Steel Soviet Union

Understanding what Rokossovsky wanted to express from the gently waving left hand, the sensible political commissar Petrov immediately pulled the somewhat silly Malashenko beside him and saluted him goodbye. Immediately left the military tent.

Following the footsteps of Commissar Petrov, he came all the way to the outside of the tent. Malashenko, who still remembered the scene just now and was a little surprised, couldn't help but ask Commissar Petrov.

"Comrade Political Commissar, I always thought that our 20th Tank Division had already fought very hard during the day. Why is it that now even the commander of the tank division of the friendly forces next door has come to our military headquarters to complain? This is really a bit strange. How strange!”

After hearing the surprise from Malashenko's mouth, he couldn't help but shook his head slightly helplessly.

Petrov, who specializes in political work and therefore has a deep understanding of some inside stories, can naturally know the "extraordinary" skills that some young and handsome but high-ranking junior officers rely on to seek high positions.

Before the war broke out, these handsome young officers, who were good at drinking vodka or playing with girls, could only do this at best. It was expected that the flattery they had from opening their mouths would be much more than the number of times they pulled the trigger with their own hands. It would be more realistic to expect multiple humanoid self-propelled bastards to defeat the German invaders by flattering them.

Thinking of these extremely bad conditions that actually exist within the Red Army after the great purge, Political Commissar Petrov, who couldn't stop shaking his head, also felt the same disappointment and loneliness. With just his little Petrov, who was a lieutenant colonel division political commissar and had no solution, had no choice but to speak helplessly to Malashenko on the side.

"Some things are not what we want to happen, they can happen, Captain Malashenko. What we can do may not be possible for friendly forces. For the same reason, I have never counted on those losers who rise to power by flattering others. We can have outstanding commanding ability and fighting ability like you."

After listening to the bad mood narration from the political commissar Petrov, he seemed to understand something. After a brief nod, Malashenko quickly stopped talking. In silence, the two of them had their own thoughts. In this way, we walked quickly side by side towards the GAZ car which was not far away.

"Set off and return to the division headquarters, immediately!"

With Political Commissar Petrov's expression so calm that one might mistake him for giving an angry order, the division's dedicated driver, who did not dare to neglect the slightest, immediately turned around and headed towards the scene that was reflected in the last rays of the setting sun. The not-so-distant 20th Tank Division headquarters drove quickly away.

Time flew by during the bumpy journey and finally the GAZ car slowly stopped in front of the division. Commissar Petrov and Captain Malashenko, who opened the door and got out of the car almost at the same time, tacitly walked towards their respective vehicles. Walking away in different directions.

"Comrade Commander, are you there? Chernyaev?"

While calling the name of his old comrade-in-arms, he stretched out his hand to open the door curtain outside the tent of the field division headquarters. What came into the eyes of political commissar Petrov immediately afterward was the drunken commander Chernyaev. Another blushing scene.

"Oh my God, Chernyaev! How can you drink at this time!? What on earth have you done!?"

Looking at the several empty vodka bottles lying on the ground under the table at his feet, with a look of astonishment on his face, he could roughly guess how much the comrade, the division commander, drank during the time he left. Political Commissar Petrov, realizing the seriousness of the situation, immediately stepped forward without saying a word, stretched out his hand, and snatched the half-empty bottle of vodka from Chernyaev's hand.

"I have no objection to proper post-war drinking, Comrade Division Commander! Because after all, this is an old tradition of our Red Army. A moderate amount of vodka can indeed help boost the morale of our Red Army soldiers."

"But look at what you look like now, Comrade Division Commander! Look how much you drank!? This is a month's ration for an ordinary soldier! Not to mention that such a large amount of drinking has seriously affected your ability as a division commander. You have a lot of responsibilities, aren’t you worried that drinking so much will cause problems to your body? We are marching and fighting now!”

In the face of the loud questions and scoldings from the political commissar Petrov, Cheer still blushed nonchalantly and waved his hands casually while smelling of alcohol. There were double images in his eyes and his world was turned upside down. Like the man-eating devil from hell described in Western mythology, Nyayev lunged forward and immediately stretched out his hands.

"Fuck the war, Peter! Give me the wine, I haven't had enough!"

"Damn it, are you crazy? Chernyaev!"

Seeing this sturdy man, who was nearly 1.9 meters tall and weighed over 90 kilograms, rushing towards him with all the energy of alcohol, Commissar Petrov, who knew that he was not in a position to get into a fight with an already drunk man, immediately stepped aside. , Chernyaev, who was thrown into the air, rushed straight to the ground like a wild bull, unable to get up.

"Hiccup, I burp"

After burping several times in a row with a mouth full of alcohol, he turned around with difficulty from the ground. It was clear that his lower body was unstable and it was difficult to even get up. Chernyayev simply sat down. On the ground, he began to speak nonsense at Commissar Petrov.

"Hiccup, I said Peter, I really didn't drink much today. At most, it was just a small drink that made me more awake. So now, I am going to take advantage of the great opportunity that I suddenly figured out something to tell you some things that have already happened. It’s something I’ve been holding in my heart for a long time.”

As if to drive away flies and mosquitoes, he waved his right hand with the index finger up as if to represent something. Without waiting for the frowning political commissar Petrov, who was holding a wine bottle in his hand, to answer, he only cared about his own Chernaya. The husband then began to mind his own business and continued to speak.

"The war has reached this point, Peter, you and I, we all know why!"

"Our great leader Comrade Stalin, that little shoemaker from Georgia, was the one who killed countless of our comrades-in-arms and comrades."

"Kirgin, Popov, and Father Ivan are all such good people, and such good commanders who are good at fighting, but they were innocently swept away by the black undercurrent of the year. He lost his life! I don’t understand. Does it count as sacrificing his life for the so-called revolutionary cause? That’s not true at all!”