Francis faced a conundrum, the ice seemed firm enough to take his families weight, but the full moon would illuminate their escape. If the enemy saw them there would be nowhere to hide. Francis waved his family forward, he had made his decision. Life under the ice would be preferable to a life of extermination in the gulags. Having to leave the family farm with all its memories behind wrenched at his heart. But taking one last look at his parents graves, he followed his family onto the ice.
Following the faint powered ice lifted by their skates he saw their wraith like figures. His thoughts drifted over the last couple of months. He had been told to throw the chess match or face the consequences. Well his family had never lied or cheated; so he had won the match but lost the battle. Now they were fleeing for their lives towards Scandinavia.
The rat-a tat of a machine gun cut into his thoughts. He saw his family falter then start zigzagging. Then one of his feet went through the ice. As he fell he waved them on. It was him that the authorities wanted.
How do I put this, I once had the pleasure of playing chess with Francis, not his real name of course. As for the rest I will leave it to your imagination.