Chapter 720 Good Morning

It rained heavily all day and did not stop until night fell.

Although the damp and cold feeling made the soldiers of both the Soviet and German sides feel very uncomfortable, compared with this, they did not have to worry about being killed by a bullet that they did not even know where it came from. Most people could take advantage of the heavy rain to find a place to rest for a day. This situation can be said to be a great fortune.

After nightfall, Malashenko lay on his marching bed used by the regiment commander and tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Even now, what happened during the day is still as vivid as a slide, and it keeps replaying in Malashenko's mind.

Malashenko lay on the bed and tossed and turned, unable to sleep. No matter how hard he tried to close his eyes or even count sheep in his heart, it was useless. His eyes, which were bigger than cow eggs, were like light bulbs and he could not sleep.

There are many reasons why Malashenko can't sleep, and the pile of envelopes beside the bed is just one of them.

Since Malashenko returned to the front line after a vacation in Moscow at the beginning of the year, letters from Natalia have been delivered to Malashenko more and more frequently.

At first, Malashenko received a letter from Natalia at a frequency of about one letter per month.

Later, this speed increased to two or three letters per month. In the last days before the Battle of Stalingrad, Malashenko, who was busy leading his troops to retreat on the road, had no chance to receive letters for nearly a month. As a result, after arriving in the city of Stalingrad, he received 6 letters from Natalia at once!

Such a high frequency of letters not only made Malashenko feel a little speechless, but even Political Commissar Petrov, who had a tacit partnership with Malashenko, smiled and commented.

"Seeing so many letters from Natalia makes me feel that it is good to be young, but it's a pity that I can never go back to the past."

Most of Natalia's letters are some "old tunes", and missing and love are almost the theme and core content of every letter, all of which are the same and unchanged.

Malashenko was not disgusted by the large number of letters from Natalia, but was just a little surprised. He wondered if his beautiful wife spent all her time writing letters to him and thinking about how to write the next letter.

But in short, these letters from Natalia and the new photos in them were undoubtedly a good medicine for Malashenko to relieve his inner pain in the fierce battle, and one of the main reasons why Malashenko could still fight with this exhausted body that did not belong to him.

But after what happened today, Malashenko found that the medicine he relied on to relieve his inner pain suddenly became a heavy burden on his soul.

As long as he saw Natalia's photo, even if he just remembered the good memories he had with Natalia in the past, Malashenko would inexplicably feel like a sinner, a guilty person who failed the girl he loved deeply.

"If time could go back, would I choose to accept Anya again?"

Malachenko lay on his back with his hands folded behind his head, quietly thinking about these confusing questions, but the more he thought about it, the more upset he became, and he really couldn't come up with a satisfactory and convincing answer.

Malashenko gave up thinking, closed his eyes again, turned his head and tried to fall asleep.

This time, lucky Malachenko fell asleep in a short time, but what was waiting for him in the dream was one of the questions he least wanted to face.

Malachenko was dreaming almost the entire second half of the night, and the protagonists in the dream were only Malachenko himself and Natalia.

As for what happened in the dream, what he did, and how he responded, Malachenko, who felt a headache after getting up the next morning due to poor sleep quality, could no longer recall all of this.

"Fuck, what am I busy with? If I keep going on like this, I'll die, fuck"

Holding his aching forehead, he staggered to the door and pushed it open. Just as he was about to breathe some fresh air, Malashenko hadn't had time to yawn when a sharp whistle from the far horizon broke the morning silence.

"Fuck your mother!"

Boom--

The terrible curse that he suddenly shouted subconsciously sounded almost at the same time as the loud explosion of the shell landing.

The power of a 150mm heavy howitzer shell should not be underestimated. The entrance of the regiment where Malashenko was just now was blown to the point that even the door frame was twisted and deformed by the explosion.

If Malashenko hadn't reacted quickly and jumped back to the regiment house behind him with a dog-eating-shit attitude, I'm afraid that the shell shock wave and projectile fragments alone would be enough to kill Malashenko. What was lying on the ground now was just a body that was scraped into a sieve by the fragments.

Malashenko, who almost lost his life, was furious. He got up from the ground and prepared to do something while cursing.

However, the German artillery, which no longer had an equal opponent, would not just fire one shot to remind the Soviet army that it was time to get up. A fierce artillery wave like a tsunami fell accurately into the station and hit the Soviet army on the head.

A German artillery observer who was on the other side of the station and was in line with Malashenko reported the artillery direction in real time to calibrate the artillery coordinates.

After only three rounds of shells fell, the German artillery barrage basically had no deflected shells. The concentrated fierce artillery barrages were all hit on Malashenko's head with an extremely accurate posture, that is, the south of the railway station held by the Soviet side.

Malashenko was shaken to the point of being unstable and almost falling down in the close-range artillery attack. In addition to the terrible curses and complaints, he couldn't help but have doubts in his heart.

The terrain of Stalingrad is so complicated. Where did these German artillerymen, who were born with short hands, cover their heads with these powerful heavy artillery barrages?

Malashenko, who had no time to think about the real answer for a while, ran to the combat command room with a swaying posture. He never thought that he would meet Political Commissar Petrov who was running out with his men halfway.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you okay?"

The two words of inquiry were almost blurted out at the same time without thinking.

Malashenko and Political Commissar Petrov, who had already formed a tacit understanding with each other, looked at each other immediately. After finding the answers they wanted from each other's eyes, they knew that time was running out and immediately withdrew to the anti-artillery shelter with a group of regimental staff.