People at that time were surprised that such a vast land could be soaked with blood. Later, almost every square meter of land has broken limbs and bones! They died ... their muscles were atrophied, their eyes were dry, their bodies were rotten, and finally their bones were slowly left, scattered and weathered, just like other things that would exist and disappear, and finally turned into nothingness. They are dead, whether Germans or Slavs.

Tall and strong Slavs guarded his humble pine tower. It is located at the end of a long mountain range, which, like other mountains in the north, is covered with conifers and seems to be protecting itself. Standing high, you can see the plain in the west. A paved satin river flows slowly, and the river will freeze in winter and slowly drip down in summer, just like the Slavs in the ridge sentry tower, waiting silently. Every evening and dawn, this plain will be dyed pale gold by the sun. He likes this scene very much.

Slavs were not here from the beginning. A year or two ago, at the beginning of the war, he was still in battlefields such as Moscow and Stalingrad, or in cities and villages that became battlefields, holding his broken gun and beating the Germans on the long nose. Thanks to this, he won many medals and honors, and there were enough people in every pub to pay vodka for him, so that he could "tell some stories" and change him from "comrade soldier" to "comrade commander". But fortunately or unfortunately, his broken gun caused him great trouble in the defence and counterattack of Stalingrad. Who would have thought that in the icy north, the barrel of a gun could be so hot, and the steel pipe with failed fins turned his hand into an fried egg. Slavs who have no sense of humor make fun of the doctors in the rear hospitals. In the Shura battlefield on the eastern front, soldiers who couldn't get guns were waiting for cooked lamb chops at the same table. Slavs who thought they could do odd jobs as cannon fodder at the front were thrown into this terrible place by a piece of paper. His sisters are still fighting, but he can only stay here with his team to monitor the so-called "throat to Europe" Slavs very much hope, no, very much hope that someone can seize this throat and strangle it.

Slavs should live in buildings with deep pits and wooden houses under watchtowers. It is said that this can prevent iron birds flying from the west from finding it, but the fool who built this wooden house never thought that the snow of giant trees could be crushed in winter and the thawed soil in spring could be crushed. So Slavs usually stay on his tower. In the first six months, he spent a lot of time making the leaky wooden birdcage more comfortable. Anyway, the plain in front of him is as quiet as a sleeping child, and he doesn't have to bother. His efforts are still fruitful. Now there is even a stove transformed from iron drums in his sentry tower. If there are beets, he can even cook himself a pot of thick red vegetable soup. Every two months, his hands bring food, usually wheat, flour, bread, potatoes and salt, and occasionally some other vegetables. If you want to eat meat, you must hunt it yourself. Fortunately, the fingers of Slavs are much more flexible than a year ago, and there are as many animals in the mountains as in previous years. After all, only human beings are affected by war. The only problem is that the only thing that accompanies him is an old book music left by his sister, which is the beep of woodpeckers pecking at tree trunks every day.

In autumn, when Slavs were chopping wood, several shadows passed over his head from the west, like feathers falling from birds. He recognized that it was a German plane, hovering like a vulture in the gloomy sky of Stalingrad, perhaps called Stuka or something else. He submitted the news and only got the order to stick to it, which made the Slavs a little disappointed.

Later, towards the end of winter, before the arrival of the first snowstorm, scattered Germans moved westward in front of the plain. First, the orderly team retreated, and then the team became thinner and thinner. Occasionally, the cries of the Red Army soldier Ulla came from the plains. Slavs will stand on the pine railing of the sentry tower and look at the clouds that seem to be rolling in the distance. Then one day, as usual, he stood on the railing and looked down, inadvertently catching a glimpse of a small blue flash in the Woods under his feet. He remembered that his sister rubbed Prussian blue on her cuffs on wet linen when she was painting.

Germans!

The Slavs excitedly grabbed the gun, grabbed the rope ladder and jumped down.

