Stalingrad Briefing, 1943 Ian McBryde The patrols are told to eat snow as they go. If they do this, the enemy marksmen cannot see the give-away plume of their breath. Smoke closes over the Volga, awash with bodies entwined with detritus, riding the dead river, bumping up against its broken shores. Even colour has been bombed and shot away; everything has taken on greyness. The men are grey, their rations are grey. The light is black and white. The only true colour left is red. Explosions, blood, a bit of ribbon. Replacements are told only to carry their rifles at the ready and step in the footprints of the men before them. Don't bunch up. Expect worse than you can imagine. Do not speak. Stay low and in shadow. Eat snow as you go.

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