Steel Soviet Union

Forcing a young man to go to the scene to identify his comrades who were his comrades a few minutes ago may sound cruel, but this is the nature of war.

Breaking all the beautiful things to pieces is called tragedy, or it can be called war.

Malashenko's mood has changed a lot after the death of Lieutenant Colonel Yakov. He no longer sticks to false beauty. If there is no Nazi, the world will be better and life will be much more peaceful. Let this group of scum The only difference between dying in a prisoner of war camp or at your own hands is sooner or later.

In the Soviet Union, no scumbag who was fanatically loyal to the Nazis could walk out of a prisoner-of-war camp alive. The so-called fate was doomed from the moment he was captured.

"Come on, start identifying now! Tell me your answer, Fred!"

The killing of prisoners may be rejected and prevented on the European battlefield, but in the Soviet Union, no Red Army soldier will sympathize with the Fascist lackeys who invaded their homeland and trampled on their homeland. Almost All the watching Red Army soldiers were smiling and waiting for the final result.

"But sir, I and the others"

"Nothing! Either you identify the Nazis, or I shoot you in the head! Don't let me change my mind and think that what you just said is a lie! Countless enemies have died in my hands, I don’t mind killing another German and French private!”

Malashenko, who was about to lose his patience, began to yell orders to young Fred. Fred, who was wandering on the line of inner struggle, finally made a choice that satisfied Malashenko.

As if his soul was out of body, Fred turned around tremblingly with a dull face. His legs and hands were shaking almost at the same time. Fred didn't dare to raise his head and look directly at those familiar faces.

Although they often make fun of themselves, bully themselves as a joke after dinner, and even insult their mother's bloodline, they are described as extremely cowardly.

But Fred, who had never directly killed a person since entering the battlefield, was just a coolie. The Mauser 98K rifle on his back was almost never taken off, traveling between the shell box and the gun position. Carrying and loading artillery shells back and forth was Fred's only job on the battlefield.

But there is no such thing as luck in war. Innocent children and powerless civilians may be killed in hell, not to mention orthodox soldiers wearing military uniforms.

War is not about right or wrong, it is only about who can win in the end.

Not wanting to die so unexplainedly in a strange land in Russia, Fred, whose body could not stop shaking, glanced at the crowd in front of him with the corner of his eye, and then quickly looked away as if he was electrocuted. He was afraid that seeing those pairs of eyes that hated betrayers would stab him to the ground with thousands of arrows piercing his heart.

When he turned around to face Malashenko again, he was still hesitant.

But when Fred raised his head and saw the angry look on Malashenko's face, Fred, who had to live because of his parents and sister, immediately threw his last remaining hesitation behind him.

"The third and sixth people from the left in the second row, the eighth to tenth people from the left in the third row, and the last two people from the left in the fourth row, they are all fanatical Nazis. On weekdays, The man named Stalin played with his picture as a dart board and could recite the Führer’s speeches skillfully. He also often bullied me, calling me a bastard and a coward from France.”

Such a detailed answer made Malashenko's face suddenly turn from gloomy to sunny, and he smiled again. The figure slowly walked past Fred and directly put his right arm on the young man's shoulder and patted him gently to show encouragement.

"Very good, especially the last sentence is great. This time I will help you get justice."

Malashenko put away his smile and returned to normal. He raised his left hand and waved forward gently. The bearded Major Maxim, who had been following Malashenko, understood and immediately led several tank soldiers into the battle. .

He rushed into the pile of prisoners and used his rifle butts, fists and feet, and punched left and right to pull out all seven identified Nazis. They drove them kicking and beating them like ducks and pressed them in front of Malashenko. His shoulders forced him to kneel to the ground.

"Okay, let's move on to the debate. Does anyone want to say or can prove that they are not fanatically loyal to the Nazis and Hitler?"

"Bah! Trash Bolsheviks, you Stalin-raised dogs!"

People with backbone are not lacking at any time, but they are even crazier when they know that they will not live for more than a few minutes.

Malashenko, who was scolded as a loving father and a dog, was suddenly happy instead of angry and suddenly had a smile on his face.

Looking at the angry face of this German corporal who wanted to tear himself apart and eat him alive, Malashenko could even recall the face of Lieutenant Colonel Yakov, who had been so harmonious with him that he was talking and laughing day and night, and the face of the three men who were eventually killed. The No. 1 assault gun blasted apart half of the body, leaving a mutilated, cold corpse with no arms or legs.

"A comrade with whom I have a very close relationship died under the fire of you fascist lackeys. He still has a five-year-old son and a wife who are just waiting for him to return in his hometown in Chita, but I I can only send out a cold notice of sacrifice. Tell me how I can make her wife and children accept this pain."

Crouching down and holding a gun in his hand, Malashenko described all this with a vivid face, even showing a hint of pain and sadness.

But the fanatical German corporal, who still looked unruly and twisted, ignored all this and blurted out his last roar before death like a caged beast.

"It's sad, isn't it? It's painful, isn't it? You Bolsheviks will all end up like this in the end, all of you."

puff--

The German corporal who had not finished speaking in the middle of the sentence didn't even have time to react. The cold blade was so fast that it almost appeared as an afterimage. It was instantly grasped by Malashenko in an uppercut from bottom to top. The method directly penetrated the chin and pushed upward into the entire skull.

"I heard that one of the most painful ways to die is not being able to finish what you want to say but being unable to say it for a while. I'm sure you can still hear what I'm saying now. Just enjoy the process."

The German corporal whose tongue was pierced by the tip of the knife whimpered and wanted to say something more but in vain. His right hand slowly exerted force and continued to push Malashenko, who was holding the bayonet in his hand, with a panoramic view of the extremely painful face. There is nothing in this world. There is nothing more satisfying than the moment of revenge so close before your eyes.