Chapter 764 Comrade, Do You Have Cigarettes?

The man who bumped into Malashenko's arms and fell on his buttocks was the top medical student who had graduated from Johns Hopkins University in the United States earlier: Dr. Karachev.

If he hadn't bumped into Malashenko, a 1.9-meter-tall burly man, Karachev would have gone outside to smoke two cigarettes according to his original plan.

Because of his Russian identity, he rarely had a common language with his university classmates and alumni. Karachev, who endured loneliness alone, learned to smoke to relieve his depression.

It is easy to quit smoking, but it is often difficult to take this step due to the current situation in life, even though Karachev's job as a surgeon theoretically does not allow him to smoke.

This is a way of reminiscing about the past and thinking about the future life. More importantly, it can relieve depression when an adult male is depressed.

If you have to say it, it is life that chooses cigarettes, not cigarettes that cling to the soul. This is true for any man with responsibilities in the world.

The same goes for Malashenko.

"Are you going to smoke a cigarette outside?"

Facing Malashenko's right hand that he took the initiative to extend to him, Karachev, who was a little bit unbelievable, replied with some surprise.

"How did you know, Comrade Commander?"

"Oh, do you still need to ask?"

Holding tightly his right hand, which was much more delicate and tender than his rough hand, Malashenko pulled Karachev, who was already sitting on the ground with an unstable center of gravity, up on the spot.

"The lighter and cigarette box in your hand fell to the ground, do you still need me to guess?"

Karachev, who was pulled up by Malashenko, looked at the cigarette box and lighter that fell at his feet, and a slightly embarrassed smile appeared on his face.

"You are right, Comrade Commander, let's have one together?"

"Of course, why not?"

It is not suitable to smoke in a crowded hospital with a large number of wounded. Secondhand smoke is not only of no benefit to the wounded, but also harmful to doctors and nurses who do not touch cigarettes.

Although most people of this era did not realize or did not care about this at all.

Fortunately, Karachev, who had received higher education and returned from studying medicine, understood this and knew the harm of secondhand smoke to non-smokers.

Similarly, Malashenko, who traveled from the future, was the same.

Two smokers of similar age squatted at the door of the hospital and were about to pick up their tools to do things. Before Malashenko could touch his smoking tools, a cigarette was suddenly reflected in front of him.

"Huh? American cigarettes?"

Malashenko blurted out in surprise subconsciously, and Karachev responded with the same surprised words.

"Do you know this cigarette? Comrade commander."

"No, but I can smell it."

Malashenko took the cigarette handed over by Karachev, and then put the whole cigarette under his nose like a connoisseur, and a strong exotic smell immediately rushed to his head, enlightening him.

"Tsk, I have to say, the American cigarettes are not bad, it has always been like this. To be honest, the cigarettes smoked by our Red Army are really far from the American cigarettes. Even the quota supply cigarettes I received, the feeling in my mouth is getting worse and worse, it feels like chewing leaves, the taste is not right, it's terrible."

Malachenko is right.

Because of the outbreak of the Great Patriotic War, all material production began to be reduced from the original pre-station level to the level of priority to ensure quantity. As for the quality review threshold, it has been lowered to an unprecedented level. In general, it is OK as long as it can be used.

Of course, the increasingly wrong taste of cigarettes is not intentional.

In the case of the loss of a large area of ​​land and the displacement of cigarette factories, it is inevitable that the quota cigarettes supplied to officers of Malachenko's level are not as good as before. Malachenko can understand that it is just a complaint.

Glancing at the cigarette box in Karachev's hand, the rather exquisite pattern painted on the box was immediately recognized by Malachenko.

"Ji Shi cigarettes? I didn't expect you to carry such high-end goods. You live a rich life in the United States."

Unlike the Camel brand that every American soldier smoked to death, although Ji Shi cigarettes have a smaller market share in the United States and are far less than Camel, they have made some high-end cigarettes for the middle and upper classes. The taste is said to be quite good, and the nickname "Satisfying Smoke" is derived from this.

Although Malashenko didn't know much about the specific high and low grades of American tobacco, he generally knew the general smell of rice and farts, especially when he put the cigarette under his nose and smelled it just now, the smell that went to his forehead was obviously not something that ordinary street goods could have.

In the future, if it was in the Celestial Empire, it would have to be Furongwang level, right?

Malashenko, who secretly smoked "bad cigarettes" worth ten yuan a box every day in high school, thought so.

Kalachev, who was guessed by Malashenko, nodded slightly and told the truth directly without any taboo.

"I didn't have much to spend when I was in college, so the cigarettes I smoked were more refined. My father supplied many restaurants in the town, and our family was actually quite well-off. So it's nothing for me to smoke these cigarettes, Comrade Commander. At least it's much cheaper than my classmates setting up a table in a pub and waiting for girls to come."

Indeed, compared to the "high-end consumption" of playing with women, smoking some good cigarettes can really be regarded as "diaosi entertainment".

"You're right, capitalist countries are like this. If a man doesn't have any real ability, it's very expensive to seduce women."

He lit the cigarette between his lips with a lighter. After taking a deep breath, a high-quality pleasure that he had not experienced for a long time rushed to Malashenko's forehead.

"Karachev, I have something to discuss with you."

"Ah? What are we discussing? Comrade leader. Just ask, and I will do whatever I can."

Unlike Karachev, whose expression was full of surprise, Malashenko, who looked mysterious as if he was planning to do something bad, immediately looked at both sides, and after realizing that no one was around, he covered his face with his hands. He whispered softly into Karachev's ear.

"Do you still have this kind of American cigarettes over there? Give me some. If not, you can give me a box. I'm simply fed up with that kind of leaf-chewing tobacco. You can understand me, right? We are both old smokers."

Forcibly held by Malashenko's shoulders, Dr. Karachev looked at the "honest smile" on the head of the regiment leader and could not help but feel a little confused and confused.