Chapter 975 Singing for You (Revised)

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Malachenko, who didn’t know too many details about what Vatutin described, couldn’t comment or say much.

After going through a lot, Malachenko deeply realized the truth that “if you haven’t experienced what others have experienced, you are not qualified to criticize others at will from a commanding height.”

Many heart-wrenching things that make life worse than death really can’t be forgotten with the passage of time, let alone explained and healed with a few words.

Malachenko, who felt the same way, knew that he had no right to say that the major named Orsha was not good or not just from the fact that “four relatives in the family died in Minsk at the same time.”

He only lost Nikolai, a close relative. During that period, he couldn’t sleep well almost every night. When he closed his eyes, he could see the past memories mixed with Nikolai playing in front of him.

Even in the dead of night, he would sit up alone, smoke and wipe tears, trying to control himself from crying.

Malashenko will never forget the pain that is more heartbreaking than being imprisoned and skinned and boned, and he doesn't want to experience it again, because it will really torture a strong man into a madman.

Malashenko did what he should do and didn't say much.

After saying goodbye to Vatutin politely, he saluted and left with Iushkin. Although the tall figure walked very slowly like a stroll, he didn't turn around and hesitate at all.

Vatutin, who thought Malashenko would say something about this, was a little surprised. He stood at the door of the headquarters, accompanied by the guards beside him, staring at Malashenko's receding back for a long time without leaving, until the chief of staff comrade also walked out of the corridor behind him and came to his side.

"Everyone has gone far away, what are you still standing here thinking about? Dear commander."

Comrade Chief of Staff may have wanted to liven up the atmosphere, but it is obvious that Vatutin was not brought into the rhythm, and there was no emotion in his quietly speaking words.

"Thinking about what this young man has experienced, I even feel that the reflection in my eyes is not a young man in his twenties, but a veteran in his forties with vicissitudes of life. Is this my illusion?"

The chief of staff looked at the back of Malashenko, who was almost invisible, for a while, and then turned his head to look at the face of the commander next to him, who was indescribable, and the words brewing in his heart slowly blurted out silently. perform

"Perhaps, this is what makes him extraordinary, and it explains why he is the only one who can stand out among so many peers, and even become a Soviet hero that you and I have to respect."

"Growth requires cruel training, comrade commander. I think Malashenko's experience must be worthy of the honor on his chest, although we don't know what happened to this young man. What do you think?"

With the chief of staff's words, Vatutin, who felt as if he had put some of his worries aside, breathed a sigh of relief, and his words when he spoke again were resolute and firm.

"Then let time witness where this extraordinary young man's final destination will be."

Malashenko, who returned to the front of the car with Ivushkin, also breathed a sigh of relief.

After the trip to the front headquarters, all the important matters before going home on vacation were almost done.

Next, it was time to deal with some things that I had wanted to do before but had never had the opportunity or time to do. There was only a little time left before I could really leave Stalingrad, the city of destiny.

"Let's go, Iushkin!"

"Where to?"

Malashenko paused when he heard this question.

The sun hanging high in the sky had already fallen to the distant horizon. The last golden afterglow of the day sprinkled all over the war-torn land here, and Malashenko, who was staring at the sunset in the distance, had a little hesitation about the final destination.

About ten seconds later, Iushkin, who had been silently watching his comrade, the driver, finally got the answer.

"Send me to the No. 1 railway station, and then you drive yourself to report to the political commissar, and tell him that I'm fine and he doesn't need to worry or look for me.

It was at this moment that Iushkin saw something unusual in Malashenko's eyes, just like what he had seen in the eyes of the major named Orsha just now.

Time flies and things have changed.

Amid the roar of Iushkin's engine as he drove away alone, Malashenko stood alone on the land where he had fought, staring at the railway station in front of him that had begun to clear the ruins, looking again and again, and carefully looking for it with his eyes wide open.

But no matter what, he couldn't find the place where Nikolai fell in his memory.

The No. 1 railway station in Stalingrad had long been reduced to ruins by fierce war and bombing. Malashenko, carrying a tattered coarse cloth bag in his hand, walked on the ruins with one foot deep and one foot shallow.

Just like a lost old man suffering from Alzheimer's disease who can't find his way home, he went around and around, looking over and over again, among the people who either recognized him or looked confused. I walked under my gaze for a long, long time

The place where Malashenko finally stopped was atop a mess of ruins that had been buried by empty soil. There was no trace of any tank wreckage.

Malashenko didn't know why, but he could only recognize the characteristics of the original waiting hall of the train station: the broken wall that still retains a trace of the original color was behind Malashenko, and Nikolai collapsed on it. Not far from here

"I'm back, Nikolai. The man you called Comrade Commander all day long is back alive."

