The Redbreast(18)

had got into their bunker. The lice had saved them.

They had lice everywhere, but particularly in

warm places, such as under the arms, under the

belt, around the crotch and ankles. Gud-brand, who

lay nearest to the door, hadn’t been able to sleep

because of what they called louse sores on his legs

– open sores which could be the size of a small

coin, the edges of which were thick with lice

feeding. Gudbrand had taken out his bayonet in a

futile attempt to scrape them away when the

Russian stood in the doorway to let loose with his

gun. Gudbrand had only seen his silhouette, but

knew instantly it was an enemy when he saw the

outline of a Mosin–Nagant rifle being raised. With

just the blunt bayonet Gudbrand had sliced the

Russian’s neck so expertly that he was drained of

blood when they carried him out into the snow

afterwards.

‘Calm down, boys,’ Edvard said, pulling

Gudbrand to one side. ‘You should go and get

some sleep, Gudbrand. You were relieved an hour

ago.’

‘I’ll go out and look for him,’ Gudbrand said.

‘No, you won’t,’ Edvard said.

‘Yes, I will, I —’

‘That’s an order!’ Edvard shook his shoulder.

Gudbrand tried to break free, but the section leader

held him in a tight grip.

Gudbrand’s voice went higher and quivered with

desperation; ‘Perhaps he’s wounded! Perhaps he’s

caught on the barbed wire!’

Edvard patted him on the shoulder. ‘It’ll soon be

light,’ he said. ‘Then we can find out what

happened.’

He shot a quick glance at the others, who had

followed the scene in silence. They began to stamp

their feet in the snow and mutter to each other.

Gudbrand saw Edvard go over to Hallgrim Dale

and whisper a few words in his ear. Dale listened

and glowered at Gudbrand. Gudbrand knew very

well what it meant. It was an order to keep an eye

on him. A while ago now, someone had spread a

rumour that he and Daniel were more than simply

good friends. And that they couldn’t be trusted.

Mosken had asked straight out if they were

planning to desert together. Of course they had

denied this, but Mosken probably thought now that

Daniel had used the opportunity to make a run for

it. And that Gudbrand would ‘look for’ his

comrade as part of the plan to go over to the other

side together. It made Gudbrand laugh. True

enough, dreaming about the wonderful promise of

food, warmth and women the Russian loudspeakers

spewed out over the barren battlefield in

ingratiating German was attractive, but to believe

it?

‘Shall we take a bet on whether he comes back?’

That was Sindre. ‘Three food rations. What do you

say?’

Gudbrand put his arms down by his sides and

could feel the bayonet hanging from the belt inside

his camouflage uniform.

‘ Nicht schießen, bitte! ’

Gudbrand spun round and there, right above his

head, he saw a ruddy face beneath a Russian cap

smiling down at him from the edge of the trench.

Then the man swung down over the edge and

performed a soft Telemark landing on the ice.

‘Daniel!’ Gudbrand shouted.

‘Da da da dum!’ Daniel sang, doffing the Russian

cap. ‘ Dobry vyecher.’ The men stood rooted to the

spot, staring at him. ‘Hey, Edvard,’ Daniel

shouted. ‘You’d better tighten things up with our

Dutch friends. They’ve got at least fifty metres

between the listening posts over there.’

Edvard was as silent and stunned as the others.

‘Did you bury the Russian, Daniel?’ Gudbrand’s

face was shiny with excitement.

‘Bury him?’ Daniel said. ‘I even read the Lord’s

Prayer and sang to him. Are you hard of hearing or

something? I’m sure they heard it on the other

side.’

Then he jumped up on to the top edge of the

trench, sat with his arms raised in the air and began

to sing in a deep, warm voice: ‘A mighty fortress

is our God . . .’

The men cheered and Gudbrand laughed so much

he had tears in his eyes.

‘You devil, Daniel!’ Dale exclaimed. ‘Not

Daniel . . . Call me . . .’ Daniel took off the

Russian cap and read the name on the inside of the

lining. ‘Uriah. He could bloody write as well.

Well, well, but he was still a Bolshevik.’

He jumped down from the edge and looked

around him. ‘No one has any objections to a

common Jewish name, I hope?’

Total silence followed for a moment before the

outburst of laughter came. Then the first of the men

went over to slap him on the back.

10

Leningrad. 31 December 1942.

IT WAS COLD IN THE MACHINE-GUN POST. GUDBRAND