Armageddon (86 page)

Chapter Thirty-one
December 2, 1948

B
ERLINERS AWAKENED BY CANDLELIGHT IN
icy hovels. The first snows of winter floated down on long shivering lines of voters waiting at the polls. With the Soviet Union boycotting the election, the Democratic Party won a majority in the Western Sector. The first act of the new Assembly was to vote Ulrich Falkenstein as Oberburgermeister of West Berlin.

The United States, Britain, and France then resumed a three-power Kommandatura for the Western boroughs. Among their first duties was to ascertain, with the new Magistrat, how much coal could be rationed to the people. Stocks were at a perilous new low and winter was going to make greater demands.

It was then announced to the Berliners that they would be rationed twenty-five pounds of coal per family for the winter. Ulrich Falkenstein appealed to the Kommandatura to allow them once again to put the forests to the ax to augment this sparse allotment and it was agreed.

Hanna Kirchner, now speaking for the Berlin housewives, told her old comrade that the beloved trees should be spared and taken only as a final desperation.

“Hanna,” he said, “trees can grow again in the same place. But if we leave Berlin, we shall never grow here again.”

The last of the birches and pines and lindens of once proud forests were felled and People’s Radio mocked, “The last act of Western vandalism is to destroy Berlin’s watershed and beauty.” Meanwhile, at the town of Helmstedt in the British Zone, long lines of coal trains waited in hope for an act of Soviet humanity to allow them to clear and go to Berlin. The trains grew white with snow and rusted in silence.

The defiance in Berlin continued to grow.

Brigadier General Neal Hazzard announced that Americans would help establish a new university in their sector. As thousands of students and faculty broke out of their academic prison in the Soviet Sector, the Free University of Berlin was born and took its first tottering steps in classes held in a hundred damaged, patched-up buildings around the borough of Steglitz.

From the moment of the first Airlift death, Neal Hazzard forbade social contact with the Russians. The breach between the two cities widened on other lines as the Berlin Symphony was forbidden to play on the other side of the Gate and all cultural contact melted.

The Russian prodding never ceased. A threat to cut the American phone lines to the zone was countered by an American promise to cut Soviet phone lines.

Soldiers on both sides became touchy and a sudden battle nearly erupted when Marshal Popov was hauled down for speeding through the American sector and overzealous Russian guards became threatening.

The Soviet Union seemed obsessed with the building of a War Memorial Cemetery to their dead in the Battle of Berlin in Treptower Park. It was not understood how this could endear them to the Berliners, even of Wöhlman’s ilk. A grotesque ode to death was being imposed upon a fallen enemy. First, the pink marble from Hitler’s demolished Chancellory was taken to the place and great plaques and monuments bearing Stalin’s words, histories of battles, great metal wreaths and statues depicting the agony of Russian heroism were ordered.

In this odd battle of wills, many of the bronze castings were ordered from West Germany. Neal Hazzard played upon the Soviet mania for the project by holding up delivery of the castings until everything was paid for in Western currency.

Counter-Intelligence reported that many of the Soviet Command were leaving. One by one, members of the Russian staff failed to show up at normal public functions. A new crop of officers appeared on the scene. And then it was confirmed that V. V. Azov had disappeared!

A week after Azov vanished, the opera box belonging to General Nikolai Trepovitch was empty at a performance of
Aïda.
Three days later a small five-line box on the last page of the Red Army publication announced that Marshal Popov would assume General Trepovitch’s duties in addition to his own.

As the West continued to meet the challenge of winter head on and the temper of the Berliners turned to pure iron, Popov ordered more Yak fighter planes into the corridor. They buzzed dangerously close to the Skymasters and British Yorks. Antiaircraft fire was apt to commence in the corridors close to the stream of planes without prior warning. Target sleeves were towed into the paths of incoming blocs.... But the Sky Bridge did not waver.

The French followed the softest line, insisting to the last that the Soviet Union could be negotiated with ... and then their patience collapsed.

The three military governors of the West called together a press conference to make a dramatic announcement. The honor was given to General Yves de Lys, who stood before the microphone looking into a room crammed with journalists from both sides of the Gate.

