The tips of Stuart's fingers had turned a grey-black. He had no doubt his toes were in a similair condition, but he hadn't dare look at them in a long time. He only knew he couldn't feel them in his boots. Stuart stuffed his hands back into the straw filled make-shift mittens and clamped his hands under his armpits, then marched on into the winter wind.
'I'm not gonna make it.'
It was the first time he had spoken since yesterday, and the words billowed past cracked lips.
Jacko trudged beside him, head bowed, and seemed to be huddling into his greatcoat as much as possible. He didn't respond for a moment. It seemed to take a while for the statement to penetrate his cold-fogged mind.
'Don't talk crap, we both will. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. We''ll get there.'
'Where?'
'What?'
'Where? Where are we going? What's going on? We've marched for days now, they don't tell us where we're going or why we're going there.' He almost began to sob, 'Why are they doing this to us?'
Again, Jacko took a moment to reply, as if dragging up the effort to speak into the wind.
'The Russians are behind us. I've heard that they're sweeping into Germany. The krauts are moving all POW's to camps further west, so I hear a guard say. This war could be over soon, Stu, if the krauts don't kill us first.'
Stuart looked at the sky that hung heavily like mottled steel over the snow-sterilised landscape: rolling farm fields that would burst with fertility in the summer, now lay like iron under their bitter mantle.
'They're going to kill us all,' he whispered, staring blankly ahead at the loose column that shambled into the grip of winter.
It stretched for over a mile, thousands of allied prisoners of war, gaunt figures with hollow eyes walking without any cohesion or purpose. There was no order, the gaps between the men increased as some fell behind. Many were ill-prepared, with no warm clothing or proper footwear. The winter haunted the column like a predator, seeking out the weak and un-equipped. Most of these just lay at the roadside and gave up, others lagged far behind and were not seen again. They drifted past the shape of one such victim, lying motionless under a thin coverlet of snow at the roadside. Then Jacko hurried over to the man and started to shake him.
'Joe? Joe! what are you doing man? c'mon get up. Stu...I know this guy, he was in my squadron. Help me here'.
They hauled Joe to his feet. He only seemed half-conscious and murmered, 'just let me sleep' several times.
Jacko wrapped an arm around him, 'I can't do that Joe. Here, have some of this.'
He brought out of a pocket a few pieces of chocolate in a grubby wrapper, and popped a piece in Joe's mouth.
'You've got chocolate?' asked Stuart.
'Yeah, I was saving it until things got really dire. I guess this is the time.'
He gave a piece to a grateful Stuart and slowly placed the last of it into his own mouth. Then he put his other arm around Stuart and they huddled together as they savoured the treat. They stood like a wrecked fleet listing on a reef. Then a voice cut through the snow-padded air.
'Keep moving. Please, keep moving.'
It was the voice of Corporal Berger, the only one of the guards who spoke perfect English. He had sometimes chatted to Stuart about his home life, but that was back at camp, during a time that seemed like an eternity ago.
'Give us a moment will you? We're in bad shape and getting worse.' Replied Jacko.
Berger considered them for a moment, breath steaming. The other guards carried their MP40 machine guns in their hands. Berger's was slung over his shoulder. 'I know this. I can see this. But you have to keep moving. At the rear of the column is the Commandant's car. Any prisoners that fall behind him...well, they march no longer. You see?'
'Ok, Berger, we're moving, ok?'
Berger moved on down the road as the three began to move, Jacko and Stuart almost carrying Joe between them.
Joe began to mumble again, 'Just put me down, let me sleep. You guys can't carry me, and I don't want to go on.'
Stuart spoke, 'He's right, Jacko. I can't carry him. I don't have the strength. He needs to walk himself or we all die.'
Jacko wasn't going to deny this. They stopped and tried to convince Joe to walk.
'He needs food, Jacko, he doesn't have the strength.'
Jacko rasped back, 'Do you think I don't know that? We all need food! How long since any of us ate?'
They stood in silence for a moment. Then Stuart pointed to a stand of trees in a nearby field.
'There,' he croaked.
Jacko looked in the direction he pointed at, 'what?'
'Food, Chestnut and Beech trees. Autumn nuts. There may be...maybe...'
'Are you crazy? Anything that fell will have rotted away weeks ago. Anyway, we have to keep moving.'
Stuart suddenly began to sob. 'I need food, Jacko, so does Joe. I..I won't make it. I need to make it.'
Jacko understood the desperation that their extreme hunger could bring and relented. 'Ok, ok. We'll take a quick look, the end of the column looks to be a long way back.'
They hurried to the stand of trees, almost dragging Joe with them. There they searched through the snow like beasts for whatever they could eat.
They had not been looking long when Berger's voice startled them again. He had followed them and approached unseen through the trees.
