send two corpse-bearers at some point during the night. Then Mosken had ordered Sindre out of his sick bed to take the rest of the watch with Gudbrand. The first thing they had to do was clean the spattered machine gun.
‘They’ve bombed Cologne to smithereens,’ Sindre said.
They lay side by side on the edge of the trench, in the narrow hollow where they had a view over no man’s land. Gudbrand didn’t like being so close to Sindre.
‘And Stalingrad is going down the drain.’
Gudbrand couldn’t feel the cold; it was as if his head and body were filled with cotton and nothing bothered him any longer. All he felt was the ice-cold metal burning against his skin and the numb fingers which would not obey. He tried again. The stock and the trigger mechanism already lay on the woollen rug beside him in the snow, but it was harder undoing the final piece. In Sennheim they had been trained to dismantle and reassemble a machine gun blindfold. Sennheim, in beautiful, warm, German Elsass. It was different when you couldn’t feel what your fingers were doing.
‘Haven’t you heard?’ Sindre said. ‘The Russians will get us. Just as they got Gudeson.’
Gudbrand remembered the German Wehrmacht captain who had been so amused when Sindre said he came from a farm on the outskirts of a place called Toten.
‘ Toten. Wie im Totenreich ?’ the captain had laughed.
He lost his grip on the bolt.
‘Fuck it!’ Gudbrand’s voice quivered. ‘It’s all the blood sticking the parts together.’
He placed the top of the little tube of gun oil against the bolt and squeezed. The cold had made the yellowish liquid thick and sluggish; he knew that oil dissolved blood. He had used gun oil when his ear had been inflamed.
Sindre leaned over and fiddled with one of the cartridges.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said. He looked up and grinned, showing the brown stains between his teeth. His pale, unshaven face was so close that Gudbrand could smell the foul breath they all had here after a while. Sindre held up a finger.
‘Who’d have thought Daniel had so much brain, eh?’
Gudbrand turned away.
Sindre studied the tip of his finger. ‘But he didn’t use it much. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come back from no man’s land that night. I heard you talking about going over. Well, you were certainly . . . good friends, you two, weren’t you?’
Gudbrand didn’t hear at first; the words were too distant. Then the echo of them reached him, and he felt the warmth surge back into his body.
‘The Germans are never going to let us retreat,’ Sindre said. ‘We’re going to die here, every man jack of them. You should have hopped it. The Bolsheviks aren’t supposed to be as brutal as Hitler to people like you and Daniel. Such good friends, I mean.’
Gudbrand didn’t answer. He could feel the heat in his fingertips now.
‘We thought of nipping over there tonight,’ Sindre said. ‘Hallgrim Dale and I. Before it was too late.’
He twisted in the snow and eyed Gudbrand.
‘Don’t look so shocked, Johansen,’ he grinned. ‘Why do you think we said we were ill?’
Gudbrand curled his toes in his boots. He could feel them now. They felt warm and good. There was something else too.
‘Do you want to join us, Johansen?’ Sindre asked.
The lice! He was warm, but he couldn’t feel the lice. Even the whistling sound under his helmet had stopped.
‘So it was you who spread the rumours,’ Gudbrand said.
‘Which rumours?’
‘Daniel and I talked about going to America, not over to the Russians. And not now, but after the war.’
Sindre shrugged, looked at his watch and got on to his knees. ‘I’ll shoot you if you try,’ Gudbrand said. ‘With what?’ Sindre asked, gesturing towards the gun parts on the rug. Their rifles were in the bunker and they both knew that Gudbrand wouldn’t be able to get there and back before Sindre had gone.
‘Stay here and die if you want, Johansen. All the best to Dale, and tell him to
‘They’ve bombed Cologne to smithereens,’ Sindre said.
They lay side by side on the edge of the trench, in the narrow hollow where they had a view over no man’s land. Gudbrand didn’t like being so close to Sindre.
‘And Stalingrad is going down the drain.’
Gudbrand couldn’t feel the cold; it was as if his head and body were filled with cotton and nothing bothered him any longer. All he felt was the ice-cold metal burning against his skin and the numb fingers which would not obey. He tried again. The stock and the trigger mechanism already lay on the woollen rug beside him in the snow, but it was harder undoing the final piece. In Sennheim they had been trained to dismantle and reassemble a machine gun blindfold. Sennheim, in beautiful, warm, German Elsass. It was different when you couldn’t feel what your fingers were doing.
‘Haven’t you heard?’ Sindre said. ‘The Russians will get us. Just as they got Gudeson.’
Gudbrand remembered the German Wehrmacht captain who had been so amused when Sindre said he came from a farm on the outskirts of a place called Toten.
‘ Toten. Wie im Totenreich ?’ the captain had laughed.
He lost his grip on the bolt.
‘Fuck it!’ Gudbrand’s voice quivered. ‘It’s all the blood sticking the parts together.’
He placed the top of the little tube of gun oil against the bolt and squeezed. The cold had made the yellowish liquid thick and sluggish; he knew that oil dissolved blood. He had used gun oil when his ear had been inflamed.
Sindre leaned over and fiddled with one of the cartridges.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said. He looked up and grinned, showing the brown stains between his teeth. His pale, unshaven face was so close that Gudbrand could smell the foul breath they all had here after a while. Sindre held up a finger.
‘Who’d have thought Daniel had so much brain, eh?’
Gudbrand turned away.
Sindre studied the tip of his finger. ‘But he didn’t use it much. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come back from no man’s land that night. I heard you talking about going over. Well, you were certainly . . . good friends, you two, weren’t you?’
Gudbrand didn’t hear at first; the words were too distant. Then the echo of them reached him, and he felt the warmth surge back into his body.
‘The Germans are never going to let us retreat,’ Sindre said. ‘We’re going to die here, every man jack of them. You should have hopped it. The Bolsheviks aren’t supposed to be as brutal as Hitler to people like you and Daniel. Such good friends, I mean.’
Gudbrand didn’t answer. He could feel the heat in his fingertips now.
‘We thought of nipping over there tonight,’ Sindre said. ‘Hallgrim Dale and I. Before it was too late.’
He twisted in the snow and eyed Gudbrand.
‘Don’t look so shocked, Johansen,’ he grinned. ‘Why do you think we said we were ill?’
Gudbrand curled his toes in his boots. He could feel them now. They felt warm and good. There was something else too.
‘Do you want to join us, Johansen?’ Sindre asked.
The lice! He was warm, but he couldn’t feel the lice. Even the whistling sound under his helmet had stopped.
‘So it was you who spread the rumours,’ Gudbrand said.
‘Which rumours?’
‘Daniel and I talked about going to America, not over to the Russians. And not now, but after the war.’
Sindre shrugged, looked at his watch and got on to his knees. ‘I’ll shoot you if you try,’ Gudbrand said. ‘With what?’ Sindre asked, gesturing towards the gun parts on the rug. Their rifles were in the bunker and they both knew that Gudbrand wouldn’t be able to get there and back before Sindre had gone.
‘Stay here and die if you want, Johansen. All the best to Dale, and tell him to
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