Steel Soviet Union

The power of two M39 egg-shaped grenades with a charge of 112 grams is not too great, but it is enough to blow up a complete human body into pieces of flesh with blood splashing.

The large amount of sticky, fuzzy flesh that almost cracked open against the armor on the front of the car had the desired effect as Colonel Weeks, who had some knowledge of heavy equipment like tanks, expected.

The driver's observation window was instantly covered by a piece of bloody minced meat, and Seryosha, who lost his vision and was left with only bloody darkness, had to force the car to stop and release the accelerator pedal. The IS heavy tank prototype, which was charging at full speed, even continued to rush forward for several meters due to inertia before it came to a stop.

"Comrade Commander, I can't see anything!"

"I know, Seryosha."

Malashenko, who was holding on to the commander's periscope and still looking intently, knew exactly what had just happened at this extremely close distance.

To be precise, Malashenko even saw how the German commander took out two grenades that had obviously been prepared from his pocket and forcibly tore off the portable rings on his index and middle fingers. Then he suddenly fired it and stuffed it into the jacket pocket of the other German soldier who was carrying him all the way.

Even Kirill, who was closest to Malashenko as a loader, didn't notice that there was an imperceptible expression on Malashenko's face, which had been calm since the beginning. Variety.

If Kirill was lucky enough to see it in time, it wouldn't be hard for him to spot it.

The imperceptible change of expression that appeared on Malashenko's face at this moment can be described in human language.

It's called anger.

Malashenko, who did not give any further orders to Seryosha, then without saying a word, opened the turret hatch above his head, stretched his upper body out of the turret with his bare hands and grasped it. The commander acquired the newly-installed machine gun specially for him, and then he aimed at the target that was very close at hand. He put the rear sight on the front sight and then aimed at the target in one go.

Malashenko breathed a sigh of relief and took less than a second to completely integrate his brain into the precise aiming state of man and gun.

The Deshka heavy machine gun with a caliber of up to 7 mm is powerful enough to destroy light armored vehicles. It is natural to imagine the consequences of hitting a human body made of flesh and blood.

If possible, Malashenko wants to keep that bastard alive, at least let him slowly die in the same way he thinks is appropriate when he thinks it is appropriate.

Convinced that he had aimed at the spot he wanted to aim at, Malashenko clicked his finger and fired suddenly. The 7mm machine gun bullets placed in the ammunition box in series with a bullet chain immediately jumped and turned into tongues of flame, madly bursting from the muzzle of the gun. Spitting out.

The 7mm heavy machine gun bullets that can easily tear through the defense of even a half-track armored vehicle accurately penetrated both calves. While the earth and stone debris were scattered, the legs used to escape were interrupted on the spot, causing him to lose his balance and move forward in an instant. The broken body that fell down immediately let out a piercing wail.

"Legs my legs!"

Ula! ! !

Ula——

In unison with the painful wails, there was a thundering roar coming from the south side of the station as it got closer and closer.

Division Commander Cherchenkov completed his duties and commanded the troops to tear apart the temporary German defense line that had gathered in the south of the station to resist the Red Army's counterattack. Then he ordered the troops to continue charging towards Marashen. Head all the way north of the station where Branch is located.

The large German troops that were hanging around Malashenko's butt and following them all the way were unexpectedly encountered by a fully equipped infantry division commanded by Commander Cherchenkov.

The hasty response to the battle with insufficient preparation was quickly contained and repelled on the spot by the superior charge of concentrated troops. A fierce hand-to-hand battle immediately broke out in the central area of ​​the train station running from north to south.

But no matter how intense the gunshots and shouts of death came from behind, at least at this moment, the last remaining German soldier Malashenko faced was the one he had destroyed. The scum of legs.

Compared with the Soviet soldiers who were rushing north like waves from within his sight, Colonel Weeks, who had completely lost his ability to move, was more afraid of the man in front of him who broke his legs with his own hands. Immediately afterwards, a man with a cold face jumped down from the stationary tank turret.

Looking at the cold flashing pistol that Malashenko had pulled out from the holster of the belt on his waist, Colonel Weeks almost forgot about the pain in his legs for a moment, and then spoke fluent Russian. The man who kept walking in front of him shouted on the spot.

"Don't kill me! I am the colonel of the Wehrmacht Infantry Division! I know a lot of important information, which will be of great use to you! Listen, we can cooperate, I will tell you what I know, you just need to keep me safe and alive That’s it!”

With a smile on his face, Malashenko did not give a direct answer. Instead, he came to Colonel Weeks who was sitting on the ground noncommittally. He knelt down and spoke slowly from an almost equal perspective.

"You know a lot of important information? Are you still willing to cooperate with us? Huh? Then you should be able to survive."

Before he finished speaking, Malashenko turned around and pointed with the gun in his hand slowly at the location of Seryosha, who had already gotten out of the car and was cleaning up the minced meat and blood stains on the observation window, as if he was not aware of it. Emotional words blurted out.

"Now tell me the first important piece of information, what's going on?"

Feeling that his blood and vitality were rapidly draining from the wounds on his legs, Colonel Weeks, who did not want to die here, just wanted to prove his worth and attitude as quickly as possible.

"That's just a low-class man! A humble worker's son! There are as many of these people as there are. They are just consumables reduced to numbers in the war. Being able to sacrifice his life for me is already his greatest honor! It's nothing at all. key big shot"

Malashenko completely misguessed what the original intention of these words was.

Colonel Weeks, who was still half-sitting on the ground and bleeding profusely, watched helplessly as Malashenko slowly stood up from his side. His extremely indifferent expression showed no intention of calling medical staff to rescue him.

"Seryozha! Get on your tank and get to work!"

"Okay, Comrade Commander!"

Seryosha, who had already cleaned up all the blood and minced meat, quickly returned to his post. He seemed to have realized something from the roaring roar of the diesel engine again. Colonel Weeks was immediately frightened. The ultimate expression covered his face.

"You just said I could live."

"Huh, alive?"

Malashenko, standing next to Colonel Weeks, was extremely indifferent, and the last words he had prepared for this scumbag immediately blurted out.

"Ask yourself, how can there be such a good agreement in the world? Especially for a scum like you!"

His eyes widened instantly with a look of disbelief. Colonel Weeks couldn't believe that everything he just heard was true.

"You, you! No, I am a colonel, I have great value, this is impossible! He is the son of a lowly worker, why are you doing this, why!!!"

The No. 177 IS heavy tank prototype, accurately controlled by Seryosha, rumbled past Malashenko less than half a meter away. A scream of despair that could not understand the cruel facts until death echoed in the smoke. The sky over the station that has not yet dispersed lingers for a long time.

He repeatedly turned on the lighter twice before drawing out the flame and lighting the cigarette in his mouth. He took a deep breath of the cigarette and turned his back to the scene of the car accident. Then he quietly raised his head and looked at the blue sky above his head.

"A worker's son? Unfortunately, that was also my identity."