Andrew Jackson Hansen studied the room. They were all there. Friends and a few adversaries of three decades. They were hard-nosed, brilliant, dedicated men and he was beaten, for this was not a situation that could be solved with logic. How could one convince wise men to go against the grain of their knowledge?
Yet, there had to be a flicker of hope, for in the final analysis it was not a joint decision, but that of the lone man at the end of the table, the President. He would have to weigh and decide on the words of the day after his captains departed. He was an earthy man, the President, and he was strong on the issue of stopping communism. He was ahead of his countrymen, his diplomats, his Congress, and even some of his military.
There was little room spared in the pages of glory for a general whose fate or talent kept him from the romance of a combat command, the utterance of a salty slogan under enemy fire, or the drawing of a gory wound; but Andrew Jackson Hansen believed, and he placed those beliefs on the line now. The general was pale and watery-eyed from a persistent cold. His chest was heavy from four days of argument at conference tables.
“Mr. President,” he began hoarsely, “gentlemen. A few years ago we concluded a war with the naive hope that an accommodation could be achieved with the Soviet Union to bring us a lasting peace. I shall not insult the intelligence of this distinguished body by a recounting of tragic errors made ... not by you and me alone ... but by the temper of the American people. We know that all that has prevented total collapse has been that thin, thin line of British and American troops on the European continent.”
An uncomfortable fidgeting began around the table from those who had followed the line of try to reason with the Soviet Union.
“If there is one lesson we should have learned it is that the Soviet Union looks upon diplomacy as merely another means of waging war. They do not come to the conference table to seek peace or solutions ... they come to seek victories.
“The blockade of Berlin is designed to force this country to negotiate under pressure.”
He left his chair, walked down the length of the table so that he stood at the opposite end of the table from the President and the eyes of every man could be seen by him. His voice grew more harsh and slower and the room was awesomely silent.
“What are the objectives of the Soviet Union? Above all to prevent us from the formation of a democratic Germany, but if they accept that as an accomplished fact, they fall back to the second goal of ejecting us from Berlin.
“Germany’s only chance of being rebuilt along democratic lines and our only chance of converting her into an ally is possible only as long as the United States stands behind her. And who, who will trust the United States after we leave Berlin? Who in Europe and Asia will believe that the United States will not abandon them too? And, gentlemen, I ask you ... will we believe ourselves?
“Lenin said, give me the currency and I will control the nation. Take the B marks out of Berlin and we have lost Berlin! But is the currency or even the formation of a democratic Germany the true issue? It is not.” His voice quivered.
“The Soviet Union will engage us in a war for one reason and one reason alone ... because they think they can win. Do you think they need a currency issue? They’ll invent any damned issue that will please them when they feel the time is ripe.
“Gentlemen. Mr. President. We have fought two wars against the German people in our lifetime. I know some of you here who have lost sons. And God knows there is no love of Germany from me. Yet, we find ourselves in this alliance and the man and the woman in Berlin shows us he is made of remarkable stuff.”
Hansen’s fist pounded the polished oak.
“Contrary to every evaluation made here today I flatly state that the people of Berlin will not crack.” And his voice fell to a whisper.
“We have been told that this city cannot be supplied or saved or defended. I say that it is not expendable. Have we lost the imagination, the skill, the guts that has made our nation perform two centuries of miracles? Are we too content to defend ourselves? Have we lost faith in ourselves?
“You speak of costs, gentlemen. Has anyone calculated the cost to our coming generations if Europe is lost?
“If we leave Berlin, the Soviet Union is then free to consolidate its empire behind a closed border. As long as we retain our outpost in Berlin, communism can never consolidate.
“We cannot abandon the one place on this planet where we hold an offensive position.
“This is no ordinary city. Berlin ... is our Armageddon.”
Hansen leaned forward, his knuckles pressed against the table and turned white. He looked now at the President alone. “In the name of God, Mr. President, the future of freedom on this earth requires our presence.”
The full misery of Hansen’s cold crashed down on him with the feeling that his mission had failed. He returned to his hotel, the Hay-Adams, and received a score of old comrades rather listlessly.
Those who had attended the meeting tried to buck him up, but he hadn’t the spirit for it. The repeated specter of the national apathy that preceded the war had come back to haunt the military. The country was a fat cow riding a postwar boom and things over there just did not matter.
By evening his aide insisted that he accept no more visitors and take no more calls, but get into bed and send for a doctor. Hansen growled against medical attendance, ate a bowl of hot chowder, had tea spiked with brandy, then sat in the greatest dejection of his life staring at the White House just over the way. He sat alone recounting the past four days.
What had gone wrong? He blamed himself for failure to bring home the truth. There was small solace that the man in the White House now wrestled with this problem.
Beyond the White House jutted the illuminated obelisk pointed skyward in memory of George Washington, and past that the circle of lights and airplanes taking off and landing in quick succession at the Washington National Airport on the river. He did not believe he could ever see an airplane again without thinking of Tempelhof.
Weariness overtook him. He dozed in his chair.
He did not know how long he slept, but when he was awakened by the phone it was dark outside. He squinted at his watch. It was three in the morning. He was certain his phones had been shut off by his aide.
“Hello,” he rasped.
“General Hansen?”
“Speaking.”
“Sorry to disturb you at this hour, but the President would like to talk to you.”
Hansen looked out of the window again and drew an image of the Chief.
“General, how’s that cold of yours?”
“I’ll live, sir.”
“I’ve sent a couple bottles of Jack Daniels over to your hotel. Best thing in the world. Take a couple of stiff belts before you go back to sleep. I’ll send a doctor over to see you in the morning.”
He was about to spout that he didn’t want a doctor, but thought better of it
“General, I’m going to send you those Skymasters you want. You get back to Berlin and tell those people we intend to stick by our word.”
A long grateful silence followed.
“It is going to take a little time to convince everybody here, but you just leave that to me. You can depend on the first squadrons arriving within the week. Now, what else do you need?”
“I’d like General Stonebraker recalled.”
“It has my approval.”
“Good. I’ll leave for California in the morning to see him.”
“Give him my best and get over that cold.”
By the next morning Hansen had made a remarkable recovery. His aide had his plane stand by at the MATS terminal and as he flew out for Los Angeles to see Hiram Stonebraker, the Defense Department announced that Skymasters would be on the way to Germany shortly.