The Redbreast(40)

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