As they waited for the next assault, Klaus checked his MG42. They could hear gunfire from the adjacent bunker.

“Amateurs,” Klaus scoffed. “The Americans aren’t close enough yet. They’re wasting ammo.”

“Hmm,” Gunther replied.

Each man doffed his jacket, folded it neatly, and placed it under his cot. The icy air assaulted them. Their breath puffed out in tiny clouds.

Gunther took his position behind Klaus, his binoculars pressed against his goggles. He carefully espied the winter landscape through the bunker slit. Klaus kept his gun centered on its tripod.

Abruptly, Gunther asked, “Do you remember that last night in Berlin—when we went to the party?”

Klaus frowned. “The party? Yes, I remember. What about it?”

Gunther studied the oncoming troops. They were trying to slip through on the right.

“You and Gertrude,” Gunther replied. “You were dancing. One minute, you were dancing, and the next minute, you were gone. Right!”

Klaus swung the weapon to the right and fired for several seconds.

“That will hold them for a minute. So? The dance hall was loud and smoky. We went out for some fresh air.”

“For the rest of the night?”

“No, we came back.”

“I didn’t see you after that. Left!”

Klaus switched over to the left and fired. He held the trigger down a bit longer this time.

“Now you are wasting ammo,” Gunther chided.

“Nonsense! I hit some of them, didn’t you see?”

For a few moments, neither man said anything. Gunther finally spoke:

“I know you didn’t come back, Klaus. You and Gertrude never came back.”

“Bah! That was months ago. Why bring it up now of all…?”

“Center!”

More rounds pounded out of the machine gun. The vibrations made dust motes flutter down from the ceiling and mix with the acrid gun smoke. Light reflecting from the snow cast a gray light through the concoction.

“Reload!” Klaus announced. With practiced efficiency, he opened the gun and pulled out the spent belt. Gunther moved in unison and inserted a fresh belt.

“One belt left,” Gunther announced.

“One belt left,” Klaus acknowledged. He closed the chamber and flipped off the safety. Gunther returned to his position.

The heat from the machine gun had tamped down the cold—not enough to make it comfortable, but at least the chill was less onerous.

The chorus of weapons from the other bunkers was rising in volume.

“She’s my twin sister,” Gunther said, his voice straining over the cacophony. “That makes it my business. Left and center!”

Klaus fired several more rounds, then paused.

“No, actually, it doesn’t…”

“She sent me a letter,” Gunther continued. “She needed money.”

“That…doesn’t surprise me. It’s hard there now…”

“No, Klaus, not for…She needed money to take care of it.”

“Eh? To take care of what?”

“What do you think, Klaus? All sides!”

Klaus resumed firing, but in quick bursts only. The loaded side of the belt was getting shorter as it clattered against the concrete floor.

Klaus finally ceased fire. The bunker now was very warm.

“You’re saying…?”

“Yes, dummkopf, I’m saying. Be on the lookout for grenades.”

“Grenades? At this distance?”

“Baseball. American boys learn to throw projectiles 30 meters before they get out of middle school. Left and right!”

Klaus held down the trigger until he emptied the belt. He bellowed, “Reload!” and Gunther complied.

“Last belt!” Gunther shouted.

“Last belt!” Klaus shouted back.

Gunfire from the other bunkers was deafening now. It didn’t matter. There was no need for Gunther to call out targets anymore. Klaus held the trigger down and turned the weapon back and forth for a full minute. Waves of heat streamed off the gun.

Suddenly, a volley of bullets pinged off the outside of the bunker. The soldiers ducked.

If a bullet ricocheted inside the bunker, ducking would be of little use.

Without raising his head, Klaus fired blindly, hoping to force back the enemy. To their surprise, the fusillade abated for a moment. They quickly resumed their stations.

The belt was almost empty. They gasped in the smoky air. It was very hot now and very loud.

After a few moments, Klaus spoke. He had to yell:

“She told you that I’m…!?”

“No!” Gunther cried out, “No. She wouldn’t say…!”

Klaus gripped the handles of the machine gun.

“I didn’t know!”

“She didn’t want you to know,” Gunther replied. He didn’t bother to raise his voice.

Klaus nodded. “Just like her. I hope she’ll be…”

“Left, grenade!!!”

Klaus pivoted the weapon and fired. The last bullet killed Private First Class Gary Rothenstein from Cincinnati, Ohio.

In his final act, Private Rothenstein lobbed a grenade 33 meters through the bunker slit. It flew in the left side, bounced off the back wall, hit the floor, and spun around like a top.

Klaus whispered, “Gertrude.”