Hanna Kirchner came from her hospital bed and the thunder swelled. One by one they stood before their people and begged them to be firm and begged the world to look upon them. And then, Ulrich Falkenstein:
“Berliners! We have been asked if we have the courage to stand! Give me your answer!”
A long and loud plea for freedom swelled the air!
“Hear us in Moscow! Hear us in Washington! Hear us in London! The spirit of Berlin was never Nazi and will never be Communist! From the depths of our souls, our will to be free will build a mighty dam that will beat back the raging Red Seas which try to drown us. Berlin will be free!”
The next day the Soviet Union announced that the bridge on the Elbe River was closed for “repairs.” Berlin was blockaded by land and by sea.
Part 4
The Last of the Gooney Birds
Chapter One
ANOTHER MORNING.
Another gathering of Germans over the boulevard from American Headquarters. They stared through a Berlin mist as the color guard marched to the flag pole and continued to watch silently as the Stars and Stripes went up the staff, unfurled, fluttered. Certain now that the Americans were in Berlin for another day, the clump of Germans broke, carrying lunch buckets, shopping bags, briefcases, and trudged toward the U Bahn.
Outside city limits three divisions of Soviet troops with heavy armor continued nerve-wracking maneuvers, ostensibly poised to strike into the Western Sectors.
People’s Radio increased the tension. They began with a water-shortage scare, then a rumor that the West had annexed the Ruhr. “Food riots sweep West Berlin as thousands are thrown out of work. Babies are dying from lack of milk! This cruel imperialist policy is bringing new untold suffering to the workers!”
On the third floor of American Headquarters, General Andrew Jackson Hansen wrestled with the most pressing of his problems. Barney Root, the USAFE commander, had been able to fly in between eighty and a hundred tons daily of supplies and the British were flying in enough to handle their own immediate needs. But now, food for the entire population of Western Berlin was in a growing crisis.
With the food shortage was a power shortage. Before the war there had only been a single power plant in the Western part of the city. It stood on the Hauswehr Canal opposite the West Harbor, the inland barge port.
This plant was the most modern in Berlin, but used mainly as an auxiliary during peak hours. The Russians had stripped it and only a few of the generators had been replaced. Most of the power for the Western Sector came from Saxony through Russian-controlled lines.
The Russians cut the electricity, causing an industry shutdown and a sweep of unemployment.
Sean O’Sullivan worked with the Magistrat experts to determine the immediate situation. He brought the grim tidings to Hansen.
“We have a thirty-six day supply of coal for the power plant. We can generate enough power to run our own installations, move minimal transportation, prevent a communications collapse, and keep certain emergency facilities going. No coal for German civilians, and almost none can be spared for industrial purposes.”
Hansen lifted the receiver of his red, emergency phone and told the switchboard to put him through to Army Headquarters in Heidelberg. Commander of combat forces Lieutenant General William Warren Crossfield answered on his red phone.
“Scramble the conversation.”
Each pressed a scramble button, a device to jumble their voices against a phone tap.
Crossfield spoke excitedly. “We just heard news of the food riots. Do you need help?”
“There aren’t any food riots. That’s Radio Moscow crap. There was a little excitement over a water-shortage scare, but we’ve settled them down. Billy, I want you to assemble an armed convoy and have it stand by.”
“Are we going to try to break through the autobahn?”
“If Washington lets me.”
“Chip, I’ll personally lead that convoy but we’d better not have our bluff called.”
“The Russians are the ones bluffing.”
William Warren Crossfield had commanded an Army Group north from Southern France and over the Rhine. He was not given to being a flashy leader, but he was a shrewd, steady tactician who had an immaculate grasp of logistics, supplies, support, and all the other nuances of battle ... and he was a cold-blooded realist.
“We’re playing with fire,” he said, “and we don’t have a damned thing to put it out with.”
“It’s not that kind of a fight. This is a battle of will power,” Hansen answered.
“Maybe you’re right, Chip, but I know that Marshal Popov knows that the whole United States can’t call up two reserve divisions of infantry.”
A few hours later General Hansen arrived at USAFE Headquarters in Wiesbaden for a conference with General Barney Root.
“You’ve got to think of flying in five, six, seven hundred tons of supplies a day. We need coal as badly as food, and somehow we’ve got to get some more generators in.”
Barney Root stared at Chip Hansen as though he were crazy. “Would you repeat that?”
“If I can’t sell Washington on an armed convoy, I’m going to sell them on supplying Berlin by air.”
Barney relit his cigar butt. “Three years ago we had twelve thousand aircraft in England and on the European continent. Right now our air transport consists of eighty-two worn out Gooney Birds. My crews are punchy. They’re flying almost triple the number of hours we consider safe.
We didn’t even ask them to fly this way in the war. Chip, I haven’t got enough spare parts in Europe to rebuild the ass end of a Piper Cub.”
“Barney, I intend convincing Washington to send over Skymasters to replace the Gooney Birds and I’m going to ask the President to recall Hiram Stonebraker.”
“Look, I’m with you all the way. I’ll keep scratching around for aircraft and crews. I’ve already assigned Shorty MacDonald on the Berlin supply run exclusively. He’s the best transport man we’ve got.” Barney Root squashed out the dead cigar.
“You don’t believe in this, do you?” Hansen said.
“I’m a bomber man. I don’t know enough about transports.”
“You don’t believe in it?” Hansen repeated.
“You’re going to need a hell of a lot more than Stonebraker and Skymasters.”
Back in Berlin the sound of Russian gunfire could be heard in the suburbs.
Communist agitation cars roamed the streets broadcasting food scares, blaming the situation on Western greed, justifying the blockade by swearing the bridge over the Elbe had collapsed.
Lil Blessing had been looking for Calvin for an hour. She sent the other children in the neighborhood to scour around for him. This was unlike little Cal.
Trying to avoid panic, Lil sat by the phone on the brink of calling Bless when she heard muffled sobs coming from the hall closet. She threw open the door. Cal was huddled in a corner, ran into his mother’s skirts, and buried his face.
She lifted him, torn between kisses and a scolding, carried him to a rocking chair, and tried to calm him. After a while his sobs softened to spasmodic jerkings.
“What’s all this about, Calvin Blessing?”
“Everybody in school said it.”
“They said what?”
“The Mongols are coming back and chop our heads off. The German kids have seen them before.”
Lil pressed the boy closer to her.
Yes, People’s Radio had announced that Mongolian regiments had joined the maneuvers outside the city to rekindle the memory of Berlin’s capture and Cal’s fears were echoed by everyone.
“You think your daddy is going to let anyone hurt you?”
“I want to go home.”