This is our home, Cal.”
“Teleconference with Washington is ready, General.”
In the vaulted room beneath Headquarters in Berlin, Hansen was joined by Generals Crossfield and Root. Sean O’Sullivan wrote out the first message, handed it to the teletype operator. In a moment the message was coded, radioed to Washington, decoded, and flashed on a screen in the Pentagon.
THE FOLLOWING ARE BERLIN PARTICIPANTS: GENERAL HANSEN, MILITARY GOVERNOR; OSCAR PENNEY, POLITICAL ADVISOR, STATE DEPARTMENT; LT. GENERAL CROSSFIELD, COMMANDER GROUND FORCES; LT. GENERAL ROOT, COMMANDER USAFE; BRIG. GENERAL HAZZARD, COMMANDANT, BERLIN; LT. COL. O’SULLIVAN, SPECIAL ASSISTANT TO HANSEN.
Washington returned their complement:
FOLLOWING PARTICIPANTS: GENERAL COLLOWAY, CHIEF OF STAFF, U.S. ARMY; HARRY KING, SPECIAL ADVISOR TO PRESIDENT; LT. GENERAL BRONSON, DEPUTY CHIEF OF STAFF, OPERATIONS, U.S. AIR FORCE; JOSEPH PECK, STATE DEPARTMENT, CHIEF OF GERMAN DESK.
Hansen jotted out the first message. Barney Root nodded approval and Billy Crossfield gave a reluctant okay. It was handed to the teletype operator.
TOP SECRET: BLOCKADE EFFECTIVE. SITUATION DESPERATE IN TWO WEEKS. REQUEST PERMISSION SEND AN ARMED CONVOY UP AUTOBAHN AFTER ANNOUNCTNG OUR INTENTION TO RUSSIANS. CROSSFIELD, ROOT IN AGREEMENT. GO AHEAD.
In several moments a message started appearing on the screen.
TOP SECRET: PECK, GERMAN DESK. STATE DEPARTMENT IDEA IS TO MAKE OFFER TO WITHDRAW B MARKS FROM BERLIN IN EXCHANGE FOR GUARANTEED ACCESS RIGHTS TO CITY.
“In a pig’s ass,” Neal Hazzard grumbled. “Take it easy, Neal.”
“Yes, sir.”
They huddled, discussed it quickly. All agreed that the proposal spelled disaster.
TOP SECRET: PENNEY, POLITICAL ADVISOR STATE DEPARTMENT. ADVISES WITHDRAWAL B MARKS FATAL OUR POSITION AND COLLAPSE CONFIDENCE GERMAN AND ALLIES.
A general uneasiness fell on them as they waited for an answer from Washington. The next transmission came from the Chief of Staff of the Army.
TOP SECRET: NOTHING IN CONTINGENCY PLANS TO COVER ARMED CONVOY.
Peck of the German desk continued the message:
ATTEMPTING RENEWAL DIPLOMATIC DISCUSSIONS RUSSIANS. SAME TIME PUT BERLIN QUESTION ON UNITED NATIONS AGENDA. RASH ACTION NOW MAY ENDANGER TALKS.
Eric the Red’s blood pressure began rising. It was beyond his comprehension that the State Department could be so naive as not to know that the Russians would stall talks until the city was on the brink of starvation.
TOP SECRET: REPEAT. IT IS OUR CONSIDERED OPINION WE CAN BREAK BLOCKADE BY IMMEDIATE SHOW OF STRENGTH. REPEAT REQUEST PERMISSION TO SEND ARMED CONVOY ON AUTOBAHN.
As the chips were down, the tension could be read on their faces.
TOP SECRET: REQUEST DENIED.
They were deflated, and talked among themselves quickly, trading ideas.
TOP SECRET: REQUEST YOU CONSIDER MOVING B-29’S WITH ATOMIC WARHEADS TO BRITISH BASES AS PSYCHOLOGICAL DETERRENT.
From Washington, a thread of hope.
IDEA ALREADY UNDER CONSIDERATION. FOR YOUR INFORMATION CODE NAME TOP HAT.
“Well, they’re not completely dead,” Hazzard said.
“We can’t leave it hanging this way,” Hansen said.