“As of 0600 this morning, all trade from the Western Zones of Germany to the Soviet Zone is suspended. All transit by waterway, highway, and rail through the Western Sectors of Berlin is ceased.”

The West had launched the counterblockade!

Chapter Thirty-two

P
ERIODICALLY,
M.J.
MADE HIRAM
throw a party for staff and wives as a peacemaking gesture. Clint and Judy trotted off to it.

It was snowing when Scott arrived. He went upstairs to see the children. Lynn was down with a sore throat. His magic pocket turned up a charm of a little Berlin bear. For Tony there was a figurine of a top-hatted, ladder-carrying chimney sweep. They were made up by the Berlin Chimney Sweep Association and given as presents to several hundred Airlift crew members. A welcome fire crackled when he came down to the living room.

“How were your flights today?”

“Germany has a monopoly on weather,” he said. He never complained, so it must have been rough.

“I didn’t get a chance to phone your sister,” he said, “but I did find an old pal at Tempelhof who said he’d deliver a package.”

“That is wonderful. I will give you a box tonight before you leave.”

Hilde had made up a parcel for Ernestine of shoes, a warm sweater, underclothing, cosmetics, some tinned food.

“I hope you meet Erna someday,” Hilde said. “She is a wonderful girl. It is a shame we only got to know each other so late and under much hardship. I look forward so much to good times with her one day.”

Scott sat on the big hassock and stared into the fire. “I’m getting grounded for a few weeks,” he said.

“Is anything wrong?”

“No. The flight surgeon says I’ve flown too many hours, even by Stonebraker’s standards.”

“Scott, I have never said it, but I want you to know how wonderful this thing is that you do for Berlin. With Erna there, it means even more to me.”

He shrugged. “We didn’t vote on coming to Germany. We’re told where to fly.”

“And to drop candy bars to children? And to give up a good life like Colonel Loveless and your general?”

“It has been an interesting challenge,” Scott said in what was a semi-official tone of voice.

“Anyhow,” she said, “I am glad you won’t be flying for a time. You need a rest.”

“I’ll be taking a leave, Hilde. I want to go away someplace for a week where they don’t know about airplanes. Will you go with me?”

She did not go through with her reflexive reaction to say no because that could mean sending him away for good ... nor could she tell him she really wanted to go. “It would be a mistake, Scott.”

“No strings,” he said. “Don’t answer tonight. I’ll call you between flights to Berlin tomorrow. My leave starts day after tomorrow.”

As Scott drove to Rhein/Main he knew it would be a long day. A light, freezing rain had iced the road.

Bloc time neared. The crews reported to Operations. Scott’s ship would be Number One with a mixed cargo of flour and coal married to malt.

Navigation kits with maps and routes from Italy to England were issued. They were briefed on altitudes, the hack watches synchronized. En route frequencies were gone over.

Plane Number Eight would carry a weather observer;

Plane Number Nine, a check pilot;

Plane Number Ten, an intelligence photographic unit;

Plane Number Twelve, a team from
Time
and
Life;

Plane Number Fourteen, three VIP’s from the State Department.

The weatherman said, “After climbing through moderate to heavy icing you will break through on top at five thousand feet. It will be visual all the way on top. Winds are light, averaging fifteen knots from 320 degrees. A low-pressure cell is slowly developing in the North Sea area which might cause a significant weather in the next forty-eight hours.”

An Intelligence briefing stated that Russian Yak fighter- plane activity had increased between Eilsleben and Bernsburg.

Outside, the ten-ton trailers loaded the Skymasters. Loading sergeants supervised the teams of twelve Polish laborers who deftly filled, married, and tied down the cargo.

Jet engines mounted on trucks blasted hot air onto the wings of the Skymasters to de-ice them. After many systems were tried and given up, this proved the best. It was developed by a group of enlisted men at Rhein/Main.

Scott and Stan reached Big Easy One as the jet engines were being driven off. Nick handed Scott his visual-inspection sheet.

A second inspection was made with the pilot and copilot walking around their bird checking wing-tip skin for cuts, loose rivets, checking the de-icer boots, the prop blades for pits and looseness, looking for frayed cables and loose cowlings, for foreign matter in the air scoops, for leaks, for tire conditions, for faulty shuttle valves. The inspection continued in the efficient silence of a pair of surgeons in a medical amphitheater.

