Well, well, well, Falkenstein thought to himself. They were answering the challenge with the strongest indication yet of a determination to remain in Berlin. “I am certain you have examined the consequences.”
“Any consequence is better than handing them the city.”
“After we make our announcement, we want the Berlin Assembly to pass a resolution favoring our B marks,” General Hansen said.
“That is a tall order.”
“We think you are a tall man,” Hazzard said.
Falkenstein’s mind ran in practical channels. Would he be able to hold his people together and push a vote through in the Russian Sector? Yet, the Americans and British were committing themselves to risk, too, for the first time.
The alternative? Give the city to Rudi Wöhlman. How long would it last? As long as Prague ... as long as Warsaw.
Falkenstein did not like the alliance with the Americans. They were hedgy. They came to him only out of self-interest Yet, there was no one else, there was no place to go.
“When do you plan to announce the B marks?”
“Over RIAS in the morning so that it will be covered in the afternoon papers.”
Falkenstein nodded. “I have a busy day’s work then.”
“There is a question I am forced to ask,” General Hansen said. “Knowing what might happen, are the people of this city going to hold?”
“And you, gentlemen. Will you hold?”
“I don’t know,” Hansen answered. “If we do leave we will pay for it with the blood of unborn generations. But the question is here and now. At this moment we have a way out and you don’t. How are the people of Berlin going to choose to go this time?”
With his hot and cold love of the city, Ulrich Falkenstein had made himself believe that Berliners were different ... but they had endured the Nazis, the bombs, the rape of their city. Was there enough left in them to resist? Would fear of the Russians band them together to accept this half-hearted alliance with the Americans; or would the history of the past tell them that resistance is useless and would they then stampede to the Russians as the best way to survive?
He looked directly at the American military governor. “You have my word, sir, that so long as the American garrison remains in Berlin, the people will stand with you.”
They shook hands. Hansen and Falkenstein looked at each other with a mutual lack of warmth.
Chapter Forty-two
THE DAY AFTER THE announcement of the B marks, the Soviet Union suspended canal and rail traffic for “technical” reasons and the movement on the autobahn slowed to a trickle.
Hovering on the brink of a complete blockade, Ulrich Falkenstein presented a bill to the Berlin Assembly to accept the Western currency.
Rudi Wöhlman used the full bag of parliamentary tricks to stall and the SND of Adolph Schatz worked overtime to apply terror on the assemblymen.
On the day of June 23, 1948, the. vote could no longer be delayed. As he had done many times before, General Hansen sent Sean O’Sullivan into the eye of the hurricane. He was dispatched to the office which the Americans kept at the Berlin City Hall.
Berlin’s Rathaus sat well inside the Soviet Sector a short distance from the rubble-strewn Unter Den Linden and two full miles away from the junction where the British, American, and Russian sectors came together.
The former Lust Garten at the end of the Unter Den Linden had been cleared and made into a huge plaza, renamed Marx-Engels Platz, and served as a massing place for shows of Soviet solidarity.
On this day Action Squads from the factories, the university, the political clubs, and the youth groups assembled in the plaza and placards were passed among them.
DOWN WITH THE IMPERIALIST WARMONGERS!
AMERICANS, GO HOME!
PEACE AND PROSPERITY THROUGH OUR SOVIET COMRADES!
HITLER! HANSEN! HAZZARD
!
On cue they filed out of the Marx-Engels Platz, crossed the bridge over the Spree River, and took up their posts at the Rathaus and at the Magistrat a block away. The police were nowhere to be seen.
The arrival of the first Democrats from the Western Sectors started catcalls and shoving. As more came some rocks were hurled and the last through were mauled and the clothing torn from them.
In his office Ulrich Falkenstein received word from one of his floor deputies that the Communists were creating pandemonium, refusing to come to order. He walked to the balcony overlooking the Assembly and watched the Communists throwing ink bottles, shouting, and stomping.
“Call Lieutenant Colonel O’Sullivan.”
Sean watched for some ten minutes. Every attempt to bring order was drowned out.
“All right,” Sean said at last, “you’ve got my clearance.”
Falkenstein walked down to the floor and over to Rudi Wöhlman, who stood on a desk top exhorting his people. He tugged at Wöhlman’s trouser leg and motioned for him to come down.
“Comrade Wöhlman,” Ulrich said, “if you do not establish order in your ranks in one minute we are authorized to leave and conduct the business of this Assembly in the American Sector.”
Wöhlman had been warned by V. V. Azov not to let such a thing happen. He got his people quiet, held a quick caucus, and announced a boycott of the “illegal” bill before the Assembly.
With the Communists refusing to vote, the Berlin Assembly voted in behalf of the Western B marks, rejecting the Russian currency unanimously.
When the session ended, the physical violence outside reached a new peak with Hanna Kirchner being severely beaten at the Magistrat and hospitalized along with two-dozen assemblymen from the free parties.... But the vote stood.
Any comradery that once existed between Neal Hazzard and Nikolai Trepovitch was gone. Hazzard looked angrily at the Russian at what was obviously going to be one of the last meetings of the dying Kommandatura.
“You have used the Red Army as thugs, bullies, and hoodlums to terrorize defenseless people in country after country. Is this your glorious way of life? Threatening to starve two million people. You were not wanted in Poland. You were not wanted in Czechoslovakia and you’re not wanted here in Berlin. I only regret that my country was not in Prague and Warsaw to prevent their rape.”
Trepovitch was pale. He was ill from the strain of the past days. “The Soviet Union vetoes the illegal action of the Berlin Assembly,” he recited.
As the Russian spoke, an aide whispered to Neal Hazzard that General Hansen was on the phone. Neal was excused and left the conference room for his office.
The instant he was gone, Trepovitch sprung to his feet “The Americans have walked out of the Kommandatura!”
“Nonsense,” T. E. Blatty answered, “he slipped me a note requesting to be excused to take a phone call.”
“A lie! This was a direct provocation! The Americans have deliberately walked out in the middle of my arguments! The Soviet Union will no longer tolerate such indignities!”
And with that, the Russian led his staff from the Kommandatura, duplicating Marshal Popov’s abandonment of the Supreme German Council. The flag of the Soviet Union was lowered from the staff before the building, never to be raised again.
The free parties of Berlin called for a unity rally in the still battered great Olympic Stadium. It was jammed to overflowing with 125,000 aroused Berliners. Yet, it was an orderly demonstration as only German demonstrations can be. The passion in them was under control.
As their leaders arrived and mounted the rostrum a swell of cheers arose, but the great ovation was reserved for Colonel Neal Hazzard, who clasped both hands over his head like a victorious fighter.
Those on the rostrum who led the Democrats and Christians and Conservatives realized that the people cheered the man rather than his nation, for the alliance was shaky.