'What in hell are you doing? What did I tell you? What are you doing here?' This time, he had his firearm in his hands. They stopped, still crouched in the snow, and looked at him.
Stuart could sense something clenched and imminent about the guard. Something very diferent. Jacko stood and held his hands out before him. 'Berger, look, we're sorry. We just needed food, we weren't trying to escape or anything. We'll die if we don't eat soon. You know this.' His last sentence was meant to echo the guard's ealier apparent understanding.
The guard spoke through gritted teeth, 'Yes, I know this. I also know that the Commandant saw at least one prisoner enter these trees as his car passed. At least one. Who was it?'
'What?' gasped Jacko.
Berger shouted 'Who's idea was this? Who led this group here?'
The four of them stood silent for a moment. Panted breath staining the cold air.
'It was me, Berger. I led them here,' said Jacko.
The corporal didn't hesitate. He levelled the muzzle at Jacko and a harsh clatter sent crows fleeing from the tree-tops.
Berger glared through strained eyes at the two stunned prisoners, 'Don't stop to bury him. Move quickly and stay on the fields. Stay low as you pass the Commandant's car, make sure they or any other guards don't see you. He's moving slowly enough for you to pass him and rejoin the column unnoticed.'
He turned and sprinted off, a whisp of smoke from the MP40 trailing behind him.
They left Jacko in the little stand of trees. They didn't have the energy or the tools to dig into the solid soil, even if they had had the time. The two prisoners moved off, quickly and low. After a short while Joe began to trial behind, then lay down in the snow and didn't move again. Stuart didn't stop. Eventually he rejoined the column safely.
The rest of the day passed in one icy blur where Stuart's tears froze on his sunken cheeks. He hardly noticed the distant thunder of Soviet artillery or recognise the fact that potential saviours were drawing closer. The guards grew more agitated, but as the afternoon wore on, Stuart found Berger walking beside him.
'I see you made it, though I am sorry for your friend,' he said solemnly.
'You're sorry? You bastard, how can you be sorry? Just piss off and leave me.'
They fell silent for a little while, then Berger brought a photo out of his pocket.
'I am not so different from you. Remember you told me about the baby girl you had never seen yet? That you were anxious to get home to? Well, I never told you...it was painful, but I too have a baby girl that I have not seen, except for this.'
He offered the picture to Stuart, who kept his hands in his pockets and glanced at it for a moment: an ecstatic looking, young woman with a baby clutched in her arms. Stuart turned his head away and looked straight on.
Berger offered the photo for a moment longer then withdrew it back to his pocket.
'We lived in a little town,' he continued, 'a beautiful place, me and my wife. The perfect place to raise a family.'
Berger stopped speaking for a moment, then went on, almost in a whisper,
'That town was further east from here, the Russians have overrun it now. My family are...' Berger stopped again, head bowed.
He straightened his back, and turned to Stuart, 'maybe you will live to see your daughter, maybe you will have that chance now. I wish you luck.' Then he quickened his pace and marched on.
The sun began to set, unseen, it's light slowly draining from the massed clouds. The column lurched bit by bit into a field where they were to spend the night. Stuart settled into a scrape in the ground and lay his head down onto the cold earth. He prayed as he drifted off that he would be one of the fortunate that rose from their snow coverings in the morning.
He had only just began to sleep when the ground erupted. Soil was suddenly vomited upwards in huge gouts as artillery shells plunged into the earth around them. The slack shapes of men were flung dozens of feet into the air. Another prisoner jumped into the ditch beside Stuart, his eyes stretched with panic.
The barrage continued relentlessly. Stuart felt fatally prone to the shells that whistled from the sky as the ground bucked beneath him. He clamped his hands over his ears, and screamed.
A German soldier, hand on helmet, dove in with them and pressed himself into the ground, as if trying to burrow into it.
Stuart knew it was Berger. He lay with his back to Stuart, but he knew it was him. He continued to stare at the taut back, the machine gun slung over his shoulder, then noticed the knife in his belt.
He ripped it from its scabbard and plunged it into the Berger's side. The German's scream could just be heard above the explosions as he whipped around on his back, grabbing the knife in Stuart's hand.
He looked into Stuart's eyes, and a moment of recognition came over the German's face. He took his hand from the knife and placed it on Stuart's shoulder. Stuart continued to stab into Bergers belly, as the German gritted his teeth and the destruction of the barrage roared around them.
Soon the German lay still. Stuart cast the knife aside and dropped onto his back, panting. All was still and quiet. the shelling had stopped.
Berger lay as if asleep, peacefully asleep.
The other prisoner in the trench spoke, 'Jesus, I heard that kraut saved your life. The enemy is always the enemy, eh? Man, you are one animal of war, one hardcore, fucking animal of war.'
Stuart nodded slowly, then started to cry.
