Oh, how I'm shivering, I do wish it would stop. The sound of my teeth's chattering reverberate around my skull, its dull echoes mixing with the new sounds. I want to hold my head in my hands, but my hands are wrapped tightly around my middle, trying to keep a semblance of warmth.
Actually, I am glad that I am shivering in a way. For to stop shivering would mean I was already passed. That is what happened to that young man who could barely grow a beard. The one with the ginger hair, oh what was his name? I can't remember his name, but I do know that his life stopped when he no longer suffered from the cold. He died in a sleep of hypothermia.
I am now covering my mouth with one hand, because I just let out a moan, I wonder how. I had not planned to. I am embarrassed, surely someone has noticed. Okay, nobody is saying anything. Why did it happen? I'm feeling discomfort somewhere, that must be why.
Well, I am not injured, so that cannot be it. At least I don't remember being injured, I was not shot at. It has been ages since I shot anyone, has it not? So, something must be wrong. I am just moving myself around to stop the numbness in my buttocks.
Ouch, that certainly hurts. It is my left hand that hurts. I just tried to lean on it a little, and it throbs. I have to find out what is wrong. I am robbing it with my right hand to see what it is. Maybe I bruised it and had not realised.
Oh, it is very painful, but I feel nothing in a specific area. It is not the little finger, nor the ring. Not the..., yes the middle one is sore, I cannot really touch it. The index is the same, the thumb not so bad.
I am daring to remove my left glove, although I probably should not. In the failing light, I am slowly pulling the glove off. I do not want to injure it further, or bruise it or whatever that has happened.
This is not good, really not good. The tip of my middle finger is black already, while the tip of my index finger is swollen. I know this, it is frostbite. I imagine they will cut the black bit, but maybe I can save the index. Maybe I cannot save it, or I cannot save myself at all. Maybe I too will stop shivering soon.
Something is in my field of vision, I look at it, my hand still uncovered. It is my buddy, he and I were at school together and called up together, too. He is saying something to me, but I cannot tell exactly what. I have to concentrate on his mouth's movements, while I am also aware that I did not put my glove back on.
Suddenly, I am feeling better, for I do have gloves. This allows me to note better what is being said to me. He is telling me to come and help him make some food. Yes, that will be good. I can warm up by the stove a little.
Before he decides to come closer perhaps, I put my glove on. Okay, here I am at his side, while he is striking a match. He isn't wearing gloves, but his hands are healthy. I am jealous, I look around at the other two by the stove, one peeling potatoes, another occupying himself with something resembling a sausage.
We cannot get good food here, not any more. The sausage looks suspicious, probably old and mouldy. The potatoes are too close to green, but I am not going to complain. These last few days, the fatherland has not supplied us well. Maybe it is a few weeks, but in any case, the air drops are not working well. There are not many coming in, and what they bring is not enough.
I saw Heinz checking the guns of two others who fell before us. I am sure this was only the other day, he did not check them, but their guns. He took what was left in their guns for himself.
I am asked something, but do not know what it was. I have to concentrate harder now, my thoughts have made me drift away.
My buddy, Helmut, is asking me something. I think he wants me to peel the carrots, which are where his finger is pointing at. I do not think we should peel these vegetables, we lose mass from them. But, I am not heading the cooking.
I am holding the first carrot, but precariously given my fingers. I think of when I was younger, my mother preparing dinner. In those days, I did not have much care for anything, I did not ever help her cook. My sisters were there. I preferred to spend my time near Katharina. She was very pretty, and she knew it. Every time she saw me, she made sure to flick her blonde hair around. How that made me melt, and she knew it.
I notice that I am not peeling the carrot, just turning it around in my hand. I make the first cut on it, and think now of my duty to my homeland. I want to protect my pretty blonde from those wishing her ill. I am not sure how, but I am responsible for promoting the third Reich's ideology, for defending myself and buddies against the Soviets surrounding us.
I am in the ultimate line of defence against the Communists. That is right, this is the reason why I have to survive, to stop these Communists dictating Katharina's life. She is great as are we as a nation.
I am not sure actually of what I believe, how true this is. I just know that the lives of my mother, Katharina, my sisters and others at home depend on me successfully peeling this carrot, surviving this winter hole of Stalingrad, and coming out alive one day.
Maybe I will not die of frostbite, maybe we will actually win this battle, I do not know.
Or maybe the sound of artillery is really getting closer, they are brave. They are building and repiring tanks only across the city. On my second carrot now, my shivering has stopped, but I am still alive. A faint smile crosses my face.
The last one was loud, I can smell the smoke now. I am looking over to my right, I see a large shape coming down the street, it is one of their tanks as I thought. I drop my carrot, this time a curse escapes me.