Chapter 441: The Long-Lost Face

"Kiril is okay!? He's still alive?!"

Faced with Malashenko's urgent words that almost put his whole face on his own, Commissar Petrov with a relieved expression immediately nodded slightly.

"The bullet was lodged between two ribs. The military doctor said that from the perspective of ballistic principles, the chance was less than one in ten thousand. He has never encountered such a lucky situation in his decades of medical practice."

"Kirill only had two ribs broken by bullets and some lung bleeding. Based on his physical fitness, he can recover and be discharged after just resting for a while. But now he misses you very much, Malashenko."

The slowly spoken words from the mouth of political commissar Petrov almost made the stunned Malashenko unbelievable.

Malashenko, who originally thought that Kirill and Yakov had entered another world, never expected that a full-power 92mm rifle bullet would get stuck between two ribs by chance, something like this would happen to Kirill. , Malashenko, who never entrusted his destiny to luck in his previous life, felt grateful and happy that he was favored by the goddess of luck for the first time.

"Thank you Comrade Lenin, thank you leader Stalin! This is great! Comrade Commander! Kirill is fine, he is still alive!"

Compared to Malashenko, who looked dumbfounded, and Lavrinenko, who also had a dull look on his face, gunner Iushkin, who was the first to recover from the shock, burst out with unconcealable joy. For this staunch communist fighter, nothing was more surprising than that his comrades were still alive.

As Iushkin shouted without warning, Lavrinenko, who also recovered from the extreme surprise, also showed a smile of gratitude and joy.

"Did you hear that? Malashenko! If this isn't enough to cheer you up, I'll beat you up in the snow right now, a coward!"

Hearing the familiar tongue-in-cheek words from beside him, Malashenko, who felt like he had climbed up from a torturous purgatory with his bare hands, immediately turned from sadness to laughter.

"I knew it! This kid Kirill has a hard life, he won't die like this! He is still alive, Iushkin, Lavri, Kirill is still alive! He is still alive, haha!"

Malashenko, who could not conceal his excitement for a moment, immediately turned around without warning, hugged his two comrades beside him and laughed loudly with a smile on his face.

Since traveling to this different world that does not belong to him, Malashenko has never felt as relieved and excited as he does now. This feeling is more important than the redemption of his soul. For this moment For Malashenko, it is no longer enough to simply describe it in words.

Before traveling to this cruel war era with heavy artillery fire, Malashenko in his previous life often listened to his father, who only had a primary school diploma, talk about some things from that year.

The unknown torture of facing a comrade-in-arms being carried off the line of fire is far more heart-wrenching than dying on the battlefield. The world collapsed when he learned that his comrades-in-arms finally died on the operating table, and he knew that his comrades-in-arms were walking away from death. For a long time, Malashenko had experienced such a completely different feeling that it was just a passing cloud, something that he had no personal experience with.

And when Malashenko himself experienced the sense of redemption mentioned by his father, this feeling of being reborn was indeed stronger than giving up the desire to survive and ending everything.

"I understand what you mean, dad. There are indeed some things in this world that are worth fighting for and protecting."

The road leading to the field hospital is not easy to walk, and is even a bit bumpy. The already snowy cross-country road is full of mottled traces left by previous German shelling and air raids. It is like driving a lunar rover on the surface of the moon. But the feeling couldn't stop the urgent worry in Malashenko's heart. For Malashenko at this moment, nothing was more important than seeing Kirill.

As the Gas Jeep bumped along, it finally stopped in front of the field hospital standing in the wind and snow. Malashenko, who was already impatient, immediately pushed open the half-open door next to him. Slightly staggering, he almost stumbled to the ground and immediately sprinted towards the nearest tent.

"Kiril!!!"

In a somewhat barbaric way of hearing the person before seeing him, Malashenko opened the tent door in front of him. With his eyes wide open and eager to speak, Malashenko kept scanning what he was looking at in front of him, looking anxiously. The figure of the big boy.

Finally, when the focus of Malashenko's eyes was finally fixed on the bed frame in the corner of the tent, a big stone that had been suspended in his heart for a long time finally quietly fell to the ground.

Emotional communication between men often does not require too much. Just the exchange of gazes between four eyes can convey enough information.

And when Malashenko, who was walking a little heavy but excitedly and slowly, came to the bedside, Kirill, whose whole chest was already covered with white bandages but was still conscious, finally said that sentence as if Words that have been separated for a long time.

"I'm back, Comrade Commander."

Since Kirill was shot and wounded, he had been suppressing the anxious and worried emotions in his heart. When he heard Kirill's sudden words, Malashenko finally couldn't suppress his emotions anymore. He couldn't shed even a drop of tears on the battlefield, but at this moment, he couldn't stop pouring down from the corners of his eyes like a spring.

"What nonsense are you talking about? There's no such thing as coming back or not! You have always been by my side, Kirill, and have always been in our No. 177 tank crew! Remember what we swore before we set off for Yelnya? Comrades are always united, how can we be separated because of such a small matter! Those Nazi fascist bullets can't kill you!"

Kirill, who fell into a coma after being shot, always felt that his hands were colder than ever in his subconscious.

And when the most instinctive fear of death buried deep in everyone's heart burst out from the depths of the soul, Kirill, whose desire to survive reached its peak in the haze, kept trying to stretch out his right hand to grab something, but his efforts to control his body were ultimately in vain.

And now, feeling the rough touch of sandpaper in his palms but the warm temperature so close to the deepest part of his soul, Kirill, who felt as if he had been reborn, finally raised the corners of his mouth slightly as Malashenko clenched his right hand tightly in his clasped hands as if he was afraid of losing it.