But there was one man at K.A. whom it was hard not to hate or envy. Among the Blues were several political officers, politruks, who had the job of turning German fascists into good anti-fascists. From time to time, these politruks would order us into the mess to hear a speech about Western imperialism, the evils of capitalism, and what a great job Comrade Stalin was doing to save the world from another war. Of course, the politruks didn’t speak German and not all of us spoke Russian, and the translation was usually handled by the most unpopular German in the camp, Wolfgang Gebhardt.

Gebhardt was one of two anti-fascist agents at K.A. He was a former SS corporal, from Paderborn, a professional footballer who once had played for SV 07 Neuhaus. After being captured at Stalingrad in February 1943, Gebhardt claimed to have been converted to the cause of communism and, as a result, received special treatment: his own quarters, better clothing and footwear, better food, cigarettes, and vodka. There was another anti-fa agent called Kissel, but Gebhardt was by far the more unpopular of the two, which probably explains why sometime during the autumn of 1945, Gebhardt was murdered. Early one morning he was found dead in his hut, stabbed to death. The Ivans were very exercised about it, as converts to Bolshevism were, despite the material benefits of becoming a Red, rather thin on the ground. An MVD major from the Stalingrad Oblast came down to K.A. to inspect the body, after which he met with the senior German officer and, by all accounts, a shouting match ensued. Following this, I was surprised to find myself summoned to see Colonel Mrugowski. We sat on his bed behind a curtain that was one of the few small privileges allowed to him as SGO.

“Thanks for coming, Gunther,” he said. “You know about Gebhardt, I suppose.”

“Yes. I heard the cathedral bells ringing.”

“I’m afraid it’s not the good news that everyone might imagine.”

“He didn’t leave any cigarettes?”

“I’ve just had some MVD major in here shouting his head off. Making me into a snail about it.”

“Show me a Blue who doesn’t like to shout and I’ll show you a pink unicorn.”

“He wants me to do something about it. About Gebhardt, I mean.”

“We could always bury him, I suppose.” I sighed. “Look, sir, I think I ought to tell you. I didn’t kill him. And I don’t know who did. But they should give whoever did it the Iron Cross.”

“Major Savostin sees things differently. He’s given me seventy-two hours to produce the murderer, or twenty-five German soldiers will be selected at random to stand trial at an MVD court in Stalingrad.”

“Where an acquittal seems unlikely.”

“Exactly.”

I shrugged. “So you appeal to the men and ask the guilty man to step up for it.”