Chapter 829 War Children

Faced with the question raised by Malashenko, the soldier with a helpless expression immediately replied.

"What the child said is indeed true, but not all of it is true. There is a hidden story here, Captain Malashenko."

Malashenko did not take over the right to speak after hearing this, but just listened quietly and pricked up his ears. Malashenko knew that the soldier must have something to say next.

"The child's mother did have some health problems. I also went to see her, but it seems that there is nothing wrong with her except her physical weakness."

"You know, Captain Malashenko. The blockade of those Germans is getting more and more cruel day by day, and food and various supplies are really in short supply! Many soldiers on the front line only eat two meals a day. To be honest, I only had one meal today, and now I am very hungry. I hope I can get something to eat when I hand over later, otherwise I will probably be hungry and insomnia again."

"The soldiers' meals are like this, not to mention the civilians. Physical weakness is very common This is a common phenomenon, almost everyone is like this. But the child insisted that his mother was indeed sick and asked us to find a doctor to treat his mother. "

"All the doctors are busy in the field hospital. I have never seen a doctor or a nurse in the half month I have been on duty at the dock. Captain Malashenko, where can I find a doctor for this child's mother to come and see the doctor? This really worries us."

Hearing this, Malashenko finally understood what was going on. In the final analysis, it was because of the blockade of the Germans and the shortage of materials and manpower.

In theory, Malashenko should not have cared about this matter. After all, who knows how many similar things there are in Stalingrad. If Malashenko had to take care of them one by one, he would have left and stayed as the chief eunuch of Stalingrad.

But some things cannot be measured by casual words. If you really encounter them, it is completely different from casual words.

For Malashenko, since he had encountered such a thing, he must take care of it. This is a matter of principle that cannot be discussed.

"How far is the child's mother from here? Where is she?"

"Not far, Captain Malashenko, in the air-raid shelter next to the dock. It's a two-minute walk from the north of the dock."

Malashenko took out the cigarette butt from his mouth, threw it on the ground and stomped it out, turned and walked to the evacuation team not far behind him. He looked around silently in the crowd for a few times, and soon found his target and stepped forward to pull him out of the crowd.

"Hey, hey! Comrade Captain, what happened? Can you let me go first?"

Dr. Karachev, who was grabbed by the arm and dragged out of the crowd by Malashenko, was confused and didn't know what was going on. Out of curiosity, Anya, who was limping and had an injured leg, ran up and followed closely. Malashenko, who happened to have a doctor and a nurse, did not waste any words and immediately repeated the facts he had just heard briefly and completely.

"How is it? What do you think the child's mother is like? Is she really sick?"

"Well, you have to see her to know. The child's description of the pathological condition can only be used as a reference. You need to actually contact the patient to make a judgment."

Kalachev answered Malashenko in his professional terms as always. Hearing this, Malashenko nodded slightly. It was not surprising that Karachev could say this.

"Okay, take your stuff, we'll go over and see what's going on."

"But you just said that we have to board the ship within ten minutes, and now there are less than four minutes left, Comrade Regiment Commander."

"I just said it casually to urge efficiency. Do you really think that so many things can be moved onto the ship in ten minutes? Pack up and follow me quickly, and take all your work stuff with you."

"Comrade Regiment Commander."

As the soldier said, the road to the air-raid shelter outside the dock was not too far. With the little boy Yegor leading the way, Malashenko and his group quickly arrived at the destination. The collapsed ruins around and a body being carried out of the hole were the first scene that Malashenko saw.

Before Malashenko and the others could take any action, Yegor, who was just as tall as Malashenko's waist, ran to the hole first. He reached out and lifted the rag covering the body on the stretcher at a speed that even adults could hardly react to, revealing his face.

Fortunately, the body on the stretcher was not Yegor's mother. The little boy's posture and expression showed that he had breathed a sigh of relief and a stone had fallen from his chest.

"Where did you come from, kid? Go away, don't block the road!"

"Get out of the way, don't block it."

Yegor, who was scolded by the adults, did not say a word, but quietly moved aside, watching the body on the stretcher being carried away and stopped to stare. His small body trembled slightly in the cold wind on the street.

"Okay, little Yegor, now take your sister and uncles to see your mother, okay? Let's go now."

The first person to step forward was neither Malashenko nor Karachev, but Anya, who had a leg injury and was limping. It must be said that careful women, especially nurses, are naturally more attentive to details than big and strong men.

Malachenko turned his head slightly with an expressionless face and looked at Karachev beside him, and found that his buddy beside him was looking at him with a similar expression.

After looking at each other, the two men smiled helplessly at the same time. There was nothing shameful about losing to a woman in this matter.

After walking through the narrow corridor and coming to the air-raid shelter, the first thing that entered Malachenko's nostrils was a strong and unpleasant smell mixed with sweat, excrement, vomit, blood, and various unknown smells. It was even more offensive than the smell after a bloody and brutal battle on the battlefield.

"Oh, damn, the smell here is terrible, comrade commander, is there no medical condition at all?"

Malachenko glanced at a civilian lying less than 20 centimeters away from his feet. The curled up body wrapped in a blanket was so small that it didn't look like a person but a dog, the kind of miserable wild dog that no one would care about even if it died on the side of the road.

The answer that was on his lips came out quietly.

"This is not America, you know. Seeing such a situation here means that those Germans are definitely not much better. The hell pot called Stalingrad does not distinguish whether it is the Soviets or the Germans being cooked in the pot."