Later, Slavs looked at the Germans crowded with him in the sentry tower and wondered why they didn't kill him at that time and took so much effort to carry him back to the sentry tower. Slavs easily found this uninvited guest in this forest that belongs to him. The Germans in shabby uniforms collapsed to the ground before they saw the Slavs. Now, the Germanic man is lying by the fire in a long Slavic coat, as thin as a thorn, with weak breathing and blue lips. Long eyelashes cast a deep shadow on his face through the gap in the wallboard. It is naive for westerners who are illuminated by warm sun to conquer this barren land. Slavs grunted heavily, while Germans neatly wore their Prussian blue uniforms, and were the colonel of the Wehrmacht. The cufflinks were fastened firmly, and the old Luger pistol in the holster was obviously carefully maintained for a long time. He has a brand-new silver medal in his chest pocket. Even in the sunshine where the forest is divided by many branches and leaves, his silver hair is still shining gently. If you wash it and comb it, can it shine like silver? Slavs don't want to know. All he knows is that this guy is probably a Junker. Slavs know that those damn, proud old Junkers always tell people what to do. How did they get their men to withdraw their stupid things to stop bullets? They even claim to have a national army. Since the commander can't even protect his own soldiers, he should go back to Wü rttemberg or other places to fish for clocks. These people can only add more chaos to the chaotic battlefield, and the war needs the most efficient killing to end early. This is the last thing these idiots understand. Junker in the national defense army is more stupid than Junker in general. They may not be Nazis, but they are more loyal to that stupid country than Nazis, and they will not become more flexible when they die. In order to prevent Juncker from doing anything threatening him, Slavs took Lugar. Besides, he likes Luger pistols. This gun may be old-fashioned, but it is beautiful and smooth, and no one likes it. Maybe he can keep this gun when he sends this Germanic away.

I don't know how long it took. Yong Ke, with silver hair, woke up, his fingers twitching and trying to reach the Luger pistol at his waist. He seemed to realize something and his fingers stopped. My eyes looked around feebly and saw Slavs. He seems to bow his head, as if resigned to his fate.

"Hey, Yong Ke, do you know Russian?"

Hearing the word Juncker, the Germans looked in a trance and then shook their heads.

"Well," the Slavs pointed to his chest and said his name. "Someone will deliver the goods in a couple of days, and they will take you where you should go."

In fact, Slavs don't know where to go. /kloc-in the winter of 0/942, he saw thousands of Italians, Germans and Hungarians sent to Siberia, but no one appeared again. The war continues, he said to himself.

Then the Slavs have nothing to say. He is a silent man. In the past year or two, he has almost merged with this mountain. But there is nothing blocking the view in the small sentry tower. He decided to find something to do for himself. He picked up the music book, but he didn't understand music at all. He just wants to do something.

After a while, he heard a deep male voice buzzing behind him. He hasn't heard other people's voices for a long time. Juncker's voice was deep and magnetic, humming a song he had never heard before. He turned his head and found Juncker, who was not as tall as him, stretching his neck, trying to read the notes on the paper behind his shoulder. Slavs were a little embarrassed and quickly stuffed the music into Juncker's hand. Juncker smiled at him, revealing neat teeth, but before his lips were closed, Juncker began to cough violently, so violently that even his shoulders twitched. Slavs tried to pat him on the back, but were stared back by irritable students.

"Okay, okay, I'll do something. I'm going to eat. "

Slavs say so. First, he put the tin can of water on the stove rack, reached for the dry food bag on the wall, took out a piece of wheat flour bread from the half-flat bag, broke it and threw it into the jar, stirring it with an iron spoon. As the water boiled slowly, the bread turned into batter. Slavs sprinkled some dried vegetables and salt on it, wrapped their hands in military caps, took down cans and put them in front of Juncker. He has enough calories.

Juncker saw his one eye and reached for the jar, but he burned his finger on the edge of the jar and almost spilled the batter. Slavs looked at Juncker and smiled, stared at by those eyes.

Juncker fumbled in his arms and pulled out a piece of chocolate that had melted more than once. He carefully uncovered two layers of tin foil and stuffed it into Slavs' hands.

Dinner compensation?

Slavs took the chocolate, and a palm-sized piece left a dark brown oil stain on his stiff fingers. He held it in his other hand, sticking out his tongue and licking his fingers.

