metallic. The consistency was thick, probably
because of the cold, Gudbrand thought, and he
opened his eyes again. He couldn’t see Daniel
from the trench. He must have dived behind the
machine gun when he knew that he had been seen,
Gudbrand guessed, but he could feel his heart
racing.
‘Daniel?’
No answer.
‘Daniel?’
Gudbrand got to his feet and crawled out of the
trench. Daniel was on his back with his cartridge
belt under his head and the Russian cap over his
face. The snow was spattered with brandy and
blood. Gudbrand took the cap in his hand. Daniel
was staring with wide eyes up at the starry sky. He
had a large, black, gaping hole in the middle of his
forehead. Gudbrand still had the sweet metallic
taste in his mouth and felt nauseous.
‘Daniel.’
It was barely a whisper between his dry lips.
Gudbrand thought Daniel looked like a little boy
who wanted to draw angels in the snow but had
fallen asleep. With a sob he lurched towards the
siren and pulled the crank handle. As the flares
sank into their hiding places, the piercing wail of
the siren rose towards the heavens.
‘That wasn’t how it was supposed to be,’ was all
Gudbrand managed to say.
oooooooo-OOOOOOOO . . . !
Edvard and the others had come out and stood
behind him. Someone shouted Gudbrand’s name,
but he didn’t hear. He just wound the handle round
and round. In the end Edvard went over and held
the handle. Gudbrand let go, but didn’t turn round;
he remained where he was, staring at the trench
and the sky as the tears froze solid on his cheeks.
The lament of the siren subsided.
‘That wasn’t how it was supposed to be,’ he
whispered.
11
Leningrad. 1 January 1943.
DANIEL ALREADY HAD ICE CRYSTALS UNDER HIS
NOSE AND in the corners of his eyes and mouth
when they carried him away. Often they used to
leave them until they went stiff so they would be
easier to carry, but Daniel was in the way of the
machine gun. So two men had dragged him to a
branch off the main trench where they laid him on
two ammunition boxes kept for burning. Hallgrim
Dale had tied sacking around his head so they
didn’t have to see the death mask with its ugly grin.
Edvard had rung the mass grave in the Northern
Sector and explained where Daniel was. They had
promised to 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