Chapter 560 Killing Horses
After arriving at this small village on the Don River steppe, he could finally take a break and catch his breath. Malashenko, who couldn't remember how many nights he had spent in the tank, felt exhausted, but there were so many things that he couldn't lie down to rest.
"The situation has been counted, Malashenko. At present, we are short of food and fuel, but we have enough ammunition, enough to fight a head-on conflict with the Germans. But the most important thing is the lack of medicine. Summer has arrived. If this situation continues, I am worried that there will be an epidemic."
The "situation" mentioned by Political Commissar Petrov naturally refers to the current situation where there are many patients in Malashenko's unit.
To be honest, it would not matter if there were more patients in winter, even if there was a real shortage of medical care and medicine. The minus 40 degrees weather did not allow any soil for the growth of viruses and bacteria. Even if people died, they would be frozen into sticks in a very short time and would not rot. In winter, there were quite a lot of German corpses left in the snow without time to bury.
But now that summer has arrived, the situation is very different. The hot weather and rampant mosquitoes are the best breeding ground for the spread of plague. Once a person dies in this environment, the body will decay very quickly.
Not only are there a lot of patients with them, but they are also short of medical care and medicine. Soldiers with low immunity are very likely to be infected with summer epidemic diseases and plagues. If this spreads in the army, Malashenko will have no hope of recovery and will almost die.
Thinking of the malaria he had in late summer and early autumn last year, Malashenko, who almost lost his life, is still afraid of these "combat mosquitoes" bigger than wasps on Russian land.
"Keep sending telegrams to the front headquarters, comrade political commissar. We can't keep silent about what we should strive for, otherwise the higher-ups will think that our situation has improved. At least we have to let them know that we are still in dire straits and must get support as soon as possible."
The crying child gets the milk, this principle is universal no matter where you go, not to mention that Malashenko's First Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment has priority supply rights, and it is much more powerful to ask for things than ordinary Red Army troops.
At this point, Political Commissar Petrov no longer stopped and dissuaded Malashenko from asking for things from his superiors. After all, the situation has been forced to this point. If he doesn't cry harder, he will starve to death.
"I understand, leave the task of drafting the telegram to me, I will do it right away."
After sending away Political Commissar Petrov, Malashenko, who was about to sit down in the room to rest and drink a sip of water, welcomed his deputy Lavrinenko.
"Hey, Malashenko. Karamov's situation is not good. There are more people falling ill than yesterday. It seems that some cold or fever is spreading. Karamov himself is a little dizzy. He asked me to tell you that only half of the people in the maintenance camp can work. The rest are either suffering from diarrhea or fever and lying down."
""
Hearing Lavrinenko's hurried report, Malashenko was immediately speechless.
When it rains, it pours.
There are already many people falling ill in the combat troops. Now even his own logistics nurse, the field maintenance camp, has fallen ill. Malashenko even feels a bit like Xiang Yu who crossed the Yangtze River in the past.
"Take some medicine from other battalions and send it to Karamov. We can't lose them even if no one else does. If the field maintenance battalion collapses, our entire army will be grounded in less than a week."
"Don't the dozen cavalrymen we gathered along the way still have horses? Take a few out and kill them for everyone to eat. If this continues, it's only a matter of time before people die of illness."
Malachenko's tone was full of helplessness, but Lavrinenko, who was standing aside and listening, was shocked.
"Killing horses? Malachenko, do you know what this means to those cavalrymen? Not to mention that we are not their direct superiors, even if their direct superiors come, this is an order that may lead to a fight. Do you really plan to do this!?"
The cavalrymen are the masters of the war horses, and the war horses are the companions of the cavalrymen.
Malachenko, who studied in Moscow for three years in later generations, knew the tragic stories of the Red Army cavalrymen in World War II. Although it was cruel to forcefully order the cavalry to take away and kill their companions, Malashenko really had no other options at this point.
People were so hungry that even the wounded and sick could not eat good food. How could they feed the war horses whose stomachs were big enough to hold a boat?
Killing the horses could at least give people a full meal. If they did not kill the horses, people would probably die before the horses.
With his lifeless eyes, he sighed softly as if no one was around. Malashenko, who waved his hand, was obviously determined to execute the forced order.
"People are dying soon. What's the use of those horses? Are you going to leave them to the Germans? I know what order I gave, Lavri, go down and execute it. Remember to give more horse meat to the wounded comrades."
Lavrinenko was speechless for a while, but he finally did not say anything to Malashenko. In the end, he turned around and ran away from the hut that served as the temporary command center without saying a word.
After sending away all the "troubles", Malashenko felt his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, and the military water bottle in his hand slowly slipped to his feet, spilling all over the floor with a gurgling sound. Malashenko, who knew nothing about this, had already closed his heavy eyes and sat on the ammunition box against the wall behind him and fell asleep.
"Hey, Lin, do you have time after school? My parents are on a business trip, do you want to come to my house to play? It's very close to the school."
A familiar voice sounded in the dream, and Malashenko, who could not control his own consciousness and could only witness it like watching a movie, remembered it clearly.
The girl with brown hair was called Irina. She was in the department next to him in college. She cooked delicious food and had several memorable wonderful nights with him.
Hmm - really fragrant - delicious -
"What's wrong with Malashenko? What is he mumbling? Why can't I understand a word?"
Faced with Lavrinenko's three questions in a row, Political Commissar Petrov, who had just put down the telegram that the front command had just replied to, sighed, and the expression under his wide-brimmed hat was full of pity for the younger generation.
"I don't understand either. Who knows what he encountered in his dream? It's probably the dialect of places like Poland. Let him sleep a little longer, and the two of us will study the supply distribution of the troops. The telegram says it will arrive tomorrow."