Chapter 906 The Person Who Cannot Be Lost

Political Commissar Petrov, with red eyes, seemed to realize something. He looked into the distance and took a deep breath to adjust his somewhat fluctuating emotions. Then he spoke to Malashenko beside him quietly.

"Don't worry about me. If you have time, go and take care of Kirill. I can take care of myself here."

Whether Political Commissar Petrov is lying or not can be known by looking at his facial expression. In fact, even if Political Commissar Petrov is really pretending to be strong, Malashenko has no way to do it.

This man with a strong heart always stands in an indestructible form in Malashenko's heart.

If there is something that can make Political Commissar Petrov unable to control his emotions and almost shed tears, Malashenko really doesn't know how to comfort this man who has always been looked up to by him. Those memories that only Political Commissar Petrov knows about are not known or experienced by Malashenko.

Standing on the commanding heights of not having experienced it personally and understanding it, and comforting others presumptuously will only have the opposite effect in most cases, especially for a person like Political Commissar Petrov who is already extremely resolute.

Malashenko patted Political Commissar Petrov on the shoulder and said nothing, but stepped forward and opened the curtain of the tent in front of him again and walked in quietly.

Just like the scene just seen, Kirill, who still had his eyes blank, was still sitting in the chair without a sound, as if his soul was forcibly stripped from his body by something, leaving only the flesh. Malashenko, who always regarded Kirill as his brother, couldn't help sighing in his heart.

"This damn war"

If it weren't for this sudden and cruel Patriotic War, Kirill, who studied at the Music Department of Moscow University with excellent grades and climbed the university ivory tower according to his own interests and hobbies, could have had a bright future.

Kirill's future may become an outstanding musician, or a classic composer who will be sung in the future, or a gardener teacher who will open up the first musical melody in children's lives. But one should never become a loader who only cares about loading shells in a tank with a harmonica in his pocket.

This is not only a serious waste of educational resources, but also a ruthless trampling on the young generation who are the hope of the future of the motherland.

But war is like this. War is a twisted and hideous monster born after all the darkness, negative factors and tragic events are combined and intertwined.

This monster with a bloody mouth will ruthlessly devour anything it comes to. Whether it is spiritual or material existence, it is difficult to escape this tearing mouth that destroys everything.

War not only destroys the homes on which people depend for survival, but also makes people who have lived on this land for generations displaced and even lose their lives. It also makes the living people experience what it feels like to live a life worse than death almost every moment, eroding and stripping the will and soul bit by bit, and finally tearing it to pieces without leaving any residue, taking away all the important things that are cherished and completely destroying a person spiritually.

Malashenko, who has suffered a huge psychological blow after losing his beloved people several times, can at least empathize with Kirill's situation.

But the feeling of losing such an important and only mother is still incomparable to the loss of a comrade-in-arms.

Malashenko pulled the chair where Political Commissar Petrov had just sat and slowly sat next to Kirill. He kept reminding himself of this in his heart all the time, and at the same time, he was more determined to share some of Kirill's pain, even if it was only a tiny bit.

After sitting down, Malashenko was a little afraid to look directly into Kirill's empty eyes. For a moment, he didn't even know how to start the conversation. Instead, it was Kirill who took the lead and caught Malashenko off guard.

"Comrade Chef, my mother is still alive. My uncle, Comrade Political Commissar, is lying to me, right? You have much more power than him. You must have sent someone to save my mother. She should be in the best hospital now. You often see General Zhukov. This must be a trivial matter, right? Comrade Chef, it must be like this, right?"

Kirill's increasingly flustered words lacked a very important flavor, just like those empty eyes that made Malashenko feel a little scared and dared not answer or face it.

If he answered with ruthless facts, would the cruel truth completely destroy the only hope left in Kirill's heart? Even though this tiny hope was illusory and did not exist at all from the beginning, Kirill still refused to give up like a person dying of thirst in the desert running towards a mirage.

That strong but extremely fragile deep obsession was like a candle flame that would go out with a slight twist, so fragile that Malashenko did not even dare to touch it with the truth.

When people are desperate, they are always willing to believe in the beautiful things in the ideal world. Even if wishful thinking can never get the right answer, such truths have remained unchanged for thousands of years and have repeatedly occurred regardless of national boundaries.

The young Kirill could not escape this strange circle that had been explored for a long time but could not be jumped out of. He was completely imprisoned in it from body to soul.

"Kirill, my political commissar, your uncle really..."

Malashenko, who could not find the right way to speak, suppressed his inner anxiety. This deep feeling of powerlessness of wanting to pull Kirill back from the edge of collapse but not knowing how to do it really made every cell in Malashenko's body feel tortured at this moment.

Even though Malashenko did not speak, Kirill, whose eyes kept trembling in his eye sockets, had almost guessed the final answer.

This man who had always been as tall as a mountain in his heart and always protected him with his back, in the end, could only be like his uncle, and could only tear his hope and everything again with that ruthless answer.

"This is not true! You are all lying to me, all of you are liars! My mother is still alive, she is so healthy, she carried flowers all the way to send me to the train and ran after the train to the end of the platform, she shouted my name and would wait for me to come back, how could she die like this!"

"I want to go home! I want to see my mother, you liars! You are all cursing her to death, I don't believe it! Absolutely not!"

Kirill, who was almost emotionally collapsed, screamed loudly and stood up and ran, but a strong hand rushed forward at the last moment, grabbed his wrist and forcibly tripped him.

Kirill, whose eyes were red from crying and couldn't stop the tears, repeatedly tried to break free from the big hand holding his wrist, but no matter how hard he tried, the big hand was like a pair of pliers and would not let go.

When Kirill, who wanted to escape from everything, finally turned his head subconsciously, he saw a face with crystal eyes that was almost exactly the same as his own.

"At least don't let me lose you again, Kirill, because you are someone I would never want to lose even if I die."