Steel Soviet Union

Many corpses lying on the street?

Subconsciously startled by this answer without warning, Malashenko didn't even notice the presence of any corpses along the way.

To be precise, Malashenko, who had robbed two cigarettes from the tearful Iushkin, was just puffing away at the smoke and did not notice anything directly in front of his car.

"Gan He, did I run over a pile of dead people along the way?"

Malashenko felt a little unbelievable at the conclusion he had come to. If he had really rolled over the body all the way, why did he feel nothing when he was just hanging outside the turret, but the soldier's expression didn't look like that? Fake.

After thinking for a while, Malashenko finally came closer to the checkpoint, so close that he was only a few meters away from the tank column rumbling past. Then he squatted down and stared closely at the people passing by. The tank rumbled past in front of him.

"Four, five, six, six is ​​no problem, it doesn't look like there is a corpse."

"Huh? Wait, what is this?"

Malashenko, who was squatting on the side of the road and was wondering, suddenly saw a piece of the track plate of a tank that had just passed by in front of him. It seemed that a part had fallen out due to the speed and grinding of the road wheel. After falling to the ground, he immediately fell off. It rolled on the ground twice and then stopped.

Curious about what this thing was, Malashenko stepped forward, stretched out his hand and grabbed the fallen object that he couldn't see clearly in the dark. The instant touch of his fingertips told Malashenko that this was a pretty big thing. Something soft and nice to touch.

"Why do I have a bad feeling?"

When the soft touch came from holding this thing in his hand, Malashenko could feel that for a moment, his whole body was frozen as if time had stopped.

When time stopped and his consciousness came back to reality, he had already obtained the original object in front of him under the moonlight, which made Malashenko couldn't help but frown on the spot.

"One hand?"

Malashenko was very convinced that the thing he held in his palm was a genuine human hand.

It looked like the cut section of the wound started from the wrist. No blood flowed from the cut section. It was obviously a corpse that had been dead for a long time before the hand was cut off and the blood had stopped flowing.

But unfortunately, this is a man's hand, and Malashenko does not have a fetish for hands, so "breaking up" and throwing this thing away is the best solution.

"Damn it, it looks like it's true. I don't know how many corpses were crushed along the way. Damn!"

Malashenko, who had long been accustomed to crushing his opponents, felt slightly uncomfortable at this moment. Crushing the living and crushing the dead were completely different things. What's worse is that Malashenko may have to order the troops to spend some time to dig out the human corpses stuck on the track shoes and road wheels. This kind of mosquito and fly breeding season is easy to deal with if not handled properly. A plague occurs.

"It's really troublesome. Why do bad things like this always come to my door lately?"

Malashenko patted the residual smell of corpse on his hands and rolled up his sleeves and looked at his watch. The time was now 8:30 pm. On weekdays, if there is nothing else, Malashenko would usually have gone to bed at this point. The next morning, he would have to get up at three or four o'clock and go straight to fight with the Germans. Lack of sleep would greatly affect his overall performance. All-day combat and command efficiency.

Malashenko looked around and thought for a while. It seemed that there was no other important thing that he had forgotten or left behind.

The work of relocating the troops has been handed over to Lavrinenko, and political commissar Petrov will take care of the establishment of the regiment and some miscellaneous and annoying things for mothers and mothers.

Malashenko, who has become a hands-off shopkeeper, feels that the only thing he can do now is to quickly find a comfortable place where he can barely curl up together and sleep. Beds have long been an unattainable luxury for Malashenko. Being able to sleep on a lawn where no one has pooped or peed is already a luxury for Malashenko. Very satisfied.

"Hurry up and find a place for me to lie down. Don't let any fucking trouble come to your door soon."

There is a Chinese proverb that goes, "Whatever you are afraid of will come to you."

Malashenko is not Chinese, but most of the soul and memories in his body come from that distant ancient eastern country.

Therefore, even in a foreign country, the mysterious power from the East is still entangled with Malashenko and has never left.

"Malashenko! I've been looking for you for a long time, and you are here!"

"Fuck me!"

Malashenko's feet felt as if they were suddenly caught by a pair of hands sticking out of the soil. He was forced to stop moving forward when the shouts came from behind.

To Malashenko's surprise, this time the person who stopped him was not Petrov, the political commissar who always waved a telegraph newspaper in his hand, but a busy and sweaty man who had obviously just hurried over from somewhere. Lavrinenko.

"Political Commissar Petrov asked me to tell you when I find you. The army headquarters asked you to report immediately. Commander Chuikov is waiting for you. You'd better act quickly, otherwise you won't sleep tonight. I guess it may be Call you to a meeting or something."

Lavrinenko's analysis makes sense, and Malashenko thinks so too, feeling that his quality sleep tonight may be completely ruined.

With helplessness written all over his face, Malashenko came to the headquarters of the Army Group, which was not too far away. Ever since he was transferred to Chuikov's 62nd Army by Zhukov, Malashenko had always been a little uncomfortable with this kind of being. The feeling that people come and go and are always at your call.

Comrade Lao Zhu rarely asked Malashenko to go to the front army headquarters in person in the past. Basically, matters that could be resolved over the phone or telegram were not discussed in person. However, Chuikov's style of doing things seemed to be exactly the opposite. Shenke has lost count of the number of times he has been called to the Army Headquarters by Comrade Lao Cui to talk about something.

"Hey, it's really troublesome"

Although he was in a bad mood because his quality sleep was wasted, Malashenko shook his head and sighed secretly and walked towards the headquarters door with a guard handle.

It was almost nine o'clock at night and the 62nd Army headquarters was still brightly lit. Chuikov, whose eyes were bloodshot and almost had the word "tired" branded on his face with a branding iron, was still busy preparing for tomorrow's battle.

"The Guards' First Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment has arrived. They have suffered heavy losses in strength and technical equipment and need to rest and recuperate. But I decided to put them into battle immediately tomorrow to catch the Germans by surprise! I guess the Guards The movements of the First Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment have been watched by the Germans. The longer it takes, the worse it will be for us. The Germans will make all preparations for this. "