The Bloody Red Baron: 1918

Kaiserschlacht. In addition, JG1 were destroying balloons by the half-dozen, ensuring the Allies were running short of trained observers. The Baron was not tired by such exertions. Rather, with the glut of foes' blood, he swelled sleekly and seemed almost fat. He thought faster and was more expansive.

'I do not care for balloons,' he said.

'Because they don't add to your score?'

At the outset of the collaboration, Poe would not have dared make the suggestion. Now he knew his man, he could afford to be facetious.

There's no sport in it. But it's dangerous. As you know.'

JG1 had suffered its first loss, to ground fire. Ernst Udet, swooping on a balloon, was transfixed by a lucky silver bullet and shape-shifted to human form, tumbling from the sky a broken wreck.

'Your father-in-darkness will be here soon.'

'I have met Dracula.'

A Sahnke card, sold by the million, commemorated the event, the Baron and the Graf together. Though Richthofen could be photographed, Dracula had no reflection and so appeared in photographs as an empty uniform. The card showed the Baron posed stiffly, shaking the hand of a figure whose head was drawn in, a magnificent coin profile.

'On my twenty-fifth birthday, shortly after my fiftieth victory, I was summoned to Berlin. I met Hindenburg, Ludendorff, the Kaiser, the Empress and Graf von Dracula. I found the Empress to be a pleasant lady, very grandmotherly.'

'And the others?'

Richthofen hesitated, knowing praise of his superiors was his duty.

'Our Kaiser gave me a birthday present, a life-sized bronze and marble bust of himself. A characteristic gesture, I think.'

Poe smiled at the understatement. He was surprised the Baron should express even such mild criticism.

'What did you do with it?'

'I sent it to my mother in Schweidnitz, to be placed with my boyhood hunting trophies. In transport, one moustache was snapped off. I dare not exhibit an imperfect thing.'

'What of the others?'

'Hindenburg and Ludendorff lectured and asked technical questions, many beyond my poor knowledge. Hindenburg was struck by a nostalgic impulse when he learned we had occupied the same cadet room at Wahlstatt. I gather it changed very little between his time and mine, and that he had happier memories of the place than I.'

Hindenburg must have been at Wahlstatt only shortly after Poe was suffering at West Point.

'My own memories of military school have not become fonder with age.'

'That does not surprise me.'

'And Dracula?'

Poe remembered his own brief encounter with the Graf. And how overwhelming it had been.

'He is a huge person. He has his own gravity. There is a mental pull, an invisible fist. Those of his line, he has made his slaves.'

'New-borns who have been turned by elders are often bound to them.'

'It was not so with 'Auntie' Perle. She is meek and knows her place. But with Dracula's blood in me, I am chained to him. To be in his presence is like being buffeted by strong winds which threaten to tear one's mind to fragments. This is not even his intention, it is what he is. I cannot best serve him by becoming like those creatures who have attended him down the centuries. His wives and his serfs.'

'Have any of the others ...'

'... been in his actual presence? I hope we are strong enough to survive him long enough to do his will.'

A warm woman, Marianne, was presented to him in the evening. A train brought a company of such to the Schloss Adler, to feed those vampires not on active combat duty and reward those who were. The woman's neck was not too scabby, though she was rouged to conceal, advancing years and so docile as to suggest she had been used by vampires for quite some time.

Her blood carried traces of the others who had tapped her. Poe sensed little of her own life. Her mind was almost drained, used up. Still, she took the edge off his red thirst.

She was lulled into sleep and he drank again from the dribbling wounds on her neck and breast. Her blood cleared the fog from his mind, the jitteriness that he had, like the rest of the castle's inhabitants, been feeling since the changes began.

The door was rudely opened. Poe raised a sheet over Marianne's face.

'West tower,'Theo said. 'Full dress uniform. A quarter of an hour.'

Pre-dawn haze and thick cloud made the landscape seem like the bottom of the sea. Poe and Theo stood with General Karnstein. The fliers were out killing Englishmen, but the rest of the castle's staff were assembled in ranks as if for a parade. Everyone was in uniform: Ten Brincken, Caligari, Rotwang and the other scientists had reactivated reserve ranks, even the Graf von Orlok wore a pickelhaube and braided tailcoat.

The fliers of JG1, a flock of giant bats, appeared from the west, in perfect formation. Richthofen was the arrowhead, wings spread wide. The sight of the creatures still awed Poe.

Through thin cloud which ripped as barbed wings sliced, the fliers approached Schloss Adler. The Baron landed on a stone platform, crouching slightly then standing erect. His men fell in smartly behind him.

Engineers fussed by the sky-hook set into the tower. A shadow fell on the castle and everyone looked up. A vast black whale-shape was descending through the clouds. A smartly assembled band struck up Wagner's 'Ride of the Valkyries' from The Ring.

Hardt gave orders as cables tumbled from the sky. Engineers scrambled to catch the whiplike things. A dirigible loomed lower. The cable was fixed to the hook and an electric winch whirred. It was rare to see a Zeppelin so close to the lines. This was a magnificent specimen, painted black as night. On the nose of the gasbag, just in front of the gondola, the crest of Dracula was picked out in scarlet.

All necks locked at an angle. All eyes fixed on the wondrous craft, the dreadnought of the clouds. It was the Attila, flagship of the German aerial fleet.

A trap opened in the underside. A batwing-cloaked figure stepped into empty air and floated down. He wore a face- covering helmet crowned with horns. His body was encased in burnished armour. As Dracula alighted on the tower, everyone saluted.

Part Four: Journey's End

38

Offensive Patrol

Winthrop awoke before two in the morning. He hauled out the bucket stowed under his cot and was sick into it. With his changes, keeping down food and drink was difficult. His alarm clock was set to sound in five minutes. In the dark, outlines of objects were almost clear. Things seemed to glow with a deeper black. In the air, he was gifted with apprehensions and insights. Like a bat's, his inner ears sensed other creatures in the sky.

Sitting on the cot, he pulled on his Sidcot and boots. He didn't allow himself funk. This would be his first night patrol since ... Since the first time.

Not quite a night bird, he needed a few hours' sleep. The vampires were downstairs, carousing. The other vampires? He was stricken with a shivering spasm. The queasiness in his stomach told him he was still warm. The sharpness in his mouth told him how close he was to living death. He couldn't afford to worry about such things. He must focus on duty and retribution.

Suiting up was automatic. He buttoned and strapped himself together, then stumped downstairs, joints thickened by protective gear. On the ground, he felt swaddled and stuffy. In the air, he was agile as his Camel. The cold cut through a dozen layers.

'Hullo,' said Bertie. War was a continuous rag to him. Those who went west had just popped out for a smoke