Chapter 878: Destiny Betrayer

It is not easy to travel at night, especially when the sky is still gloomy. The only sound on the dark ground without any moonlight is the creaking of heavy tracks rolling over the snow, accompanied by the roar of the diesel engine, which sounds like the whisper of the night and makes people feel a little uncomfortable.

In the first IS1 heavy tank of the first echelon of the forward team, Malashenko, with his arms folded and his head lowered, looked a little tired. Iushkin, who was in the gunner position right in front of Malashenko, was smoking alone.

The dim light inside the tank was only enough for the driver Seryosha to see the joystick to drive the tank. Iushkin, who was bored, had nothing else to do except smoking.

"Are you asleep?"

Malashenko, who was curled up with his arms folded to make his posture more comfortable, shook his ears. He knew that Iushkin was asking him a question.

"Not yet. How can I sleep with such a loud noise? I'm just taking a break to prepare for the battle."

Iushkin flicked the ash into a 37mm shell ashtray next to him that he had asked the anti-aircraft unit for. With the corner of his mouth slightly raised, Ivushkin was obviously not sleepy at all.

"Then stop pretending with your eyes closed. Let's smoke together."

Malachenko frowned when he heard Ivushkin's proposal.

Malachenko could clearly feel that his throat was not as good as before and the burden on his lungs seemed to be getting heavier. The physical harm caused by long-term and large-scale smoking has gradually become apparent.

Although this degree of harm is insignificant to this tall and strong body with a height of more than 1.9 meters, Malachenko, who had almost never touched a cigarette in the later generations, still instinctively reacted to continue smoking against the wind. The idea that smoking is extremely harmful to the body can be said to have been deeply rooted in people's minds.

"Hmm? Go ahead, do you want me to put it in your mouth?"

Malachenko gently opened his slightly heavy eyelids and saw the harmless expression of Iushkin who turned around and handed him a cigarette.

""

To smoke or not to smoke, this is the question Malachenko is thinking about at the moment.

I don't know why, Malachenko, who was staring at the cigarette in front of him and Iushkin handed him, suddenly thought of some words from his previous life unconsciously.

"Dad, don't smoke anymore, aren't you afraid of smoking yourself to death by smoking two packs a day?"

"Smoke yourself to death? You will curse your dad every day! People who can come back alive after going to the battlefield cannot quit smoking. Your comrades-in-arms gave their lives to help you get the opportunity to smoke. If you quit smoking, you will be beaten into a grandson when you go down in the future!"

People who do bad things will always find some crooked reasons to defend themselves. This is what Malachenko thought when he heard this.

But some things can only be understood after you have experienced them yourself, and those crooked reasons that sound very crooked are actually not completely unreasonable. Sometimes, the inner trauma can only be alleviated by poison in the eyes of ordinary people. Even if the poisoner knows that what he swallowed is a chronic poison that will eventually kill him, he still has no regrets.

Living is not a very happy thing.

"Give me the fire"

"What about yours?"

"It's in my pocket. It's not convenient to take it out. Lend me yours."

Click--

The tobacco was burning in the mist and the light of the fire. Malashenko, who was already touched in his heart, could basically understand the special taste of his father's half-joking words.

Through the smoke floating in front of him, Malashenko seemed to be able to see the familiar faces who used to smoke and laugh with him in the past, but those faces had long been sealed in the white album of this winter.

"Are you thinking about Nikolai?"

Malashenko was slightly stunned. When did Ivushkin learn to read minds?

"Don't look so surprised. Your face shows what you're thinking. We've fought side by side for so long. If we don't know what your expression means, how can we have a tacit understanding with each other in the No. 177 crew?"

Iushkin, who extinguished the cigarette in his hand and lit a new one, looked at least more cheerful than Malashenko, and didn't seem to be so immersed in the memories and sadness of the past.

"I've let it all go, comrade commander."

"I will die, you will die, Kirill will die, Seryosha will die, everyone will die one day, and after seeing so many people die, I'm a little numb to it. Even if you told me that I would die tonight, I would probably accept it now. It's no big deal."

Malashenko, with a cigarette in his mouth, didn't interrupt. Malashenko, who was familiar with Iushkin's character, knew that Iushkin must not have finished speaking.

"But I, Iushkin, have a dream. I hope that after I die, someone will still remember me, remember my name like Gorky, Ostrovsky, and Tolstoy. Remember the name of this hero who bravely defended the motherland and repelled and eliminated countless fascist lackeys."

"No matter what a person does when he is alive, it will pass away with time, but his name may not. If someone can still remember me thirty years after my death, this is probably my satisfaction and ultimate goal. I dare not hope that I can do it in a hundred years."

"We are fish in the ocean of war, small and unable to determine our own destiny, so I just hope that one day we will not be forgotten."

Not being forgotten by future generations is a dream that sounds simple but is actually difficult to achieve.

Countless brave soldiers are buried in the frontier, and their remains are scattered all over the land they once protected with their lives, just like the forgotten people in the wasteland, quietly waiting to see the light of day one day.

Malashenko can understand Ivushkin's feelings.

There is no name of a Soviet hero named Malashenko in the history books of later generations. He is just an unknown martyr who died heroically on the border of the motherland in the first week of the outbreak of the Great Patriotic War.

But with the alternation and inheritance of souls, everything has become completely different from before.

The gears of fate began to reverse in a completely countercurrent direction, and the betrayer of fate who took up the banner of resistance is writing a tomorrow that is truly fought for.

Malashenko, who constantly tempered his will and soul, knew that he was not a god, and there was no way to guarantee that every comrade around him would live to the day of final victory.

But at least for Iushkin's dream, this dream that is already extremely humble but still difficult to achieve, Malashenko will use all his power to help Iushkin realize it.

"The classrooms of the future will be filled with the sound of children reading our names, Iushkin, I promise you."