The Redbreast(41)

letter.

Gudbrand didn’t know, because he and Edvard

hadn’t spoken much since last winter. It was odd,

but even here, under these conditions, two people

could easily manage to avoid each other if they

wanted to enough. Not that Gudbrand disliked

Edvard; on the contrary, he respected the Mjøndal

man whom he considered a clever person, a brave

soldier and supportive to the new, young men in

the section. In the autumn they had promoted

Edvard to Scharführer, which corresponded to the

rank of sergeant in the Norwegian army, but his

responsibilities had remained the same. Edvard

joked that he had been promoted because all the

others were dead, so they had a lot of sergeants’

caps left over.

Gudbrand had often thought that in different

circumstances the two of them might have been

good friends. However, events the previous winter

– Sindre’s desertion and the mysterious

reappearance of Daniel’s corpse – had remained

an issue between them.

The dull thud of a distant explosion broke the

silence, followed by the chatter of machine guns.

‘Opposition’s stiffening,’ Gudbrand said, more as

a question than a statement.

‘Yes,’ Edvard said. ‘It’s this damned mild

weather. Our supplies lorries are getting stuck in

the mud.’

‘Will we have to retreat?’

Edvard hunched his shoulders. ‘A few kilometres

perhaps. But we’ll be back.’

Gudbrand shielded his eyes with his hand and

looked towards the south. He had no desire to

come back. He wanted to return home and see if

there was still a life for him there.

‘Have you seen the Norwegian road sign at the

crossing outside the field hospital, the one with the

sun cross?’ he asked. ‘With one arm pointing down

the road to the east, showing: Leningrad five

kilometres?’

Edvard nodded.

‘Do you remember what’s on the arm pointing

west?’

‘Oslo,’ Edvard said. ‘2,611 kilometres.’

‘It’s a long way.’

‘Yes, it is a long way.’

Dale had allowed Edvard to keep the rifle and sat

on the ground with his hands buried in the snow in

front of him. His head hung like a snapped

dandelion between his narrow shoulders. They

heard another explosion, closer this time.

‘Thank you very much for —’

‘Not at all,’ Gudbrand said quickly.

‘I saw Olaf Lindvig in the hospital,’ Edvard said.

He didn’t know why he had said that. Maybe

because Gudbrand was the only person in the

section, apart from Dale, who had been there as

long as he had.

‘Was he . . . ?’

‘Just a minor wound, I believe. I saw his white

uniform.’

‘He’s a good man, I hear.’

‘Yes, we have many good men.’

They stood facing each other in silence.

Edvard coughed and thrust a hand in his pocket. ‘I

got a couple of Russian cigarettes from the

Northern Sector. If you’ve got a light . . .’

Gudbrand nodded, unbuttoned his camouflage

jacket, found his matches and struck one against the

sandpaper. When he looked up, the first thing he

saw was Edvard’s enlarged cyclops eye. It was

staring over his shoulder. Then he heard the whine.

‘Down!’ Edvard shrieked.

The next moment they were lying on the ice and

the sky burst above them with a tearing sound.

Gudbrand caught a glimpse of the rudder of a

Russian fighter plane flying so low over the

trenches that snow whirled up from the ground

beneath. Then they were gone and it was quiet

again.

‘Well, I’m . . .’ Gudbrand whispered.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Edvard groaned, turning on to his

side and smiling at Gudbrand.

‘I could see the pilot. He pulled back the glass

and leaned out of the cockpit. The Ivans have gone

mad.’ He was panting with laughter. ‘This is

turning into a right old day, this is.’

Gudbrand stared at the broken match he still held

in his hand. Then he began to laugh too.

‘Ha, ha,’ Dale went, looking at the other two from

where he sat in the snow at the side of the trench.

‘Hee, hee.’

Gudbrand caught Edvard’s eye and they both

began to roar with laughter. They laughed so much

they were gasping for breath and at first they didn’t

hear the peculiar sound, coming ever closer.

Clink . . . clink . . .

It sounded like someone patiently hitting the ice

with a hoe.

Clink . . .

Then came a sound of metal against metal and

Gudbrand and Edvard turned to see Dale slowly

keel over in the snow.

‘What the hell —’ Gudbrand started to say.

‘Grenade!’ screamed Edvard.