Sitting cross-legged, in front of Malashenko there was nothing but rubble and nothing of value.

It was under such dim conditions that Malashenko opened the rag bag in his arms, took out two unopened bottles of vodka and placed them on the ground.

"You keep saying you want to have a good drink with me, but how can we care? My brother. There are so many enemies waiting for us to destroy, and the city in war is waiting for us to defend. We are heroic Red Army soldiers, no Extra time can be wasted on entertainment.”

"Okay now, we have won, Nikolai. Listen to the sound of the wind, even the wind is ringing with the sound of victory. Our comrades, our comrades, the city and people we defended with our lives are singing and dancing, Celebrating the victory, we finally have time to sit down and have a good drink together.”

Holding the opened wine bottle in his hand, Malashenko slowly fell towards the floating soil in front of him. Malashenko, who could help Kirill, who was in poor health, carry more than a dozen artillery shells in one breath, could not even hold the wine bottle. His right hand was shaking.

"You told me that after the war is over, you just want to retire and go home to take care of your wife and children. I promise you like a fool that this will happen one day. When the time comes, I will go back to your home and tell your wife and children in person. My child, Nikolai is a hero. He protected everything he should protect. He faithfully fulfilled his responsibilities and was the best Red Army soldier."

Malashenko, who blew directly into the bottle for the first time in his life, could not feel the bitterness in his throat. The tears mixed with the vodka overflowing from the corner of his mouth flowed into his collar and onto his chest. He smashed the bottle on the ground. But his right hand was still trembling.

"This hand, I used this hand to grab you and drag you on the ground. I thought that as long as I tried my best, I would be able to save you, but I couldn't even save myself! It's here At that last moment, I was still a loser who was saved by you!"

"The gunfire rang out, but I was the one who survived, not you. Who should live? Where is this nonsense? You gave your life to me, but I couldn't save you. Why did you just Do people like this have to live? Do you know the answer? I don't know, no one told me."

No one knows how long the man sitting cross-legged on the pile of floating soil spoke unknown words into the empty air.

The cold moonlight and the stars in the sky illuminated the cold earth. Two empty wine bottles were lying at his feet. Malashenko was burping with wine, and his big painted face stained with tears and muddy stains was still there. Sitting there.

"Remember, I still remember it! That time Kirill played the mouth organ, all of you shouted for me to sing a song to match, especially you, who slapped the table and shouted the most happily, grinning almost to the ears Rooted."

"Natalia sings so beautifully, but it's a pity that she's not here. What song do you want to listen to? Let me think about it."

"Hehe, there doesn't seem to be anyone who can sing. How about a song you've never heard before? This is a song that only I have heard."

The cold wind whipped up the crystal snowflakes and howled against the ground. Malashenko sang at the top of his voice, which was not pleasant, but his crying voice floated far, far away with the sound of the wind.

Until he was heard by a few people who had just gotten out of the car in a hurry.

"After experiencing many hardships, laughter and tears, we have finally overcome the obstacles on the road ahead. As for the glory and credit, let us attribute it to God."

"The golden years we once had, let's stay in the ancient songs and the free wind blowing on our faces."

The sound of wind and singing echoed higher and higher above the ruins, and the end point that was destined to be unattainable was right in front of us at this moment.

"For you to stand proudly in the forest of the world! For you, mother of the motherland!"

"We will persevere! For you, mother of the motherland!"

"We will sing and dance in the end! For you, mother of the motherland!"

"Shout "Ula" three times for you! For you, mother of the motherland!"

"Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!"

The song that could no longer go on finally turned into a loud cry of despair and sorrow. Malashenko, covering his face with his hands, arched his back and knelt down on the land where he had fought, praying for the love in the cold loneliness. A redemption that can never be obtained.

It wasn't until the one-armed figure who quietly came to him at some point was lifted up from the ground, hugged into his arms, and patted on the back by a generous hand, that the Soviet hero finally felt tired and uncontrollable. Waiting for peace with drunkenness.

That night, Commissar Petrov, Iushkin, Kirill, Seryosha, Lavrinenko, Kulbalov, Karamov, and even Anya and Doctor Karachev.

All those who cared about Malashenko and witnessed the scene stayed awake all night.

Iushkin, who had accompanied Malashenko through all the stories of the day, lay on the carpet, with his hands behind his head as a pillow, quietly looking at the starry sky outside the ceiling above his head after a big hole was blown by the bomb, without saying a word.

Iushkin will never forget it.

It was on this night that he witnessed with his own eyes the scene of two men who should never shed tears hugging each other and crying uncontrollably