Armageddon (93 page)

“I’m glad you made the decision to bring this in,” he said.

“Sir ... I am guilty ...”

“Sean. These papers took a long time being processed at your desk. That is all there is to it.”

“Sir ...”

That is all there is to it, understand.”

“Not after what I did to another man for the same thing.”

“There are differences. You will refuse to recognize them now because of the punishment you are inflicting on yourself. I should like to know about Fraulein Falkenstein?”

“She sent me away.”

Hansen realized that the girl’s decision had come out of love for him to allow him to try to create some kind of normal life.

“I’m sorry, Sean.”

“Our wounds run too deep. I cannot make peace with the Germans. Erna and I ... tried to fool ourselves. No real peace can ever be made until we pass on and the new generation of Americans and Germans make it.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, Sean.”

“General, please help me get out of Germany.”

A PAUSE FOR REFLECTION

by Nelson Goodfellow Bradbury

West Berlin is delirious with victory. The Western world has won its first and only victory of the cold war.

In a year’s time, a quarter of a million flights into Berlin carried two and a half million tons of cargo flying over a half million miles.

It cost us a quarter of a billion dollars and seventy lives. This is cheap, as battles go. We gained immeasurable technical knowledge and this victory brought out the finest qualities of American courage and ingenuity.

We have renewed our bond with the British ally and we have found a new ally. In this first test, the Berliner was pure iron. But those among us who believe this is a final victory are fools. The Soviet Union has had its momentum halted by the Truman Doctrine, the Marshall Plan, NATO, and the Airlift. The Kremlin is merely pausing to reflect.

The agreement ending the Berlin blockade, like all Soviet agreements, is useful to them for the moment. They have not changed an iota of the promise to devour the human race with communism.

The Soviet Union will catch its bearings and shop around for cheap victories. The West will be tested again and again.

In the end, the Soviet Union must always come back to Berlin, the scene of their defeat. As long as the West remains, the Soviet Union cannot consolidate her colonies behind closed doors and is faced with living with exposure of her way of life.

Already one sees the drab existence that lies in store for the Russian Zone of Germany, now contrasted by the surge in West Germany. The Kremlin cannot stand such public exposure and they must try to run us out of Berlin again and again. A battle is won. The war goes on.

The end of the Second World War saw the Russians, secluded for centuries, suddenly come out of their shell and pour beyond their borders.

I think it will take a long time for them to learn to live with the rest of the world and to learn that most of the human race has no desire to be made over in their image.

American determination must make new Russian victories come harder. Then will they look into their own house, cleanse their own ills and decide to join the family of man and let the world live in peace. Until the Soviet Union learns this, we are in for many hard years.

And what about the Germans?

The present generation would like to forget the Nazi era. Tough luck. They are bathed in the blood of thirty million dead. There is no way to cleanse themselves.

What of the German who swears he was not a Nazi?

Before we pass judgment on the Germans let me say that I have never found an American who has expressed personal guilt over the fact that we destroyed a people and their civilization in brutal indifference to gain the North American continent. And damned few feel guilt as Americans for the dropping of atomic weapons on undefended civilian cities.

Fewer still take personal responsibility for the fact that twenty million Americans live as second-class citizens in our country. While it is easy for us to see the faults in the Germans and the Russians, we most conveniently fail to see them in ourselves.

The Germans tell us that all men are inhuman. True. Nonetheless, when the final book on man’s inhumanity to man is written, the blackest chapter will be awarded to the German people in the Nazi era.

How about the coming generation of Germans? Are they to be held responsible for the sins of their fathers? Can a German boy be any more innocent than the Polish boy who must live with the scars inflicted by the German?

All of us are the sum total of our past. The Nazi era is part of the sum total of the heritage of unborn German generations. Yes, they are responsible.

The road to redemption is to face up to the truth of the past. Only the successful experience of a democracy will ever bring these people around.

The German citizen who has historically permitted himself to be politically ignorant must stop turning his “fate” over to the “father” who fills his lunch bucket.

