Steel Soviet Union

Malashenko's luck is quite good.

The intermittent snowstorm that started the day before continued when the next day arrived. The snowflakes were flying sometimes big and sometimes small, sometimes violent and sometimes light. No one knew when the dark clouds would disperse and the sky would be seen again.

While making the already frozen land even more bone-chilling, it also blocked the dreams of those eagles in the sky who claimed to be the proud sons of heaven.

The harsh nature will not favor any party because of the defenders of the motherland who are fighting each other on this land or the foreign invaders. All the people who fight and live on this land are feeling it. The freezing cold is like hell.

But this severe cold has more advantages than disadvantages for Malashenko. At least he no longer has to worry about flies that may appear above his head at any time. The German Air Force, which still has the upper hand, cannot participate in the war. The happiest thing for Rashenko.

The fierce fighting on various fronts lasted all day, and was about to come to an end as the sun set behind the dark clouds.

There may be other friendly forces with missions who are still fighting and seizing the time, but Malashenko, who was only ordered to stay in place, can relax a little, even if this short-term relaxation is not enough. Only temporarily.

After wandering around the battlefield, Malashenko was so cold that he planned to go back to his tent to get warm. If conditions allowed, he could even secretly take a sip of wine with the permission of his political commissar comrades. This would be fatal at minus 30 degrees Celsius. With the temperature below 10 degrees Celsius, even Malashenko, who doesn't like drinking very much, couldn't help but want to warm up.

"It's really cold outside. I don't know when this blizzard will stop, but it's best to blow a little longer so you don't have to worry about those damn German flies."

As soon as Malashenko, who was freezing and rubbing his hands after taking off his gloves, entered the tent and before he could finish the words he was mumbling, Commissar Petrov, who was sitting on a chair with his back leaning against Malashenko and smoking, raised his hand. The hand handed over the paper he was holding.

"It was just sent. I'm about to send someone to find you. Take a look."

Looking at Commissar Petrov's posture, Malashenko naturally knew that another telegram about him had been photographed at the brigade headquarters.

"Who took the photo? Front Army Headquarters?"

Political Commissar Petrov was noncommittal, but Malashenko reached out and took the telegram in front of him without asking any more questions.

"Comrade Commander wants to come here in person? Is this news accurate?"

Malashenko, who glanced at the brief telegram, grasped the very critical necessary information, and his whole expression looked quite unbelievable, even stunned.

But on the contrary, Commissar Petrov's expression looked much more normal, as if he was looking at an ordinary, everyday thing that happened as expected.

"The front army headquarters directly sent the message. Do you think there may be a mistake?"

Commissar Petrov, who extinguished the cigarette butt in his hand and took a last puff of smoke, stood up from his chair and was obviously ready.

"Let's go find Lavery and prepare together. The telegram sent out indicates that Comrade Commander and the others have already set off. According to the timetable, they should arrive soon. I'll go keep an eye on the position and strengthen the security."

Political Commissar Petrov, who had just finished speaking, picked up the military cap on the table and put it on his forehead and strode out of the tent. Malashenko, who still felt a little incredible, held the telegram and checked it again. .

Since the upgrade and reorganization of the 1st Guards Heavy Tank Breakthrough Regiment did not leave much preparation time for Malashenko, the newly upgraded 1st Guards Heavy Tank Brigade has been placed in the primary offensive queue for Operation Uranus.

Malashenko, who has been busy preparing to build the 1st Guards Heavy Tank Brigade from beginning to end, has not reported to the front army headquarters once so far.

Even attending meetings to receive combat deployment documents was completed by political commissar Petrov. Malashenko, who was devoted to the troops, stayed with the soldiers all day long and was very busy personally overseeing the preparation and reorganization of the troops.

In other words, Malashenko has not even seen what Vatutin looks like at the moment. At best, he only has some memories from black and white photos of his previous life.

"It's really troublesome, why can't you just stay at the front army headquarters? Why do you have to come here in person?"

Malashenko, who was secretly complaining in his heart, did not realize that he, a dignified colonel and commander of the Guards Tank Brigade and a newly minted hero of the Soviet Union, would always command his vehicle to rush to the front of the team whenever a battle broke out. His reckless behavior was really no better than that of Vatutin, who was the commander of the front army but had to go to the front line to inspect the situation in person.

In other words, this is the overall situation of the entire Red Army commanders and fighters class. After all, big bosses with officials as high as Zhukov still lead people to run around on the front line all day long. In the end, everyone is mutually exclusive.

Malashenko, who did not dare to neglect, called his old friend Lavrinenko to get busy.

Leaders have to show some decent spirit of the troops when they come to inspect more or less. The usual scene where the tanks are erratic and parked everywhere like a tortoise fight is definitely not acceptable.

The 1st Guards Heavy Tank Brigade, which is good at physically conquering German soldiers but is unkempt, is rarely busy with military appearance issues.

The fully fueled tank was warmed up again and parked more neatly and more pleasing to the eye, as if it could engage the enemy at any time.

Those tank soldiers who were so slovenly that they looked like they had escaped from a mental hospital after the wall collapsed were chased by the deputy brigade commander, Comrade Lavrinenko, and were severely criticized one by one. The belt buckle is not even fastened and the pants are about to fall off the hips. It is simply unsightly to look at, not to mention the crooked tank hat that looks more like a bandit than a Red Army soldier.

"Look at how you look! The wild bears running in the jungle are more respectable than you. At least the bears know how to go to the river to wash their fur that is stained by mud!"

"The river is frozen in winter and the bears are hibernating. How can wild bears wash their fur?"

"What? The wind was too strong and I didn't hear you. Come to me and repeat it again."

"My driver is calling me. I'll go there first."

Lavrinenko, who had never paid attention to these details on weekdays, was very angry. He was so slovenly that it was several times worse than himself and his comrade brigade commander not washing their hair for half a year.

"We need to talk to Comrade Political Commissar later. If this continues, there will still be no elites. They look like a bunch of beggars! We must take coercive measures."