Chapter 747 Malashenko Wants to Have a Good Sleep
A lot of bodies, lying on the street?
Malashenko was subconsciously startled by this unexpected answer. He didn't notice any bodies on the way here.
To be precise, Malashenko, who had robbed two cigarettes from the tearful Iushkin, was so busy smoking that he didn't notice anything in front of his car.
"Did I run over piles of dead bodies all the way here?"
Malashenko found this conclusion hard to believe. If he really ran over corpses all the way here, why didn't he feel anything when he was hanging outside the turret just now? But the soldier's expression didn't seem fake.
After thinking for a while, Malashenko finally came to a position closer to the checkpoint, so close that he was only a few meters away from the rumbling tank column beside him. Then he squatted down and stared at the tanks rumbling past him.
"Four, five, six, six are all right, it doesn't look like there's a corpse"
"Hmm? Wait, what is this?"
Malachenko, who was squatting on the side of the road and wondering, suddenly saw a piece of part fall out of the track plate of a tank that had just passed by him, which seemed to be due to the grinding of the road wheels. After falling to the ground, it rolled twice on the ground before stopping.
Curious about what this thing is, Malachenko walked forward and reached out to grab the fallen object that he couldn't see clearly in the dark. The touch of his fingertips instantly told Malachenko that this was a very soft thing with a good feel.
"Why do I have a bad premonition?"
When the soft touch came when he held the thing in his hand, Malachenko could feel that he was frozen all over for a moment as if time had stopped.
When time stopped and his consciousness came back to his senses, he had already taken the object in front of him that showed its original form under the moonlight, which made Malachenko frown on the spot.
"A hand?"
Malachenko was very sure that what he held in his palm was a real human hand.
The wound section seemed to be cut off from the wrist, and there was no blood flowing from the wound section. It was obviously a corpse that had been dead for a long time before the hand was cut off and the blood had stopped flowing.
But unfortunately, this was a man's hand, and Malachenko did not have a hand fetish, so "breaking up" and throwing this thing away was the best solution.
"Damn, it looks real. I don't know how many bodies I crushed along the way. Damn!"
Malachenko, who had long been accustomed to crushing his opponents, felt a little uncomfortable at this moment. Crushing a living person and crushing a dead person are completely different things. What's worse is that Malachenko may have to order the troops to spend some time to pick off the human flesh stuck on the track plates and road wheels and clean them up. If this season of mosquitoes and flies is not handled properly, it is easy to cause plague.
"It's really troublesome. Why do I always have such troubles recently?"
Malachenko patted his hands to remove the residual corpse stench and rolled up his sleeves to check his watch. The current time was 8:30 in the evening. If there was nothing to do on weekdays, Malachenko would usually have gone to bed at this time. The next morning, he might have to get up at three or four o'clock to fight the Germans. Lack of sleep would greatly affect the combat and command efficiency of the whole day.
Malachenko looked around and thought for a while. It seemed that there was nothing else that he had forgotten or left behind.
The work of troop placement had been handed over to Lavrinenko to complete. The construction of the regiment headquarters and some miscellaneous and annoying things would be done by Political Commissar Petrov.
Malachenko, who had become a hands-off boss, felt that the only thing he could do now was to quickly find a place where he could curl up and sleep comfortably. For Malashenko, a bed has long been an unattainable luxury. Having a piece of lawn where no one has ever pooped or peed is enough for Malashenko.
"Hurry up and find a place to lie down, or else there will be trouble again."
There is a Chinese saying that goes "What you fear will come to you."
Malashenko is not Chinese, but most of his soul and memory come from that ancient country in the East.
So even in a foreign country, the mysterious power from the East still lingers on Malashenko and never leaves.
"Malashenko! I've been looking for you for a long time, and you're here!"
"Fuck you!"
Malashenko, whose feet seemed to be tripped by a pair of hands stretched out from the soil, was forced to stop moving forward at the call from behind.
What surprised Malashenko a little was that this time it was not Political Commissar Petrov who always waved a telegram in his hand, but Lavrinenko who was busy and sweating and obviously just ran over from somewhere.
"Political Commissar Petrov asked me to tell you after I find you that the army headquarters wants you to report immediately. Commander Chuikov is waiting for you. You'd better hurry up, otherwise you won't sleep tonight. I guess they might call you to a meeting or something."
Lavrinenko's analysis made sense, and Malashenko thought so too, thinking that his quality sleep tonight might be completely ruined.
With helplessness written all over his face, Malashenko came to the headquarters of the army group, which was not too far away. Since being assigned to Chuikov's 62nd Army by Zhukov, Malashenko has always been somewhat uncomfortable with the feeling of being ordered around and being available at any time.
Comrade Zhu used to rarely ask Malashenko to go to the front headquarters in person. Basically, he would not talk to him face to face about things that could be solved over the phone or telegram. Chuikov's working style seemed to be exactly the opposite. Malashenko had lost count of how many times he had been called to the army headquarters by Comrade Chuikov to talk about things.
"Oh, what a hassle"
Although he was in a bad mood because of his poor sleep, Malashenko shook his head and sighed and walked towards the gate of the headquarters guarded by the guards.
At almost nine o'clock in the evening, the 62nd Army headquarters was still brightly lit. Chuikov, with bloodshot eyes and the word "fatigue" almost branded on his face with an iron, was still busy preparing for tomorrow's battle.
"The 1st Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment has arrived. They have suffered heavy losses in manpower and technical equipment and need to rest. But I still decided to put them into battle tomorrow and catch the Germans by surprise! I guess the Germans have already noticed the movements of the 1st Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment. The longer we delay, the more disadvantageous it will be for us. The Germans will be well prepared for this."