The Redbreast(17)

the fuck are you doing, man!’ That was Edvard

Mosken, the leader of their section, shouting. The

calm soldier from Mjøndøl seldom raised his

voice with veterans like Daniel, Sindre and

Gudbrand in the unit. It was usually the new

arrivals who received a bawling out when they

made mistakes. The earful they got saved many of

their lives. Now Edvard Mosken was staring up at

Daniel with the one wide-open eye that he never

closed. Not even when he slept. Gudbrand had

seen that for himself.

‘Get under cover, Gudeson,’ the section leader

said.

But Daniel simply smiled and the next moment he

was gone; the frost smoke from his mouth was left

hanging over them for a tiny second. Then the flare

behind the horizon sank and it was dark again.

‘Gudeson!’ Edvard shouted, clambering out of the

trench. ‘For fuck’s sake!’

‘Can you see him?’ Gudbrand asked.

‘Vanished.’

‘What did the nutter want with the spade?’ Sindre

asked, looking at Gudbrand.

‘Don’t know,’ Gudbrand said. ‘To shift barbed

wire maybe?’

‘Why would he want to shift barbed wire?’

‘Don’t know.’ Gudbrand didn’t like Sindre’s

wild eyes. They reminded him of another country

boy who had been there. He had gone crazy in the

end, pissed in his shoes one night before going on

duty and all his toes had had to be amputated

afterwards. But he was back home in Norway now,

so maybe he hadn’t been so crazy after all. At any

rate, he’d had the same wild eyes.

‘Perhaps he’s going for a walk in no man’s land,’

Gudbrand said. ‘I know what’s on the other side of

the barbed wire. I wonder what he’s doing there.’

‘Perhaps the shell hit him on the head,’ Hallgrim

Dale said. ‘Perhaps he’s gone ga-ga.’

Hallgrim was the youngest in the section, only

eighteen years old. No one really knew why he had

enlisted. Adventure, Gudbrand thought. Dale

maintained that he admired Hitler, but he knew

nothing about politics. Daniel thought that he had

left a girl in the family way.

‘If the Russian is still alive, Gudeson will be shot

before he gets fifty metres,’ Edvard Mosken said.

‘Daniel got him,’ Gudbrand whispered.

‘In that case one of the others will shoot

Gudeson,’ Edvard said, sticking his hand inside his

camouflage jacket and pulling out a thin cigarette

from his breast pocket. ‘It’s crawling with them out

there tonight.’

He held the match in a cupped hand as he struck it

hard against the crude matchbox. The sulphur

ignited at second attempt and Edvard lit his

cigarette, took a drag and passed it round without

saying a word. All the men inhaled slowly and

passed the cigarette on to their neigh-bour. No one

said a word; they all seemed to have sunk into their

own thoughts. But Gudbrand knew that, like him,

they were listening.

Ten minutes passed without a sound. ‘They say

planes are going to bomb Lake Ladoga,’ Hallgrim

Dale said.

They had all heard the rumours about the

Russians fleeing from Leningrad across the frozen

lake. What was worse, though, was that the ice

also meant that General Tsjukov could get supplies

into the besieged town.

‘They’re supposed to be fainting in the streets

from hunger over there,’ Dale said, indicating the

east.

But Gudbrand had been hearing that ever since he

had been sent there, almost a year ago, and still

they were out there shooting at you as soon as you

stuck your head out of the trench. Last winter the

Russian deserters – who’d had enough and chose

to change sides for a little food and warmth – had

come over to the trenches with their hands behind

their heads. But the deserters were few and far

between now, and the two hollow-eyed soldiers

Gudbrand had seen coming over last week had

looked at them in disbelief when they saw that the

Norwegians were just as skinny as they were.

‘Twenty minutes. He’s not coming back,’ Sindre

said. ‘He’s had it. A goner.’

‘Shut it!’ Gudbrand took a step towards Sindre,

who immediately stood up. Even though Sindre

was a good head taller, it was obvious that he had

no stomach for a fight. He probably remembered

the Russian Gudbrand had killed some months ago.

Who would have thought that nice, gentle

Gudbrand had such ferocity in him? The Russian

had sneaked unseen into their trench between two

listening posts and had slaughtered all those

sleeping in the two nearest bunkers, one full of

Dutch soldiers and the other Australians, before he