Chapter 831 Two Candies

What is a good solution? This question stumped Malashenko.

Malashenko knew very well how hungry the whole city of Stalingrad was under the long-term siege and blockade by the German army. To put it bluntly, the current hunger in Stalingrad is not much better than what he saw in Leningrad last year.

Malashenko, who has suffered from some mild stomach problems, has personally experienced the negative effects of long-term irregular diet and eating one meal at a time. Malashenko, who has forgotten how many days he has not seen oily stars, even feels that he may be only one step away from malnutrition.

But no matter what, he is a soldier. With this young body, there will be no major problems at least in the short term.

But if Yegor's mother in front of him continues to be malnourished, blindness may be the best result. It is a blessing not to starve to death.

There are many pains that a ten-year-old child cannot bear, and losing his mother is the most soul-crushing one.

Even though there were countless people in Stalingrad who needed help, Malashenko shouldn't have cared about these things and couldn't manage them. But Malashenko, who always had his own persistence in his heart, couldn't sit idly by and watch a ten-year-old child lose his mother.

A fool has his own persistence, and a fool has his own persistence. Malashenko, who didn't care whether he would be regarded as a fool or a fool, immediately gave an order to Karachev.

"I'll go back to the dock, you and Anya stay here to see if there are other people who need help. Try to pick the most serious ones for priority treatment, we don't have much time left."

Through recent contacts, he has basically had a more thorough understanding of Malashenko's character. Karachev, who could roughly guess what Malashenko was going to do, nodded quietly.

"I understand, Anya and I are waiting for you here, comrade commander."

Malashenko turned and walked towards the entrance of the air-raid shelter, and then he saw that there were many refugees behind him.

These refugees, who lived in small air-raid shelters with barely one square meter of space for each person, were men and women, old and young.

But almost all of them looked at Malashenko with pleading, numb, and hopeful eyes.

These women, children, and children, who were ragged, pale, and thin, and who had trouble standing, hoped to get even a little hope to keep their lives going from this man who was called a Soviet hero by word of mouth or loudspeakers.

But perhaps it was because Malashenko's neat, brand-new, and rarely worn tank lieutenant colonel uniform was too eye-catching, forming a sharp contrast with the dirty stains on the rags around him, which made these refugees, who had a strong desire to survive and were full of awe, dare not take the initiative to speak up.

Malashenko stood there motionless, and he and the refugees in front of him became two completely different people, as if an invisible wall of air blocked them, making them unable to speak and dare not take the initiative to step forward.

The first person to break the weird atmosphere was neither Malashenko nor the adults in the refugee crowd, but a little girl with ragged clothes like a few pieces of rags wrapped around her body. She looked younger than Yegor in both age and height, and at most only five or six years old or even less.

Malashenko, whose heart had already set off a huge wave, still stood there motionless, quietly watching the little girl who walked a little unsteadily and walked slowly to his side. The little girl's pair of red cloth shoes were even so tattered that the gray toes could be seen clearly.

The little girl, with her hands tightly clenched, came to Malashenko and slowly stretched out her arms. Malashenko, who could feel his eyeballs rolling in his pupils, waited quietly, and finally waited for the moment when the little girl gently opened her clenched fists.

Two candies, the little girl held in her left and right hands, and they were actually two candies whose wrapping paper had been worn out!

"Mom and Uncle Boris said that you are a hero who defends the motherland, Captain Malashenko, this is the candy I left for you, thank you for protecting us."

All the words that can be thought of can no longer describe Malashenko's mood at the moment. Even the Chinese culture, which is far more profound than Russian characters and Russian culture and art, cannot find a word in the vast vocabulary that can accurately describe Malashenko's true mood at the moment.

Biting his lips tightly and feeling something swirling in his eye sockets, Malashenko immediately squatted down his tower-like body of more than 1.9 meters, reached out and gently took one of the candies from the little girl's right hand, then held the little girl's outstretched left hand with his two big hands and gently closed it, forcibly suppressed the sob in his throat and spoke slowly.

"Uncle will only take this one, you must keep the other candy for yourself!"

"Wait until there are no more explosions and gunshots in this great city, wait until all the Nazi invaders are crushed by the brave Red Army soldiers, wait until you and your family can safely walk out of this air-raid shelter, breathe the fresh air outside, and watch the Red Army uncles walk with their heads held high on the street."

"Eat this candy, and Uncle Malashenko will share this joy with you from afar. This is our agreement, right?"

The adult world and many words are beyond the understanding of a young child. The only thing the little girl can do is to nod vigorously as Malashenko's big hand gently rubs her little head.

Feeling that his forced smile might be uglier than crying, Malashenko instantly put away his mood, stood up and walked through the crowd of refugees in front of him, not caring that the stained rags would be stained. Wearing his brand-new uniform, he strode towards the entrance of the air-raid shelter which was already very close to him.

Perhaps because it was late at night and the sky was too dark, Lavrinenko, who saw Malashenko again, did not notice the strange look on his old classmate's face, but when he was about to go up to ask for details, he was stopped by Malashenko again. Shenke's sudden words interrupted his speech on the spot.

"How much food is left in our group? Count all that can be eaten."

Lavrinenko was a little puzzled, and he still didn't even see the strangeness on Malashenko's face.

"It's quite a lot, enough to feed the rest of us for more than a month. Karamov has been taking care of the logistics lately. Why do you suddenly ask this? What happened?"