Makarov remembers that his father always liked to wear soft fur boots and paced quietly in the yard. He worked as a foreman in the top mining area near the forest farm. He's still an old hunter. He often took Makarov to the great forest. They were old and young, gray-haired and blond-haired, and they wandered together on uninhabited paths, setting traps and hunting pheasants.

The Makarov family had people who worked as lumberjacks, hunters, gold diggers, and raft workers; Later, there were captains of ocean-going merchant ships, imperial soldiers, blacksmiths, and some officials. His father, Makarov the Elder, fought against the Turks to defend his homeland. The fact that Makarov's family were scattered across cities and villages filled his young mind with a sense of being a master of the world around him.

He was as concerned about any disorder in the school, in the forest, in the neighborhood and in the world, as if it were his own business. The infidelity of any one provoked great anger in him, and he fervently hoped that these things should be corrected at once as soon as possible, and that the culprits should be punished, and justice restored.

The night passed so slowly that Makarov felt dizzy, and a long, lingering cry rang in his ears. Needless to say, "People must think I'm no longer alive." Nothing, Stepan? Ospovic. Could it be that it was so easy to kill Makarov? ”

Makarov couldn't help but smile weakly at the thought of these thoughts.

The scene of that day, the faces of the wounded sailors and the fallen lads of the "Demolition", and finally the face of Rysakov, the face of the last man he saw, slowly floated through Makarov's consciousness again. Not so much remembering his face. It's better to remember his shouts. It was this shout. Like a corrupted record that repeats the same tune over and over again. It was always ringing in his ears.

From time to time, flashes of shell explosions lit up the room with a faint light. Someone walks through the streets, someone is sobbing, someone is shouting in Japanese with a straight throat......

In the morning, when the Satsuma army ran and roared, Makarov forgot about the pain and thirst. Shells exploded next to the main buildings and on the streets, where a house collapsed with a thud, rubble flew and flames flowed.

Russian soldiers ran along the opposite traffic trench. From time to time it peeked out at the crack in the stone wall, and a trench passed under it. In the trench there appeared an officer, he was so panicked that every time the shells exploded, the soldiers stopped and fell to the ground.

Then there was a moment of silence, which Makarov listened intently for, and soon turned into a new cannon sound: a piercing thud, the whistling of a cannonball, followed by a distant explosion. This is the Satsuma people firing cannons. Unlike the slow shelling of the Russians. The Satsuma army's shelling began very quickly, and they seemed to be in a hurry. Shoot in a continuous way. The explosion of the shell made the house tremble, and the painting on the wall swayed and fell to the ground with a "pop".

At the crossroads of two houses from Makarov, a Gatling gun was firing as if it had gone mad. There was also a Gatling gun fired from a house on the corner of the street.

A group of about 60 or so Satsuma people appeared on the street. The group of Satsuma were all elderly people and children, dressed in black, with hats on their heads, a white cloth wrapped around their sleeves as a symbol, and they all carried rifles. Rifles were of all kinds, and these men of various heights looked like an unseemly fence made of uneven sticks. They shouted loudly, like a flock of ducks in a moor.

One of the Satsuma officers who had walked in front suddenly turned to his group, muttered something between his teeth, and they began to sing. The song is hauffled and mournful, and the shrill voice of a child is mixed with the trembling bass of an old man. Oh, my God! What kind of song is this! Hearing it made Makarov's hair stand on end.

The Russian artillery bombarded again, and the Satsuma people jumped into the trenches and squeezed each other.

Makarov felt that he heard the shouts of "Ula" in the distance, and the Gatling guns of the Satsuma were firing wildly. They ran along the trench from other sections towards the main building, when a large group of Russian troops rushed out from behind the house and hurriedly put down their guns. The Satsuma kept retreating while putting down their guns, and after a while, the Gatling guns of the Satsuma people also stopped roaring, and Makarov did not hear the explosion from there, and he thought that the Satsuma people should have run out of bullets, and it is said that the Satsuma people have been suffering from a lack of ammunition now.

The surroundings became silent, and Makarov felt himself feverish, and the cold sun shone on his head, making him feel no warmth.

Out of an alley came a group of Russian troops, ahead of which was a tall, thin officer, dressed in a military uniform, with a large-brimmed hat and dark eyes. He walked with firm steps, and the rest left a little and followed him.

Another group of Russian troops came to meet them. Several armed soldiers escorted two Satsuma men who were neither wearing uniforms nor weapons.