TOP SECRET: HANSEN SENDS. REQUEST URGENT MEETING JOINT CHIEFS AND NATIONAL SECURITY COUNCIL IMMEDIATELY. ADVISE.
TOP SECRET: KING SENDS. WHEN CAN YOU BE IN WASHINGTON?
TOP SECRET: WILL ADVISE MY ETA. ANYTHING FURTHER?
WASHINGTON: NOTHING FURTHER.
BERLIN: OUT.
Hansen’s rubbery face was knotted as though he were in pain. If Washington decided to move the B-29’s it might throw the Russians off long enough for him to make a last appeal.
Back in his office, his aide called Tempelhof to have the general’s aircraft commander prepare for the trip.
Hansen phoned his wife, instructed her to pack, as she had done for him a thousand times, and bring his bags to Tempelhof. As he swept out of the main gate, an ever-present knot of Germans waved to him. On the way to the airport he droned instructions to his people.
His plane was in ready upon his arrival, warming up under the canopy. His Air Force captain and his aide hastily cleared a flight plan with Operations.
Hansen shook hands with Barney Root and Billy Crossfield, Sean, and Neal Hazzard.
“We’ll be here when you get back, General,” Sean said.
In a few moments Agnes Hansen arrived.
“Mother,” he said, “you don’t know how hard it is for me to leave you here alone but you do know why you must stay.”
She smiled. “If you have time, call the children from Washington.”
“Damn,” he said, “you’re a good trooper.”
They watched as the General’s Skymaster lifted him from the runway and banked out of sight.
Chapter Two
SEAN GROANED LIKE A happy puppy as the sun poured down on his back. It was the first real hot spell of the summer, driving off the fogs and mists and the first time he had had enough free hours to relax by the lake.
At that place where the Little Wannsee and the Greater Wannsee merged with the Havel River there was a strip of luxury mansions. The waters were still, with no breeze to billow disappointed sails. An occasional barge glided into the canals toward the Russian Sector.
Overhead there was a constant drone of American Gooney Birds pulling up from Tempelhof, and just over the lakes their British counterparts, the Dakotas, were landing on the Gatow airstrip.
There was a thin strand of imported-sand beach behind which rolled a long, lush lawn and this was filled with patio chairs and umbrellas, and there was a pool. The great house had been converted into an American Officers’ Club. Like most of the other mansions on this strip, it once belonged to a top Nazi who had stolen it from a Jew who could not return from the grave to reclaim it.
Ernestine sat alongside Sean, her head on her knees, arms about her legs. She knew the eyes of every American officer looked her over. She had not been looked over this way for a long time and she liked it.
The American women were looking her over also, in grudging admiration. Sean was breaking that unwritten law against bringing a German girl into their midst, socially. Well, she could hear most of them say, she is not as bad as most German girls ... after all she is the niece of Falkenstein ... and a pretty thing ... if you like the type.
The gossips did not matter much to Ernestine. The day mattered. Sean mattered. ... Long ago she was in a tiny boat on the Wannsee and she told Dietrich Rascher she wanted to sail up to the canals, and then into the sea and away ... forever and ever.
Ernestine did not believe she could ever come to this place again and be happy. The other love had ended in blackness. There was a tiny promise that this might be the first real happiness of her life.
She took a handful of sand and let it trickle through her fingers on Sean’s back. From his drowsing, he reached behind him to brush away an imaginary fly. She persisted.
“Let me sleep, woman.”
“A handsome young colonel asked me to come to the beach with him. Tell me, old man, do you know where he went?”
Sean rolled over on his back and stretched as the sun greeted his face. “Jesus, what a day.”
Ernestine knelt above him so that her warm flesh touched him.
“You are like the other woman who sits on that rock on the Rhine whistling to poor souls and making them crash on the rocks seeking her mystic charms.”
“Sean, it is getting too painful to be funny.”
He sat up so they were side by side looking into the other’s eyes.
“You and I would be like a couple of freight trains hitting each other head on.”
“Does it have to be that way?”
“Yes.”
“Damn you. You sound like Uncle Ulrich.”
“He’s a wise man,” Sean said, and lay back on the sand and stared at the sky. She lay beside him. Their eyes followed a Dakota circling, then falling toward the treetops and out of sight.