Steel Soviet Union

Political Commissar Petrov, whose eyes were red, seemed to realize something. While looking into the distance, he took a deep breath to adjust his somewhat strongly fluctuating emotions. The words he spoke to Malashenko beside him came out quietly immediately.

"Don't worry about me. If you have time, go take care of Kirill. I can take care of myself here."

You can tell whether Commissar Petrov is lying just by looking at his face. In fact, even if Commissar Petrov is really pretending to be tough, there is nothing Malashenko can do.

This man with an iron heart always stood in an indestructible form in Malashenko's heart.

If there is anything that can make Commissar Petrov unable to restrain his emotions and almost shed tears, Malashenko really doesn’t know how to comfort this man who he has always looked up to. Those who only have Peter Malashenko had no way of knowing or experiencing the memories of the past that only Political Commissar Rove knew about.

Pretending to comfort others from a vantage point that has no personal experience or understanding will only have the opposite effect in most cases, especially for someone as determined as Commissar Petrov.

Malashenko, who patted Commissar Petrov on the shoulder, said nothing. Instead, he stepped forward and once again opened the tent door in front of him and quietly walked in.

Just like the scene I saw just now, Kirill, who was still blind-eyed, still sat blankly on the chair without making a sound, as if his soul had been forcibly stripped away from his body by something, leaving only his body. Malashenko, whom Kirill regarded as his brother, could not stop sighing in his heart.

"This damn war"

If it hadn't been for this sudden and cruel Patriotic War, Kirill, who was studying in the music department of Moscow State University with excellent grades, followed his hobbies and climbed the ivory tower of the university, would have had a bright future.

In the future, Kirill may become an outstanding musician, a classic composer who will sing the future, or a gardener teacher who creates the first musical melody in children's lives. But you should never become a loader who carries a harmonica in his pocket as his only remaining thought, and stays in the tank until he is tired and sweaty, only focusing on loading artillery shells.

This is not only a serious waste of educational resources, but also a ruthless trampling on the young generation who are the hope of the future of the motherland.

But war is like this. War is a twisted and ferocious monster that is born when all darkness, negative factors, and tragic events are intertwined together.

This monster with its huge mouth will mercilessly devour anything it touches. No matter whether it is a spiritual or physical existence, it is impossible to escape this tearing mouth that destroys everything.

The war not only destroyed the homes that people relied on for survival, but also caused people who had lived on this land for generations to be displaced and even lose their lives. It also makes the living experience the taste of life being worse than death almost every moment. The will and soul are eaten away bit by bit and eventually not even a scrap is left. It takes away all the important things that are cherished and spiritually. Completely destroy a person.

Malashenko, who has endured the huge psychological shock of losing someone he cherished several times so far, can at least sympathize with Kirill's situation a little bit.

But the feeling of losing such an important and only mother is still incomparable to losing a comrade.

Malashenko, who pulled the chair where Commissar Petrov had just been and slowly sat down next to Kirill, kept reminding himself of this in his heart all the time, and at the same time, Malashenko became more determined. Determined to share some of the painful decision for Kirill, even if it was just a tiny bit.

After sitting down, Malashenko did not dare to look directly into Kirill's empty eyes. For a moment, he didn't even know how to open the topic. On the contrary, it was Kirill's first words that caught Malashenko off guard.

"Comrade Commander, my mother is still alive. My uncle and Comrade Political Commissar are lying to me, right? You have more power than him. You must have sent someone to rescue my mother. She should live in the best place now. In the hospital. You can see this all the time even with General Zhukov. It must be a trivial matter, right? Comrade Commander, it must be like this, right?"

Kirill's increasingly flustered words were missing a very important flavor. Just like those empty and dull eyes, Malashenko felt a little scared and did not dare to answer or face it.

If he answers with ruthless facts, will the cruel truth completely destroy the only hope left in Kirill's heart? Even though this tiny hope has been illusory and non-existent since the beginning, Kirill still refuses to give up like a man who is dying of thirst in the desert running toward a mirage.

That strong but extremely fragile deep obsession is as extinguishing as a candlelight. It is so fragile that Malashenko does not even dare to touch it with the truth.

When people are desperate, they will always be willing to believe in the beautiful things in the ideal world. Even if wishful thinking never yields the correct answer, such truths have remained unchanged for thousands of years and have occurred repeatedly regardless of national boundaries.

Young Kirill can't escape from this strange circle that has been explored for a long time but has never been able to escape. He has been completely imprisoned in his body, mind and soul.

"Kirill, Comrade Comrade Political Commissar, your uncle, I really am"

Malashenko, who could never find the right way to speak, suppressed the anxiety in his heart. This deep feeling of powerlessness, which he wanted to bring Kirill back from the edge of collapse but was unable to do anything, really made him feel uncomfortable at this moment. Every cell in Malashenko's body felt tortured.

Even though Malashenko didn't speak, Kirill, whose eyes were trembling in his sockets, had almost guessed the final answer.

This man who has always been as tall as a mountain in his heart, always protecting him with his back, in the final analysis can only be like his uncle, who can only use that ruthless answer to once again tear apart his hopes and everything. That’s all.

"This is not true! You are all lying to me, all of you are liars! My mother is still alive, she is so healthy, she carried me flowers all the way to the train and chased the train to the platform. At the end, she called my name and waited for me to come back. How could she die like this!"

"I want to go home! I want to see my mother, you liars! You are all cursing her to death. I don't believe it! I absolutely don't believe it!"

Kirill, who was almost emotionally broken, howled loudly and stood up to run away, but a strong and strong hand swooped forward at the last moment, grabbed his wrist and forcibly stopped him in his tracks.

Kirill, whose eyes were red from crying and couldn't stop the tears, repeatedly tried to break free from the big hand holding his wrist, but no matter how hard he tried, the big hand held on tightly like a pliers and would not let go.

When Kirill, who wanted to escape everything, finally turned around subconsciously, what he saw was a face with crystal-clear eyes that was almost exactly like his own.

"At least don't let me lose you again, Kirill, because you are the same person to me that I don't want to lose even if I die."