The so-called April day child's face, even more so on the muddy land of the USSR. It was still sunny and cloudless just now, but it began to rain in the blink of an eye, and the rain became heavier and heavier, which was a bit continuous.

The rain ticked on the eaves, the cold barrels of the guns clanged and crackled, and the raindrops crackled on corpses. On the battlefield where there is no fighting, everything is very quiet, only the sounds of nature echo.

War has made everyone unnormal, because in times of peace, no one can imagine walking by a corpse as if nothing had happened. Several German soldiers, carrying their rifles, walked briskly past some of the cold corpses lying on the ground, and walked into a building not far away that had long since collapsed into a bungalow.

The roof is no longer a rainproof roof, but a renovated floor on the second floor, and a skewed wooden wardrobe in the corner, with mottled bullet holes proving that there was also a fierce exchange of fire. Everything here has been through battles and has left an eternal memory in the battles.

The last German infantryman to walk into the room took off his steel helmet, revealing his nice blond hair. He pinched the steel helmet and threw it out of the door, throwing the rain off the helmet.

A rain silenced the entire battlefield, except for the sound of the rain, no more cannon roars, and no more machine gun roars. Stalingrad is free of yesterday's hustle and bustle, only a somewhat frightening tranquility.

"Come here, warm up!" a Ukrainian veteran greeted the young Ukrainian men who had just entered the house in the corner. There he lit an improvised marching stove, the alcohol in which was still burning.

A pot of water is already boiling and steaming. A few people who came in hurriedly gathered around and stretched out their hands to feel the warm feeling of hot water, although the weather in April is no longer so cold, but after being invaded by the rain, there is a warm place to sit for a while, which is obviously a very fortunate thing.

The young Ukrainian soldier sat down against the wall, feeling the warmth of the stove in the corner of the wall while looking at the room where he was about to fight. There were bullet holes and blood stains on the walls, and it seemed that bullet holes and blood stains could be found everywhere in Stalingrad.

"We've been ordered to fortify here, how many Soviets are on the other side, and how far are they from here?" asked a middle-aged man in his forties with a rifle on his back, leaning against the window, glancing at the ruins across the small square.

The Ukrainian veteran lit a cigarette for himself, then pouted and said: "Opposite is a battalion of the 66th Regiment of the 2nd Division of the USSR." There are about 200 people left, who have not yet been replaced. They occupied the ruins for almost two days, we didn't attack, they didn't fight back. ”

Compared to when they first entered Stalingrad, the equipment of the Ukrainian volunteers has improved a lot, at least they now have a marching stove for hot things and a dispensed alcohol block, and occasionally they can eat fried noodles and potato flour, and even cigarettes and cans as rewards after the battle.

Their combat effectiveness began to increase exponentially after the tempering of the war, and with the intensive artillery support of the German army and the infiltration of snipers and special forces, the death rate of Ukrainian soldiers plummeted, and they were able to maintain a level of 1 to 2 or 1 to 3 with the Soviet army.

Here, in this city, more than 60,000 Ukrainian soldiers have been killed, and 20,000 troops from other regions, including the Germans, have lost, which means that the Soviet Union has lost more than 200,000 troops in the battle for the city.

This is no longer a war, but a contest between soldiers on both sides who gambled with their lives. The suicide notes of 17,000 German soldiers who died in Stalingrad were mailed back to their hometowns along with their clothing and wage subsidies, and sent to their homes by the region's top military commanders.

"It's a great weather. The middle-aged Ukrainian soldier with the gun on his back sneered, found a slightly cleaner corner, sat down and closed his eyes and began to rest, and soon he snored softly, the war seemed to be far, far away from the soldiers in this room at this moment.

On the waters of the Volga, many ripples were thrown by raindrops. Rokossovsky stood on the west bank of the Volga River on the Stalingrad side, watching the ferries one by one, full of soldiers, slowly moving in his direction.

The terrible Stuka dive bombers of the German naval aviation could not take off in such bad weather, which gave the Soviets the opportunity to rush supplies to Stalingrad in the rain. If it were possible, Rokossovsky would have preferred that the rain would have continued like this, at least that he would not have to face the lingering German planes again.

