War Photographer's Notebook

Chapter 1751 The Answer in the Internationale

Over Carabanchel, after pouring out all their bullets and bombs, the planes turned around and left, leaving behind one or two burning crashed planes and collapsed buildings, as well as a large number of wailing wounded and the bodies of internationalist fighters who had resisted until their death.

"I'll take you to the house assigned to you first, and then I'll go help transport the wounded."

Sergey said, already running out of the wreckage of the building and lifting his bike up.

"Let's rescue the wounded first," Yu Yanlin said proactively.

"Okay, after we send all the wounded to the field hospital, we will gather at this intersection. You wait for me, or I wait for you."

Sergey said as he got on the bike and pointed in a direction, "The field hospital is in that direction."

"See you later," said Yu Yanlin as he picked up his bicycle.

"See you later"

Wei Ran also picked up his bicycle and got on it, randomly chose a direction and started pedaling.

In the blink of an eye, the three of them "parted ways" and each rode their bicycles to engage in the intense work of transporting the wounded.

During the repeated trips back and forth, the front line seemed to have come into contact with the enemy again, but the battle did not last long and the gunfire became sparse.

Seeing this, Wei Ran simply did not join in the fun and continued riding his bicycle, transporting various seriously injured soldiers to the field hospital, or sending doctors to the places where they were most needed.

"Comrade, send me to the front line!"

Just when Wei Ran was sending the fourth wounded soldier to a field hospital converted from a church, a tall man who looked to be in his forties came over with two slices of bread in his hands and two hard cowhide medical bags slung over his shoulders, speaking hurriedly in broken French with a Russian tongue-twisting accent.

"Soviet?"

Wei Ran switched to Russian and asked, "Get in the car."

"You can speak Russian?!" the man asked in surprise. "Thank you, Comrade Lenin. I finally met a comrade who can speak Russian."

"Comrade Lenin will bless you"

Wei Ran waited for the other person to sit on the back of the bicycle, then immediately pedaled hard and asked, "My name is Victor, what's your name?"

"Joseph, just call me Joseph." The Soviet medic riding on the back seat said, "I'm from Minsk, and you? Comrade Victor, are you from the Soviet Union?"

"I am Chinese," Wei Ran replied.

"You speak Russian very well," Joseph praised.

"Thank you. I appreciate the compliment"

Wei Ran said as he rode his bicycle towards the front line, "Why did you think of going to the front line just now?"

“Because I got here.”

Joseph said, "I only had time to store my luggage in the field hospital, then changed two first aid kits and ran out, and then I met you. I was lucky. I didn't expect to meet someone who could speak Russian so easily."

“You are really lucky.”

Wei Ran said, and handed the Spanish box gun on his waist to his back, "Take it for self-defense, the front line is not very safe."

"Thank you, but I have a weapon."

As he spoke, Joseph pulled out a Nagant revolver from his waist that was blocked by the medical kit and shook it at Wei Ran's side.

Seeing this, Wei Ran put the box gun he picked up back on his belt.

"How's the battle situation here?" Joseph asked, also putting away his gun.

"The other side just started a street fight here yesterday."

Wei Ran answered truthfully, "Our enemies are not very good at street fighting, but they have advantages in artillery and aircraft, and the main danger comes from these."

"Are there any other Soviets here?" Joseph asked.

"It is said that there was a translator who was from the Soviet Union, but I have never met him."

Wei Ran replied, "What about you? Which battalion are you in? Aren't there any Soviets in your battalion?"

"I knew only a few words of French, so I was assigned to the Dabrowski Camp"

Joseph's tone was full of disgust. "But I don't want to work with those Polish bugs, so I applied to come here directly."

Hearing this, Wei Ran shook his head in a helpless manner. He had never expected that there was a chain of contempt among these “most romantic people”.

"Joseph, haven't you eaten yet?" Wei Ran took the initiative to change the subject.

