red moscow

Chapter 3121

As dusk settled, a thin veil of twilight enveloped the village, and all around grew quiet, save for the occasional bark of a dog in the distance. Each battalion set up its own stoves in their encampments. The earthen stoves were simple yet sturdy, and the pots were large, marching cauldrons. Flames crackled and leaped, casting a reddish glow on the soldiers' faces. They began to cook dumplings with great fanfare, plumes of steam rising from the pots, the aroma of dough and meat mingling and wafting far on the wind.

The villagers were drawn by the lively commotion and the enticing aroma, gathering in twos and threes around the campsite. Most of them were elderly people, women, and children. They watched with longing as the dumplings simmered in the large pot. Some children tugged at their mothers' clothes, whispering when their families could eat dumplings like that.

Major Vasya had just finished inspecting the camp and listened to his subordinates' report, his brow furrowing slightly. After a moment's thought, he strode back to the temporary command post and immediately called Sokov: "Comrade Brigade Commander, our soldiers attracted a lot of villagers while they were cooking dumplings. They all looked very hungry, especially the children. Do you think we should send some dumplings to the villagers?"

After listening to Vasya's words, Sokov fell silent. He knew very well that after the German army occupied these villages, they had looted almost all the villagers' food. Now, although the enemy had been driven away, the villagers' stolen food was gone forever. Thinking of this, he made a decisive decision: "Comrade Major, I think you're right. The New Year is just around the corner. I think it's necessary to invite the villagers to eat dumplings and celebrate the New Year with us. After all, the army and the people are one family."

Vasya was still quite nervous when he made the request to Sokov, his fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on the telephone cord. Although the infantry brigade never had to worry about supplies, as provisions were always plentiful, delivering dumplings to hundreds of villagers was a considerable expense. Hearing Sokov readily agree to his request, he instinctively breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing. Then, he tentatively asked, "So, how many dumplings do you think would be appropriate for each person? Should it be by the piece or…?"

Sokov thought for a moment, then said, “No need to count, let’s do it by weight. One pound each for adult men and women, and half a pound each for children. Let them cook it themselves at home. This way we won’t have to allocate manpower to cook and distribute it on the spot.”

“Understood, Comrade Brigade Commander.” Vasya’s voice was noticeably lighter. “Okay, I will immediately arrange for people to count the number of people and distribute dumplings to the villagers according to your standards.”

After hanging up the phone, Sokov sat alone at the command table, the candlelight casting a soft glow on the map-covered surface. He thought for a moment; his troops were now scattered across several different villages, and relations between the army and the people were of paramount importance. Since Vasya's troops had already distributed dumplings to the villagers, it seemed inappropriate not to do so in the other villages. So he called Karsokov over and said to him, "Comrade Chief of Staff, Major Vasya, the commander of the Fourth Battalion, just called me. He said that while his battalion was cooking dumplings, some villagers came to watch, and he asked me if he could distribute dumplings to the villagers. I agreed."

"What was your reply?" Karsokov asked intently.

"I agreed to his request," Sokov said. "Distribute it at the rate of one pound per adult man and woman, and half a pound per child, so that the villagers can take it home and cook it themselves. Calculate the total demand and allocate flour and minced meat from the brigade's reserves so as not to affect the normal supply of each battalion tomorrow."

After listening to Sokov's words, Karsokov immediately understood the other party's intention. He nodded and said, "You've thought this through very well. I'll call the battalion commanders of the other battalions right away and relay your order to have them also distribute dumplings to the villagers in the garrisoned villages to celebrate the New Year together. This will be very beneficial to enhancing our army's prestige among the masses."

"Comrade Brigade Commander," a cook wearing an apron walked in carrying a tray as Karsokov was on the phone. He came to Karsokov, placed three plates of dumplings on the table, and wiped the sweat from his brow. "This is the first batch of dumplings, fresh from the pot. It was specially prepared for you, the Deputy Brigade Commander, and the Chief of Staff. Please try them and see how they taste!"

Sokov thanked the cook and picked up his fork, ready to enjoy the still-steaming dumplings. The aroma made his stomach rumble—he hadn't eaten properly for over ten hours. But just as the fork was about to touch the dumpling wrapper, another phone on the table suddenly rang.

