Kukov was a prisoner of war of the Soviet Red Army, and when he came to the concentration camp prepared for him by the Germans in Poland, he couldn't believe his eyes, the clean and neat barracks, the neat and straight streets, and when he saw the convenience store signs written in the Shikoku script, he even felt that it was a very wise decision for him to hand over his rifle and surrender to the Germans.

Of course, as an ethnic Russian, he was not in a very good situation, and he saw some prisoners like himself being unloaded from the train and working in the dirty and messy coal yards. However, he was fortunate that he had worked as an apprentice in a factory in Ukraine, so he was assigned to continue his hard labor in a factory in the best Polish concentration camp.

Here he wore a Soviet uniform with several patches, but some of the identification marks had been removed, and every week there was a disinfection check, and everyone had to be stripped naked and assembled in iron cages, where they were ravaged with water cannons and white ash. If there weren't machine gun towers equipped with searchlights every few tens of meters, life might have been better.

What didn't please Kukov was that there were always patrolling SS soldiers, leading German purebred sheepdogs and sticking out their frightening tongues. The soldiers looked imposing in SS uniforms, with red flag armbands on their arms and Mauser 98K rifles on their backs.

These guards are always changing new faces, and I heard that the old guards have been transferred to the front, and those who come here are all new recruits who have just finished their service and training, and who have been on duty for a few months to get used to military life before being transferred to the front.

If he could have received formal military training, he wouldn't have been so wolf on the battlefield, would he have been embarrassed to think that he had lost a bullet and ran around him, and ended up being a prisoner. He had been here for two months and more than ten days, and he was not a newcomer in this concentration camp.

This factory, the German internal number is 402 factory, which is responsible for the production of spare parts for some equipment. In fact, Kukov himself may not know what he is producing, because it is impossible to infer the original appearance of the entire equipment with all the products here. Only a handful of administrators and guard chiefs knew about the windshield mounts and fixed stick landing gear for the German Crusader helicopters produced here.

The sun was very hot at noon, and Kukov and all the workers here had a one-hour break at this time. Of course, some people go to dinner at half past eleven and come back at half past twelve to continue their work, and some people go to eat at half past twelve and come back to work at half past one.

As a positive reward for the production of parts, every worker here who reaches the required output is paid a "wage", and if you don't have bad habits such as gambling and haven't been blackmailed by the macho men in your bedroom, you can save up for two months and use these camp bills to go to the convenience store to exchange for a box of cigarettes.

Kukov had just received the second slip with the official seal, and he was not in a hurry to save up enough 20 slips to buy a quilt, so he hurriedly went to the convenience store to exchange for a box of cigarettes that could comfort his spirit.

A smoker can enjoy cigarettes even in a prisoner of war camp, which is a heavenly treat. Kukov clumsily opened the white package of low-quality cigarettes with only the words of German cigarettes on them, with his oil-stained hands on it, like a warrior stroking his steel gun, like a man in love stroking his lover.

These inferior cigarettes were all produced in Germany, and were originally supplied to ordinary Germans when supplies were scarce. Although the quality is low, because there is no other choice, it still exists in Germany for several years. In the last nearly a year, the German army has been invincible on the battlefield, and the area that has been leveled is enough to provide Germany with better supplies, so these cigarettes have withdrawn from the German market.

After all, now that the supply of cigarettes in Germany has returned to normal, ordinary people can smoke German hardcover cigarettes of average quality. And some officials and sophisticated people are now enjoying French cigarettes with finer tobacco and better taste. As for these cheap and low-quality cigarettes in white simple packaging, there is still a surplus reserve in the production line, and they are all sent to Poland to be distributed as second-class supplies.

Shrewd Jewish businessmen and some German concentration camp contractors saw the benefits and introduced the cigarettes into the camps, so that Kukov had the opportunity to swallow the smoke in the camps, and he also had the moment when he looked at the cigarettes with happiness on his face. In the USSR, the quality of cigarettes was about the same as these inferior German cigarettes, so these Poles and Soviet prisoners of war did not mind the inferior quality at all, as long as they had this kind of cigarette to give them a good time, they were satisfied.

