December 24, 1941, at 8 p.m., Luftwaffe military airfield in Miraved, Belarus. Pen × fun × Pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 info There was silence on the snow-covered dirt runway and tarmac at night, except for a few self-confessed unlucky sentinels hiding in the leeward and enduring the bitter cold of the Soviet winter.

To the south of the airport, a first class corporal and a private next to him were curled up in a rudimentary semi-underground bunker pouting and smoking, the top of the twig and dirt roof did not give them a "house" feel at all. It was a machine-gun bunker, a bit of a bad bunker for two German soldiers.

Cold, really cold!

The two unlucky ones curled up in the borrowed tarpaulin as much as possible, and the special winter clothes that had just been issued seemed to be completely non-existent on their bodies, and they were not as good as the blankets they were wrapping in. What's worse is that damn boots, they all feel like their feet are not their own!

"Hans, how many times?"

Gunter, a 1st class corporal in a dogskin hat, asked his co-shooter, and as soon as he spoke, there was a puff of white smoke in front of his mouth, and the corporal seemed to be able to hear the slight crackling sound of his exhaled hot air being frozen into ice slag in an instant.

It's a hallucination, it's not damn that frighteningly low, but it's about the same. If it weren't for this weird-looking Russian hat, my ears would have been broken off a few days ago like the arms of a chocolate doll at Christmas! Hans, who was leaning together, was worse than himself, and wore a leather hat from a Russian mine bureau worker on his head—both hats were their private possession, and they could not usually be carried, as they would be shot by their own people.

The damned partisans used to wear hats like this, but Gunter and Hans couldn't bear to wear them when they went to the outposts, and the winter cotton hats that were issued down would be useless here, and they were pretty much the same as they were now wearing dogskin hats as linings.

"Hapless Napoleon, damn Russia!"

I don't know how many times Günter has said this complaint, it is completely different from the Russian land described in the novel! When Günter was 8 years old, he knew that winters in Russia are cold and snowy everywhere, but it also snows in winter in his hometown, which is not thinner than here. But why is it so cold?! There is no romance in war, but it's not so much that there is nothing but the bitter cold!

The thick-gloved hand tightened the hat again, and there were ice slags on it!

Like the "hot shop" of the submariners mentioned in the propaganda, although the hats of Gunter and Hans belong to private collection, they will always be "hot hats": it is not that they wear them at all times, but that the thick hats of the alert troops are not enough, and they must be handed over to the poor worms on the next shift when the guard is changed, so that no one's ears will freeze!

It's a bunker, you can't make a fire, it's a real ordeal for the sentinels, and although it's specially issued with cold gear, it doesn't seem to have much effect. In order to show fairness, the platoon asked the shifts to rotate the sentry post, which would be the turn of Gunter and Hans. There were a number of sentry posts at the huge airport, and Gunter could see the light of the campfires lit in the bunkers and trenches in the distance. Imagine the warmth of the flames, and Gunter feels colder! Envy is envy, but Gunter and Hans would rather be frozen for two hours in this damned place than their companions who can warm themselves by a fire.

Firelight is not only warmth, but also death! It seems that there are guerrillas everywhere, and there are weekly raids! The night before, two people had been shot at the airport, wounding two people, and the pursuing patrol had killed one guerrilla, but the others had not caught up.

This is not bad, last week the airport was in a mess with three mortar shells, there were no casualties, the Stuka was blown into a pile of scrap metal, and a fuel truck was set on fire, and it took a group of people three hours to extinguish the fire.

This will still have the mark left on Gunter's face from the firefighting-a small burn, although it is not serious and has been treated, but it can be considered broken.

Overhead, there were several sentries frozen Xiaoice from the sentry's exhalation, and Hans half-turned to look at the thermometer beside him by the dim moonlight that had penetrated through it, in exchange for a Russian embroidered tablecloth from the mechanic.

"In the end." Hans said a little weakly, and turned back to stare mechanically at the barbed wire fence to the south: the thermometer could show a temperature of minus 30 degrees Celsius, and if the temperature was low, it would be an ornament. Something made in Germany seems to have a problem here, like the MG34 machine gun for two!

There is still an hour, and the two of them still have to hold on! Günter took out a thermos cup from his bosom and took the lid to order some soup, which was still hot. Handing it to Hans, the private gave it back to him after two sips, and he drank what was left himself.

Every half hour they had to move the machine gun bolt activity, otherwise one of them would freeze if he was not careful—Hans opened the receiver, pulled the bolt, fired empty, and then hung the chain and closed the receiver. It's not a good thing that you can't exhale into the inside of the receiver and can't sound at a critical moment! And such a bad situation is said to have appeared on the front several times this month!