Sokov immediately put down his fork, grabbed the microphone, and held it to his ear, saying in his usual calm voice, "I am Sokov!"

Rokossovsky's familiar and hearty laughter came through the receiver: "Misha, this is Rokossovsky!"

Upon hearing the commander's voice, Sokov instinctively stood up, straightened his back, and said respectfully, "Hello, Comrade Commander!" Although the other party couldn't see his movement, it was his most basic respect for his superior. "Misha, first of all, on behalf of the army group command, I would like to extend my New Year's greetings to you and all the officers and soldiers of the infantry brigade!" Rokossovsky's voice sounded less stern than usual, with a hint of barely perceptible warmth. "Your brigade's performance in Klin and Sun Mountain has earned high praise from the Supreme Commander himself. He has personally signed a commendation order for your brigade, and I will send someone to deliver it to you tomorrow. I think this is the best New Year's gift for your brigade!"

Upon learning that Stalin had personally signed the commendation order for the infantry brigade, Sokov was overjoyed. Suppressing his excitement, he tentatively asked, "Comrade Commander, I wonder if our brigade is qualified to receive the honorary title of Guards?"

Rokossovsky hesitated for a moment on the other end of the phone. The sound of papers turning could be heard through the receiver, as if he were reviewing some documents. Then he said, "Misha, I remember telling you before that only infantry units at the division level can receive the honorary title of Guards. Your brigade doesn't even have an official designation, so there's no way you can be converted into a Guards brigade."

Although he had expected Rokossovsky to say that, Sokov was still filled with disappointment. His infantry brigade was a hastily assembled unit, and in the eyes of his superiors, it was at best a second-rate force with no combat capability, and therefore didn't even have a formal designation. Now, it was indeed unlikely that it could be promoted to the Guards.

Rokossovsky, perhaps sensing Sokov's disappointment, added with a more comforting tone, "Misha, don't be discouraged. Although an infantry brigade can't be promoted to a Guards unit, one day in the future, you might merge with a Guards division. Once the merger is complete, with your abilities, even if you don't become a division commander, becoming a deputy division commander wouldn't be a problem."

Hearing this, Sokov's mood brightened. He recalled a similar situation in his previous life, where his infantry brigade had merged with the 41st Guards Division during the defense of Mamayev Kurgan, and he had served as its commander. Now, commanding an infantry brigade of several thousand men, even if it merged with a Guards division, his rank within that division would not be low.

Thinking of this, he repeatedly thanked Rokossovsky, his voice regaining its vitality: "Thank you, Comrade Commander! Thank you for bringing us such good news. I believe that when the commendation order arrives tomorrow, it will definitely have a huge boost to the morale of the troops."

“By the way, it’s New Year’s Day in a few hours,” Rokossovsky continued on the other end of the phone, his voice tinged with concern. “Have you done anything for the soldiers? After all, this is another holiday they’re spending on the front lines.”

Sokov immediately understood Rokossovsky's implied meaning and quickly replied, "Comrade Commander, we had already considered that. We prepared two pounds of hot dumplings for each soldier, as well as some chocolate captured from the enemy. The soldiers are currently gathered around the pot, happily waiting to eat dumplings; the atmosphere is very lively."

“Hmm, well done,” Rokossovsky reminded him on the phone, his tone becoming serious. “But you must not let your guard down while you are celebrating the New Year. Holidays are often a good opportunity for the enemy to take advantage of your vulnerability, so be careful to prevent them from launching a surprise attack on you at night.”

"Don't worry, Commander," Sokov said, his voice full of confidence. "We have already arranged enough manpower to serve as sentries at key locations near the base, and we have also increased patrols. Even if there is an enemy attack, they can detect and stop the enemy in time, ensuring everyone's safety."

"Very good, very good!" Rokossovsky said "very good" twice in a row, and then said, "Tomorrow a delegation may visit your brigade's base, so you must do a good job of receiving them."

“Yes, Comrade Commander,” Sokov replied. “I will personally receive the comrades from the delegation.”

(End of this chapter)