There must be more to German political stature than a loaf of bread and making the best deal to survive. Already we hear complaints about the taxation to save Berlin. Yet, we must be skilled and patient and hope that by living with Americans some of it will rub off on them.

If there is ever to be a redemption of the German people, it began in Berlin.

Berliners boast that they are different. So do the people of Hamburg, Munich, and San Francisco. Which Berliners are different? The ones in the Western Sectors or those in the Soviet Sector?

We see too many fearsome signs of Nazi-like revivals across the Brandenburg Gate. The only difference is the color of the flag and the hammer and sickle replacing the swastika. All the rest is the same. They are, in fact a weak people who must lean upon someone else.

Some leaders in Berlin will tell you that Berlin has always been the heartstone of democratic German thought. It has a long tradition of labor and liberalism. This is true.

It is also true that it was the heartstone of Prussian militarism and the German General Staff that brought the world to such misery.

Other Berliners will tell you they were never Nazi. I saw the Hitler legions goose-step through the Brandenburg Gate past fanatical mobs of Berliners screaming “sieg heil.”

Giving the Berliner all the benefits of the doubt that they were still partly Nazi and I ask, “How much is being a little bit Nazi?”

Berliners will say they saw tyranny before and were quick to spot it again. When they did, they stopped it. This is a hard point to take issue with. Even professional German haters who may claim that Berlin stood because of terror of the Russians cannot answer why they decided to do this while expecting the West to quit the city.

We conclude: The people of Berlin have achieved a victory for democracy. This victory neither exonerates them nor pays the bill for their participation in Hitler’s Germany.

Berlin was the Nazi capital. Nothing can change that.

West Berlin has contributed more for the freedom of mankind than any people in the world since the end of the war. Nothing can change that fact, either.

When I asked a wise American general, “Will the German people change?” he answered me with the wisdom of all great men. He said, “Come back in twenty-five years and I’ll give you an answer.”

Chapter Forty-three

“E
RNESTINE.”

“Yes, Uncle?”

“Can you take a little something to eat, child?”

“I am not hungry, Uncle.”

“You have just sat here day after day with almost no food or sleep. You will be very ill.”

“Please do not worry about me.”

“I must go to make a public appearance with General Hansen. Won’t you come with us?”

“I am tired, Uncle. I wish to stay.”

“Erna ... Hilde is coming back to Berlin today. She is flying home from Frankfurt. She will be with us tonight.”

“Hilde?”

“Hilde, your sister, will be here tonight.”

“How wonderful it will be to see her.”

“I hear the doorbell. It must be General Hansen’s aide.”

“Uncle ... why doesn’t Sean call me?”

“You must forget him. He flies away today.”

“Why didn’t he call to say good-by?”

“Erna ... he did call many times, but you would not talk to him.”

“Oh, yes ... yes ... I remember now.”

“The general’s aide is here. I must go now. Shall I open the curtain and let in some light?”

“No, I am more comfortable this way.”

“How is the girl?” General Hansen asked in the car.

“She is beyond sorrow. I will thank God when this day is over, knowing that her sister has returned. It will take a long time for her to get over this.”

“Herr Falkenstein ... please know, sir, that that boy is like a son to me. He tried beyond human limits. I swear that to you ... he tried.”

“My concern is not for him.”

The two old warriors drove off to meet their cheering publics. Through the hell they had survived together, they had formed a deep mutual admiration. Ulrich Falkenstein gave the general a copy of a law passed by the Berlin Assembly granting an education without cost at the Free University to every son and daughter of an American who died on the Air Bridge.

The presence of the American Commandant General Neal Hazzard set off a wild ovation by the crowd assembled before Tempelhof. His car was swamped. Neal was weary from drinking and celebrating in what must have been every German bar in the Western Sectors. As he shoved through, babies were thrust into his face to be kissed and he was embraced. Women grabbed his hand and kissed it. It could be said that no occupation governor in the world’s history was held in such esteem by those he had conquered.

He finally was able to get into the main building and found the office where Colonel O’Sullivan awaited departure. Sean, his mighty friend through battle after battle of nerves, was a shell of himself.