The officer with black glasses stopped next to the second squad of Russian troops, and he shouted a few words. One of them, the chubby, older Satsuma without a hat, knelt down. The second Satsuma, a tall boy of about fifteen years old, stubbornly yelled and cursed. Their faces were all bloody.

They were dragged to the crossroads. There was a commotion, and several tables and a ladder appeared next to the lamppost at the crossroads.

With a wave of the officer's hand, the two men were strung onto sharpened wooden posts. They let out a miserable howl, and their bodies swayed in pain. Then a Russian soldier sat down at a table at the feet of the young man strung on a wooden post, and wrote on a blank piece of paper with a quill pen, laughing as he wrote. After he had finished writing, another Russian soldier struggled to crawl onto the table and pasted the blank piece of paper on the boy's chest. Then he moved the table to the second wooden pillar, and hung the same piece of paper on the fat man's chest. And then they all left.

Makarov wanted to call for help from the Russian army, but when he saw the atrocity, he dismissed this idea.

If he has strength in him. He will definitely stop this atrocity.

In Makarov's opinion. Even if those two Satsuma were armed soldiers. It would be enough to shoot them, and to torture them in the Middle Ages is contrary to his philosophy.

War is sacred to Makarov, not to such brutal killings.

There was silence all around. Makarov listened carefully to the movement around him, but heard nothing. The artillery on both sides was silent. The streets are lively. The Russian troops who passed by were all walking with their heads held high and talking loudly, and they were not afraid, in their opinion. It was as if all the worst things had passed.

There was silence, even the machine guns were silent. Trembling with chills and heat, Makarov got up from the couch, draped a Japanese suit jacket over his shoulders and slowly climbed out. In the hallway, he removed the umbrella from the hanger: it was perfect as a walking stick. He listened for an indistinct sound, and opened the door, which was silent, dark, and damp. He climbed the stairs slowly—not so much out of caution as from the pain of his weakness.

On the third floor, Makarov saw the sky overhead: half of the house had been cut off by shells, and many steps were missing from the stairs. Iron beams hung above and around it, and large walls were attached to them. He climbed an iron beam. Struggled to overcome this obstacle.

The entire four floors groaned. In the rooms without walls there was some furniture: an easy chair and a cradle for children. The flash of a flare illuminates a Japanese wooden doll wearing a pale blue dress with its braids hanging on the wall.

At the end of the hallway, a door opening to the balcony was open. Makarov walked there and saw a peacestand. It's about two meters to the roof. Makarov clinged to a damp iron beam with two almost stiff hands. Start climbing up.

The roof here is intact. There is a swarthy hole a little farther away. The wind is howling. Makarov straightened up and stood by the chimney, trying to see or hear something. But there was silence all around. Even if it was a row of glowing bullets, even if it was a rumbling burst of cannonballs, nothing.

Makarov sat there, and he didn't know why he did it, and the iron of the roof was slightly bent by his feet, and Makarov remembered how he liked to climb the roof when he was a child, and happily struck the iron with a clang. Thinking that he was going to be a scout in the future, he hid behind the chimney and slowly crawled out from behind it......

Time passed slowly, the sky was very gray, and the sun came out of the clouds once, but immediately hid in again. A cold wind was blowing, and somewhere a wall collapsed. A rattling sound rolled over the secluded, half-ruined street and disappeared in the distance. Makarov sat motionless, he almost didn't think about anything, just waited.

It was getting darker and darker, and everything else seemed to be fading, and everything was becoming more and more obvious. On the eastern horizon, behind the trees in the distance, a long, thick, orange glow appeared. It soon grew larger and brighter, gradually losing its dark hue to yellow and warming its surroundings.

The wind suddenly became stronger, and the clouds and smoke in the sky gradually blew away, Makarov felt better, he got up and was about to come down, but suddenly saw a small group of Russian troops escorting a few ragged Japanese approaching.

Makarov knew what they were going to do from the grinning faces of the Russian soldiers, and he got up in a hurry and went downstairs, and by the time he came to the street, the shots were already ringing.

Makarov turned a street in the direction of the gunshots and saw several Japanese men lying on the ground, their stomachs shot but not dead, but there they were struggling in agony.

A Russian soldier pulled a screaming Japanese woman and tore her clothes, she resisted hard, a Russian soldier pulled out a bayonet and stabbed her in the stomach, she collapsed, and a Japanese man who was shot saw her appearance and let out a cry of pain.

The Russian soldier cut and stripped off the Japanese woman's clothes with a few bayonets, and then pressed them against her, squirming and laughing, and several other Russian soldiers did the same as him, pulling the two Japanese women over, stabbing them down with bayonets, and then cutting off their clothes. rode on them. Terrible humiliation was inflicted on them. And deliberately let the men who have not yet died of their breath watch.

