A canopy of conifers had sheltered the sleeping Dante, but now a morning wind moved the branches and a blanket of snow fell on him, and startled, he shot up. Birdsong; a tepid sun on his face. He rubbed his eyes. Tension seized him; flashes of yesterday"s fighting and close combat terrified him, and the closeness of death haunted him for a few moments. Dante shivered, darting anxious glances, afraid that German soldiers or Brigata Negra would emerge from dense clumps of conifers and kill him. He took deep, steady breaths, just like Fred had taught him, and his racing pulse slackened; the jagged pains tearing into his stomach eased. Dante brushed the snow off his arms, legs and torso. A painful ache pulsated where the bullet had smashed the Panzerfaust into his back. The nagging, sawing pai
