Chapter 3207 Return (Part 2)

Malachenko, whose orders were still ringing in his ears, did not speak directly. After a moment's thought, he could only ask a rhetorical question.

"Have you thought about the Victory Banner? Comrade Marshal, now you want to cancel the honorary title of the Leader Army, what about the Victory Banner? Should the honorary title on the Victory Banner be cancelled as well?"

The 8th Army of the 1st Belarusian Front was awarded the title of "Stalin" leader, the Guards Red Banner Moscow-Berlin 1st Tank Division.

This is the great honor of the Leader Army, or the former Leader Division, engraved on the Victory Banner, and it is still imprinted on that bright red flag and has not faded.

Recalling the past, Malachenko still remembers that it was Zhukov who awarded this flag to the Leader Division, and it was Zhukov who gave the task of raising the flag on the Capitol to the Leader Division.

In any case, the honor on that flag cannot and should not be erased. It is not only the ultimate glory of the leader division, but also the entire Red Army after going through all kinds of hardships and difficulties in the Great Patriotic War. It is more important than life to countless Red Army soldiers who have experienced the Great Patriotic War.

Even in the world where Malashenko lived in his previous life, the original victory flag after experiencing countless catastrophes and turmoil is still there.

And the reason why Malashenko said this now was to tell Zhukov that it is impossible to do it, to tell Zhukov that there are always some things that can never and should not be forgotten even if they are erased artificially.

But Malashenko never expected that Zhukov's next answer would be like this.

"Why can't it be cancelled? Comrade Khrushchev has already made a report. Haven't you read it? All related traces must be erased."

""

Malashenko, who was stunned in place, was so shocked that he couldn't speak for a while, and Zhukov's speech, which had never hesitated for a moment, continued.

"Although I haven't informed you of this decision yet, it has already been made."

"I will personally supervise the modification of the Victory Flag, cancel the title, and re-dye the parts that need to be modified."

"As it happens, wasn't the Victory Flag sent to Berlin for a tour this month? Bring it back with the troops. I have arranged the subsequent modifications. The modified Victory Flag will be inspected together with the troops. You need to lead these preparations."

Seeing that the astonishment on Malashenko's expression continued, Zhukov, who felt that it was not enough after saying the above, added again.

"Don't tell me any more conditions and reasons, Malashenko. I don't want to hear any "no", "rejection", or "can't do it" from you anymore. I transferred you back to the position of the leader of the army, not to let you cross most of Europe and run back to Moscow to tell me these nonsense."

"I just pretended not to hear any bad words, and nothing bad happened. I still trust you. I still need you to execute orders, and I believe you can do it."

"As for what happens next"

Zhukov thought for a while and his eyes moved to the military rank badge with the military identification on Malashenko's shoulder, and soon spoke again.

"The post of commander of the Berlin garrison is only temporary. I intend to transfer you to the commander of the East German group. Comrade Vatutin has held this position for a long time. He recommended you to me as his successor, and I just so want to do so."

"By then, there will be a new vacancy for the rank of general waiting for you. Now you have enough in terms of record, qualifications, and ability. I have also consulted Comrade Vatutin and Comrade Vasilevsky on this matter. The three of us unanimously believe that you are suitable for promotion, and this is what you deserve."

"So don't think about those unnecessary things anymore, raise your head and look forward, and forget the past. This is my hope for you, and it is also an order."

Zhukov, who had not finished speaking, looked at Malashenko, who still looked "deeply shocked". He almost couldn't remember when he last saw Malashenko with this expression. Maybe it was the scene of his funeral in the pouring rain many years ago.

Recalling the past experiences and scenes together, Zhukov sighed as his eyes gradually calmed down towards Malashenko.

He did have the thought of going up to Malashenko, but he chose to go back to his desk in the end, and the words he blurted out almost simultaneously with the action of sitting down.

"You are tired, go back and rest, and I will grant you a day off. Come see me again at this time tomorrow, and report to me what you plan to do. Remember to say hello to Comrade Natalia on my behalf."

""

Knowing that it was unnecessary for him to stay any longer and that there were many things he needed to think about, Malashenko turned around after hearing the words.

He straightened his chest, raised his head, stood at attention, saluted Zhukov in one go, and then turned around and left without saying a word.

Until the slightly heavy footsteps of Malashenko gradually faded away in the corridor outside the door.

Zhukov picked up the unfinished report in his hand and wanted to continue reading it, but found that he could no longer concentrate on reading it. So he put down the thing in his hand and spoke angrily.

"Why you? Malashenko, why don't you stand with me at this time, and want to be like those people!?"

"I gave you a chance, and twice, don't let me be disappointed in you again."

After walking out of the door, Malashenko looked back at the towering building behind him, and almost felt that he was looking at things as people.

An indescribable sense of heaviness weighed heavily on Malashenko's heart, almost making him unable to breathe or speak.

"Comrade Commander, are we going home now?"

Hearing the call, he turned his head and looked at the guard who was already waiting by the jeep. Malashenko could only nod in response with a bit of helplessness in his words.

"Let's go, take me home."

After rushing back to Moscow all the way, he ran into a big nail with Zhukov as soon as he came back. Unexpected bad news came from his mouth one after another. He didn't listen to his advice at all and almost scolded himself.

It's impossible for Malashenko not to feel lost. He didn't want to bring his bad mood to his wife and children, so he leaned against the wall in the corridor at the door of his house, squatted on the ground and smoked alone, with cigarette butts piled up on the ground under his feet.

If it weren't for this military uniform, no one would think that such a lonely person would be a well-known tank general in the Soviet Union.

Just as Malashenko dropped the cigarette butt in his hand and stomped it out, the door beside him suddenly opened slightly, followed by a surprised call.

"Dear! You are back!"

"Niklai, Kirill, come to mom! Dad is back!"