Three matches

Heavy air hung over my head and filled my lungs. The black sky only occasionally flashed with the orange-yellow glow of an explosion. I felt December of that year in my bones like never before. Perhaps it was because I'd spent it in Stalingrad. Accustomed to the warm winters of Bremerhaven, I hadn't expected such a frost. The German army's coats were too thin for this weather. So now, sitting with my head out of the trench, I was shivering like a frightened pig. My watch ended at three, so I was doomed to two more hours of solitary contemplation. I now longed for a warm bed. Although, to be honest, a sleeping bag on the cold ground would have been enough. It provided some warmth, and once I fell asleep, even artillery fire couldn't wake me. It was the end of the month, and rumors circulated that the war was drawing to a close. The Reich was winning. My joy is inexpressible, though uncertain, because no one told us, the rank-and-file soldiers, the truth. I was happy not only to return home, where my beloved, whom I hadn't seen since June, was waiting, but I also couldn't bear to watch cannibalism in the ranks of both armies. Taking up my binoculars, I condemned myself to witnessing behavior I never would have suspected in a human being. City residents, emaciated and blinded by hunger, took to the streets, dragging the bodies of the dead behind them. And although I never saw what they did with them, I knew full well what happened next. We weren't saints either. Shipments from Berlin usually didn't arrive, intercepted by Polish partisans. Goering's airlift had ceased long ago. We were running out of energy, and food, especially in winter, was scarce. I saw my friend, with tears in his eyes, stuffing his empty stomach with raw horse brains. War changes a person forever. But only when you forget that somewhere else a normal life awaits you. God, only the thought of my Gerda kept me from doing all these disgusting things. Black night all around. I was forbidden to use a flash. It could have ended tragically. I so wanted to see her picture. When you're far from someone you love, you can memorize every detail of their face, to the point that even if you went blind, you'd recognize them by touch. Why hasn't anyone ever invented photos that remember scent? With napalm everywhere, I couldn't remember her perfume. Or her laugh. She had a beautiful laugh. Blond hair hid her face. I reached into my pocket. I pulled out a small packet. Matches. If only for a moment, they would allow me to see her face. I lit the first one to see her eyes. Despite the dull photo, they were full of light. It went out. I lit the second one to see her lips. Full, dark, hot. Slowly fading. And then total darkness fell, so I could memorize everything. I believe that soon I will be able to wrap my arms around her. One last time, so that I can see her whole face.

***

The battle's end was increasingly being rumored. Paulus's exhausted Sixth Army had little chance of repelling further attacks. We had the advantage of having adapted to winter. Thick, warm jackets and boots were a big plus for us. We only had to think about food, though not for long. General Konstantin Rokossovsky, as it turned out, had made the right decision not to give food to civilians. More was left for us. I was sitting in the window of a ruined tenement house. The sniper rifle barrel was pointed towards the trenches. I didn't expect to kill anyone. I didn't like shooting at night. I had a kid on my conscience. I thought one of the Krauts was approaching, and I shot. I hit him in the neck. When we found him dead in the morning, a red streak trailed behind him. He must have been dying for half an hour, crawling and whispering for help. That's why I was hesitant to shoot now. But I wouldn't hesitate, today or tomorrow. On a good day, I could do anything for the army. And today I ate half a can of canned food, so it was a great day. I picked up my Nagant and cleaned the sight glass. I looked through it to make sure I could see everything. What the...? I noticed a small light in one of the trenches. What idiot was playing with a lamp on guard duty? It went out. After a moment, it lit up again. But it wasn't a lamp. Maybe a match? It went out again. Light it again, you son of a bitch. He lit it. I remembered his position perfectly. Despite the dim light, I noticed his head sticking above the ground. I closed my eyes. I fired.