The day the delegates arrived in Berlin the Soviet Union announced they were holding war games and the sky became black with fighter planes. They buzzed the incoming transports menacingly.
Hansen called Lieutenant General Barney Root, the USAFE Commander in Wiesbaden. The American Secretary of State landed at Tempelhof under an escort of the new jet fighters, followed by other squadrons flying in formation spelling out the letters U.S.A. The Soviet planes cleared the corridors.
It was on this note of hostility and tension that the Berlin Conference of Foreign Ministers convened.
The main arena was in the Sanssouci Castle in Potsdam, but throughout Berlin subcommittees argued the points of difference.
At the Napoleon Quarters, French Headquarters, the most important Committee on Reparations met with General Hansen heading the American delegation. His old adversary from the Supreme German Council, Marshal Alexei Popov, sat on the far side of the U-shaped table.
The first session was not more than a half hour old when Marshal Popov set down the Russian reparations demand of ten billion dollars from the Western Zones from current production.
Popov, the gray fox, finished, leaving the place almost stunned. There was some parliamentary small talk, but everyone was waiting until the floor rotated to the Americans.
Andrew Jackson Hansen took off his specs, folded his hands, and looked straight at Popov. “My government is going to reject your demands,” he began bluntly. There was a buzz around the room.
“Let me explain our position, Marshal Popov. The United States is not going to make any further reparations until you agree on German iron production. The ten billion dollars you are now asking for could well be the entire output of German industry. America is in Germany for the purpose of allowing the Germans to establish a trade balance so they can take care of themselves.”
“To build for another war!”
“Now, you just wait a minute. I’m not finished. My country is pouring hundreds of millions into Germany. Your country is taking hundreds of millions out. What are you after? A direct payment from Washington to Moscow?”
Popov’s face reddened.
Hansen continued firmly. “We want the zone borders opened and Germany run as a single economic unit. You’ve avoided this issue for two years. Furthermore, we want an accounting on how much the Soviet Union has already taken out of Germany.”
Popov tried to interrupt.
“I haven’t finished yet. The Soviet Union on its own has seized German lands with a tax valuation of twelve billion dollars. It has taken land from Poland with a tax valuation of two billion dollars. The question is ... how many times and in how many different ways are you going to try to collect the same ten billion dollars?”
Popov could hold still no longer. “The Soviet Union will continue to be guided by policies that prevent the enslavement of the German working class. We know all about the concentration camps in the British Zone of Germany. We know about the Hitler-like campaign preventing the Communist Party from delivering the workers in the American Zone. It is you who are intolerant of democracy.”
“I appreciate your rhetoric,” Hansen answered, “but you haven’t answered my questions.”
“It is the Soviet Union who suffered at the hands of the Hitler aggressors and the Soviet Union leading the German people to peace!”
“Will you or will you not give us an accounting of what you have taken out of Germany?”
“I see no sense in continuing this meeting.” Without further ado, Marshal Popov and his staff walked out.
Marshal Popov’s performance was duplicated on the other side of the city by Soviet Foreign Minister Molotov, who insisted American money was pouring into Germany for the war of revenge and enslavement of the German working class.
After Molotov’s walkout, even the conciliatory French had had enough.
The Berlin Conference ended with the United States, Britain, France, Holland, Luxembourg, and Belgium jointly declaring that the three Western Zones of Germany should coordinate economic policies, and further, that steps be taken to draft a constitution for a German Republic.
Europe was weary. The horrible winter of 1946–47 had brought a final collapse of industry and agriculture. People were undernourished and machines were destroyed or obsolete. The skilled labor force had been depleted. The farms lay in ruins; the mines did not run; the will of the people to survive was failing.
Although the Truman Doctrine did much to stop the impetus of armed Communist take-overs, something more was needed. For in this filth, fear, and hunger, the cancer of communism grew fat in Italy and France.
A monumental program of aid to Europe was envisioned by a wise old soldier who had ascended to Secretary of State and knew that guns were not enough.
The question now was to get the European Recovery Act/The Marshall Plan through the Congress before it was too late.
America was coming of age. The price to rebuild Europe meant acceptance of American leadership. And for America, the age of her seclusion was done.
The tired nations of Europe were asked to convene in Paris and make their needs known as the machinery of Congress worked toward enactment of the law.
Chapter Thirty-three
THE NOTICE READ:
The new library in Amerika Haus will be formally dedicated this Thursday. Special Services has arranged a concert by the eminent pianist, Sergeant William James.
This library, which will eventually hold 50,000 volumes, is a gift of the American people through donations to the German-American Friendship League. It would be appropriate on this occasion that personnel who wish to attend invite German guests.
A formal invitation read:
Colonel and Mrs. Neal Hazzard request the pleasure of your company at a cocktail party at the Dahlem Press Club directly after the concert of Sergeant James.
Sean had the invitation on his desk for a week. A number of times he had stared at it, pondered it, reread it, doodled on a scratch pad next to it ... two days till the concert.
He picked up the phone and asked the board for an outside number.
“Hello.”
“Fraulein Falkenstein?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Lieutenant Colonel O’Sullivan.”
“Oh yes, Colonel.”
“There is to be a dedication of a library at the Amerika Haus. I wonder if you and your uncle would consent to be my guests?”
Ernestine took the invitation impersonally, in the nature of a semi-official request, as her uncle would ordinarily attend such a function.
“What day, please?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“Oh? Let me check his calendar ... Hello ... he has a district meeting in Spandau on Thursday and I believe he has said it was quite important.”
“How about you going with me?”
“Me?”
“We have a fine young pianist who will play a concert. I understand he is going to do a Beethoven sonata.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Please, fraulein. This is not an order.”
“Well ... very well, I’ll go.”
“Good. I’ll come by for you about six-thirty. My regards to your uncle.”
Sergeant William James lived up to his advance notices as a forthcoming giant among the virtuosos.
Sean and Ernestine met with what seemed to be dedicated determination to be polite to each other. The first moments were stilted and awkward. They hardly spoke all the way to Amerika Haus.
Then by some mystic communication, Sergeant James played the “Pathétique” and Sean and Ernestine were given an awareness of each other that said that a long dormant awakening was taking place.