Steel Soviet Union

Talking to a person who acts as a megaphone will not have any constructive effect, and it will be very troublesome and waste time unnecessarily. This is what Malashenko wants to express.

Of course, Colonel Adam, who had already been soaked in human sperm in the big dye vat of the Army Headquarters, should be able to understand what Malashenko wanted to express.

As Paulus's chief adjutant, if Colonel Adam didn't even have this kind of vision, he wouldn't have to mess around. It would be more suitable for him to be a commander on the front line.

Colonel Adam clearly understood that he had no choice and no possibility of refusal.

After giving a slight nod to Malashenko in front of him to show his understanding, he immediately stepped aside and allowed the man who had been following him to fully walk up to the front desk.

"Yes, it's him. This guy is Paulus himself."

Malashenko, who was in the purgatory city of Stalingrad, had searched for his memory countless times, trying to find any information related to Paulus from the memory fragments of his distant past life.

The appearance of the man in front of him looked even thinner and sluggish than the black and white photo in his memory, like a drug addict. Unimaginable mental torture tortured this originally elegant Germanic man to the point where he looked like he had just left the black coal kiln of the later dynasty. Like the miserable laborers who struggled to escape, it could be said that their whole body was filled with an smell that was incompatible with the brand-new marshal's military uniform.

But even so, no matter how far the gap between the man in front of him and the black-and-white photo in his memory was, Malashenko could still convince himself that the man in front of him was Paulus himself and that he was genuine.

After all, there was only one marshal in the entire Sixth Army, and the silent field marshal's scepter in his hand would not lie.

"Can you tell me your name? I want to know whose hands my security forces and I lost in the end."

Although his appearance is indeed not very good, this old guy Paulus is still showing off!

A condescending aura and tone of voice emerged from his bones, and Malashenko instantly felt very unhappy just by looking at him.

"Damn, why are these German guys so bad? After losing the war, they still act like nobles coming to a party. Do I owe you eight hundred coins or did I fucking sleep with your wife? Oh, no, his wife is too The old man must have slept with his daughter."

Malashenko, who was complaining in his heart, could not spoil the bad habits of these Germans. He wanted to kill these Germans. The aggressive Malashenko raised the corner of his mouth, and did not take the other party seriously at all. Then blurted out in a general tone.

"Don't get me wrong, Paulus."

"Don't you think that before you, as a prisoner, ask me my name, you shouldn't do something first?"

""

The corners of Paulus's mouth and eyelids obviously trembled because of Malashenko's irrelevant words.

Bowing before the man in front of him who was dressed as a poor farmer and even smelled of sweat, Paulus felt that all his glory and dignity had really disappeared into the dog's belly.

No matter how miserable he was in defeat, he would not be reduced to this kind of treatment. At the very least, he should have a Soviet marshal with the same military rank and level as him come over and discuss the specific matters of surrender in an attitude of respect and equality. Why is this the case now? A poor, sweaty, disgusting farmer?

Paulus, whose eyelids were twitching, even wanted to have a fit on the spot for a moment, just like he had been a little crazy recently and often threw things and smashed the table over trivial things in the office.

But in the end it was reason that defeated impulse. Paulus, who was not old enough to be sent to a mental hospital, forced himself to calm down.

The status quo that forms are stronger than people cannot help his poor self-esteem and sense of glory to make fun of the lives of so many people present, including his own. Paulus was very clear about this and quickly took practical action.

Paulus, who said nothing, slowly walked up to Malashenko with a poker face.

After stopping to stare at the opponent's face for more than ten seconds, Paulus gritted his teeth and finally handed the marshal's scepter that he had been holding tightly in his hand into the air, and placed it on the horse with one hand stretched forward. In front of Rashenko.

"Do you still remember your elementary school teacher's name?"

Paulus, who was already prepared to be humiliated, was stunned. What were these nonsense words talking about?

"Didn't your elementary school teacher teach you the meaning of "sincerity"? I have very good eyesight but now I can't see any sincerity. What's wrong with showing it to me?"

Malashenko asked Paulus in a rather teasing tone. Paulus, who had never dared to talk to him like this, was really angry. Malashenko could even see the corners of his eyes flashing. A hint of fierceness passed by.

"Don't look at me with such cannibalistic eyes! Fasis! If you don't accept it, pick up the gun and let's continue fighting. Let's see who can show the other's sincerity first! What do you think?"

Malashenko was not in the mood to know the specific expression of Paulus with his head lowered, and naturally he would not lower his posture and tilt his head to look. As long as the old bastard Paulus was not a complete idiot, he would definitely do what he expected. Malashenko had absolute confidence in this.

Fortunately, Paulus, who was able to realize his dream of becoming a marshal at the last moment of his military career, was not a failure after all. A pair of hands with practical actions is better than useless words, and soon he once again entrusted the marshal's scepter to Malashenko. before.

"Huh, if you do this earlier, we will all save time."

The public humiliation for Paulus did not end there.

Malashenko, who had just touched the marshal's scepter with his right hand, gently moved his thumb. The round marshal's scepter in his palm immediately rolled under the force, fell to the ground, and made a crisp sound like The midnight bell echoed in the silent air.

"Uh, I'm sorry, Mr. Paulus. It's been really cold and my hands have been cramping lately. I was hoping you could help me pick it up so we can do it again."

After hesitating for about five seconds, what was Paulus thinking and what was his expression? Malashenko, who pretended to be nothing and looked around at the scenery, didn't see it at all. Of course, there was no need to see it. .

It was only when Paulus, who had endured so much humiliation and burden, finally bent down in front of Malashenko that his right hand had just grasped the marshal's scepter that had fallen to the ground.

The clicking sound that was forever fixed in a black and white photo came suddenly without anyone expecting it.

"Are you sure you took the photo? Iushkin."

"Of course, it's as perfect as killing the German's junk tank with one shot! At least the German's camera is not like their junk tank."

"Very good! If you take really good pictures, I will give you a reward. How about two packs of cigarettes?"

Iushkin shook his head, curled his lips and raised three thumbs up with his right hand in an adorable manner, grinning.

"Three boxes? You want three boxes of cigarettes?! You greedy guy!"

What does it look like when a black-and-white photo from 70 years ago is printed in a patriotic textbook for Russian primary school students?

Paulus, who felt that his world had completely collapsed, would probably never have the chance to find out.