"Quick! Organize those big ships to transport ammunition! Before this rain stops, we must rush to cross the river with as much ammunition as possible, and speed up! Speed up!" Rokossovsky stood there with an umbrella, but his men were not so lucky, or he did not dare to behave too pretentiously in front of his superiors, so he himself stood in the heavy rain and personally directed the dispatch of the ships.

A light dinghy leaned against the riverbank, and on it stood Soviet recruits who had been drenched in heavy rain, and these recruits jumped out of the dinghy one by one, and then held their hands on their already wet hats, as if they had surrendered with their heads in their hands.

The slightly larger ships, which were either used to transport bullets and other valuables, had been sunk by German planes, and the Soviets were getting smaller and smaller, sometimes so small that they could only accommodate a dozen people.

When the weather is good, German planes will bomb along the river bank, find and sink those slightly larger ships that are camouflaged, and the smaller the ships, the better camouflage, so these surviving ships are the smaller ones.

"Down! put your hands down!" Rokossovsky frowned slightly, and before he could speak, an officer in charge of reception walked over and shouted at the recruits: "Stand in line! Walk up here! Someone will receive you from above! Hurry up!

The recruits were greeted not only by the craters scattered along the river, but also by the piled up and long-broken artillery and cars and other weapons, and the camouflaged field hospital was filled with disabled soldiers who needed to be evacuated to the rear, and sick soldiers who were waiting in droves to receive anti-inflammatory drugs.

So the recruits marched forward on the muddy river, one foot deep and one shallow, one by one, walking up the embankment and then being divided into lines, letting their wet clothes stick to their bodies, and walking tiredly to some warehouses and factories that had not completely collapsed.

Rokossovsky did not speak, as far as he could see, about two or three small boats arrived at the same time, and the men jumped out of the boats and walked on the ground that had been tossed into mud by the rain and the soldiers in front of them, these soldiers faltered, and most of them looked at Rokossovsky who was standing on a high place and looking down on everything with strange eyes.

No one could remember exactly how many ships of soldiers were sent to Stalingrad, but everyone knew that the wounded that the departing ships had taken with them did not even a tenth of the number of soldiers brought in. In other words, there are thousands of soldiers who don't need to leave, they will become one with the city, and they will no longer be separated.

"How's the food being consumed? Is it enough to plan ahead?" Rokossovsky suddenly asked his assistant behind him with a blank face, watching shipwloads of soldiers being unloaded on the shore. And what he was sighing in his heart was "Such a boatload of people, maybe a single cannonball will all be killed......"

His assistant leaned his head a little closer to his superiors and said, "Comrade General, because the number of soldiers killed is too large, we have a lot of food reserves left, except for a small part destroyed by German bombing, most of which are very safe and ready to use. ”

"Hmm...... Don't be stingy. Rokossovsky nodded after listening to what his assistant said, and then continued to order in that calm tone: "Give these new soldiers more food, let them die for the motherland, and let them eat a full meal before they go to die." ”

"Yes! Comrade General, I see. The assistant immediately agreed that the distribution of food was not a big deal, and that he did not have to express his opinion on such a trivial matter. He was more concerned than with these trivial matters about finding a better excuse to leave this terrible city.

Compared with the high survival rate of German soldiers, the proportion of losses of Soviet soldiers fighting in Stalingrad was quite high, often thousands of people were pulled to the front line, and within a few hours, only one-half, or even one-third, was left. There are almost no supplementary soldiers who can survive the first day here, and those veterans are also in a state of dying anytime and anywhere.

After a heavy rain, he can at least have 50,000 more soldiers capable of fighting, right? Rokossovsky breathed a sigh of relief, this batch of reinforcements can be regarded as allowing him to continue to persevere.

"Send a telegram to Moscow, once again asking Marshal Zhukov to lead troops south to support as soon as possible. Rokossovsky turned and walked back: "Sticking here is not the way to do it after all...... Zhukov, you don't even know such a simple thing, do you?"