FISCHER AND MÜLLER ran forward to pick him up, dragging him with them into the trees. He was conscious of bullets whipping around them but they made it – the boys pulling him until they came to a stop behind a pile of logs, collapsing into the snow.
At first he thought the roaring in his ears must have been caused by the explosion – but then he realized it was the dam. He peeked over the logs and saw water pouring out of a wide crack in its curved wall and watched the concrete crumble away from the flow, ever larger boulders being pushed out by ever more water.
With a tremendous crash, half of the dam’s rim collapsed forward, a wall of water and ice cascading after it. The noise was incredible. On the other side of the valley he saw the T34s retreating – anti-tank shells exploding around them. Bodies were scattered in the snow on the road and in the fields. He couldn’t tell whether they were Russian or German.
Brandt stood – conscious that the Leutnant was shouting something to him, a smile on his face. But even though the officer was standing no more than a matter of centimetres away from him – he could hear nothing. The noise was like the end of the world.
He imagined the water surging down through the valley, along the river’s course – until it reached the camp. He imagined the water cleansing the valley of the last five years, stripping the earth back to the rock beneath.
‘Time to go,’ he said – but no one could hear him. He had to push the boys into movement.
There was a flash of orange as a tank went up in flames on the other side of the dam. He pushed the youngsters up the slope, deeper into the forest. Away from the bullets and the shells and mess they left behind them. After a hundred metres or so he gathered the boys together, counted them off and checked them over. All accounted for. All in one piece.
The sound of the battle receded as they walked up through the trees.