How long has it been since I tasted this? Did his beloved sister put it in his mouth in front of the house where he planted sunflowers in Moscow for the last time? I don't remember. Slavic never liked sweets, but now he thinks it tastes sweet. Slavs who finally came out of their memories looked up at Juncker, only to find that Juncker seemed to look at him with a contemptuous look of "You won't eat it for the first time". Slavs threw the chocolate back, scooped up the cold batter scattered on the board with an iron spoon and stuffed it into their mouths. They eat very quietly, and wheat flour ground from bran is no different from soil. Slavs sweeping the floor pulled up his blanket and lay by the door. Inadvertently, he lowered his head and seemed to see something flashing in Juncker's eyes.

In the evening, Juncker and Slavs lay outside by the fire.

Slavs slept deeply until they were awakened by Juncker's cough in the morning.

Juncker's cough is worse than yesterday. He lay on his side, his body twitching with a cough, like a wounded toy. Is it just a cold? Slavs think, weak guy!

Slavic has his own work to do. Firewood will not walk to the front of the house to pile wild animals or jump on the stove, and I don't know how long I will stay here. Yongke, who got lost without weapons and guides, could only continue to get lost in the forest. Although he can see the plains here, there is still a long way to go. Slavs stuffed Lugar into their coat pockets and left with guns on their backs. When he left, he pointed to the grain bag and said "eat", but I don't know if Juncker, who coughed violently, heard it.

Slavs have been wandering in the Woods for a long time. He doesn't want to go back to the sentry tower. He wants to go back. But when he approached, he heard Juncker's dying cough, and he quickly climbed the sentry tower. Juncker is still lying in the morning position, not leaving, but his voice becomes hoarse and he coughs. Slavs helped him up and looked as bad as yesterday. He slowly poured some water into his mouth and suddenly realized something. He unbuttoned Juncker's shirt. His temperature was very hot. Slavs thought of burning their own barrels and boxes. No problem. Further down, there is a suture wound in the lower abdomen, and the skin torn by shrapnel is dark red and attractive.

Slavs' fists fell heavily on Juncker.

Damn it!

wound infection

Slavs watched countless people die in those severe winters, so small that they could die if they were scratched by glass fragments. Now he has no painkillers, no medicine from America, and not even enough food.

He remembers how they usually do these things.

He put down the unconscious Yong Ke, let him lie flat on the ground and picked up the gun.

There is only one bullet. ...

At dusk, Slavs helped Juncker sit up. He put him in his arms and slowly cooled the soup cooked with rabbit meat and potatoes. He has always been a good hunter.

On the second and third day, Juncker seemed to recover a little. He obediently leaned against the Slavs' arms, ate the food made of monotonous materials in exchange for patterns, hummed with music scores and watched the Slavs go out hunting.

At noon, when the sun is shining, he will spit out the sonorous syllables of German to Slavs in a trembling voice. Slavs seem to hear distant pastures and fields and Junker's life from those voices. Although Slavs don't know anything, he will answer him. He said that his sister's paintings are realistic scenery in his home in Moscow, as if he could see the sky far away from them. He said he liked sunflowers. He has a large sunflower field in Kip's manor, which can reflect brilliance when the sun shines. He said that his sister's beauty and willfulness were spoiled by him, but her sister refused to listen to him. He said that he had many men but no friends. He said that his specialty was red vegetable soup. He said that I would make it for you as soon as I came out, and then he froze.

A long, long silence

Later, Juncker began to whisper something. He was so happy that he almost began to cough again.

Slavs' broad palms covered his eyes, and then he felt that his dull fingers were drowned by Juncker's tears.

The war outside is coming to an end and the front is collapsing. Within four or five days, Slavic soldiers will come to replenish supplies, and even the bread that is so dry and hard to swallow will be eaten. Winter is coming, can he hide him in the Woods? After that, where can he go? What can he do when he leaves the small sentry tower in this beautiful forest?

