Chapter 595: Mind

Malachenko could not help but recall the real reason why Political Commissar Petrov stopped him from killing the prisoners a few hours ago.

Malachenko firmly believed that Political Commissar Petrov was an unquestionable ideal communist, and that Political Commissar Petrov had always set an example for himself. Malachenko learned a lot from him that would benefit him for the rest of his life.

For Malachenko, Political Commissar Petrov was no longer just a comrade-in-arms or partner.

This kind, brave and resolute Red Army veteran was more like Malachenko's mentor and relative, and they were almost half and half.

The expression of the young German prisoner who was beaten to tears by himself was like a question from the heart. That expression was undoubtedly not pretended or forced to show himself, but a sad and aggrieved expression from the heart.

Malachenko clearly remembered that the last time he had a similar expression was probably when he was a freshman in college in his homeland before studying abroad in his previous life, when his little Keji, whom he had raised for four years, died of illness.

It was a kind of ignorant cry of not getting rid of the immature youth and not yet experienced in the society. It was 100% sincere without any false feelings, and even the hypocritical mask used to protect himself from being hurt after entering the society was not put on.

Malashenko continued to sit on the small earth slope without saying a word and smoked alone.

He had already felt why Political Commissar Petrov stopped him, but this inexplicable feeling made Malashenko unable to determine its true meaning for a while.

At some point, Lavrinenko, who had been staring at Malashenko's lonely and desolate back not far away, quietly came to his old classmate, and stretched out his right hand out of thin air and then handed it to Malashenko's eyes and stopped at his face.

"Anything else? Give me one."

Malashenko said nothing, just took out the cigarette box from his pocket and handed it directly to Lavrinenko.

Seeing that Malashenko was not in the mood to smoke a cigarette and pass it to him, Lavrinenko smiled calmly and took the cigarette box with his right hand, ready to do it himself. However, the appearance of the cigarette box under the moonlight made him stunned for a moment.

"Kraut's cigarettes? I remember you said that this stuff is harder to smoke than horse manure. How did you smoke this stuff?"

"Maxim gave it to me. He heard that I had run out of cigarettes, so he specially took more than 20 boxes from the bodies of the German vanguard troops and packed them in a cloth bag and sent them to me. He had already finished smoking his own cigarettes, not leaving a single box. From the afternoon to the moment he died, he had not smoked any of these more than 20 boxes of cigarettes!"

Malashenko's voice trembled more and more as he spoke, and when he blurted out the last syllable, he was already in tears. His trembling hands holding the cigarette holder were like a sinner confessing his sins, and he unconsciously covered his cheeks wet with tears. The choking sound that was held in the throat and could not be cried out was extremely harsh on this quiet little dirt slope.

Lavrinenko, who looked surprised, obviously did not expect that the small box of cigarettes in his hand had such a story behind it.

The index finger and thumb of his right hand, which had pinched the cigarette holder and was about to take it out of the box, stopped for more than ten seconds. After a helpless sigh, he finally took out the German cigarette that he was not used to smoking and put it into his mouth.

"Did he leave anything for you?"

"Who?"

"Of course Maxim."

Malashenko paused. The only thing that the bearded battalion commander who did not even have time to write a suicide note left for himself seemed to be memories.

Half a minute passed without waiting for Malashenko's answer. Lavrinenko, who gently exhaled the smoke ring from his mouth, simply continued to talk to himself.

"It seems that there is no. I talked to him several times before and heard him mention some situations in his family."

"Maxim also has a sister who married a Red Army commander, but died last autumn. His father was a technician at the Tula Arsenal. He joined the workers' armed team and died under the city of Tula in the winter."

"Maxim often wrote letters home, comforting his sister to accompany her mother well and not to be too sad. Everything will pass. This is the most recent letter he gave me the day before yesterday. It was written during the retreat. Maxim said that he hadn't sent a letter to his family for three months. He asked me to find an opportunity to deliver this letter. What are you going to do?"

Malasenko, with tears hanging in the corners of his eyes, stared at the envelope handed to him by Lavrinenko with a pair of red eyes. He was obviously a little surprised that Lavrinenko often chatted with Maxim on weekdays.

"Is that all? Does he have a wife and children?"

Compared with Maxim's sister and mother, Malasenko was more worried about whether he had already started a family.

""

"I had hoped you wouldn't ask these questions, which is the most difficult thing to do. Maxim has a son who is less than one year old, and he is the only one. His wife is just over 20 years old and grew up in the same village as him."

Everyone is used to calling Maxim "Comrade with a Big Beard", but in fact, the precocious Maxim's beard is only a few centimeters longer than that of his peers, and he deliberately grows it without taking care of it. According to Malashenko, it is a bit like the beard of Middle Eastern people. His real age is actually the same as Malashenko.

Malashenko didn't think it was that difficult to deal with Maxim's sister and mother.

But when he heard that Maxim had a young wife and a hungry child at home, Malashenko's face turned pale as if he was frozen alive by frost.

I don't know how long he was silent in thinking. When Malashenko lit the eighth cigarette, he had no choice but to say the most unreliable solution.

"Send the letter. We will suppress the sacrifice here. Don't report it or tell his family. We will write the next letter for Maxim. No matter what, keep it secret for now."

The solution given by Malashenko obviously exceeded Lavrinenko's expectations. Even though he could guess why Malashenko did this, the worry that could not be dissipated still existed in his heart.

"You know this matter can't be kept secret forever, Malashenko! When his family knows all this, the pain that is coming will still come!"

Malashenko took a sip of the cigarette butt that was burned out quickly, flicked the cigarette butt away, and looked very determined when the cold wind blew across his face.

"You have to know that after this pain, they may never have happiness and joy again in their lives! In this case, why can't we try to prolong this short happiness and joy for a little longer? Even if it is a lie. When the news of victory spreads to every corner of the motherland, when the red flag is planted on the evil heart of the Germans, the glory that will come at that time will alleviate their pain, right?"