JÄGER WAS RIGHT. He didn’t last long. Brandt held the SS man’s hand and listened to the blood bubbling in Jäger’s throat each time he breathed. Jäger gave a slight cough when he finally passed, his hand going limp in Brandt’s grip.
Brandt stood up, his body stiff, and whispered a prayer for the dead – not that any of them except poor Ernst deserved it. Certainly not Jäger. He was shivering with cold now and very tired. He was almost grateful for the injury to his ear – the pain from its chafing against his helmet’s chinstrap was keeping him alert. He started walking, hoping it would warm him up, but by the time he made his way back along the path to the open fields, the snow was coming down thick and fast – the wind picking up so that it swirled around him. It was close to a blizzard now and there were no lights to be seen. Soon he realized he had no idea where he was. Still, if he kept heading downhill he should, with luck, reach the reservoir – and when he reached the reservoir, he’d have reached the road to the village. If he reached the road, then there was a good chance someone would find him – it wasn’t even that late – dark as it was. There would still be people travelling, even in this weather.
After a certain point, he realized that the world around him had become less tangible. His legs appeared to know where they were going but he wasn’t sure how. In his mind’s eye, he kept seeing Peichl’s face lit by the muzzle flash, the sly, malevolent expression. He wondered where Peichl had come from – what he’d done before the war. What decisions had led him to the clearing and his appointment with Brandt’s bullet?
Every now and then he had to climb over a fence or a wall, but where or when he couldn’t be sure. Then he found himself on an endless flat field, which in a moment of clarity he realized must be the reservoir. Beyond it, through the snow, he could see a flickering light. He climbed towards it, clambering over still more fences and walls that blocked his path. He was exhausted now and he hoped the light was real. It seemed to come in and out of focus, sometimes disappearing from sight altogether. And then, to his surprise, he was standing in front of the hut’s main gate, swaying as a searchlight was pointed at him. Falling forward.
When his helmet hit the metal gatepost, it sounded like a hammer hitting a cracked bell.