Steel Soviet Union

He raised his head helplessly and responded with a wet red look. Malashenko, who was slightly surprised, realized that this big boy who had just joined the Soviet Red Army was actually crying at this moment of departure.

"Oh, forget it, after all, he is still a little guy who has not experienced much of the world."

He rolled up his sleeves and took a look at the mechanical watch that he had taken from the corpse of the German officer. Seeing that there were more than ten minutes left before the departure time, Malashenko finally decided to use this spare time to have a good chat with the crying big boy beside him.

"Come on, let's talk about other things later. Smoke this first. Red Army soldiers who can smoke will have stronger combat effectiveness!"

He coaxed and deceived Kirill into putting the cigarette into his mouth, saying some words he made up on the spur of the moment, and took out the simple lighter made of 62X54mm rifle shells from his pocket. After sliding his thumb over the grinding wheel, Malashenko took the initiative to light Kirill's first cigarette in his life.

Unlike the German and American armies, which uniformly distributed standard military supplies such as finished cigarettes, the Soviet army's quota of supplies during the war did not include boxes of commercial cigarettes.

Instead, Mahe tobacco, several sheets of cigarette paper, and several boxes of matches and other miscellaneous cigarette raw materials were distributed together.

In other words, if the Soviet Red Army wanted to smoke delicious and convenient cigarettes to relieve their tension and achieve relaxation during the war, they had to make cigarettes by themselves.

As a result, the Red Army soldiers who had almost no regard for personal hygiene in the fierce battles often mixed dust and various impurities into tobacco to hastily make cigarettes.

In that era when sponge filters were lacking, it is natural to imagine how the cigarettes made after such a hassle would taste.

Soon, these Mahe tobaccos, which most of the Soviet Red Army soldiers who were already old smokers loved, choked Kirill, who had never touched such things, and tears flowed down his face after just the first puff.

"Cough cough cough, sir, why is this stuff so choking?"

Looking at the scene in front of Kirill holding a half-burned cigarette in his hand and tears and snot flowing down, Malashenko, who had originally had a mediocre impression of this big boy, couldn't help but recall the scene of secretly taking his first puff of cigarette when he was in school.

"Haha, it's normal to feel choked at first. But in the future, when you become a qualified Red Army soldier, believe me, Kirill, you will love it again."

"But sir, I don't think I'm suitable to be a qualified loader, just like you said. I may not even be able to do my job well in battle. If that happens, I will drag down our comrades and comrades. I don't want to be a burden and a burden to everyone, comrade captain."

Looking at Kirill's serious and aggrieved expression in front of him, Malashenko recalled that he was also in this unconfident and confused situation when he just entered the society, so he slowed down his tone and spoke softly.

"You know, Kirill. When I was your age, I was also unconfident and confused like you. But my mentor told me this at the time. He said: Stand up, boy! Don't be defeated by setbacks and failures so easily. No matter where you go, you must remember one thing! We are heroes called men! And there is no giving up and lack of confidence in the dictionary of heroes!" After saying this, he slowly turned his head. As a superior and senior, Malashenko looked at Kirill with strength and confidence in his eyes. "Now, I hope I can pass this sentence on to you as a mentor, Kirill. Tell me, what kind of heroes are we called!?" Listening to these vigorous and powerful words ringing in his ears, Kirill couldn't help but burst into tears and laughed. Kirill, who had long been infected by Malashenko's high-spirited spirit, finally nodded and said after wiping the tears from his cheeks. "Thank you! Thank you, Comrade Captain! We are all heroes called men!"

"Ha, that's right!"

After clapping his hands, he stood up from Kirill's side. Malashenko, who had already decided to accept this big boy as the new loader of his crew, shouted loudly at his No. 177 T34 tank.

"Seryosha! Nikolai! You two little idiots, come here quickly, I have something to tell you!"

Hearing this loud call from Malashenko, the two who were still in the tank preparing to warm up and debug the weapon radio immediately trotted to Malashenko's side.

"Come, let me introduce you two. This young comrade is called Kirill, and from now on he will be our crew's new loader."

"Kirill, this is Seryosha, our crew's driver. This is Nikolai, our crew's mechanic and forward machine gunner. Let's get to know each other. The four of us will work together in the same tank to eliminate those tough invaders. Today is the beginning of our cooperation!"

After listening to Malashenko's introduction, Seryosha and Nikolai, who were of the same age as Kirill, immediately approached him enthusiastically and asked questions. They also came from ordinary Soviet rural families. The two of them had no grudges and accepted the new member Kirill almost without thinking.

"Hey, Kirill, can you be directly assigned to our tank division as a recruit? Which armor academy did you graduate from?"

While talking and laughing freely, Seryosha accidentally asked such a question. Kirill, who didn't think too much in his words, blurted out the truth to his new friends.

"Department of Music, Moscow State University, I am a fresh graduate this year! But my family hopes that I can become a Red Army soldier like my uncle, so my uncle arranged for me to be sent here. But I am really happy now, I mean I got to know everyone and it was so fun!”

After hearing Kirill's words, they couldn't help but look at each other in confusion. Malashenko, who was somewhat curious about the reason, was the first to ask.

"Kirill, if you could, could you tell me who your uncle is?"

"Of course, Comrade Captain."

With a smile on his face and still immersed in the new friendship without any hypocrisy or reservation, Kirill blurted out without thinking and then revealed the serious truth that shocked the other three people present.

"My uncle is Lieutenant Colonel Petrov, the political commissar and captain of our 20th Tank Division."