The Redbreast

12

Leningrad. 2 January 1943.

The trench the four men were standing in was two kilometres north of their own section of the front, at the point where the trench doubled back, almost forming a loop. The captain stood in front of Gudbrand and was stamping his feet. It was snowing and there was already a thin layer of fine snow on the top of the captain's cap. Edvard Mosken stood next to the captain and observed Gudbrand with one eye wide open, the other almost closed.

'So,' the captain said. 'Er ist hinuber zu den Russen geflohen? He's gone over to the Russians, has he?'

'Ja' Gudbrand said.

'Warum?

'Das weifs ich nicht!

The captain gazed into the distance, sucked his teeth and stamped his feet. Then he nodded to Edvard, mumbled a few words to his Rottenfuhrer, the German corporal accompanying him, then they saluted. The snow crunched as they left.

'That was that,' Edvard said. He was still watching Gudbrand.

'Yes,' Gudbrand said.

'Not much of an investigation.'

'No.'

'Who would have thought it?' The one wide-open eye stared lifelessly at Gudbrand.

'Men desert all the time here,' Gudbrand said. 'They can't investigate all of-'

'I mean, who would have thought it of Sindre? Who would have thought he would do something like that?'

'Yes, you could say that,' Gudbrand said.

'On the spur of the moment. Just got up and made a run for it.'

'Right.'

'Shame about the machine gun.' Edvard's voice was cold with sarcasm. 'Yes.'

'And you couldn't call the Dutch guards, either?'

'I shouted, but it was too late. It was dark.'

'The moon was shining.'

They squared up to each other.

'Do you know what I think?' Edvard said.

'No.'

'Yes, you do. I can see it in your face. Why, Gudbrand?'

'I didn't kill him.' Gudbrand's gaze was firmly fixed on Edvard's cyclops eye. 'I tried to talk to him. He didn't want to listen to me. Then he just ran off. What could I have done?'

Both of them were breathing heavily, hunched in the wind which tore at the vapour from their mouths.

'I remember the last time you had the same expression, Gudbrand. That was the night you killed the Russian in the bunker.'

Gudbrand shrugged. Edvard laid an icy mitten on Gudbrand's arm.

'Listen. Sindre was not a good soldier, perhaps he wasn't even a good person, but we're moral individuals and we have to try to maintain a certain standard and dignity in all this. Do you understand?'

'Can I go now?'

Edvard looked at Gudbrand. The rumours about Hitler no longer triumphing on all fronts had begun to reach them now. Nevertheless, the stream of Norwegian volunteers kept growing, and Daniel and Sindre had already been replaced by two boys from Tynset. New young faces the whole time. Some you remembered, some you forgot as soon as they were gone. Daniel was one that Edvard would remember, he knew that. Just as he knew that, before long, Sindre's face would be erased from his memory. Rubbed away. Edvard Junior would be two in a few days. He didn't proceed with this line of thought.

'Yes, go,' he said. 'And keep your head down.'

'Yes, of course,' Gudbrand said. 'I'll be sure to keep my head down.'

'Do you remember what Daniel said?' Edvard asked with a sort of smile. 'He said we walked so much of the time with a stoop that we would be hunchbacks by the time we returned home.'

A machine gun cackled in the distance.