Chapter 487 The Father of Heavy Tanks

Anyone would be shocked to be called by their name in a strange public place, and our comrade Malashenko is no exception.

Looking at the young guard in front of him who looked quite energetic and capable, Malashenko, who seemed to understand something in thought, immediately responded.

"It's me, I am Malashenko."

After getting an accurate response, he nodded slightly, and the young guard who slowly turned sideways immediately made a gesture of invitation to Malashenko.

"Please follow me, Comrade Malashenko, Comrade Kotin is waiting for you in the carriage."

"Waiting for me in the carriage? So early!?"

I thought he was waiting for Kotin, but surprisingly, Malashenko never expected that the situation would turn into Kotin waiting for him, and what the hell was waiting for him in the carriage?

With a lot of questions in his mind, he followed the guard who led the way in front of him and stepped into the carriage not far away. When Malashenko really stepped into the inconspicuous train parked on the platform, he found the problem.

The carriage, which was obviously carefully decorated, was very different from ordinary passenger trains. Malashenko, who had ridden in a passenger train before, knew clearly how shabby the carriage was.

The interior, which was obviously specially decorated, was not suitable for ordinary people. Based on his intuitive feeling, Malashenko estimated that this was at least a carriage for high-ranking Soviet officials or big shots.

Just as Malashenko was looking around at the scenery like Liu Laolao entering the Grand View Garden, a voice suddenly came from the corner beside him that was not yet in his sight.

"I always heard that the tank heroes of our Red Army are so young that people are jealous. It seems that this is true."

He looked back subconsciously in the direction where the voice came from. A middle-aged man in his early thirties wearing a military uniform was looking at Malashenko with a smiling face.

"Nice to meet you, Comrade Malashenko. The glory of you leading the First Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment to defeat the elite fascist Great German Infantry Regiment has spread to every corner of the Soviet Union."

Malashenko, who didn't even know the other party's name, was flattered for no reason. Feeling that his head was a little confused for a while, he stretched out his right hand and shook hands with the man in front of him.

"Hello comrade, may I ask who you are?"

"Kotin, Joseph Yakovlevich Kotin, have you heard of this name? Comrade Malashenko."

"!!!"

"This guy is Kotin!?"

In his heart, he was instantly stunned by the other party's self-introduction. He thought that the person in front of him was a passerby A. He almost couldn't believe his eyes. This face that looked almost ordinary was really a bit different from the Kotin he imagined.

Having seen Kotin's photos and black-and-white video materials many times in the distant future, Malashenko originally thought that the father of the Soviet Red Army's heavy tanks should be a man with a hint of cunning in his eyes and a relatively warm face. After all, many documents and descriptions about Kotin describe him in this way.

Kotin's ability to engage in class struggle and political struggle is as outstanding as his talent in tank design. He is a man who looks ordinary but actually has a lot of tricks.

But the man standing in front of Malashenko is a little different.

His harmless face looks like an ordinary office worker who just went out in the morning. Malashenko, who has a lot of experience in seeing people, can't find any flaws in his eyes. He looks like a male teacher teaching children.

Except that the face of a man in his early thirties, who is in the prime of his life, is consistent with the description and records in his impression, Malashenko didn't recognize that the man in his early thirties in front of him is Kotin in the black-and-white photo memory in his mind.

Malashenko, who slowly came back to his senses from the shock, nodded slightly to Kotin, and finally reconnected his disconnected brain, and then spoke in a slightly uncertain tone.

"What a surprise, Comrade Kotin. I, um, I mean I didn't expect that we would meet here."

Kotin, who chose the meeting place in the carriage on his own initiative, was not surprised by Malashenko's surprise. Kotin, who planned to have a long talk with Malashenko, immediately pointed to the backrest seat next to him and said.

"Sit down and talk, Comrade Malashenko, we have a lot to talk about today."

While feeling the soft touch under his buttocks, he once again glanced at the unusual decoration environment around him. In his heart, Malashenko sighed that the treatment of the Marshal's son-in-law was really different. He couldn't help but sighed.

"Okay, Comrade Malashenko, what would you like to drink? Vodka or water? Or something else."

Malashenko, who was already used to the Soviet comrades' style of drinking vodka as if it were plain water, and who did not intend to drink in such a formal occasion today, waved his hand gently.

"I drank a lot of wine last night, Comrade Kotin, just give me a glass of water."

Kotin, who only mentioned vodka out of politeness, did not find it strange. A relaxed and pleasant conversation atmosphere was what he wanted.

"Okay, Kalinin, please go and get Comrade Malashenko a glass of hot water."

"Yes, Comrade Kotin."

After a while, when the guard who led Malashenko to the carriage handed two cups of hot water to each of them, the conversation between Malashenko and Kotin officially began.

"Regarding the prototype of the new heavy tank, Comrade Malashenko, do you have any guiding suggestions and opinions?"

Malashenko, who was used to straightforward conversations, was not surprised and thought for a while. After a while, he blurted out an embarrassed answer to Kotin.

"I'm sorry, Comrade Kotin, the prototype tank I commanded was destroyed in the process of chasing the fascist army. It was killed by a German 88 gun that penetrated the upper armor of the hull."

"Oh? Penetrated the upper armor of the hull? It seems that the statement in the previous report that the hull armor is unreliable is more accurate."

Kotin, who seemed to be indifferent to the destruction of his prototype tank, responded humorously to Malashenko with a thumb-touching gesture with both hands, and continued to ask with a serious expression.

"Comrade Malashenko, do you remember the engine number of the vehicle you were in command of?"