Armageddon - Leon Uris

The engineers and the Berliners labored in a fury to complete the third airfield at Tegel. Day ... night ... day .. . night ... beat ... beat ... beat... ten tons ... ten tons ... ten tons.

Although the miracle had come within grasp for the first time, the greatest single challenge still lay ahead, for soon they would face that long time ally of the Russians ... General winter.

Chapter Twenty

“HOW THE DEVIL DID you get here?” Sean asked.

“Lil Blessing drove me over,” Ernestine said. “Well ... do you ask me in?”

Sean held the door of his flat open, awkwardly.

“So this is your sanctum.” It was a lovely flat, of course. The occupation forces took the best. “Well, aren’t you glad to see me?”

“I wasn’t prepared for an invasion.”

“Look,” she said, reaching into a shopping bag like those carried by all Berlin women. She produced two steaks.

“Where the hell did you get those?”

“Black market.”

“You, in particular, with your uncle’s name should never go to the black market,” he lectured.

“Oh, stop it, Sean. Lil Blessing gave them to me. She said I could find my way to your heart with these, but you don’t have one.”

“Ernestine Falkenstein, look at me. I said, look at me. Are you tipsy?”

“Poo-poo-poo.”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Poo-poo-poo. Just enough to have the courage to storm into your fortress.”

Sean knew he must relent or he would have a bawling female on his hands. “Okay, there’s the kitchen. Get busy. I’m starved.”

Ernestine heaved a sigh of dismay. “Oh dear, I thought you would say that. Oh Sean, I studied so hard to be a lawyer I just never learned to cook. I’ll just ruin the steaks and you’ll never see me again.”

“Well now, didn’t you and your great friend Lil Blessing prepare for such a contingency?”

“You might just offer me a drink, you know.”

He found the mildest liquor in the cabinet, sherry. She sipped, breathed contentedly, set the glass down. “I made reservations for us at Humperdink’s. It is a fine restaurant, even though it happens to be in the Russian Sector. Uncle and I eat there often. Franz said he would personally attend to the steaks.”

“You’ve got yourself a date. Stay away from the booze and I’ll make myself dashing.”

As he left the room, Ernestine walked to his desk and looked at the pictures of his brothers and his father.

Humperdink’s, about the only building on Gernerstrasse not flattened, was a large house converted into one big room broken into paneled booths. The walls and crannies held boar and stag heads, beer mugs from the Middle Ages, Dresden figurines, and tapestries.

Lothar, an elderly blind man, played the zither at the entrance of the candlelit room. Actually his name was not Lothar, nor was he blind. As a former SS officer, the disguise proved excellent to keep him out of the hands of the justice seekers.

“Herr Oberst,” Franz said bowing profusely again and again. “An honor, sir.”

He took the steaks, swore to do them justice, escorted the two to a choice booth already enhanced with the presence of a bottle of chilled champagne. The room was warm and sentimental. Ernestine sipped, then sang to the zither melody. Sean, she thought to herself, have you grown tired of me before you even let yourself know me? Oh, you lion among men. It was growing painful now and she knew she could not show him. She longed to say, “Ich liebe dich.”

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“Nothing in particular.”

Franz ushered three German couples to a large table in the center of the floor. She recognized her brother Gerd among them.

“Oh dear,” she said, “I wanted tonight to be perfect. My brother has just come in and can be quite unpleasant.”

Sean smiled. “I will be the epitome of restraint and charm,” he promised.

Gerd nodded to Ernestine and she to him. He excused himself from his table and made his way to their booth. Sean arose.

“Hello, Erna.”

“Gerd. Colonel O’Sullivan, my brother Gerd.”

Sean shook his hand and asked him to have a seat.

“Only for a moment,” Gerd protested. “My partners and our friends are having a small celebration.”

Gerd’s inference was plain to Ernestine. He was saying, see, Germans also can enjoy Humperdink’s and there are still decent German girls left who prefer the company of German men.

On the other hand, Gerd could not say he was unhappy that his sister was in the company of a known Ami officer. He felt strongly that Germany’s future lay in alliance with the Amis and what better way to cement an alliance?

Erna and Uncle Ulrich made him look good. In fact, he had ditched his old Nazi friends and joined the Democratic Party. It was good business.

“Mother and Father?” Erna asked.

“Both well. Father devotes full time to managing our Wilmersdorf Branch. And our sainted sister?”

“Hilde has made a full recovery, thank you.”

“She is in Wiesbaden, is she not?”

“Yes.”

Sean felt the stilted air between them, was sorry for Ernestine’s discomfort, and glad when Gerd turned the conversation to him.

“You have heard the news, Herr Oberst. Your people and the British landed nearly five thousand tons again today ... and in such weather. I never cease to marvel at it.”

“I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with the Airlift people. They are an extraordinary bunch.”

“I should say so. If you land much more coal, you’ll drive me out of business.”

Gerd was trying to be pleasant. It was a bad joke. He was reaping a fortune from the blockade by the manufacture and sale of an ersatz coal called Blockade Briquets composed of compressed sawdust, dried grass, and low-grade peat. It smoked and it stank, but it did burn after a fashion and was desperately sought to augment the home supply.

Gerd accepted a glass of champagne from Sean. Decent chap, he thought. Held it up to toast. “Prosit. May we never be enemies again.”

Sean did not answer.

“So here we are,” Gerd said, “former enemies sitting as friends in the Russian Sector.”

“In America we say that politics makes strange bedfellows.”

Gerd smarted from the insult. “Very strange bedfellows,” he said, looking directly at Erna.

Sean caught her pleading look and remembered his promise of restraint.

“Yesterday,” Gerd continued pensively, “your airplanes brought bombs. Today the crowds stand and watch Tempelhof with a holy vigil.” He deliberately offered Sean a very expensive cigar, lit his own. “I used to be an antiaircraft gunner. It is still strange for me to look up into the sky without trying to shoot you down.”

Sean flung the champagne from his glass into Gerd’s face.

“What the devil!”

“Gerd! His brother was a pilot.”

Gerd stiffened, waved his friends back. A small smile formed at the corners of his mouth. “Forgive me, Herr Oberst.”

The zither player picked up a melody quickly.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sean said.

“Sean,” she said outside, “he did not know.”

But he did not hear. There was not another word exchanged until he stopped the car before her uncle’s flat.

“Good night. Please see yourself in.”

“I cannot let you go away like this.”

His fists clenched and his face contorted with rage and confusion. And he could hold it no longer. He buried his hands in his face ... lost ... alone. She tried to touch him but he became rigid.

“Oh God,” she cried, “I cannot stand it any longer. Please take me to your room ... please, Sean ... please.”

I will drink the bitterness from you ... I will give you love for every hour you have known hate ... I will overcome all of that in us that you despise ... my love is strong enough to do this ... yes, my love is strong enough.