pained eyes in such dark blue sockets that she
seemed to be wearing a mask, had only shaken her
head and said the German word she had
presumably practised most: ‘ Tot.’
Edvard must have looked very sorry for himself,
because she had tried to cheer him up by pointing
to a bed where apparently there was another
Norwegian.
‘ Leben,’ she had said with a smile. But her eyes
were still pained.
Edvard didn’t know the man sleeping in the bed,
but when he caught sight of the shiny white leather
jacket hanging over the chair, he knew who it was:
it was the company commander, Lindvig himself,
from Regiment Norge. A legend. And now here he
was. He decided he would spare the men this item
of news.
Another fighter plane roared over their heads.
Where were all these planes suddenly coming
from? Last year the Ivans didn’t appear to have any
left.
He rounded a corner and saw a stooped Hallgrim
Dale standing with his back to him.
‘Dale!’
Dale didn’t move. After a shell had knocked him
unconscious last November, Dale didn’t hear so
well any more. He didn’t talk much either, and he
had the glazed, introverted eyes that men with
shell-shock often had. Dale had complained of
headaches at first, but the medical orderly who had
attended to him said there wasn’t a great deal they
could do; they could only wait and see if he
recovered. The shortage of fighting men was bad
enough without sending healthy ones to the field
hospital, he had said.
Edvard put an arm round Dale’s shoulder. Dale
swivelled round so suddenly and with such force
that Edvard lost his footing on the ice which had
become wet and slippery in the sun. At least it’s a
mild winter, Edvard thought, and he had to laugh
as he lay there on his back, but the laughter died as
he looked up into the barrel of Dale’s rifle.
‘ Passwort! ’ Dale shouted. Over the rifle sights
Edvard saw one wide-open eye.
‘Hey, it’s me, Dale.’
‘ Passwort! ’
‘Move that gun away! It’s me, Edvard, for
Christ’s sake!’
‘ Passwort! ’
‘ Gluthaufen.’
Edvard felt panic rising as he saw Dale’s finger
curling around the trigger. Couldn’t he hear?
‘ Gluthaufen! ’ he shouted with all the power in
his lungs. ‘For Christ’s sake, Gluthaufen.’
‘ Falsch! Ich schieße! ’
My God, the man was insane! In a flash Edvard
realised they had changed the password that
morning. After he had gone to the Northern Sector.
Dale’s finger applied pressure to the trigger, but it
wouldn’t go any further. He had a strange wrinkle
above his eye. Then he released the safety catch
and cocked the gun again. Was this how it was
going to end? After all he had survived, was he
going to die from a bullet fired by a shell-shocked
compatriot. Edvard stared into the black muzzle
and waited for the jet of flame. Would he actually
see it? Jesus Christ. He shifted his gaze past the
rifle, into the blue sky above them where a black
cross was outlined against the sky, a Russian
fighter plane. It was too high up for them to hear.
Then he closed his eyes.
‘ Engelstimme! ’ someone close at hand shouted.
Edvard opened his eyes and saw Dale blink
twice behind the sights. It was Gudbrand. He held
his head beside Dale’s and yelled in his ear.
‘ Engelstimme! ’
Dale lowered the rifle. Then he grinned at Edvard
and nodded. ‘ Engelstimme,’ he repeated.
Edvard closed his eyes again and breathed out.
‘Are there any letters?’ Gudbrand asked.
Edvard struggled to his feet and handed Gudbrand
the pile. Dale still had the grin on his lips, but also
the same vacant eyes. Edvard grabbed hold of
Dale’s gun barrel and stood his face.
‘Is there anyone at home, Dale?’
He had meant to say it in his normal voice, but all
that came out was a rough, husky whisper.
‘He can’t hear,’ Gudbrand said, flicking through
the letters. ‘I wasn’t aware he was so ill,’ Edvard
said, waving a hand in front of Dale’s face.
‘He shouldn’t be here. Here’s a letter from his
family. Show it to him, and then you’ll see what I
mean.’
Edvard took the letter and held it up in front of
Dale’s face, but it evoked no reaction beyond a
fleeting smile. Then he resumed his gaping into
eternity, or whatever it was his gaze had been
attracted by out there.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘He’s had it.’
Gudbrand passed a letter to Edvard. ‘How are
things at home?’ he asked.
‘Oh, you know . . .’ Edvard said, staring at the