East Berlin was considered a good posting within the Grenztrup. As a Border Guard, there were good opportunities to get hold of western luxuries and if one caught traitors attempting to escape, there was a chance of getting some extra leave or even promotion. Mind you, he’d have never have got the job had his father not been an officer in the Nationalen Volksarmee (NVA), and he had a large family. Single men were rarely assigned to the wall, but as Max was engaged, they’d made an exception.
Moving silently, he leaned over the side of his draughty little hut on stilts, to see who was creeping about in this, one of the most tightly controlled areas of planet earth.
It was with some more surprise, therefore, when the hatch in the floor eased upwards and a figure emerged. The newcomer left the hatch open, allowing some ambient light in, reflecting up from the many lights that littered the excluded zone that led up to the infamous wall.
“Comrade Corporal Freiberg, at ease.”
Max was stunned. He was expecting the sweating, overweight features of Sergeant Shreiber, so as the most stunningly attractive Russian KGB officer appeared instead, dressed in an immaculate uniform, he could hardly believe his eyes. Her tight skirt and knee length boots would have made interesting viewing as she had climbed the twenty-five metre ladder to the tower.
Ignoring the stupefied young East-German, the girl walked to the edge of the tower and picked up the binoculars. She stood looking towards the American sector for a few moments. Max felt a lot warmer all of a sudden. Even in the relative darkness, he could appreciate the most wonderful rear view he had seen in a very long time. Renate, his girlfriend in Dresden, was a pretty girl, but already slightly plump. This woman, wearing the rank epaulettes of a Captain in the KGB, was tall; taller even than Max, who was one metre eighty, yet her figure was that of an athlete, but one that oozed sex appeal.
“All is quiet tonight, ja?”
Max had never been in the presence of anyone who exuded so much utter femaleness. Her voice, with her heavy Russian accent speaking German, was so husky and erotic that he fought hard to keep his self-control.
“Yes, Comrade Captain, very quiet.”
“The American is watching me. Do you see the same men in their towers?”
“Yes, Comrade Captain. Their shifts coincide with ours every four days.”
“So close, and yet so far,” she said, putting the binoculars down and turning round to face him. He saw her face for the first time, and decided it was beautiful. Her eyes appeared golden in the strange light, while her dark golden hair was tucked up tightly in a bun at the back of her head, under her cap. The badge containing the hammer and sickle gleamed dully at him.
“Yes, ma’am.” Max was confused; as the girl was unlike any other Russian he had met. For a start, she was the first one ever to talk to him. Usually they ignored him, or treated him like dog shit on their boots. Most Russians treated Germans like second-class citizens in their own country, but Max had accepted the status quo, as he wanted to survive and prosper. Prosperity wasn’t an easy target within their system, but he had better prospects in the Volkspolitzei than as a factory worker or miner in one of the many impoverished regions of East Germany.
“You are wondering why I am here, ja?” she asked.
“I am, Comrade Captain,” he answered honestly.
She smiled. “Then I had better tell you. You, Max Freiberg, have been specially selected to assist your Russian allies to undertake a series of highly classified intelligence operations.”
“Me?” he said, surprised and horrified at the same time.
“You, Max. Your record is exemplary, so your parents back in Dresden will be very proud of you when it is all over.”
“But my commander,….”
“Your commanding officer need not know. Your part in this operation is not dangerous; neither is it requiring you to do anything you are not trained for. On the contrary, all you will have to do is facilitate operatives through your sector at key times.”
He frowned, but suddenly he experienced an amazing feeling of euphoria and pride. He sprang to attention, saluting the Russian officer.
“Jawohl, Comrade Captain.”
“Good. You will receive orders by hand prior to coming on duty. It will give you the time and details of the movement of personnel. You will remain at your post, but accord them all assistance to allow them to achieve their objectives. Should any of your colleagues decide to intervene, you will assist them to understand their duty.”
“You, ma’am?”
Smiling, the girl made him feel much calmer. “Of course, I will have to be on hand to prevent anyone getting wrong idea.”
Max was afraid, as he had heard about the underhand dealings of the KGB. A friend of his had died whilst a joint KGB/Stasi operation attempted to infiltrate a dissident group that was trying to smuggle people out of East Germany. Max had had a great deal of time to think of late. His main thoughts had been along the lines of questioning his leaders. If DDR was such a wonderful place to live, then why was he here?
He wasn’t here to protect the country from the West, as he trained his gun and searchlight towards his own people and not the decadent westerners. Those who died were his own countrymen and women trying to get out, not the enemy trying to get in! He was a border guard, but lately he felt more like a prison guard.
The woman was smiling at him, and her mere presence made him feel better.
“Ma’am,” he said, accepting his change in fortunes.
“Good, then enjoy the rest of your shift. You may like this, as it’ll give you some energy.” The girl handed him a small packet as she left. Max saluted her and watched her disappear down the way she had come up, closing the hatch after she had gone. Only then did he open the packet, finding English chocolate and a miniature bottle of real Scotch whisky. Leaning over the parapet, he attempted to see her in the gloom, but she had gone.
Master Sergeant James Kernberger of the U.S. Military Police loved Berlin. Despite his name, he was a fifth generation New Yorker, and spoke only English and very little German. He’d been in West Berlin for a year, and was more than happy to be here. His American wife was back in New York, and was probably divorcing him, for James had a German mistress who was expecting his child in a month’s time.
His provost unit had the task of supervising the area close to Checkpoint Charlie, in the U.S. Sector. Unknowingly, it was his unit that Max watched so interestedly every day. The Americans noted the same East German unit and so had given most of the Germans nicknames in order to distinguish between them. Max therefore, was known as ‘the quarterback’, ever since an MP saw him throw a ball to one of his colleagues over a long distance.
The Sergeant was a big man. In his youth, he’d been very fit and powerful, but now, as he was in his forties, he had many years soft living evidenced in his beer belly and pale complexion. He spent most of his time behind a desk these days, much to his disgust. He was still strong and powerful, exuding that air of arrogant authority that military police sergeants manage so well.
He had a small office in his post, where he could relax and undertake his administrative tasks in relative peace. It was a surprise, therefore, to find someone in his office when he returned for a brief patrol of his sector on commencing duty one evening.
“Who the fuck?” he managed before holding forth from any further expletives. For his interloper was the most attractive young woman.
“Good evening, Sergeant Kernberger, I’m sorry to intrude into your inner sanctum like this, but I need some privacy in which to speak to you,” she said.