Makarov ran over angrily, pulled out his pistol, and fired a shot into the sky, several Russian soldiers were startled at first, but when they saw that he was alone, they continued their movements with nonchalant.

Makarov shook off the suit jacket he had picked up, revealing his naval uniform, and several Russian soldiers saw his lieutenant colonel rank insignia. Taken aback, they all threw away the Japanese women, stood up, and saluted him naked. But when they found out that Makarov was a naval officer, they couldn't help but have some doubts.

"What are you doing? Bastard! Makarov couldn't help but curse when he saw the women who were naked and dying in a pool of blood.

"They're enemies, sir." A Russian soldier smiled and explained, "They are armed men dressed in civilian clothes and disguised. For these people, there is no need for mercy. ”

"These women are armed men too?" Makarov was mad with rage. Aimed the gun at him.

"Sir, there are a lot of female ninjas in the enemy army, haven't you heard of it?" Another Russian soldier walked over and looked at Makarov curiously, as if looking at a monster.

"These Japanese women are very fierce and will hurt us at the first opportunity, so we use this method so that they can't resist." Another Russian soldier followed.

"Take me to your chief!" Makarov ignored his quibbles, pointed his pistol at them, and shouted, "I'm going to take you all to court-martial!" ”

Perhaps it was Makarov's last sentence that backfired, and the smiles on the faces of several Russian soldiers froze when they heard his words.

"Okay, sir, watch out for your gun." A Russian soldier said.

Makarov heard a painful hiss from the woman on the ground, and as soon as he turned his head, several Russian soldiers rushed up in unison, and a tall Russian soldier snatched Makarov's pistol with one hand, and several others took advantage of the situation to hug him, and then pressed him to the ground.

Makarov, a sailor, was so powerful that he was knocked down by surprise, but almost immediately got back to his feet, first breaking away from the man who was twisting his right arm, and then kicking a Russian soldier down, but just as he was about to turn around, he was hit hard in the back of the head, and his eyes immediately blackened, and he fainted......

When Makarov woke up, he found himself lying in a hospital.

Yes, it's a hospital, there are a lot of beds around, and the wounded are constantly being brought in. The nature of the battle can be judged from the nature of the wounds of the wounded. This was caused by an attack on the enemy's very strong defensive line, most of whom were seriously wounded in the limbs, which Makarov judged to have been injured by touching mines.

Makarov tried to straighten up, but he felt pain all over his body, and when he looked down, he saw that his body, hands and feet were all bandaged, and he had suffered the same blows.

Makarov couldn't help but wonder when he recalled what had happened before.

How did you get here?

Are all those Japanese dead?

Thinking of the atrocities of those Russian soldiers, he couldn't help but be angry and clenched his fists, but this fist didn't matter, it affected the wounds on his body, making him feel unbearable, and he couldn't help but moan loudly.

As if infected by him, the newly arrived wounded also groaned.

Just then, a young girl in a nurse's white blouse walked in, and the wounded saw her and almost immediately stopped moaning.

Seeing her appearance, Makarov couldn't help but breathe.

Makarov has always believed that beauty is very varied, and women of each country and nationality have their own characteristics. However, inner beauty is higher than external beauty, it is a kind of human thought, morality, sentiment, personality and other complexes, that is, scholars often say a kind of spiritual beauty. Outer beauty is easy to discover, but it is also easy to be forgotten, and Makarov believes that inner beauty is an eternal beauty.

The girl in front of him gave him such a feeling.

A group of men screaming and groaning in front of a young and beautiful girl felt embarrassed, so some of them, no matter how badly injured and painful, stopped speaking after she appeared. At first they even used her as a nurse: how young she looked! Even in a white blouse, he doesn't look like he's twenty-five years old. But, no, she looked like a doctor. The caregivers were respectfully busy around her, and if she said a few words or glanced at them, they understood her commands. Her big gray eyes were filled with a calm confidence that only a truly talented person could have. The wounded looked at her with trust and even tried to smile in order to gain sympathy and praise.

The girl instructed the paramedics to quickly treat the wounds of the newly arrived wounded, and after a long period of busyness, she seemed to remember something, and scanned the room with her big beautiful gray eyes, and her gaze quickly fell on Makarov.

She walked briskly to Makarov's bedside, "How's it going?" Are you feeling better? Lieutenant Colonel Makarov? She asked. (To be continued......)

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