!?"

Compared with Malashenko's impatient questioning, Commissar Petrov's face was full of indifference, but he seemed to be indifferent.

"It was the most difficult time for the Soviet Union. There were many, many enemies who wanted to wipe out our newly born red hope in its infancy. I, Chernyev, and Kirill's father, who was also me My biological brother, the three of us were in the same infantry squad at the time. Although every day was very difficult, I still miss that time a little when I think about it.”

With his only remaining arm, he took off the military cap on his head and slowly stretched out his hand to gently brush the scar on his forehead. The scar was hidden under a slightly longer hair and was almost invisible on ordinary days. Strange.

"Just like what Kirill did to you, Chernyaev was exposed to enemy fire in order to save me who was wounded by shrapnel. If Kirill's father hadn't risked his life to save us, If we dragged him back to the trench one by one, I would definitely be the one who died there, and maybe that guy Chernyaev would be involved as well.”

"But who would have thought that the person who fell in the end less than half a meter away from the position was not one of us, but Kirill's father. What I didn't expect the most was that the location where both father and son were shot They will all be exactly the same.”

Before the slightly sad words could be heard, Political Commissar Petrov put the slightly snowy military cap in his hand on the tool box on the side of Malashenko's car, reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. But he accidentally dropped several cigarettes on the ground.

"When I talk about these old things, my hands tremble. Why wasn't I the one who died in the snow?"

The figure who was about to bend down to pick up the cigarette that fell at his feet looked a little embarrassed. At this moment, Petrov seemed not to be a high-ranking political commissar of the Red Army but like an old beggar with nothing. He couldn't bear to look at the man in front of him who was so average in his previous impressions. The extremely tall man bowed his head in front of him, and Malashenko, who had already put his right hand into his pocket, took a step forward again.

"I made you recall things you shouldn't recall, Comrade Political Commissar. This is all my fault."

Commissar Petrov finally bent down in front of Malashenko with a cigarette in his mouth that was brought to him by Malashenko, and a bitter smile with mixed tastes at the corner of his mouth.

"The three of us were called the "Three Rifleman" by others because of our good relationship back then, but now I am the only one left, and I am still the weakest of the three."

Political Commissar Petrov, who picked up the cigarette that had fallen into the snow and was slightly wet, put it gently back into the box and stuffed it into his pocket again. He raised his hand to light a wisp of flame for the cigarette in his mouth. It's expressionless.

"I still remember the last words said to me by the priest who was thrown into prison by my own hands. He said that what I did was contrary to God's will and would be punished. At the time, it seemed that this was just It was the last arrogant cry of the ignorant people who were loyal to the white bandits, but since Chernyaev's death, I would think about it when I was alone. I inflicted punishment."

All the remaining four members, including Malashenko, were either standing in the snow or sitting on the tank, quietly listening to the reminiscences of the past from the political commissar Petrov in such a silent manner. .

The usual thoughts of absolutely trampling on the so-called gods and religions have now become a blank. As a personal experience of the story told by Political Commissar Petrov, all the Red Army tank soldiers with firm beliefs, including Iushkin, are now entangled in their hearts and can't say a word.

"My superior comrade told me during the Great Purge that the more steadfast a person's faith is, the more likely he is to betray his faith when ordinary people are not paying attention. He told me to be vigilant at all times and keep a close eye on every suspicious person around me and report it at any time."

"The more steadfast a person's faith is, the more likely he is to betray his faith when ordinary people are not paying attention. Is this not right? Malashenko."

The self-deprecating voice of Political Commissar Petrov, who was close in front of him, with a cigarette in his mouth, sounded like a scimitar cutting his heart, which was enough to make Malashenko bleed. Malashenko, who didn't know how many scarred experiences this seemingly resolute man had hidden behind him, could only gently raise his hand and put his hand on the other's shoulder as if Political Commissar Petrov had encouraged him.

"No, Comrade Political Commissar, in my opinion, your faith is stronger than mine, Biyushkin, and everyone present here!"