“Sean, are you going to be all right?”

“Why wouldn’t she say good-by to me ... why... why?”

Hiram Stonebraker’s personal Gooney Bird had been sent to take O’Sullivan to Frankfurt. An aide said the plane was in readiness.

“Can you make it?” Neal asked.

Sean nodded.

Beyond the building in the square the festivities were reaching a new pitch. They could hear an Army hand play “Stars and Stripes Forever.” They could hear the wild shouts and ovations of the Berliners.

Neal Hazzard walked slowly, supporting Sean. They entered the Gooney Bird. Neal waved the crew away. “The colonel has a virus. Stay away from him and let him rest.”

“Good-by, Sean,” Neal said. “God bless you.”

“So long, Neal,” he whispered.

A deafening roar burst anew from the crowd which had jammed into every possible space in the plaza before Tempelhof.

Oberburgermeister Ulrich Falkenstein had arrived with General Andrew Jackson Hansen.

Neal Hazzard pushed his way through the adoring mob to join them near the speaker’s stand, and when they saw him ascend the steps the hysteria of West Berlin burst anew. They ascended the steps together, waving to the multitudes.

“Falkenstein! Hansen! Hazzard!” a hundred thousand throats chanted. “Falkenstein! Hansen! Hazzard!”

For a terrifying second the three men stopped and looked at the sky as Tempelhof Tower cleared the Gooney Bird bearing Sean O’Sullivan.

The Gooney Bird passed above Ulrich Falkenstein’s flat. Ernestine watched it disappear and drew the curtain. She walked slowly into the kitchen, shut the door, pulled down the window, and drew the blind. She went to the stove, stood over it a second, her eyes transfixed on the gas jets. Her hand reached out and she turned them on. They hissed. Ernestine sat back in a chair as the smell reached her nostrils. She drank it in deliciously. And soon her eyelids grew heavy and she began to doze.

Judy Loveless held Hilde’s hands on a wooden bench at the Frankfurt Airport on the civilian side of Rhein/Main. Clint stood in front of them, his hands in his pockets. Tony imitated his father. Lynn sat on Hilde’s lap, sobbing.

“Hilde,” Judy said, “the offer to come and stay with us is always open. You know we mean it.”

Hilde smiled. “My father needs me. He has asked for me. It will be a terrible ordeal. And that foolish sister of mine went and lost her heart when I warned her not to.”

“And you, Hilde? What about your heart? Will you get over Scott?”

“We are two foolish sisters.”

“You must write to us.”

“I promise, Mrs. Loveless. Colonel, I am so glad you are going home.”

“Well,” he said, “Utah isn’t exactly home.”

“You and Mrs. Loveless will always have a home ... because there are the two of you.”

At the moment that life passed from Ernestine, her uncle stood before his people.

“Berliners,” he said, with a voice echoing over the mass, “we cannot express our gratitude by the mere naming of this place as the Airlift Plaza. We cannot tell what is in our hearts. The way we shall express our thanks to those American and British flyers who have given us freedom is to keep this city a fortress. I beg you now to all stand in silent reverence to those who have given their lives for Berlin.”

The Gooney Bird touched down at Rhein/Main. Colonel O’Sullivan was met and driven to the civilian side of the field where a MATS flight would return him to the States.

At that moment the loudspeaker called for German Nationals to board a Pan-Am flight to Berlin.

The scene around Hilde was filled with tears and embraces. When, at last, she was told she could delay no longer, she ran out a few steps and blew a kiss to the Loveless family.

Past the gate she was on the field. In her haste she did not see the American Army colonel coming in her direction.

They bumped together. The packages in Hilde’s arms tumbled to the ground and they both knelt instinctively to pick them up.

“I beg your pardon, fraulein,” Sean said.

“I am clumsy, it was my fault,” Hilde answered.

“Please let me help you.”

He fitted the packages into her arms. He put his fingers to his cap in a salute. “
Aufwiedersehen,
fraulein,” he said.