Steel Soviet Union

The direct flight to Moscow was not a long one. Malashenko, who was drowsy on the plane, felt that the plane had stopped as soon as he had dozed off.

The people traveling with him in the cabin picked up their luggage and started to get off the plane. Malashenko, who was holding his aching head and feeling that he was still awake, opened his eyes and looked around. The pilot who came to the cabin from the cockpit was standing there. Raise your hands and salute to Malashenko.

"Comrade Malashenko, we have arrived in Moscow. If you have nothing else to do, you can get off the plane now. The plane will fly to other places later. We hope you will not be taken away by us."

The person who reminded Malashenko was an uncle pilot in his thirties and almost forty years old. His unshaven appearance showed that he was an informal person.

Malashenko, who nodded slightly to express his gratitude to the other party, then straightened up, picked up the luggage bag at his feet and came to the cabin door. The sunlight shining into the cabin of the Li-2 transport aircraft from the sky suddenly The words made Malashenko, who was a little uncomfortable with it, feel particularly dazzling.

"Okay, well, it seems that the weather in Moscow is not bad today."

Malashenko did not expect anyone to pick him up at the airport. After all, he came back from a sudden vacation without notifying anyone in advance, including his fiancée Natalia.

If possible, Malashenko also wants to surprise Natalia.

Natalya's expression when she saw him suddenly coming back must be very exciting, Malashenko thought.

But what Malashenko didn't expect was that as soon as he stepped onto the airport ground, an unexpected voice calling his name suddenly came.

"Hey! Comrade Malashenko! Over here, over here!"

"Huh? Is there anyone else coming to pick me up?"

With a surprised look on his face, Malashenko looked into the distance following the direction of the sound, and saw a very familiar figure running towards him quickly, waving his arms.

"Thank you for your hard work all the way back! Comrade Malashenko, I received news from Comrade Petrov early in the morning. I came to the airport early to pick you up. Moscow welcomes the return of the hero!"

Looking at the familiar face with a smile in front of him, how could Malashenko forget the good times they had together bragging about each other, and words of slight surprise blurted out immediately.

"Comrade Malokov!? This is so unexpected! What did you do?"

"How did I rush over to pick you up and know you were here in advance? Didn't I just tell you that? My old superior, Comrade Petrov, contacted me in advance and told me specifically to come here to pick you up. You go home.

Looking at the smiling face in front of him, Malashenko couldn't help but suddenly remembered the earlier comment from political commissar Petrov.

"Don't worry about him, Malashenko, Comrade Malokov, like you and me, are staunch believers who are absolutely loyal to the Soviet Union."

Indeed, as Commissar Petrov himself said.

Although Malokov was an officer working in the Ministry of Internal Affairs, Malashenko, who had had a good chat with this old man, did not feel much of the rumored fear of the Ministry of Internal Affairs from him, and he was wearing a The smelly airs.

On the contrary, Malokov was almost always very open-minded when chatting with himself, and the way he spoke freely to each other was not something he could pretend to be casually.

All in all, Malashenko felt that he could regard Malokov as one of his own, not to mention that this was a brother who had a very good reputation among his political commissar comrades. Malashenko believed that with Commissar Petrov's vision, it was impossible to make a mistake in a young man.

Besides, having someone come to the airport to take you home is a joy in itself.

"I didn't expect that someone would come all the way to pick me up. Comrade Malokov, thank you, thank you very much."

"Oh, how bad is it to say that? Comrade Malashenko. I treat you as my good brother. Even if Comrade Petrov doesn't ask, I will take the initiative to pick you up at the airport. I really want to hear it. It’s so enjoyable to hear the stories that happened to you!”

"We'll get in the car later. You have to have a good chat with me. I can't wait any longer!"

As a hero, he often tells others stories that really happened to him. To be honest, Malashenko has long been accustomed to this kind of story-telling feeling. Now there is no problem in telling it to old friends who have reunited after a long absence.

"With great pleasure, Comrade Malokov."

"Haha, I knew you would readily agree! Come with me, the car is already ready over there."

The well-maintained Gas Jeep slowly started and drove out of the airport entrance.

Malashenko, who was sitting in the passenger seat, leaned his arm against the bed and looked at the street scene in front of him. His face seemed to be fascinated. Malokov, who was holding the steering wheel and casting his eyes here, quickly spoke.

"Compared with the last time you came back, the situation in Moscow has been much better."

"The news of the victory in Stalingrad spread throughout the city. People celebrated the victory won by the heroes in the distance. Many people took out the food they treasured at home to celebrate this great moment. They came to the recruitment point to sign up for the army. People are almost breaking the threshold, even young men in their forties and fifties can see that age cannot stop people's enthusiasm to serve the country. "

"Martial law was lifted in the city, and many anti-aircraft gun emplacements were withdrawn to support the front line. People began to believe that the Red Army had taken the initiative in the war, and it was time to drive those damn German fascists back to their hometown! "

As Malokov said, Moscow at this moment is indeed very different from the last time Malashenko returned home.

Those hurried and lonely passers-by are no longer seen on the streets. Instead, there are Moscow people in twos and threes, talking about things worth cheering for, and walking on the sidewalks with smiles on their faces.

There are children, women, old people, and young men among the people on the street.

The patrol of Red Army soldiers that he often saw on the streets when he came back last time has now disappeared. If he hadn't just returned from the battlefield, Malashenko would probably believe it if he said this was Moscow in 1945.

"Such a scene is of course the best, Comrade Malokov, after all, isn't everything we do on the front just for such a scene?"

Malokov, who held the steering wheel and drove to the intersection, smiled and nodded. The optimistic spirit from Malashenko was as unchanged as the last time they met.