Slavs caught his tears with their lips, generally holding Juncker's face and kissing him with his greatest tenderness. Then slowly untie Juncker's iron cross badge, untie his old uniform, and touch Juncker's tight chest with his scarred fingers, without playing, just touching it piteously. Juncker coughed twice again, and Slavs knew that he was fighting back a cough. Slavs buried their heads in Juncker's chest, as if they were going to cry. Juncker's hot fingers touched his hair, as if to press Slavs into his body. Slavs' hair is not so supple, and Juncker's fingers are covered with calluses. Slavs wrapped Juncker in blankets, stroking his body with stiff fingers, hard shoulders and collarbone, and smooth abdomen. Slavs were careful not to touch his wound. He untied Yong Ke's military belt engraved with ten thousand words, covered his fingers with his doppelganger, and made a gentle and slow trick. Slavs have never been good at doing such things, so they can only try their best to be patient. The weak Juncker leaned his head on the Slavic's neck and groaned in a low voice, as if sighing. In the end, Juncker only released a few drops from Slavs, who sadly thought that their lives were about to be evaporated by high fever. Slavs soaked their fingers in water to moisten them, and then reached between Juncker's legs to lubricate the wrinkles there and go deep into their fingers. Juncker's moan turned into a cry. He held the Slavs in trembling arms and whispered his name.

Ivan I ...

On the fourth day, Juncker could sit on the railing against the Slavs, singing intermittently, and finally broke the chocolate into the Slavs' mouths, pointing to his throat and excusing himself from eating sweet things because he had a bad cough.

On the fifth day, Juncker slept for a long time, and the Slavs waited for him with their fingers twisted in fear, fearing that he would never wake up when he fell asleep, but he woke up and gave the Slavs a weak but merciless smile.

On the sixth day, Juncker could only drink Slavic soup, and the only bread paste left was hard to swallow and then spit it out.

On the seventh day, the Slavs thought, no matter what, no matter what, they must take him away tomorrow and gamble everything to save him, then let him learn his own language, talk to him and make him understand.

On the eighth day, Slavs went out hunting before dawn. Today, he and Juncker have to eat enough, so that he can carry Juncker down the mountain and Juncker can help him down the mountain.

When the sun rises, Slavs open the door with their prey. He is a good hunter.

In the backlight, Juncker leaned against the wall and pointed the Ruegle pistol at himself.

Lugar's muzzle was infinitely magnified at that moment, and he only saw the calloused hand behind him pulling the trigger.

Slavs have always been good hunters, and the bullet neatly passed through Juncker's third and fourth ribs. There is only one bleeding point on the chest that has been stabbed by an awl, but there is a big bullet hole behind it, and the black and red seem to be slowly spreading as if solidified.

He suddenly remembered Juncker's smile at the moment he fell.

Slavs broke Juncker's finger, and it gradually froze. He didn't know that the burning high fever had gone away so quickly. He picked up the bloody Luger pistol and suddenly realized that it was light. Although he had this gun before, he had never held a Luger pistol before. Guns shouldn't be so light. He took out Ruger's magazine.

Empty.

Slavs kicked Juncker's body wildly, and he knew he would never react again.

I don't need your pity.

Slavs built a small grave for Juncker and combed his silver hair with their fingers. He only has snow water, so he can't comb his hair like melted silver.

He had to put his Luger back in the holster, which was full of bullets this time.

The burning eyes under the cross made of pine branches of Slavs are closed forever.

Later, the war ended.

Slavs returned to the forest, and sunflowers began to be planted in the former forest wasteland. In the first year, only sparse flowers grew there. Later, it flourished, just like the decorative flowers planted in the flower bed in front of the house in the cities along the Black Sea. Some places are not suitable for life growth.

Only on a small grave with a tombstone, the flowers have never stopped.

When the beautiful Slavic sister Natalya asked him who was buried there, he said no one. When the girl asked her if she needed to pray for the people inside, the Slavs said

"Honey, if he needs it. My prayers are enough. "

Slavs looked at the clouds caught by the wind in the distance, and they cast their shadows further. Over there, across countless rivers and mountains, that's where the man came from.

Finally, he didn't even know the name of Yong Ke with red eyes.