Chapter 826 The Hero's Story

Occasionally, in later times, television shows showed large numbers of dead pigs and chickens being thrown into a pit like sacks and buried when swine flu or bird flu broke out in a certain place. At that time, Malashenko thought that it was nothing special and just ordinary.

But after experiencing so much, Malashenko now watched human bodies being thrown into the pit like animals.

The bodies killed by bullets or fragments had basically bled dry. German prisoners supervised by armed Red Army soldiers were carrying these bodies into the pit one by one. Of course, this was only limited to the bodies of the German soldiers.

Next to the pit of German bodies, another large pit was dug specifically for the Red Army soldiers. More than 200 Red Army soldiers and officers died in this short and fierce battle for the army headquarters.

Those elite German commandos, armed to the teeth, caused great casualties to the guard forces that lacked heavy weapons and fire support weapons. The number of casualties and wounded was far higher than that of the German army playing the role of the attacker.

The bodies of the Red Army soldiers, which had long lost their temperature, were placed in the pit one by one. The people responsible for burying them were their former comrades.

The mountains and rivers were broken, the homes were lost, and the once prosperous motherland was covered with black smoke and devastated under the iron hoofs of the invaders.

Countless brave soldiers died.

"Do you know his name?"

The stiff body was placed on the ground by Malashenko himself. The rank of major general on his shoulders was shining in the moonlight. A Soviet flag that was dyed black and red in the war was gently pulled over the forehead and covered the body completely.

"I don't know, but I know the story of every hero."

Malashenko stood up from a half-squat position and looked back at each of the bodies neatly placed beside him. These sons of mothers, husbands of wives, fathers of children, and soldiers of the motherland did not have their own tombstones with names and surnames. There was only this common burial place for all heroes.

When Malashenko first entered Stalingrad, he led the First Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment, which was understaffed. Although it was seriously damaged, it was at least much better than the current situation.

When Malashenko received the order to leave the city, which was still shrouded in the smoke of war, a few months later, there were only a handful of soldiers left around Malashenko. The situation of only more than a hundred people in the entire regiment made Malashenko, who was standing in front of the convoy, almost want to cry.

"Everything will be fine. The difficulties are only temporary. Don't be too sad."

The person who stood up to comfort Malashenko at the critical moment was still Political Commissar Petrov. The situation of almost all the combat personnel of the entire First Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment was equivalent to the annihilation of the entire army. Even among the remaining more than 100 people, most of them were field maintenance battalion personnel and other logistics and medical personnel under Karamov.

The people who can really drive tanks and directly participate in the battle, even if Malashenko and Lavrinenko are added together, it is hard to say whether they can gather an infantry platoon.

Malashenko did not directly answer Political Commissar Petrov's words of comfort. Too many things happened in just a few hours, which made Malashenko feel mixed and speechless. All that was left for Political Commissar Petrov was the back of turning around and getting on the car without saying a word.

"After you finish the reconstruction work, you should be able to apply for a week or two of vacation. You always complained that you didn't have time to rest for a while before, now the opportunity has come."

The voice came from Political Commissar Petrov in the back seat of the car, but Malashenko, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, didn't seem to be very happy about the upcoming vacation.

As if to avoid some questions he didn't want to face, Malashenko deliberately changed the subject.

"What about you? You have been on the front line since the beginning of this year, don't you go home to visit?"

"You ask me?"

Political Commissar Petrov smiled, but this smile looked a little sad.

"Without a wife, no children, and dead parents, where do you think my home is?"

""

The definition of home can be very broad or very narrow. At the largest level, it is the country, and at the smallest level, it can be a two-person family or a family of three.

But for Political Commissar Petrov, the latter is obviously not applicable.

"There are not many relatives alive. Now I just want to take good care of Kirill. Watching him grow up little by little and become responsible is my greatest happiness."

"As long as I am still on the land of my motherland, no matter where I go, it can be my home. I am willing to give everything I have for this home, just as I once swore when I was young."

Commissar Petrov's words are often not so easy to understand instantly. There are often deeper meanings under the superficial expressions. This is one of the reasons why Malashenko always likes to chat with Political Commissar Petrov.

Thinking can indeed soothe a person's tired and lost soul.

"Only Kirill? You don't count me?"

Malashenko's irrational words suddenly popped up, which caught Political Commissar Petrov in the back row off guard.

But after thinking about and understanding the specific meaning of Malashenko's words, Political Commissar Petrov, who smiled and passed by, seemed much more relaxed.

"Of course, you are indispensable. You are as important to me as Kirill. Are you satisfied with this answer? Comrade Commander."

There are many ways to regulate emotions, and chatting is one of the most well-known and widely applicable.

The night wind outside the car window blew into the car along with the rolled down window. Malashenko, who was getting farther and farther away from the core area of ​​​​the war, felt a long-lost tranquility in the wind.

Although he has lost too many things to count, at least Malashenko, who has been struggling to survive in the quagmire of death, finally has a chance to breathe. The foreseeable tomorrow is just as Commissar Petrov said. That will get better little by little.

The road from the army headquarters to the dock on the west bank of the Volga River is not long, but it is not easy to walk.

The 1st Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment, which kept bypassing the ruins of air raids and bomb craters along the way, took nearly two hours to walk on a straight-line distance of less than ten kilometers. Along the way, I raised my hand to look at my watch from time to time. Malashenko hurriedly hurriedly arrived at the dock half an hour before the agreed time.

"We are here, Comrade Commander."

The soldier in charge of driving gave a somewhat unnecessary reminder. This was not because the soldier was really stupid or simply careless. It was just that Malashenko's expression on the side seemed not quite right.