So Kukov worked very hard every day, didn't cause trouble at all, rarely even talked to the people around him, and every time he bought a cigarette, he gave two sticks to the most powerful Ukrainian translator, and lived an ordinary life like this. In the eyes of those around him, he was the most comfortable and exemplary inmate in this concentration camp.

Kukov carefully borrowed a fire from the German soldier who managed the matches in the smoking area, and Meimei enjoyed his happy life in the barbed wire corridor where he smoked and let off the wind, and he looked into the distance, feeling that he had not died on the terrible battlefield of Poland, which was already a very satisfying thing.

Caught off guard, a German officer in a brand new military uniform walked across from him, talking to a man in a crisp suit next to him, because smoking was forbidden in other parts of the camp, so the two of them had come here to spend some time with the prisoners of war. Both sides walked without looking ahead, so while passing by, Kukov bumped into the officer, who was dressed in new clothes.

The man, dressed as an SS officer, was knocked off guard, after all, he was slightly weaker than Kukov's. However, this man who was two centimeters shorter obviously did not have to eat on his own size, because he had the epaulette of the rank of major officer on his shoulders.

"Bastard, don't you have long eyes when you walk?" the officer looked at his oil-stained arm and the twisted red flag armband, and scolded at Kukov.

"Whoa!" Kukov saw the two guards behind the officer remove their rifles from behind, and some of the German soldiers on guard around him even pulled the bolts. His face turned blue with fright, and he quickly knelt on the ground and raised his hands: "I'm sorry! sir......! I didn't mean to!"

His actions startled the officer, but he still didn't spare Kukov, one arm had been raised, as long as he pressed his own arm, then the kneeling Soviet prisoner of war in front of him would be punched through a dozen holes. The most valuable thing here is that materials are profits, and the least valuable thing is human life.

"It's just a new uniform, a few bucks. The man standing next to the officer finally spoke, he was of medium height, about 1.8 meters tall, with short blond hair and very attractive eyes. The man looked very handsome and had a warm smile.

"Franck, I know this is your camp, but the SS is inviolable, we represent the Führer......" The officer looked at the man in the suit and spoke unforgiving words, but the raised arm was not lowered.

Frank Ellstoner, the camp manager, was also the de facto owner of Factory 402. He was responsible for the production of helicopter parts at the factory here, and near Little Frankfurt on the German border, there was his wholly-owned helicopter assembly shop, which supplied the German army with many Crusader helicopters of various types every day.

I heard that this very handsome man had hands and eyes, and had met Führer Accardo several times, and it is said that he had friendships with Krupp and Augustus, and was one of the best entrepreneurs among the new aristocracy. The new aristocracy of Germany, which broke away from the Junker aristocracy, vaguely regarded him as a talker, and his own uncle was a Jewish merchant in Poland who had the nickname "Jesus".

"Every prisoner here is my property, and I have heard of this Russian prisoner named Kukov, who is very obedient and has made me a lot of profits. Frank Ellstoner laughs and talks at all times, but those who know him know that he kills when he laughs, plays with women when he laughs, and slaps himself when he laughs - he is a German businessman of half Jewish descent: "He can produce 70 helicopter parts a day for the parts you need most." ”

"This matter can't just be left at that!" the officer lowered his arm, and Kukov felt himself alive again, because there were at least a dozen fewer guns pointed at him. He couldn't understand what the two Germans were talking about, but he knew that the handsome-looking man in the suit had saved him.

"I have a gold ring in my office, which I got from the corpse of a prisoner of war, and I heard that you are interested in it. "Frank Ellstoner immediately offered his own price, he was a businessman, and if there was more profit and more profit, he would continue to do business.

"Is it worth it?" the officer laughed, as if he had forgotten the unpleasantness he had just had.

"Of course! He's a role model, and with him, everyone else will work harder. Frank Ellstoner smiled and took a box of French cigarettes from his pocket, shook it twice, threw it to Kukov, who was still kneeling on the ground, and said in a not-so-proficient Russian: "You, very well, I hope you, better!"