A team of SS's etiquette soldiers held guns in both hands, standing in two rows like pine and cypress. Each of them had strict selection criteria for height, and each soldier had the purest Aryan bloodline. They looked the most regular Germanic face, so they looked handsome and upright against the backdrop of the m35 steel helmet.

Between them, people wearing black suits, black SS uniforms, and army gray-green dresses stood in a huge square with their heads down. At the forefront was the tall and thin head of the head, the lonely back.

He just stood so quietly, like a statue standing there, and not far ahead of him was a polished coffin. In this coffin was lying with the Prime Minister of the Empire, the old man Augustus, who was once called the Prime Minister of the Empire.

Arcado stood here, and he remembered that when the cemetery was completed, August had a conversation with him. The old man once said to Arcado: "It is a blessing for them to lie here, because we are still alive, and we can only carry their unfulfilled ideals and continue to move on."

As the highest dictator of this empire, Akado wanted to say to August lying in the coffin: It is indeed a blessing to lie here, but is it a cowardly escape to leave the messy things in this empire to others for carrying them?

He really wanted to rush up, pull the skinny corpse out of the coffin, then grab the collar of the corpse and yelled loudly: "Get up quickly, so many rags are waiting for you to deal with. This empire needs you and me... and I also need you."

...

On the ruins of "My Son" Stalingrad, a woman cried and stretched her hand to her son, and the body lying in a pile of broken steps had no chance to hear her mother's voice again.

Several civilian men and women in ragged clothes pulled the crazy woman hard and prevented her from interfering with the simple funeral. Several kind neighbors were helping to dig a shallow grave to bury the poor child who died in a bad life.

Just a few hours ago, the lively little boy was still making money by wiping leather boots for the German soldiers stationed nearby. Many Ukrainian soldiers and German soldiers had high salaries, and they used chocolate and some canned food to pay the bills, allowing these Soviet civilians who lived in the occupied areas to help, wash clothes or polish shoes.

But now it seems that another shoe shiner with good skills has disappeared in this world. He no longer runs on dangerous positions for his stomach, nor has he had to stay in the corner of the ruins to cover his ears and spend a night of artillery fire. For the people in this city, death seems to be a relief, a wish that is extremely beautiful in addition to making his relatives sad.

"God will be with him, and in a beautiful paradise, he will live a happy and beautiful life." Over there, the guest role of the priest is an old man with a beard, who is the "guardian" appointed by the Germans in the nearby occupation area, a role similar to a manager.

But obviously he does not often do such funerals, so his lines are a bit too dissatisfied. Of course, this is a pretty good funeral. After all, those who die in the city of Stalingrad will not have such a funeral of their own every day.

...

"Shooting" With the shout of the etiquette host, the neat guard of honor raised the steel guns in their hands, as if they were cloned. The soldiers completed the command to raise the gun with the same angle and movement. The sound of clothes rubbing together into a "hula" sound, which was very far away.

The crowd began to get a little restless. Many women in black dresses began to wipe the tears at the corners of their eyes with white handkerchiefs. The officers held their hats and most of them lowered their heads slightly. The whole atmosphere was so sad that it made people shake their heads. The faint crying sound was even more sad.

Mr. August had a very good relationship with the National Defense Force throughout his life, so except for the generals on the eastern front, most of the top generals came to participate in the state funeral. What is more valuable is that the senior SS leaders also regarded the old man as their best friend, so the SS generals attending the funeral looked like they were going out in full swing.

Because Augustus formulated various excellent policies to stabilize the country, these policies revitalized the German economy and allowed the German people to live a good life like never before. So along the way, the civilians in Berlin had a lot of funeral scenes, and the funerals in the cemetery were so large that the living were envious.

The head of state personally held the coffin, the etiquette team of over-standard etiquette, the funeral list of hundreds of people, and even the governor of the British occupied area rushed back. The location of the cemetery where Mr. Augustus was buried was the closest place in the entire cemetery, and everyone knows that the center here is the "position" of the head of state himself.

"Bo" With a neat gunshot, the smell of gunpowder spread. The clergy with a huge silver cross on his chest whispered verses mourning the dead. As a devout Christian, August even consulted the archbishop of Rome for his funeral process. Who would have thought that a phone call from the three scriptures in the middle of the night would cross thousands of kilometers to wake up the most powerful charlatan in the Pope's hall just to ask how to bury a dead person? It is more reasonable to have power to a certain extent, even God must be respected three points.

...

The expressionless middle-aged man stepped on the cold shovel into the rubble and soil with great force, then pried forward hard, digging up a shovel of messy soil. He twisted his body, threw the shovel into the tomb pit, and covered the rag wrapped around the little boy's body.

The sky was gloomy and it seemed like a heavy rain was coming, but no one cared about that, because the Stuka 2 bomber looking for the target to drop bombs in the sky, and the rumbling sound of gunfire and the rolling sound of machine guns in the distant places.

The child's mother was still crying heart-wrenchingly because her man had died in the position a month ago, leaving her and an only son to live a hard life in Stalingrad. She was originally not very friendly to the arrival of the German army, after all, her husband was beaten into a sieve by this group of outsiders.

But life still has to continue. No matter how hard she is, she still has to raise her son, so she ends up doing some slits and rinsing at home. Her young son, like a few children nearby, painted leather shoes for the German occupation army and supplemented the family.

Who knew that the good times would not last long. A shell fired by the Soviets hit her son. There was no sign of the German army nearby, so only a few teenage children died. The civilians nearby were unwilling to let their children expose themselves to the wilderness, so such a simple funeral was held.

In such a hellish city, no one knows whether they will die in the next second. But everyone is still trying to maintain their last trace of decency and insisting on marking the separation between themselves and the beast. Although the people attending the funeral are all ragged, it can be seen that they have sorted out their clothes.

The shovel was thrown over again, and some soil was covered on the child's body. A little bit of soil was splashed on the pale and tender face, which looked very distressing. No one spoke anymore, and the woman's crying sound became even more sharp and pierced the hearts.

...

"He is like my father..." Akado recited the written eulogy manuscript to the microphone in a trembling voice. He did not ask others to modify the eulogy he wrote himself, as sad as if a child mourning his elders.

At the end of the funeral, everyone raised their right hands, and a dense ocean formed in an instant. Although there was no shout of earth-shaking and no familiar slogan, the Great German rituals were still so solemn and so passionate.

...

Two ordinary pieces of wood were tied into crosses and inserted in front of the small tomb. There was no name of the tomb owner or the exquisite wreath. However, everyone knew that this was a cemetery, because behind the cemetery, there were 300 identical purposes, most of which were damaged helmets, including Germans and Soviets.

At the base of the building wall next to it, a group of German soldiers leaned against their backpacks, debris and ammunition boxes, watching the Soviet civilians bury their dead children coldly. Many people talked to each other, but they did not make the jokes of the past. The voices of these soldiers were lowered a little, and their deep eyes were staring at those devout people who seemed to be doing mass.

A young German soldier stood up from the center of a group of German soldiers watching the fun. He should be the grenadier unit of the 14th Armored Army, the main force of the N Group Army. The young man carrying a g43 semi-automatic rifle walked to the Soviets who had just wanted to disperse and called out the silent people in Russian.

"Your son has shined shoes for many of us. We love chatting with him." The young German soldier handed the pocket in his hand to the deceased's mother: "We have some potato flour here, which may not be delicious...but please accept our wishes."

The Germans killed their husbands and the Soviets killed their sons. The woman no longer knew whether she should refuse the enemy's alms. She numbly took the bag and staggered towards the ruins where she lived.
Chapter completed!