“I came too hastily”

Joseph said, stuffing the last piece of bread in his hand into his mouth, chewing and explaining, "But just now the hospital gave me two slices of bread, an orange and a boiled potato."

When the topic came to this point, Wei Ran also stepped on the brakes and stopped near a barricade full of wounded people.

"Thank you, Victor, for not letting me see you on the operating table." Joseph said as he stepped out of the car seat.

"thank you for your good wishes"

As Wei Ran spoke, he opened the backpack he was carrying that once belonged to Viola, "Also, wait a minute, I'll give you some gifts."

"What gift?" Joseph stopped and asked curiously.

"Take this"

Wei Ran took out the can of beef that Clemont had given them before they parted and handed it to the other party, "It's canned beef. At least it can fill your stomach."

"Thank you"

Joseph happily accepted the gift, then ran towards the barricade not far away without hesitation, allowing Wei Ran to press the shutter towards his back.

“I hope you survive too.”

Wei Ran put away his camera with a sigh, turned the bike around by picking up the handlebars, then asked the people beside him to put a wounded soldier on the back seat, and pedaled again towards the field hospital.

During these trips back and forth, the wounded were gradually treated, the bodies were buried in a centralized location, and the enemies who tried to attack this position were once again repelled.

When Wei Ran rode his bicycle back to the intersection, Yu Yanlin just happened to ride over from the direction of the field hospital. A moment later, Sergey also rode over on his bike.

"Come with me, I will take you to the post office assigned to you."

Sergey, his hands covered in blood, waved a greeting and rode his bicycle towards them along the street in another direction.

Not long after, the car stopped next to a two-story building that had collapsed more than half.

Only half of the first floor of the building remained intact, and the doors and windows had been sealed with bricks, wooden boards and blankets. On the wall, the words "Battlefield Post Office" were written in various languages, and in the middle of these words hung a simple mailbox made from an ammunition box.

“This is it”

Sergey said, "We sort the letters we get from the post office here, classify them according to the different companies, and then deliver them at the right time. I will help you collect the letters from the other mailboxes nearby. In addition, there are some translation jobs that are also for postmen."

“Let’s go in and have a look”

Yu Yanlin said as he was the first to get out of the car, carrying the mailbag and walking in. The room assigned to them was not very big, and one of the walls even had a hole that was big enough for someone to get out easily.

Inside the room, besides the only bed and a sofa, there was also a table, two chairs and a fireplace next to the damaged area.

“Let’s get to work now.”

As Yu Yanlin spoke, he placed the mailbag in his hand on the table and took out all the letters and a few packages inside.

"I'll get you some food."

Sergey stood at the door and said, "I'll take you to familiarize yourself with the various positions nearby."

"Okay, then I'll trouble you."

As Wei Ran spoke, he also sat on the chair beside the table and started sorting the letters taken out of the parcel together with Yu Yanlin who was sitting opposite him.

The task was simple. All that was required was to sort the envelopes according to the addresses on them. The only trouble was that the addresses and the names of the recipients were written in various languages.

After carefully sorting the letters into different categories, Yu Yanlin and Wei Ran sighed at the same time, and then looked at each other. They didn't find even one envelope with Chinese characters written on it among the letters.

"Brother Wei"

Holding a letter written in English, Yu Yanlin asked, "Do you think that after we drive away the Faxusi here, will there be so many people going to China to help us drive away the Faxusi?"

"What do you want to say?"

Wei Ran leaned back in his chair, lit a cigarette and asked, then casually pushed the cigarette box and matchbox to the other party.

"Go over there and smoke"

Yu Yanlin took a cigarette box and matches, walked to the sofa next to the fireplace, sat down, lit a cigarette and said, "I don't know what I want to say. I always can't help but wonder how many internationalist fighters will be willing to go to China and fight against the French with us."

"How many do you think there will be?" Wei Ran asked, looking at the ceiling above his head.

"Why not a brigade?"

Yu Yanlin sighed when he said this, "It sounds like a lot, but how can it be enough?"

"yes."