Inside the craft, Nick checked the cargo compartments for fire extinguishers, checked the cargo tie-downs, the hydraulic fluid gauges for levels. In the cockpit, Stan went down his list: cabin heater, circuit breakers, reserve fluids.

The three pairs of trained eyes were unable to determine a flaw. Nick brought three boxes into the cabin. One was for delivery to Hilde’s sister in Berlin. A second box contained toy parachutes and candy bars. The third box held a number of small toys collected from school children to be distributed in Berlin for a planned Operation Santa Claus at Christmas.

Stan droned down the check list as the trailers drove off.

“Auto pilot servos.”

“Off.”

“Wing flaps.”

“Up.”

“Cross Feeds.”

“Off.”

The dialogue continued until stationtime. The tower called Scott’s ship, Big Easy One. He taxied to the end of the runway, lined up, and held.

At precisely 0700, zulu, Frankfurt Air Traffic Center atop the I. G. Farben Building turned the bloc to Rhein/Main.

The tower cleared the bloc for takeoff and at three-minute intervals they were airborne.

Scott held his takeoff heading executing a turn at the Darmstadt Beacon climbing at exactly 350 feet per minute at 125 miles per hour. He went over the Darmstadt Beacon at 900 feet on the button, continued to climb toward the assigned altitude, watching for icing.

On a heading of 085 degrees, Stan tuned in for the Aschaffenberg Beacon. In moments its signal, a faint dit-da-da-da-dit was heard ... became louder. Over the beacon the needle swung wildly, telling them they had reached the null.

Scott turned now to a heading of 033 degrees. Stan tuned in the Fulda Range that would lead them to the Southern corridor. Over Fulda, the bloc set up their precision chain. Each ship radioed his time as he passed over the range and they adjusted their spacing to the three-minute interval and an air speed of 170 mph.

The line of birds droned toward Berlin in flawless precision.

At that same moment, there was activity all over the zones and in the corridors.

A bloc of coal cargo planes from the Fassberg Base moved toward Berlin in the Northern corridor.

At the British base at Wunsdorf, a bloc of Tudor tankers drank in petroleum from underground storage tanks, scheduled to take to the air in forty-six minutes.

At Y 80, crews of the 333d Troop Carrier Squadron of Wiesbaden’s 7150th Composite Wing were in the Operations briefing room.

In the Center corridor aircraft of the 40th Troop Carrier Squadron headed back to the joint base at Celle.

In Berlin, ships of Navy VR 6 were being unloaded at Tempelhof.

Nick checked the cargo, came forward. “Every time I look at all this coal, all I can think of is I’m sure glad we don’t have to carry the ashes out of Berlin.”

Scott didn’t hear him. He was trying to face up to a rejection by Hilde. He flirted with the idea of telling her he loved her, even throw out a hint of marriage ... but he knew she would see right through the scheme.

“We’re picking up ice,” Stan said.

This, Scott heard. “Wet the props down.”

Stan adjusted the rheostat that sent a stream of isopropyl alcohol along each propeller blade. When an inch of ice formed on the leading edge of the wings Scott ordered the de-icer boots turned on. Chunks of ice flaked off into the air stream as the boots inflated and deflated.

The engines groaned under the new load until the plane burst on top into the sun at 5200 feet.

Their eyes burned with the sudden light. They fished about for their sunglasses. Below them lay a solid carpet of clouds.

Stan called Tempelhof. The weather was clear to Berlin. As they continued down the corridor the clouds below them scattered and they could see the ground. Today it held a mantle of new snow.

The magnificent cycle continued all around them:

at Rhein/Main the crews were at planeside making their checks;

at Fuhlsbuttel flour was loaded into British Dakotas and on the taxiways;

at Lübeck, newsprint in the new five-hundred-pound rolls was loaded on trailers to be carried out to the craft;

at Schleswigland, garrison supplies for the French and British had been cleared to take off.

Scott’s bloc from Rhein/Main was now under control of Tempelhof Radars. Stan and Nick began the prelanding preparations.

Berlin burst below them, never failing to stun the eye. Chains of lakes and canals interwoven with the stubbed forests. And then mile after mile of gutted-out shells.