Steel Soviet Union

"You are here, Comrade Malashenko."

Looking at the thin body lying on the hospital bed in front of him, Malashenko, who could not hide his grief, sat beside the bed, but could not say a word. He just held Commissar Petrov's hand and refused to let go.

"It was obviously a good day for you to get married, but in the end, you ended up like this by an old guy like me."

"Thinking about it now, maybe I shouldn't have come in the first place and should have stayed in the Far East. However, I really can't help but want to see you get married with my own eyes. Otherwise, I always feel empty in my heart, as if something is missing. "

The calm and slightly weak words echoed in the ward. Looking up at perhaps the last unfamiliar ceiling he could see in his life, Comrade Comrade Political Commissar, who was lying flat on the hospital bed and turned his head slightly, smiled.

"Look at you, why are you crying? We already knew that this day would come sooner or later, didn't we? You said before that you wouldn't let Kulbalov cry, saying that he was the second commander of the Leader's Army and a hero of the Soviet Union. So why not you? Moreover, you are also the first Army Commander and a three-time Hero of the Soviet Union.”

"Wipe your tears and cheer up. The future belongs to you, the younger generation, and there is a better tomorrow waiting for you to create. Even if I am not there, you must continue to move forward firmly, okay?"

"Um!"

Malashenko, who was holding the political commissar's hand with both hands, was already in tears at this moment, and his uncontrollable emotions were surging from the bottom of his heart, almost on the verge of losing control.

Comrade Comrade Political Commissar, who was still looking at Malashenko, wanted to raise his hands. Malashenko, who could feel the touch in his palms, slowly let go of his hands.

Even the simple raising of hands became slow and laborious, and he slightly brushed his cheek, gently wiping away the tears on Malashenko's face. There was no fear of death in his smile as warm as the sun.

"There is something, I guess it must be your secret, you have never mentioned it to anyone."

Except for the two people on the bed and the bedside, there was no third person in the ward where the needle could be heard. The slow and somewhat labored words continued.

"Guess how many times have you been drunk since the day we met until now, spanning the entire Patriotic War? I'm counting them all for you."

I don’t understand why Comrade Political Commissar suddenly mentioned this. Malashenko, who was in deep grief, was still crying and speechless. He could only slowly shake his head.

"Once, only once. But I guess it's not that you can't get drunk, but more often you don't dare to get drunk, because that's the only time when you can't keep the secret in your heart, right?"

After hearing this, Malashenko was stunned for a moment and was speechless. Comrade Comrade Political Commissar, who seemed to have found the answer in Malashenko's expression, smiled and continued to speak slowly.

"That was shortly after Kirill's death, when we were taking a break from fighting on the domestic front and driving the Nazis out of the motherland."

"That night, you carried half a box of wine by yourself and sat alone on a small slope outside the division headquarters, drinking in the cold wind without calling anyone."

"When I found you, you had three or four empty wine bottles lying around. Some of them were drunk and some were spilled. They were all over your body and you were still drunk."

"I wanted to take you back, but you held my hand and said you had something to say to me."

""

Malashenko, who had no memory of this incident at all, did not know what to say, and in the end could only force a smile with tears on his face.

"Really? I don't even remember, so what did I tell you then?"

"You painted a picture of a broken and bleak future that was the first I had ever heard of."

""

Malashenko, whose forced smile stopped abruptly, was completely stunned, and his brain went blank for a moment, but he heard the comrade's speech continued.

"I'm not sure whether what you said that night is true, Comrade Malashenko, so can you answer a few more questions for me? This may be my last wish."

Malashenko no longer knew what to say and could only nod his head, still holding the increasingly weak hand of Comrade Political Commissar with both hands, not knowing how to answer the almost foreseeable questions that followed.

"In your time, were the people still living on this land still suffering from hunger? Did the children have desks and classrooms where they could study safely?"

""

At this point, there should be no more lies. Malashenko, who secretly made up his mind, nodded solemnly and truthfully.

"There will be no more hunger and panic, Comrade Political Commissar. At that time, the people living in this land lived a life without worries about food and clothing. The children also had a quiet desk and a stable classroom, and the sound of reading could be heard loudly. Far, far away, day after day.”

When obvious relief appeared on the face of Comrade Political Commissar, the second question also came up.

"When the Nazis sweep in again, will there be soldiers who will stand up and fight those scum to the end?"

After hearing this, Malashenko did not think twice and made up his mind without any hesitation.

"Yes! There will be, and there will always be! Comrade political commissar, you can definitely tell the difference between good and evil! Those dirty black bugs can never conquer this land we have protected!"

"Um"

The political commissar on the hospital bed nodded slowly, and finally spoke again after taking a long breath.

"In that distant future, will anyone still remember our story?"

Comrade Political Commissar's answer was still Malashenko's slow but firm nod.

"People at that time still believed that as long as we can remember, they will still be alive."

All three questions were firmly answered, and Comrade Comrade Political Commissar, who had fulfilled his last wish, lay on the hospital bed, looking at the unfamiliar ceiling in his sight, and said nothing for a long time.

"Thank you for doing so much for us and for this era that does not belong to you. Thank you for giving more soldiers and comrades who shed blood on the battlefield the opportunity to reunite with their families and witness the victory with their own eyes."

"Thank you for everything, Comrade Malashenko."

Comrade Comrade Political Commissar, who did not want to lie down on the hospital bed anymore, tried to sit up, but because his body was on the verge of collapse and could no longer support such a simple movement, he almost fell out of bed.

Malashenko, who had quick eyes and quick hands, left his seat next to the hospital bed and took the crumbling political commissar into his arms to support him. Only then did he finally realize that the political commissar was incredibly light.

"call--"

"I've seen you go so far, so high, so far beyond my imagination. Enough, enough, that's enough."

"Can you sing that song to me again? You said you brought it from the distant future. I still remember the tune."

When the softly humming tune sounded in his ears, Malashenko, who was holding back tears, finally sang the familiar lyrics again.

"After experiencing many hardships, laughter and tears, we have finally overcome the obstacles ahead. As for the glory and credit, let's go to God."

"The golden years we once had, let's stay in the ancient songs and the breeze blowing in our face."

"In order for you to stand proudly in the forest of the world, for you, motherland. We will persevere, for you, motherland."

"We will eventually sing and dance, for you, mother of the motherland. We will shout three hurrahs for you, for you, mother of the motherland."

The melodious singing flew out of the ward window into the night sky, drifting far and far to the horizon, as if it could travel through time and space.

"O motherland, I will always be your child. No matter where you are, you will always be in my heart, my motherland."

The song continued to the end without accompaniment, and the lingering sound passed through the door of the ward and echoed for a long time in the corridor outside the door.

Wait until the comrades who have been waiting outside the ward follow the fading singing and gently open the door and enter.

What he saw was the smiling face of Malashenko who had closed his eyes peacefully, hugging him tightly.

Without any unnecessary words, Vatutin, who had been waiting outside the ward, took the lead and took off the large-brimmed military hat on his head, followed by Lavrinenko, Iushkin, and the entire No. 177 crew.

And Kurbalov, who had just arrived from the Far East, flew back urgently, along with Varosha.

The silent military salute was as uniform as the silent tears in the ward.

I have written 7 million words so far, and these two chapters are probably the two most uncomfortable and difficult chapters to write. It took almost a day to polish them. I hope everyone will not feel too uncomfortable.