Wei Ran sighed, and then asked casually, "What if... I mean, what if there are not so many people helping us? What if we fail here?"

"No, no. Failure means failure."

Yu Yanlin didn't even think about it, and said as a matter of course, "And we didn't fail, we came here, we repelled the enemy's attack, and we killed so many Faxusi, which itself is meaningful.

Even if the French finally occupy Madrid, there will always be people who remember what we have done and choose to follow our footsteps and continue to resist the rule of the French. "

At this point, Yu Yanlin looked at Wei Ran, who was leaning against the sofa with his arms folded and smoking, and said confidently and calmly, "As for the assumption that there are no internationalist fighters willing to go to China to help us resist the invasion of the French, I am not worried."

"I want to hear your opinion," Wei Ran turned around and said.

“We have 400 million compatriots”

Yu Yanlin said, "Even if there are no internationalist fighters willing to go to China, we should find a way to turn all of our 400 million compatriots into internationalist fighters and communist fighters."

Seeing Wei Ran staring at him blankly without saying anything, Yu Yanlin smiled and continued, "In fact, the answer has already been given in the Internationale."

"What. What answer?" Wei Ran asked knowingly.

Yu Yanlin waved his hands to disperse the smoke around him, cleared his throat and sang:

“There has never been a savior, and we don’t rely on gods or emperors.

To create human happiness, it all depends on ourselves.

We must take back the fruits of our labor and let our thoughts break free from their cages!"

"Yes, the Internationale has already given the answer."

Wei Ran smiled, flicked the cigarette butt into the fireplace, then took out the harmonica under the cover of his pocket and started playing the Internationale from the beginning.

"Arise, you hungry and cold slaves.

Arise, you wretches of the world!

"

Accompanied by harmonica music, Yu Yanlin sang the empowering Internationale from the beginning.

Halfway through, a blond, blue-eyed foreigner with a camera hanging on his chest stopped outside the broken wall. He first pressed the shutter at them from outside the broken wall, then sat directly on the broken wall and sang loudly in English.

Almost at the same time, Sergey came in with a basket of food and joined the chorus. The young man who looked like an American also raised his camera towards them while singing in English.

When a song was over, the person who sang in English was the first to applaud enthusiastically, then switched to French and asked, "You play the harmonica very well, what should I call you?"

"Victor, or the Chinese name Wei Ran." Wei Ran put away his harmonica and answered in English, "What should I call you?"

"Your English is as good as your harmonica, but I'll just call you Victor."

The tall and thin young man enthusiastically shook hands with Wei Ran, Yu Yanlin and Sergei one by one, and introduced himself in French, "My name is Aaron, I'm a photographer from the United States. Are you postmen?"

"Yes, please take a seat."

Wei Ran invited the other party to sit down, "Would you like to have lunch together?"

“It’s a great honor”

Aaron was not polite at all. As he sat down, he asked, "I know the postman here. I remember it was a postman named Viola."

“She’s already died.”

Sergey took off his helmet and placed it on the table. "The barricade she was in charge of was bombarded last night. She didn't survive."

Hearing this, Aaron was stunned for a moment, then he crossed himself devoutly and said with regret, "I took a photo of her and her husband Bruno the morning before yesterday."

"Her husband also died." Yu Yanlin said.

"Yes?"

Aaron sighed and moved his eyes to the helmet. "I already guessed it. I guessed it when I saw the helmet."

"Have you been here for a long time?" Wei Ran asked while handing the other party a piece of bread.

“This is the fourth day.”

Aaron took the bread and said, "I watched with my own eyes as this community turned into ruins, and I watched with my own eyes as soldiers and comrades became wounded or dead."

"Did you record them?" Wei Ran asked, pointing at the Leica hanging on the other person's chest.

"Of course!"

Aaron nodded. "I took pictures of everything. I took pictures of everything I could. Mailmen, can I interview you? Although I'm just a photographer, not a reporter."

"Of course." Wei Ran, Yu Yanlin and Sergey gave the same answer in unison.