Steel Soviet Union

The fighting will never stop until the last Nazi soldier in the city lays down his arms and ceases to resist.

Malashenko, who is well aware of all this, understands that it is not yet time for him to take a good rest. Malashenko, who has been sleeping lightly during the war, does not need anyone to wake him up. He has been awakened by the biological clock in his body at three o'clock in the morning. .

He got up from the bed, lifted the blanket covering himself, and put his feet into the two boots that were placed beside the bed.

Malashenko, who didn't even take off his clothes when sleeping, simply completed the task of getting up. He picked up the coat hanging on the bedside and walked straight out. The moment he opened the door to the combat command room, he just He saw Comrade Political Commissar looking at him.

"Damn, are you awake? Why are you earlier than me?"

The political commissar, who looked up at Malashenko and then continued to lower his head to sort out the report, kept working without raising his head and quietly answered Malashenko.

"I slept, for a short while. It would be a waste of time to sleep any longer. I know how many hours of minimum sleep I need now, and I have ensured that I have enough. Don't worry."

""

For a person who is about to come to the end of his life, Malashenko seems not qualified to persuade political commissar comrades that "paying more attention to rest is good for your health."

This loyal and staunch Communist Party member has very little time left, and Malashenko can indeed understand the mood of Comrade Political Commissar at this moment. 6⃞ 9⃞ s⃞ h⃞ u⃞ x⃞ .⃞ c⃞ o⃞ m⃞

Let him waste too much time on sleeping, and I'm afraid even expecting him to fall asleep is a luxury.

Now that the matter has come to this, we have no choice but to respect Comrade Political Commissar’s own wishes in the last precious time of his life. Malashenko hopes that this will make this last stage of Comrade Political Commissar’s life more meaningful and fulfilling.

"I've sorted out today's battle plan. Wait a minute. I'll hand it over to you after I finish it. If there's no problem, just sign it and I'll arrange for it to be distributed to the combat troops for execution--"

Jingle Bell--

"Hello? Frontline Command."

Before Comrade Political Commissar finished speaking, the phone on the table not far away suddenly rang.

Although the hesitant political commissar wanted to continue talking, the phone that just rang over there always seemed to give people a bad premonition.

Who would call the frontline headquarters at three o'clock in the middle of the night with nothing to do?

Could it be that something happened on the contact line? But I didn’t hear any alarms or firefights?

After second thoughts, Comrade Political Commissar decided to finish the work at hand first and then hand it over to Malashenko for review and signature.

But he never thought that as soon as he lowered his head, the communications officer who picked up the phone and spoke a few words would already turn around and speak quickly.

"Comrade Division Commander, forward post report. An enemy attack occurred at the main road intersection in Block 1. Enemy saboteurs infiltrated and secretly attacked our security forces on the contact line. The combat engineer battalion directly under the 1st Heavy Combined Brigade suffered losses. , the specific casualties are being counted.”

""

"What!?"

Malashenko had just gotten up and didn't even have time to take a sip of water. A call from the forward contact line reported that a German had sneaked in and touched his buttocks in the middle of the night, causing substantial casualties.

The key is that Malashenko hasn't heard any news of a firefight in the city, which is damn surprising and a little angry.

"Which unit is encountering the enemy on the contact line? How are the sentries posted at night!? How can the Germans sneak in and kill everyone and not even let out a single fart? It's simply ridiculous!"

It doesn't matter if you were attacked by someone unexpectedly, but it doesn't make sense if you were attacked unexpectedly and didn't even fart.

Not a single shot was fired, there was no sound of exchange of fire, and now that the call came, Malashenko was almost certain that the group of Germans who committed the crime had most likely just pretended to be cool and ran away.

This is so fucking embarrassing. How many times has the leader encountered such trouble that the Germans ran away after pretending to be cool?

I can’t say that it hasn’t happened once, but it’s really very rare, so rare that it can only be counted on one hand.

So it's nothing more than Malashenko scolding her a bit now. After all, this matter is really embarrassing.

"It's a company of the 1st Brigade Combat Engineer Battalion, the Alsim Company!"

""

"What did you say? Alsim!?"

Malashenko couldn't believe his ears. Alsim's "Slavic Superman" who was as violent as a war machine, and the equally violent and restless brothers under him, could actually do it in the middle of the night. Did a German guy touch his butt? And you haven’t responded yet? ? ?

"Is Alsim okay? What is the specific situation over there now? Who is in charge?"

Facing Malashenko's barrage of questions, the communications staff officer who had just put down the phone seemed embarrassed.

"I'm not sure, Comrade Commander, I didn't say anything on the phone. The people over there hurriedly put down the phone and hung up. They said they were going to the scene to deal with the situation. Do you need to call them again to ask?"

"Forget it, no need."

Malashenko, who had no time to wait for the news, seemed very impatient. He dismissed the communications staff's proposal with a wave of his hand. He grabbed the weapons on the table and the holster and wrapped them around his waist. At the same time, he asked the man beside him. Comrade Political Commissar spoke again.

"I'm going to the scene to take a look. I'm worried that something might happen to that guy Alsim, so I'll leave this to you for the time being."

After yesterday's battle, the leader's division headquarters, which was progressing smoothly, has moved from the small town outside the city to a suitable location in the city. It does not take long for Malashenko to set off from the current frontline headquarters to the contact line.

"I know, be careful along the way and remember to bring a guard platoon with you."

"Well, that's it, keep in touch."

Malashenko moved very quickly. The convoy standing ready in the yard downstairs saw that the division commander wanted to use the vehicle urgently. They immediately summoned the escort team to make some preparations and then set off quickly to deliver Malashenko to the contact. It took less than fifteen minutes to reach the destination.

In the ruined streets of Berlin, where ruins are strewn and bomb craters can be seen everywhere, a wheeled vehicle can maneuver at such a fast speed.

What Malashenko didn't expect was that the first sight he saw when he pushed open the car door and rushed in towards the building where the incident occurred would immediately shock the self-proclaimed well-informed man. He was stunned on the spot.

"Is this done by those naughties?"

"Sokka! These are not human bastards!"

"You should really chop these bastards into pieces and feed them to the dogs. Even this doesn't satisfy you!"

The entourage around him was either shocked, angry, or both.

Looking at the rows of corpses of soldiers who fell to the ground, and the sharp knives that were deeply pierced into the foreheads of each soldier's head.

Malashenko only felt that what he saw in front of him was not like a battlefield relic, but more like a sacrifice site for some kind of black magic and evil ancient ritual.