Chapter 544: Revenge Time

Forcing a young man to go to the scene and identify the person who was his comrade a few minutes ago as a Nazi, although this method sounds cruel, but this is the nature of war.

Smashing all beautiful things for people to see is called tragedy, and it can also be called war.

Malashenko, whose state of mind has changed a lot after the death of Lieutenant Colonel Yakov, is no longer obsessed with false beauty. If there were no Nazis, the world would be better and life would be more peaceful. The only difference between letting these scum die in the prisoner-of-war camp or in his own hands is a matter of time.

In the Soviet Union, no scum who was fanatically loyal to the Nazis could walk out of the prisoner-of-war camp alive. The so-called fate was doomed from the moment of being captured.

"Come on, start identifying now! Tell me your answer, Fred!"

The killing of prisoners may be rejected and prevented in the European battlefield, but on the land of the Soviet Union, no Red Army soldier would sympathize with the fascist running dogs who invaded their motherland and trampled on their homes. Almost all the Red Army soldiers watching were smiling and waiting for the final result.

"But Sir, I them..."

"No buts! Either you identify the Nazis, or I'll shoot you in the head! Don't let me change my mind and think that what you just said is a lie! I have killed countless enemies, and I don't mind killing another German-French mixed-race German private!"

Malachenko, who was almost losing his patience, began to shout orders to the young Fred. Fred, who was wandering on the line of inner struggle, finally made a choice that satisfied Malachenko.

He turned around with a dull face and trembling as if his soul had left his body. Fred, whose legs and hands were shaking almost at the same time, did not dare to raise his head to face those familiar faces.

Although they often made fun of themselves, bullied themselves as a joke after dinner, and even insulted their mother's bloodline and described them as cowardly.

But Fred, who had never killed anyone directly since he went to the battlefield, was just a laborer. The Mauser 98K rifle on his back was almost never taken off. Carrying and loading shells back and forth between the shell boxes and the gun positions was Fred's only job on the battlefield.

But there are no lucky people in war. Innocent children and powerless civilians may be affected and die in purgatory, not to mention the orthodox soldiers in military uniforms.

War has nothing to do with right and wrong, but only about who can win in the end.

Not wanting to die in such an unclear way on the strange land of Russia, Fred, who was shaking constantly, glanced at the crowd in front of him with the corner of his eyes, and then quickly retracted his gaze as if he was electrocuted, for fear that the eyes of those who hated the betrayers would pierce his heart.

When he turned around again and faced Malashenko, he was still hesitant.

But when Fred looked up and saw Malashenko's angry face, he remembered his parents and sister and had to live, so he threw away his last hesitation.

"The third and sixth from the left in the second row, the eighth to tenth from the left in the third row, and the last two from the left in the fourth row are all fanatical Nazis. They usually use the photo of Stalin as a dartboard and can recite the Führer's speech skillfully. They also often bully me, saying that I am a bastard and a coward from France."

Such a detailed answer made Malashenko's face turn from cloudy to sunny and he smiled again. He walked slowly past Fred and put his right arm on the young man's shoulder and patted him gently to show encouragement.

"Very good, especially the last sentence is great. This time I will help you to get justice."

Malachenko put away his smile and returned to his normal state. He raised his left hand and waved it forward gently. The bearded Major Maxim who had been following behind Malachenko understood and immediately led several tank soldiers to the battle.

He rushed to the prisoners and used the butt of the gun and fists to charge left and right, pulling out all the seven identified Nazis. He kicked and beat them like ducks and forced them to kneel on the ground by pressing their shoulders.

"Okay, let's enter the debate session. Who wants to say or prove that they are not fanatically loyal to the Nazis and Hitler?"

"Bah! Trash Bolsheviks, you are a bunch of Stalin's dogs!"

There is no shortage of people with backbone at any time, and they will be even crazier when they know that they will not live for more than a few minutes.

Malachenko, who was scolded as a kind father raising a dog, was not angry but happy, and smiled instantly.

Looking at the angry face of the German corporal who wanted to tear him to pieces and eat him alive, Malashenko could even recall the face of Lieutenant Colonel Yakov, who used to get along with him day and night and talked and laughed, and the incomplete and cold body that was finally blown up by the Type 3 assault gun and even his arms and legs were not found.

"I have a very good comrade who died under the artillery fire of you fascist running dogs. He has a five-year-old son and a wife who is waiting for him to return in his hometown in Chita, but I can only send out a cold death notice. Tell me how I can let her wife and children accept all this pain."

Malashenko squatted down and held his gun in his hand to describe all this with a vivid expression, even showing a trace of pain and sadness.

But the fanatical German corporal, who still looked unruly and twisted, ignored all this and blurted out his last roar before death like a caged beast.

"It's sad, isn't it? It's painful, isn't it? You Bolsheviks will all end up like this in the end, all of you."

puff--

The German corporal who had not finished speaking in the middle of the sentence didn't even have time to react. The cold blade was so fast that it almost appeared as an afterimage. It was instantly grasped by Malashenko in an uppercut from bottom to top. The method directly penetrated the chin and pushed upward into the entire skull.

"I heard that one of the most painful ways to die is not being able to finish what you want to say but being unable to say it for a while. I'm sure you can still hear what I'm saying now. Just enjoy the process."

The German corporal who had his tongue pierced by the tip of the knife whimpered and wanted to say something more but in vain. His right hand slowly exerted force and continued to push Malashenko, who held the bayonet in his hand, with a panoramic view of the extremely painful face. There is nothing in this world. There is nothing more satisfying than the moment of revenge so close before your eyes.