of steaming coffee – you saw him wearing his Uhlan helmet – you naturally mistook it for a pair of satanic horns. Is that not so, Corporal Creutzfeldt?’
‘Yeah, I reckon that would be it,’ said Tiny, cheerfully. ‘I reckon you’re probably right, sir. I reckon that was the way it must have happened.’
The Lieutenant turned, satisfied, to me.
‘And you, Hassel,’ he said, kindly. ‘I need scarcely ask if you also have imbibed alcoholic beverages during the course of the evening?’
‘No, sir,’ I said. ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
The Lieutenant smiled a tight little smile.
‘Who is in command of your Company? Lieutenant Löwe, is it not?’ An eager chorus assured him that it was. ‘Well, well,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘I think on this occasion we shall leave him to sleep in peace. But if any more of this drunken carousing comes to my notice, I shall, you understand, be forced to take a far more serious view of it. You realise what the outcome would be should I choose to file a report of the night’s proceedings? We should all of us, my friends, find ourselves in a very sorry situation . . . I advise you for the future to keep your eyes turned away from the Colonel’s windows. What the Colonel chooses to do at any time of the day or night is after all no concern of yours. He is at liberty to entertain whoever he wishes in the privacy of his own quarters, and he certainly won’t thank you for spying on him.’ He walked to the door, and then remembered. ‘As for you,’ he said to Sergeant Linge, ‘next time you happen to be standing by a closed window with a tin hat in your hand, just check to make sure there’s not an officer walking across the courtyard. I assure you you won’t get away so lightly a second time.’
That should by rights have been the end of the affair, but you can’t stop people talking and by the end of the following day the news was all over the camp. Creutzfeldt and Hassel had seen Colonel von Gernstein with the Devil. Creutzfeldt and Hassel and Sergeant Linge stood by and watched as Colonel von Gernstein and the Devil had played at cards together. Private Ness was ready to swear that every night on the stroke of twelve Colonel von Gernstein turned into a vampire . . .
Twenty-four hours later, cloven hoofprints had been discovered beneath the Colonel’s window. There was a constant pilgrimage of men from every part of the camp, and some of the more scientifically minded took measurements and even attempted to make a plaster cast. Some fool suggested itmight have been a wild boar from the forest, but this, of course, was patently ridiculous: no German boar with any sense of self-preservation would ever risk its life in the courtyards of Sennelager. For most men, this was proof incontrovertible that the Colonel’s nocturnal visitors were no better than they ought to be, and now a tale was told which had never been told before. It was said to have originated from the Quartermaster of the Second Company, but soon it could be heard all over the camp a dozen times a day. It appeared that the Adjutant before the present one, rolling back to camp at four o’clock one morning from the nearest brothel, doubtless three parts drunk and in no fit state to withstand any sort of shock to the nervous system, had chanced upon the Colonel and his loathsome companions as he passed through the main gate. The Adjutant had been discovered next morning, lying on the ground with four broken ribs and teethmarks all over his body. He was raving mad and never again regained full command of his senses. He was eventually transferred to the Army psychiatric hospital at Giessen, where it was said he used to walk the wards with a broom over his shoulders telling everyone he met that he was the figure of death with his scythe. He hung himself one day in the officers’ lavatory.
Meanwhile, back at Sennelager, the rumours ran through the camp like a horde of locusts, devouring everyone in their
‘Yeah, I reckon that would be it,’ said Tiny, cheerfully. ‘I reckon you’re probably right, sir. I reckon that was the way it must have happened.’
The Lieutenant turned, satisfied, to me.
‘And you, Hassel,’ he said, kindly. ‘I need scarcely ask if you also have imbibed alcoholic beverages during the course of the evening?’
‘No, sir,’ I said. ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
The Lieutenant smiled a tight little smile.
‘Who is in command of your Company? Lieutenant Löwe, is it not?’ An eager chorus assured him that it was. ‘Well, well,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘I think on this occasion we shall leave him to sleep in peace. But if any more of this drunken carousing comes to my notice, I shall, you understand, be forced to take a far more serious view of it. You realise what the outcome would be should I choose to file a report of the night’s proceedings? We should all of us, my friends, find ourselves in a very sorry situation . . . I advise you for the future to keep your eyes turned away from the Colonel’s windows. What the Colonel chooses to do at any time of the day or night is after all no concern of yours. He is at liberty to entertain whoever he wishes in the privacy of his own quarters, and he certainly won’t thank you for spying on him.’ He walked to the door, and then remembered. ‘As for you,’ he said to Sergeant Linge, ‘next time you happen to be standing by a closed window with a tin hat in your hand, just check to make sure there’s not an officer walking across the courtyard. I assure you you won’t get away so lightly a second time.’
That should by rights have been the end of the affair, but you can’t stop people talking and by the end of the following day the news was all over the camp. Creutzfeldt and Hassel had seen Colonel von Gernstein with the Devil. Creutzfeldt and Hassel and Sergeant Linge stood by and watched as Colonel von Gernstein and the Devil had played at cards together. Private Ness was ready to swear that every night on the stroke of twelve Colonel von Gernstein turned into a vampire . . .
Twenty-four hours later, cloven hoofprints had been discovered beneath the Colonel’s window. There was a constant pilgrimage of men from every part of the camp, and some of the more scientifically minded took measurements and even attempted to make a plaster cast. Some fool suggested itmight have been a wild boar from the forest, but this, of course, was patently ridiculous: no German boar with any sense of self-preservation would ever risk its life in the courtyards of Sennelager. For most men, this was proof incontrovertible that the Colonel’s nocturnal visitors were no better than they ought to be, and now a tale was told which had never been told before. It was said to have originated from the Quartermaster of the Second Company, but soon it could be heard all over the camp a dozen times a day. It appeared that the Adjutant before the present one, rolling back to camp at four o’clock one morning from the nearest brothel, doubtless three parts drunk and in no fit state to withstand any sort of shock to the nervous system, had chanced upon the Colonel and his loathsome companions as he passed through the main gate. The Adjutant had been discovered next morning, lying on the ground with four broken ribs and teethmarks all over his body. He was raving mad and never again regained full command of his senses. He was eventually transferred to the Army psychiatric hospital at Giessen, where it was said he used to walk the wards with a broom over his shoulders telling everyone he met that he was the figure of death with his scythe. He hung himself one day in the officers’ lavatory.
Meanwhile, back at Sennelager, the rumours ran through the camp like a horde of locusts, devouring everyone in their
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