Outside Moscow

“How did you survive in this icy hell, Ernst?”
“The honest answer was luck and plenty of it. The thought of never seeing my homeland again kept me going, and gave me the will to survive. At the beginning of December 1941 we were almost touching Moscow. Myself and my comrade Siegfried Hortmayer were part of a recce patrol (reconnaissance), and when we reached the tram terminus, about 16 kilometres from the city centre, we sat on the wooden bench in the shelter smoking, and gazed in awe at the city, which looked strangely eerie in the stillness of the night. The cloak of silence was occasionally violated by the creaking of wheels from the assault guns, and the hoarse whispers from the ghostly columns in the distance.
I never believed in my wildest dreams that I’d ever get as close to this strange, alluring city, filled with magic, and surrounded by a virgin white mantle of snow, that seemed to go on forever. The experience was bizarre. My ears were tingling and I went into a trance, which engulfed me, as I lapped up this whiter than white mysterious land. I felt alienated, and the feeling of isolation in this enchanting place, arrested me and imbued me with foreboding. I knew then that I should never have invaded its privacy, and intruded on its tranquillity.”
“It seems to me that you were living inside an iceberg, Ernst”
“No, Hans. It was like living inside an iceberg with the top off. Your breathing crystallises and falls on the ground with a soft tinkle, which seems like the whispers from the stars twinkling in the distant Heavens.”
/Leo Hellmann, When the lights went out. pp.102-103/