“Calm down, Neal,” Sean warned.
“Calm down, my ass.”
On General Hansen’s desk lay a copy of Tägliche Rundschau, the official Russian newspaper in the German language. The headline blared: KEY AMERICAN OFFICIAL CONFIRMS WITHDRAWAL OF AMERICAN FORCES FROM BERLIN.
A sampling of newspapers around the world played the same theme:
YANKS PULLING OUT OF GERMANY
U.S. WEARY OF OCCUPATION COSTS
AMERICAN ABANDONMENT OF EUROPE BEGINS
“This could not have come at a worse time,” Hansen said.
“That bastard just played the Russian trump card. It’s just something like this that will stampede the people.”
“Neal. Get Falkenstein and the other leaders together and get them calmed down.”
“They don’t believe us any more, sir. We’re sitting on our prats letting them shove our traffic all over Germany. General Hansen, we’ve got to face up to the fact that their next move is going to be a complete blockade.”
“I haven’t come to that opinion yet. The Russians are going to be careful about turning world opinion against them.”
“The Russians don’t give a Chinese fart what the world thinks of them as long as they get away with what they’re trying. We’re the ones who are always afraid of how we look.”
“That will be all, Neal.”
“Yes, sir.”
He left. Hansen pushed away from his desk and looked at Sean.
“Colonel Hazzard is right, sir. They’re going to blockade.”
“I know it, Sean, but I can’t let either Neal or the Germans know that I believe it, yet.”
The general left to pick up Senator Blanchard for a luncheon at British Headquarters. The senator’s people were so proud of the headlines they urged him to remain in Germany another week or two. Hansen dreaded the consequences. He considered the matter in the back seat of the longest, blackest, shiniest Cadillac in the American garrison as it sped toward the VIP guest house surrounded by a covey of motorcycles.
The house was a magnificent affair once belonging to Himmler. It sat on the Wannsee Lake. The living room had a great plate-glass wall that could be raised and lowered, a velvetlike lawn that swept to the water’s edge, and a private dock.
Senator Blanchard got into the car beside Hansen, the sirens screamed and the flags on the fenders fluttered as they moved north, skirting the Grunewald and the chain of little lakes as they moved toward Charlottenburg Borough.
Adam Blanchard was a handsome, lean man in his early sixties. He spoke with the smooth assurance of one who had survived many political dogfights over three decades.
He was aware of the coldness of the Berlin garrison after his press conference. In a very nice way he let Hansen know he was annoyed.
“As a matter of fact, Senator, this gives you and me a chance to talk. We are having a very bad time straightening out some misunderstandings as a result of your statements.”
Blanchard knew he was sitting beside one of the few military men he could not bully. He decided upon the blunt route himself. “Your record of antagonism toward the Congress is well known.”
“The basis of my antagonism has always been that the military has been more farsighted than the Congress. The fact that our country was forced to enter World War II unprepared because of a lack of appropriations or appreciation of the danger vindicates my position. You know, Senator Blanchard, if the United States had been strong, there might never have been a Second World War. And only strength will stop a third World War.”
The slap was unmistakable. Before the war Blanchard was among those die-hard isolationists; his new position on the Foreign Relations Committee had not changed the spots on the leopard.
“General Hansen, I admire your candor. Let me speak with equal candor. I have found waste and inefficiency in this military government operation appalling. Incompetence in the military is a subject with which I am familiar.”
“Senator, have you ever been aboard an aircraft carrier?”
“Certainly.”
“That piece of machinery is worth over a hundred million dollars. It takes three thousand men to operate her. She is the most advanced product of the nation’s talents, carrying the most sophisticated electronic devices known to man. Yes, sir, an aircraft carrier is something.”
“What is your point, sir?”
“The officer who commands such a ship makes nine to eleven thousand dollars a year. What do you suppose such a man would get from private industry running a hundred-million-dollar corporation with three thousand employees?”
“Now just a minute ...”
“I haven’t finished yet. It has become fashionable again to portray the military as stupid, shiftless clods. I’ll tell you something about what we’ve got here in Berlin. We have a cross section of the most brilliant brains our nation can produce. Our sector of Berlin is administered by judges, police, labor leaders, engineers who could run any city in the United States with greater efficiency than it is now.”
Blanchard flustered. He had never received such a tongue-lashing by an Army man. “You, General, intend to foster world tension to justify huge military expenditures. I know all about this goddamned country club you’re running.”
“I’m a man in my sixties,” Hansen said softly. “I have $1800 in the bank. In thirty years in the service my wife has had twenty-one places she has called home ... but we know why we are in Berlin. And I also know why you are in Berlin.
“You don’t want to leave here knowing why America must stay because that might make you unpopular in your state. I’m dealing with the same deaf man I dealt with before the war. But don’t think we can leave Berlin, free. We will pay for it with ten thousand per cent interest.
“You’re in a fight, Blanchard, because I’ve got a press corps here who knows what we are trying to do and you start on us and you’ll get it right between the eyes.”
The car passed on the southern circumference of the park holding the Olympic stadium and sports complex, where Hitler once attempted to prove Aryan superiority on the playing fields.
The two men had no more to say.
At the north end of the Olympic Park, the sports administration building now was the location of British Headquarters. A glum Adam Blanchard lit up as the British honor guard came to attention and the band played a “fanfare for a dignified occasion.”
He emerged from the car, walked toward ramrod stiff, swagger stick-bearing Hardy Fitz-Roy and pumped his hand, slapped his back, and waved at the guard as though he were soliciting their votes.
Chapter Thirty-seven
NEAL HAZZARD PACED THE living room of Sean’s apartment angrily. “What the hell is the matter with General Hansen? Is he blind or something?”
“He is being hampered by a little system known as democracy,” Sean answered.
“What about the threat of blockade? Why doesn’t he know?”
“He knows. But he can’t do anything until it is imposed. You know how it is, pal. The military cry ‘wolf’ and no one believes them. The only way it will be believed is when Berlin gets its Pearl Harbor.”
Hazzard shook his head. “We have to stand here flat-footed waiting for the Russians to belt us.”
“That’s because we represent a society dictated by public opinion.”
Hazzard had chewed his cigar beyond mercy, flung it into the fireplace. “Sean. I think I know the people of Berlin as well as anyone.”
“I’ll buy that.”
“They’ve got strong nerves. If we could only give them our guarantee that we are going to stay.”
“We can’t do that, Neal.”
“I know the Russians too. I know them from two hundred and fifty-eight meetings of the Kommandatura with Nikolai Trepovitch. They’ll quit short of a fight.”