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series of explosions and a snarling MG salvo bring his eyes round to the north-east, where sharp tongues of flame can be seen against reddening clouds.
    'There's some devilry going on,' mumbles the Oberst. 'Find out what it is.'
    'Yes, Herr Oberst,' replies the major, unhappily, and with no idea of what it is he has to find out about.
    A few minutes later he is passing the buck to a Hauptmann.
    'I want a clear picture of what is happening! Understand me, Herr Hauptmann? There's some devilry going on. Some damned devilry!'
    The Hauptmann disappears behind a clump of trees, where he runs into a Leutnant.
    'There's some devilry going on. You understand me?' he roars at the Leutnant. 'I want your report here in ten minutes time. Somebody is annoying the enemy!'
    The Jager -Leutnant jogs off down the narrow track where he runs into No. 2 Section. He points at the Old Man with his Mpi.
    'On your feet, Oberfeldwebel! What a pigsty this is! The enemy's worked up and I want to know why. Understand me? I want to know . Even if you have to get it from the Russian CO in person!'
    'Very good, sir,' the Old Man replies, moving around as if he were preparing to go.
    The Leutnant disappears between the trees and decides to find a hiding-place where the Hauptmann will never think of looking for him.
    The Old Man sits down quietly, and puffs his pipe.
    During the next hour we hear dispersed firing, first from one direction then from another.
    'They're dead long ago,' says Barcelona, blackly, listening to the sound of a long, vicious Mpi salvo.
    The depressed gun roars, and several handgrenades explode. Through all the noise we hear the sound of a great roar of happy laughter.
    'That was Porta,' mumbles the Old Man, fiddling nervously with the silver lid of his pipe.
    Dawn is near and the storm has slackened off almost completely. Only occasionally icy gusts whirl the snow up around us.
    'I doubt if we'll see them again, now,' states Heide. 'Nobody can hang about in the middle of an enemy retirement as long as they have without getting scalped.'
    'I'm afraid you're right,' says the Old Man quietly. 'If only I'd forbidden them to go.'
    ' Par Allah , you couldn't have kept them back,' the Legionnaire comforts him.
    A well-known sound brings us to our feet with our weapons at the ready.
    'Ski-troops,' whispers Heide, tensely, taking cover behind a tree.
    I am down in a hole with the butt of the MG pressed into my shoulder. The snow squeaks and crackles. There is a strange kind of grunting noise. Again a sound like the hiss of skis sliding through frozen snow. I crook my finger on the trigger. There is a shadow moving amongst the trees.
    'Don't fire,' shouts Barcelona, jumping to his feet. He has seen Porta's cylindrical yellow topper, which seems to be bobbing about strangely high up amongst the trees.
    'What the hell?' cries the Westphalian, astoundedly.
    Half fearfully we stare at the floating hat as it comes bobbing towards us. If Porta is wearing that hat he must have grown at least six feet. Then the riddle is answered. A reindeer comes snuffling out of the snow. It looks as if it has been rolling in cotton wool. It is pulling an akja 12 behind it, fully loaded with boxes and sacks. On top of the load Porta and Tiny sit majestically.
    Was it you doing the shooting?' shouts the Old Man.
    'Sometimes it was,' answers Tiny, with an air of superiority. But the neighbours' lads got shot of quite a pile of Uncle Joe Stalin's shit, too.'
    We ran into a crazy sod of a politruk , + with a face that thin he could've kissed a kz ++ goat between the horns with no trouble,' explains Porta, waving his arms about. 'We had to take aim twice before we could hit him. Then some bungled-up arsehole starts nattering at us out of the dark, and then he begins shooting at us. We aimed at his muzzle-flash and that soon cured him .'
    But we went the wrong road,' Tiny breaks in. 'It was black as the backside of a nigger's bollocks. We blunders into some staff quarters