Chapter 26 survival motivation

My teammate is an odd guy, and I could tell from his first day here.It wasn't because he was too ugly, on the contrary, the man was beautiful tall, chiseled, handsome like a Greek statue, with shiny blond hair, tall and straight, he was a standard Aryan handsome man.And his background must not be bad, just by looking at the name "Rostock von Portmann", you can tell that he has noble blood. But it is such an outstanding man who actually stays in a simple barracks like ordinary civilian soldiers like us, eats not-so-appetizing meals, and stands guard as usual when it is windy and rainy.Some people secretly commented that he seemed to have committed some mistakes and was dispatched here, but this news has never been confirmed.From the first day he came here, I knew that he was not pleasant, because he was indifferent to anyone, whether it was kind or malicious, he dismissed it very coldly with a few words, so After that, almost no one had any dealings with him.And the reason why I can have an intersection with this gentleman is because he is my temporary shop.

When I returned to the barracks that day, he was leaning against the window where the cabinet was placed, silently staring at the dark red sunset, expressionless.I coughed a couple of times unnaturally, and told him I wanted my glass. "Ah, I'm so sorry." He stepped back a few steps as if waking up from contemplation, "Please, do you need my help?" I saw a pleasant smile on his handsome face, very charming. He is actually not as cold as the legend says, but I don't understand why he always treats other people with a distant attitude.He would occasionally chat briefly with me after our first conversation.His conversation was not at all about women and the war like the others. He would talk to me about classical music and a lot of books I hadn't read.I slowly learned things from him that I hadn't learned before, and felt that this man wasn't as difficult to live with as I thought.

After we got to know each other gradually, I once asked him why he was only closer to me, and he smiled charmingly: "Because I like your black hair and blue eyes." real.Because his attitude towards everything is so light and airy, nothing seems to catch his attention.But I gradually discovered that he also has something important, that is, he will go out regularly every month to send letters; each time it is a thin piece of paper, carefully folded and put in an envelope, and then write a strange person in Paris. address.This habit did not change until I separated from him. From time to time someone in Berlin came to see him, but he always came back within five minutes, looking impatient.I have poked around in his mouth, but got no answer.

So I finally gave up my research on him and gradually got used to his existence. Our happy days in France came to an end when Boros Sixth Army was cornered by the Soviets, and the entire division was dispatched to the Eastern Front after receiving orders for reinforcements.Although there is a little fear of future battles, more people think that this is the best opportunity to pay their allegiance to the Führer. They are full of confidence and ready to go, but I found that my neighbor was bored when he took the oath. "Don't you want to go?" I asked him privately later, "don't you want to win this war for the Führer?"

"I'm not asking for much," he told me jokingly, "I just want to live!" It would be terrible if such negative words reached the ears of the chief!He will definitely be punished!I warned him very worriedly, and then started to pack my luggage. As it turned out, his words were very realistic indeed. When we arrived near Stalingrad, the Boros Sixth Army and the "Don" Army had been beaten into a mess, and the Soviets advanced aggressively towards us again.The soil in every position in Kharkov was blown up by shells, and countless people were killed. I even saw with my own eyes that someone had their legs broken, bloody and bloody rolling at a place no more than ten meters away from me. .

I was scared to death, but told myself not to lose face to the SS, and ran forward like a fool every time I charged.I don't know how many Soviets I killed, but I can smell the disgusting blood on my body every night. The death toll of our company was increasing, but Rostock von Portmann remained unscathed.I know that he often stays in the trenches to avoid the surveillance of the Superintendent, but when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, he is braver than anyone else!He can find the safest position, and he can do his best to protect his life! Even so I can't think of him as a coward, I know he's living up to his words, "just want to live".

It was maddeningly cold in Russia, we gathered all the fuel we could, put on everything we could wear, and huddled side by side to keep warm.That night, when I was very cold, I saw that under the dim kerosene lamp, the blond man was holding a pencil in his cloth-wrapped hand and writing something with difficulty, and then folded it solemnly as usual, Put it in an envelope and put it in your pocket.I crept over the sleeping man to his side. "Are you still writing letters?" I took out the remaining half of a cigarette and handed it to him, "Is it for your lover?" He smiled at me: "It's my most important person."

"Why didn't I see any reply?" "Because he's not in Paris now," the now bearded and filthy man told me, "but I'll see him when I get back." "Go back?" I sneered, "I'd be grateful if I could get out of this damn place alive!" "Of course, but I will go back!" He said softly, as if describing something that had happened, "I have to go back, I have to see him..." There was a strange light in his blue eyes, and at that moment a thought flashed through me: even if we were all buried in the battlefield, this man would still be able to climb out of the pile of dead bodies and walk staggeringly on his way home .

We were not wiped out on Russian soil like the previous two armies, but we suffered heavy casualties, and the ambitions we set for the head of state when we first set out became weaker and weaker day by day.I miss my parents in Munich and the beautiful Helen more than ever before, but my teammates still maintain his principles and strive to survive in fierce battles. I don’t know when I started to imitate him .Because... I want to live too. Familiar faces continue to die in front of us. The cruelty of war can easily destroy people's courage and reason, leaving only madness!But the man next to me has always maintained a damn calm, carefully analyzing all the conditions that are beneficial to him on the battlefield, he can even use the corpse of his comrade who is still warm to block bullets for himself.

I followed him closely because the chances of survival were greater that way. Good fortune followed us until the end of 1944, when we were captured by the Soviets after a major war. The life of prisoners of war can only be described as hell. We were locked up like dogs. The Soviets who were full of hatred could beat and scold us at will. The food was cold and scarce. There were no complete medical facilities in the prison camps. keep dying.Everyone was assigned heavy labor, and fell asleep every day after falling down from exhaustion. I began to regret why I participated in this stupid war and ruined my life for one person's crazy ideals.I kept praying to God that I would have the chance to go back, I wanted to see my mother and Helen, just to see...

Despair has become the only dominant color here, but there is still one exception. Portman silently endured the inhuman abuse here. Just like his persistence on the battlefield, he still calmly analyzed the surrounding conditions, and then seized every opportunity to survive. He was slightly wounded when he was captured, and his jaw and neck were still wrapped in gauze, but he continued to work as usual, showing amazing humility to the beatings and curses of the Soviet soldiers.It almost made me wonder if the proud man from before was dead.But it turns out he's smarter than any of us, and no one has had a better time staying in this place than he.Sometimes he was even able to chat with the soldiers guarding us. Fate at last rewarded his efforts: about three months later we heard news of a small exchange of prisoners.A certain general—we don’t know who—is willing to exchange Soviet prisoners of war for a certain number of German prisoners of war, with priority given to the seriously wounded and non-commissioned officers. That night, I saw Portman sneak out of the barracks after everyone was asleep, dip a cloth strip in the kerosene in the lamp, and then return as if nothing had happened. This situation lasted for at least three days. At first I didn't understand why, but a week later, I heard that he was burned. He was licked by the flames when he was helping the kitchen, and the injury was even worse. I understood it all at once, but I didn't want to tell anyone what was going on.I don't know why, I just envy him. After another two weeks, the list of prisoners of war came down, and I found the name of Rostock von Portman on the seventh line of the third page. Now, he can finally meet his most important person, right? I squeezed out the crowd of joy and disappointment, looked up at the gray sky, and suddenly thought that maybe I have to be stronger in the future, because I also have reasons to live.