“That’s no secret.”
“Goddammit, I’m going on RIAS and tell the people of Berlin this garrison is staying.”
“Neal, for Christ’s sake. If you do guess wrong you can commit us to a bad situation.”
“I’m an old infantryman, Sean. I know that when the battle gets so screwed up the generals behind the lines can’t control it, a few men in the thick of it have to improvise.”
Sean had once stood in Neal Hazzard’s shoes in Rombaden ready to face the wrath of the world for something he believed. He was a soul mate. If there was one single thing that being an American meant to Sean it was the ability to think for one’s self. Not in times of comfort, but under nerve-wracking stress. Hazzard knew he was right. Sean believed it too.
“You’ve got a partner,” Sean said. “How do we do this?”
“I’m going to go over to RIAS and make the announcement right away.”
“With the right moves,” Sean thought aloud, “we can dump Hollweg as Oberburgermeister and stop the Russians for long enough to clean the Adam Blanchard stink.”
“Like my old pal T. E. Blatty says ... let’s get cracking.”
At the invisible boundary between the American and British sectors on Kufsteiner Strasse 69 on Innsbrucker Platz stood a five-story, semi-circular, gray-stone building which had become one of the most powerful locales in the world.
RIAS was the only radio planted deep inside the Russian Empire. A brilliant staff, which refused to be cowed, succeeded in obliterating the Russian propaganda assaults. RIAS was one of the few positions anywhere where the West took the offensive. Each day the reportage of Soviet atrocity was heard by millions of the enslaved. RIAS was a voice in the dark forest of Eastern Europe. To the Russians, the American Radio had become the most hated symbol of the West, and behind every move to get the West from Berlin was the plan to still its voice.
This station was so feared that six hundred Russian jamming stations tried to blot out its signal. To counter this, RIAS staggered its programs to the Russian colonies. Then once a day the entire power output was combined and over a million watts thrown into a single program, which nothing could jam. It is said that when RIAS went on full output it could be received in the silver fillings of your teeth two hundred miles away.
Colonel Hazzard was an old friend at RIAS. He went to the director’s office. All transmissions were ordered to halt to put the full power at the American Commandant’s disposal.
“This is Colonel Hazzard, commandant of the American Sector of Berlin. My friends. I have a most important message from my government. For the past several weeks the Soviet Union and their flunkies, led by Rudi Wöhlman, have deliberately spread a rumor that the American garrison is going to withdraw from Berlin. I am here to nail this new lie dead. An opinion expressed recently by an American senator was entirely his own and has been completely discredited in Washington.”
Hazzard closed his eyes, crossed his fingers.
“An official spokesman of my government has sent me this message and I quote. ‘The United States is in Berlin by irrevocable legal agreements which make Berlin separate and independent of the occupation zones of Germany. This is a four-power city and will remain so. The United States garrison will not withdraw now or in the future until an accord is reached and ratified by the people of Berlin. We will continue to fulfill our obligations.’ End of quote.”
“Colonel Hazzard,” the guard said at the main gate, “General Hansen wants you in his office, immediately.”
Hazzard came to a stop before the general’s desk, eyed an ashen-faced Sean standing nearby.
“You’re fired,” Hansen said.
“Yes, sir.”
“You will proceed with Mrs. Hazzard and your family to Frankfurt and report to the Provost Marshal. You will remain there until I can act on your formal resignation from the Army.”
“Yes, sir. I’m homesick for Kansas City anyhow.”
When Neal Hazzard had gone Hansen sat speechless for ever so long. “I should have done this a long time ago,” he mumbled to his deputy. “He’s a hothead.”
Sean did not answer.
“All right, get it off your chest,” the general demanded.
“You’ve made a mistake, sir.”
“Hazzard takes too damned much on his own. He’s gotten us into hot water before.”
“Rugged individualism. Yes, sir. That’s a bad thing.”
“I said get it off your chest!”
“Yes, sir. This is an army. It is not intended to run on democratic principles. Generals should not go chewing the asses off senators.”
“Goddammit, Sean ...”
“I haven’t gotten it all off my chest, sir. What we need is more blind obedience. You can be friggin’ sure that no Russian colonel would take that responsibility on himself. You can be sure of that.”
Berthold Hollweg was thunderstruck by Neal Hazzard’s broadcast. When Ulrich Falkenstein went home he pretended to be delighted by the American attitude, but in his heart he feared more pressure from Wöhlman, Schatz, and the Russians.
Since Sean had confronted Falkenstein with the sellout, his relations with Hollweg had gone cold. Hollweg’s desire to appease the Russians was so apparent it was becoming an open scandal in the Democratic Party.
“There is so little left of forty years of friendship,” Ulrich said sadly, “we can at least spare each other the sham of wearing two faces now.”
“What are you trying to say, Ulrich?”
“The time has come for you to resign as mayor of Berlin.”
Hollweg paled, grew faint. He recovered enough to become indignant.
Ulrich stopped him by throwing before him a copy of the reports that damned him as a Russian collaborator. Berthold Hollweg lifted the first page and began to read, then turned his back and wrung his hands.
“The truth!” Falkenstein demanded.
“They made me sit for hours in an empty office in police headquarters,” he muttered. “Schatz came ... three, four nights a week ... I was followed everywhere ... they threatened to kill my little grandson ... you can’t imagine what it has been like!”
“Yes, I do know what it is like.”
“Great God! All men cannot be like you!”
Ulrich Falkenstein’s final disdain ruled out pity. “Was there nothing left for the things we lived for? Was there nothing left of the memory of our comrades that Hitler destroyed? Was there nothing left to cry out in anger at Rudi Wöhlman? Was there nothing left?”
Hollweg wept.
“Fool!” Falkenstein cried.
“You are the fool!” his friend screamed back. “How long will the Americans stay before they are sick of the German business? How much blood will they spill for us? Do you really believe the Russians can be stopped? You are the fool, Ulrich! I cannot live through it, again.”
Ulrich flopped his arms helplessly. Beneath him writhed a person whose innards were eroded by the political terror of two decades.
Falkenstein unfolded a sheet of paper, placed it before Hollweg, and handed him a pen. “You will sign this. It is your resignation from the Democratic Party and as Oberburgermeister of Berlin.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
IT HAPPENED WITH LIGHTNING speed!
The session of the Berlin Assembly came to order in the red-brick, churchlike structure on Rathaus Strasse. The banner of the city with its symbolic Berlin Bear looked down on the great room from behind the rostrum.
During the early morning hours, Ulrich Falkenstein had quietly marshaled his forces and held secret meetings with the leaders of the Conservatives and Christians. The air was still supercharged by Colonel Hazzard’s broadcast. A new ounce of courage was in them all.
The chief clerk of the Assembly stood, and read the resignation of Berthold Hollweg as Oberburgermeister.