Activating the bolt was only a palliative solution, and the failure rate of machine guns was much higher than usual in such bad temperatures, and soldiers on duty with Mauser rifles sometimes had to hold the bolt in their arms and cover it with a cloak or blanket, otherwise the gun oil could freeze.

Exhale into the bolt? That's even worse! A little water vapor and half-solidified gun oil will not freeze unless you bake it next to the fire!

Gunter They are the airport garrison, which belongs to the "second line", which used to be considered well-equipped, but now they have heard that the first line troops are already starting to use a new fully automatic rifle, which is very suitable for use in severe cold conditions, but they have not seen it yet.

"Corporal, what are you doing at the club? I see that those who flew the plane seem to be very happy tonight, how did they spend this tonight, noisy and shouting for a long time. ”

Private Hans was referring to the activities of the barracks restaurant club at the end of the runway in the distance, but it wasn't going to be much for the two of them, and they would be able to get there for a drink after the changing of the guard in an hour.

"Captain Hans Ulrich Rudel (seems to be a captain, there seems to be a lieutenant at the time. History is changing, places are changing, so be the captain. He just completed his 500th combat sortie today, and the pilots are celebrating him. It seems that there will be a few people from other airports, and I heard that there will be an ace, and there will be a general. ”

It's Christmas Eve, but Gunter and Hans won't find a little warmth. The officers have already said that the soldiers can also go to the cafeteria to participate in the celebrations after being laid off today, including those from the ground support and guard units. But Günther and Hans just wanted to go there and get a bottle of wine, and then go back to the barracks to get some delicious food for their brothers that had been prepared a long time ago, and celebrate this somewhat bad night.

Saying that there is anything good about it in Russia, for the two of them, it is probably that the barracks of this society are not bad, just one room per class, and the discipline is looser than in Germany. The officers don't take much care of the housekeeping, it's wartime, it's not far from the line of fire, as long as they are on guard, those officers don't even inspect the barracks. The barracks are small, and the airport has used all the houses that can be used, and a batch of logs have been temporarily built. The class in Gunter was much happier than the soldiers who lived in Russian-style Chase shops, at least with a small stove to keep them warm.

It is more comfortable than people in newly built barracks, at least not leaky.

Today's Christmas Eve meal is brown bread with some butter and some broth. But Gunter still has some skills, and two days ago he exchanged a Russian watch for a piece of pork from the airport kitchen, and also made some flour and onions. The class was full of fellow Swabian villagers (one of the characteristics of the Wehrmacht), and Günther planned to use that stove to make some Swabian dumplings from his hometown and celebrate with his brothers. It is estimated that the dozen or so people in the barracks should have already started to work, and they will be able to eat when they go back later.

Think of the square dumplings stuffed with minced meat and onions, poured with some gravy, and the saliva in Günther's mouth unconsciously secreted a little more. "I can't let the other classes know, otherwise that little bit won't be enough for everyone to stuff their teeth. But call the platoon commander, if Lal knows that we are making dumplings and doesn't call him, I guess he will kill me directly! Günther thought of his old neighbor and would have to get him out of the dining room later.

On Christmas Eve, both Günther and Hans were a little homesick, especially in this icy and snowy place, and they missed the warmth of home, and missed the warmth of sitting at the long table with their families to celebrate Christmas Eve.

Both men thought they were the best German soldiers, but that had nothing to do with homesickness - anyone would be homesick at this time, unless he was cold-blooded!

In contrast to the deserted Günters, the clubs in this restaurant are bustling with activity (if a humble counter with a few tables could be called a club). ）！ Despite the rudimentary conditions, the interest of the pilots was very high.

500 sorties, more than half a year, such a density of sorties is not something that ordinary people can do, and Rudel's rear-seat machine gunner Skhanowski was also treated like a hero.

500 times, to be alive is a hero.

So far, Rudel has accomplished a lot of difficult tasks, and this time it has been more than a month since his troops were transferred from Army Group North to Belarus, and it was also the most difficult month that Rudel has had since this summer.

Last month, he was wounded in Stoka and landed in a plane under his control, less than 1 kilometer from the Russians! It was even intercepted by mortars! Luck seemed to have been good, though, as neither he nor Skanovsky were injured.

(It's not that it doesn't update, there is a problem with the network, I can't get on it yesterday, I tried the telecom test Netcom, and I was a little depressed.) (To be continued.) )