Although Audrey and I never had a definitive conversation about marriage, she believed it was implied, or why else would she be living on an island in the middle of the Mediterranean so far from home? I had no answer, and I felt like a complete heel because I had stayed in a relationship out of habit and because it was convenient. It all ended in a very civilized way with no harsh words exchanged. I have to confess I am a bit of a romantic. I have always hoped that when I met the girl I wanted to marry, there would be a spark from our first moment together. That had not happened with Audrey, but I am positive it will happen.
I knew that Beth was a faithful correspondent and that she kept her son up-to-date on everything that was going on back in England. If those updates included me, then Michael knew that Rob and I were having problems, which might explain why he had enclosed a picture of all four Crowells standing in the ruins of the Acropolis in Athens when he was about ten years old. On the back, he had written, “It’s been a while. Don’t you think it’s about time I went back for a second visit? I don’t think you’ve ever been to Greece, or have you?” Was that an invitation?
That night I had a dream where Michael and I were in bed together, and it was so real that I could almost taste his mouth and feel his weight on top of me. In the morning, I was ashamed of what was happening. I was in love with Rob, but I had been thinking about Michael so much, he was showing up in my dreams in his skivvies. And did any of this matter? If things did not work out with Rob, I would be long gone by the time Michael was discharged in November because a formal announcement had been made that AES operations were going to be run out of Germany. So there was no point in dreaming about a romance with Michael Crowell. Or so I thought. But events in Berlin were about to change everything.
Chapter 24
At my office, everyone had been on edge waiting for the dreaded memo regarding our reassignments, when events unfolding in Germany turned everything on its head. The Soviet Union had halted all traffic by water and land into or out of the Allied sectors of Berlin. The only remaining access routes into the city were three twenty-mile-wide air corridors across the Russian zone. The Soviets’ intention was to take over the three zones of Berlin not under their control. With no Allied traffic coming into Berlin to supply its inhabitants with basic necessities, the Soviet Union would be able to starve Berlin into submission.
On June 26, 1948, the Western Powers responded with the start of the Berlin Airlift. On that day, C-47 cargo planes, flown by the United States Air Force, carried eighty tons of food into Berlin, not nearly enough to provide the minimum daily requirements of Berlin’s population, but it would soon be joined by the U.S. Navy and the Royal Air Force. In short order, the United States responded to the Soviet’s blockade by making an open-ended commitment to the people of Berlin to supply them with calories and coal, as long as they were willing to stand up to Soviet bullying.
In Britain, tensions that had eased in the three years since the end of the war immediately returned. While events in Berlin were being dissected in Whitehall, the British were having their own discussions in their homes, in the workplace, in pubs, and on the street. “Berlin Airlift,” two words that hadn’t existed a week earlier, now summarized the greatest threat to peace in Europe since the end of hostilities in May 1945.
In the States, reservists were being called up to augment active-duty personnel now being transferred to Germany. Events moved so quickly that older World War II C-47s that had been flown over the beaches of Normandy were pressed into service. The planes, bearing the white stripes on their wings, which had identified them as “friendly” aircraft during the invasion, were expected to hold down the fort until the larger C-54s could arrive from the States.
One of the pilots in those early days was Greg McAllister, Rob’s brother. Greg had received orders assigning him to Great Falls Air Force Base in Montana for retraining on the newer and larger C-54 cargo plane. The Air Force built training facilities that simulated flying conditions over Berlin and runways that replicated the air corridor approach paths into the city.
On his way back to the States, Greg had a scheduled stop in England for refueling and had arranged to see his brother. Rob told me not to look for any great family resemblance. Rob took after his father’s side of the family, which included a light-haired, blue-eyed, five-foot-ten Swedish grandmother, while Greg favored his mother’s side: solid, muscular, dark hair, brown-eyed German farmers. It seemed the only part of Rob that was actually Scots-Irish was his name. We met Greg at a pub near the air base where his plane was being refueled. If Rob projected an air of being the laid-back cowboy, Greg reminded me of an overwound clock.
“I’ve got only two hours before I have to fly out of here, but thanks for coming.” Looking at me, he said, “If I had a girlfriend as pretty as you, I’d let everyone know, but Rob always did play his cards close to his vest.”
I felt as if I had just been slapped in the face. Apparently, no one in his family knew I existed. But I would have to think about that later, as it was clear that something was not right. Under the table, one of Greg’s legs was constantly shaking, and he was lighting one cigarette with the burning end of another. Rob understood immediately what was wrong and asked his brother just how bad it was flying into Berlin.
“Really, really bad.” Greg told him of the many problems the Allied pilots were facing each day. “We have these very short runways, and you can’t make a mistake or you’ll crash. You have only one chance to land. If you blow it, you have to return to base and get back in line. You can fly up to three missions a day, and it’s hard to think straight.” Greg stubbed out his cigarette, but he quickly lit up another one.
“We’re flying in tons of coal every day, but it’s a real problem. The coal dust gets into the control cables, which makes it difficult to control the airplane. We finally figured out that if we fly with our escape hatches open, the dust gets sucked out the back. But a lot of it still floats in the air, and when you sweat, it sticks to your skin.
“We’re flying at 5,000 feet, with the planes stacked five high, and landing every three minutes. The Ruskies jam our radio channels, and when we take off at night, they turn their searchlights on us so that we can’t see. But that’s not the worst of it. Lately, the YAK fighters have been flying straight at us. The bastards peel off only at the last second, or they sneak up behind you and fly over your wings. They’re trying to push us off course so we won’t be able to land.”
Rob put his hand on his brother’s arm to calm him down. The longer he talked, the more rattled he was becoming. “Greg, you’ve been doing this only for a couple of weeks, so everything’s new to you. You’re learning how to fly in a tight formation and landing with another plane right on your ass. It takes time to learn those things, and you will.” Looking straight into his brother’s eyes, Rob said, “Those guys have years of combat experience. I know it’s scary as hell to have fighters flying straight at you, but they’re not there to kill you, just to scare the crap out of you.”
“Well, they’re doing a hell of a job.” Greg swallowed half of his beer in one go. “Did you ever think you would shit in your pants?” As far as Greg was concerned, I wasn’t even there. He needed assurance from his brother that he could do this and that it was normal to be frightened.
“Did I ever think I’d shit in my pants? Hell, yes! Just getting that plane into formation was nerve-wracking. After flying through flak and having German fighters open up on us, you’re damn right I was scared. There were times when I couldn’t walk I was shaking so badly. I used to think it was just me, but then I’d notice when we went into interrogation to be debriefed, the pilots would head straight for the guy who was handing out shots of whiskey.”