crater landscape here. Yes, there was because the
others were shooting. Crack, bang, swish. Every
fifth bullet went off in a parabola, like a firefly.
Tracer fire. The bullet tore off into the dark, but it
seemed suddenly to tire because its velocity
decreased and then it sank somewhere out there.
That was what it looked like at any rate. Gudbrand
thought it impossible for such a slow bullet to kill
anyone.
‘He’s getting away!’ yelled an embittered, hate-
filled voice. It was Sindre Fauke. His face almost
merged with his camouflage uniform and the small,
close-set eyes stared out into the dark. He came
from a remote farm high up in the Gudbrandsdalen
region, probably some narrow enclave where the
sun didn’t shine since he was so pale. Gudbrand
didn’t know why Sindre had volunteered to fight
on the Eastern Front, but he had heard that his
parents and both brothers had joined the fascist
Nasjonal Samling Party, and that they went around
wearing bands on their arms and reporting fellow
villagers they suspected of being partisans. Daniel
said that one day the informers and all those who
exploited the war for their own advantage would
get a taste of the whip.
‘No, he’s not,’ Daniel said in a low voice, his
chin against his gun. ‘No bloody Bolshevik gets
away.’
‘He knows we’ve seen him,’ Sindre said. ‘He’ll
get into that hollow down there.’
‘No, he won’t,’ Daniel said and took aim.
Gudbrand stared out into the grey-white dark.
White snow, white camouflage uniforms, white
fire. The skies are lit up again. All sorts of
shadows flit across the crust of the snow.
Gudbrand stared up again. Yellow and red flashes
on the horizon, followed by several distant
rumbles. It was as unreal as being at the cinema,
except that it was thirty degrees below and there
was no one to put your arm around. Perhaps it
really was an offensive this time?
‘You’re too slow, Gudeson. He’s gone.’ Sindre
spat in the snow.
‘No, he hasn’t,’ Daniel said even quieter and took
aim, and then again. Almost no frost smoke was
coming out of his mouth any longer.
Then, a high-pitched, screaming whistle, a
warning scream, and Gudbrand threw himself into
the ice-covered bottom of the trench, with both
hands over his head. The ground shook. It rained
frozen brown clumps of earth; one hit Gudbrand’s
helmet and he watched it slide off in front of him.
He waited until he was sure there was no more to
come, then shoved his helmet back on. It had gone
quiet and a fine white veil of snow particles stuck
to his face. They say you never hear the shell that
hits you, but Gudbrand had seen the result of
enough whistling shells to know this wasn’t true. A
flare lit up the trench; he saw the others’ white
faces and their shadows as they scrambled towards
him, keeping to the side of the trench and their
heads well down, as the light gradually faded. But
where was Daniel? Daniel!
‘Daniel!’
‘Got ’im,’ Daniel said, still lying on the edge of
the trench. Gudbrand couldn’t believe his own
ears.
‘What did you say?’
Daniel slid down into the trench and shook off the
snow and earth. He had a broad grin on his face.
‘No Russian arsehole will be able to shoot at our
watch tonight. Tormod is avenged.’ He dug his
heels into the edge of the trench so he didn’t slip
on the ice.
‘Is he fuck!’ That was Sindre. ‘You didn’t fucking
hit him, Gudeson. I saw the Russian disappear
down into the hollow.’
His small eyes jumped from one man to the next,
as if to ask whether any of them believed Daniel’s
boast.
‘Correct,’ Daniel said. ‘But it’ll be light in two
hours and he knew he’d have to be out before
then.’
‘That’s right, and so he tried it a bit too soon,’
Gudbrand added smartly. ‘He popped up on the
other side. Isn’t that right, Daniel?’
‘Too soon or not,’ Daniel smiled, ‘I would have
got him anyway.’ Sindre hissed: ‘Just shut that big
gob of yours, Gudeson.’
Daniel shrugged, checked the chamber and
cocked his gun. Then he turned, hung the gun over
his shoulder, kicked a boot into the frozen side of
the trench and swung himself up over the top.
‘Give me your spade, will you, Gudbrand.’
Daniel took the spade and straightened up to his
full height. In his white winter uniform he was
outlined against the black sky and the flare, which
hung like an aura of light over his head.
He looks like an angel, Gudbrand thought. ‘What