Armageddon - Leon Uris

General Trepovitch was selected to read the proclamation on People’s Radio the next day.

“There is no blockade of Berlin! The Soviet Union can no longer stand by idly and watch the Airlift aggression bring further suffering to the workers of Berlin. Your Soviet brothers hold out their open arms.

“Beginning Monday the people in the so-called American borough of Neukölln may cross to their brothers at the borough town hall of Treptow in the Soviet Sector and turn in your illegal ration cards and B marks. You will be issued a new ration book guaranteed by the Soviet Union giving you five hundred more calories of food a day. Your illegal B marks will be exchanged for regular marks at the rate of one to one.”

An awesome moment of decision had come! Every man and woman had to search deeply and alone to find his own answer. Face starvation in the winter; if you survive the winter ... what then? Continue to live in fear of another Russian onslaught of another kind? Perhaps direct invasion ... like the last one.

Would it not be better then to simply submit to survive and accept the Russian offer as the only way out of an impossible trap. The revenge would be horrible if the Russians were rejected.

The procedure was simple. On given days, citizens of a Western borough were to go to a neighboring Russian borough and exchange ration books and currency. There were over two million people in the Western Sector. The Soviets figured if only half of them crossed over initially the shaky city administration would collapse and the West would be hopelessly deluged by Russian marks.

In the Russian boroughs of Treptow, Freidrichshain, Pankow, Mitte, and Prenzlauer Berg they staffed for the onslaught!

The week of great decision came and went with no change in the life of Berlin. Two per cent of the people in Western Sectors changed to Russian rations.

Chapter Twenty-five

CLINT LOVELESS STUDIED THE list for repair or replacement of equipment. The top priority read: starters, landing lights, harnesses, inverters, indicator master gyro fluxgate compasses, ammeters, indicator gyro horizons, and on down to windshield wipers, transmitter oil pressure, propellers.

The general had had him at Erding to break the spare-parts repair bottleneck.

There was a knock on his door.

“Come in.”

Scott Davidson entered. “Hello, Scott.”

“I had to come to Headquarters on some other business and wondered if I could see you for a few minutes.”

“Sure.”

He pushed his paperwork aside and rubbed his eyes. Scott studied his office curiously. It was a wonderland of charts and maps.

MAJOR PROBLEM AREAS

PRIORITY PROJECTS

CAUSES OF PILOT FATIGUE

Scott had always seen the colonel as a guy on the general’s coattails, always looking green when he left the plane in Berlin. This first sight of his office gave him a sudden new respect.

“Sir,” Scott said, “I’ve just finished this report and wanted you to have a look at it.”

Clint took the folio. The cover read: THUNDERSTORM FLYING by Captain Scott Davidson, Chief Pilot, Airlift Wing, Provisional.

Clint made a sour face. “This is out of my line. All I know about it is that I hate it.”

“That’s just the point, Colonel. Before I submit it to the chief pilot here, I’d kind of like a layman’s opinion.”

Clint shrugged, put the folio on a stack of papers, and said he’d read it.

“Colonel, long as I happen to be here, I just happened to remember something else. You are in a hell of a position to do me a favor.”

“So?”

“Shall I get to the point?”

“By all means,” Clint said, handing him back the report on thunderstorm flying.

Scott smiled. “Sir ... I’d like an introduction to your housekeeper.”

“No.”

“But ...”

“I don’t want any of you crushed-hat bastards knocking her up. She’s too good a maid.”

“Colonel, I don’t have that in mind at all.”

“Then you must be queer.”

“The truth is that I met her once and well ... I was pretty damned crude. I’d like to make amends.”

Clinton Loveless had grave doubts about the sincerity of Scott Davidson. But what the hell ... trying to keep men away from Hilde was as ridiculous as ... trying to keep men away from Hilde. Furthermore, Clint flew with Scott and placed his life in the man’s hands too often to be uppity.

“Colonel, could I just happen to drop around your house, like for dinner ... or something?”

“Like maybe you’ve thought this over?”

“Well, sir, as a matter of fact, with me flying two runs a day to Berlin and all my paperwork, I’ve got limited time off.”

“Like when do you have in mind?”

“Like tonight ... Colonel?”

Clint was amused by Scott’s gall. “Cocktails are at six-thirty. I assume you’ve already cased my house and know how to find it.”

“Goddamn, Colonel, you’re a good troop.”

Judy thought Scott Davidson was adorable and just loved being part of the scheme. When Hilde served drinks in the living room she was introduced to the captain and matter-of-factly said she had met him. If she was uncomfortable about his sudden appearance, she did not show it.

“Won’t you join us for dinner, Captain?”

“Oh no, that would be putting you to too much trouble.”

“Nonsense.”

“Well ...”

“We insist, don’t we Clint.”

“We insist.”

“Hilde, set a place for Captain Davidson.” She nodded, went to the kitchen for her own dinner and to feed the children.

Scott waited until a reasonable time had passed in order to give proper attention to the hostess, then found a pretense to get into the kitchen.

Hilde was at the kitchen table joking with Tony and Lynn. Scott poured himself a glass of water, edged his way into the group, and quickly endeared himself to the children in the continuation of his outflanking her by having the family go crazy about him.

Tony and Lynn were sent off to put on their pajamas and study. Hilde flitted about the kitchen putting the final touches on the dinner as Judy and Clint discreetly remained in the living room with the martini mixer.

“Sure is a pleasant coincidence,” Scott said.

“I think not,” she answered.

“Look, I wanted to find you to tell you I’m sorry about the other night. We were tired and I just had too much to drink.”

“I don’t think you’re sorry.”

“I went to a lot of trouble to find you so I could show just how sorry I am.”

“What you are sorry about is that your ridiculous pride has been damaged. This trouble you are going to now is an attempt to redeem it.”

Hilde was neither amused, charmed, or swept up by him. The resistance was failing to melt on schedule for Scott Davidson.

“Can’t I have a clean slate?” he persisted.

Hilde set the bread knife down, wiped her hands on her apron. “This town is filled with easy girls who should be able to fill your appetite. You’re only going to damage your pride further if you attempt to see me.”

“You’re being too rough. I’m a lot of fun, Hilde.”

“Strange, Captain. I find you dull, spoiled, and immature.”

Nick Papas snapped his fingers together eagerly. It was the first bet he had ever collected from Scott. “Poop, Captain, poop.”

Scott peeled off five bills of ten-dollar military script.

“Fifty bucks.” Nick kissed the money with mock ecstasy. “Most beautiful bet I ever collected. Five O!”

“What’s up?” Stan Kitchek asked in amazement.

“I asked the captain to donate to buy candy bars for you to parachute to the kids in Berlin. Look what he did. He gave me fifty bucks.”

“Gee, Scott,” Stan Kitchek said with a catch in his throat, “that’s awful nice.”