Forgotten Soldier by Guy Sajer

answered, staring into the distance.
    For the first time I was strongly impressed by the dismal vastness of Russia. I felt quite distinctly that the huge, heavy gray horizon was closing in around us, and shivered more violently than ever. Three quarters of an hour later, we were rolling through the ravaged outskirts of Kharkov. We couldn't see very much by our dim headlights but everything that appeared in the path of the light was damaged.
    The next day, after one more night on the floor of the Renault, I was able to look at the chaos which was all that remained of Kharkov, a city of considerable importance, despite the devastation of war.
    During the years 1941, 1942, and 1943 it was taken by our army, retaken by the Russians, taken back by the Germans, and then finally retaken by the Russians. At this particular moment, our troops were holding it for the first time. But the town looked like a jumble of burnt-out wreckage. Acres of total destruction had been used as dumps for the piles of wrecked machinery of every kind which the occupying troops had collected in their efforts to clear the roads. This mass of twisted, torn metal reflected the ferocious violence of the battle. It was all too easy to imagine the fate of the combatants. Now, motionless beneath the shroud of snow which only partially covered them, these steel cadavers marked a stage of the war: the battles of Kharkov.
    The Wehrmacht had organized itself in the few sections of the city which were more or less standing. The sanitary service, ingeniously installed in a large building, was a bath of rejuvenation for us. When we were clean we were taken to a series of cellar rooms which made up a large basement filled with every conceivable kind of bed. We were advised to try to sleep, and despite the hour-it was the middle of the afternoon we almost all fell into leaden unconsciousness. We were wakened by a sergeant, who led us to the canteen. There I found Hals, Lensen, and Olensheim. We talked about everything; particularly about the fall of Stalingrad.
    Hals maintained that it wasn't possible: "The Sixth Army! My God! They couldn't be beaten by the Soviets!"
    "But since the communiqué said they were surrounded, that they didn't have anything more to fight with, what else could they do? They were forced to surrender."
    "Well, then we'll have to try and rescue them," someone else said.
    "It's too late," remarked one of the older men.
    "It's all over...... "Shit, shit, shit!" Hals clenched his fists. "I just can't believe it!"

If for some the fall of Stalingrad was a staggering blow, for others it provoked a spirit of revenge which rekindled faltering spirits. In our group, given the wide range of ages, opinion was divided. The older men were, generally speaking, defeatist, while the younger ones were determined to liberate their comrades. We were walking back to our dormitory when a fight broke out for which I was mainly responsible.
    The fellow with the broken knee, my companion in that damned Renault, had just fallen into step with me.
    "Well, you must be pleased," he said. "It sounds as if we'll be going back tomorrow."
    I could see a certain irony on his face, and felt myself turning red with anger.
    "That's enough from you," I shouted. "I hope you're satisfied. We're going back, and it's at least partly your fault if my uncle is dead in Stalingrad."
    He turned pale.
    "Who told you he's dead?"
    "If he's not dead that's even worse,"
    I went on shouting. "You're nothing but a coward. It's you who told me we ought to leave them to their fate."
    My companion was astonished, and looked around for reactions. Then he grabbed my collar. "Shut up!" he ordered, lifting his fist.
    I kicked him in the shin. He was going to hit me when Hals grabbed his arm.
    "That's enough," he said calmly. "Stop it, or you'll get yourselves thrown in jail."
    "So. You're another young fellow who wants what's coming to him?"
    My antagonist was now carried away with rage. "I'm going to give