Armageddon (64 page)

Hazzard closed his eyes, crossed his fingers.

“An official spokesman of my government has sent me this message and I quote. ‘The United States is in Berlin by irrevocable legal agreements which make Berlin separate and independent of the occupation zones of Germany. This is a four-power city and will remain so. The United States garrison will not withdraw now or in the future until an accord is reached and ratified by the people of Berlin. We will continue to fulfill our obligations.’ End of quote.”

“Colonel Hazzard,” the guard said at the main gate, “General Hansen wants you in his office, immediately.”

Hazzard came to a stop before the general’s desk, eyed an ashen-faced Sean standing nearby.

“You’re fired,” Hansen said.

“Yes, sir.”

“You will proceed with Mrs. Hazzard and your family to Frankfurt and report to the Provost Marshal. You will remain there until I can act on your formal resignation from the Army.”

“Yes, sir. I’m homesick for Kansas City anyhow.”

When Neal Hazzard had gone Hansen sat speechless for ever so long. “I should have done this a long time ago,” he mumbled to his deputy. “He’s a hothead.”

Sean did not answer.

“All right, get it off your chest,” the general demanded.

“You’ve made a mistake, sir.”

“Hazzard takes too damned much on his own. He’s gotten us into hot water before.”

“Rugged individualism. Yes, sir. That’s a bad thing.”

“I said get it off your chest!”

“Yes, sir. This is an army. It is not intended to run on democratic principles. Generals should not go chewing the asses off senators.”

“Goddammit, Sean ...”

“I haven’t gotten it all off my chest, sir. What we need is more blind obedience. You can be friggin’ sure that no Russian colonel would take that responsibility on himself. You can be sure of that.”

Berthold Hollweg was thunderstruck by Neal Hazzard’s broadcast. When Ulrich Falkenstein went home he pretended to be delighted by the American attitude, but in his heart he feared more pressure from Wöhlman, Schatz, and the Russians.

Since Sean had confronted Falkenstein with the sellout, his relations with Hollweg had gone cold. Hollweg’s desire to appease the Russians was so apparent it was becoming an open scandal in the Democratic Party.

“There is so little left of forty years of friendship,” Ulrich said sadly, “we can at least spare each other the sham of wearing two faces now.”

“What are you trying to say, Ulrich?”

“The time has come for you to resign as mayor of Berlin.”

Hollweg paled, grew faint. He recovered enough to become indignant.

Ulrich stopped him by throwing before him a copy of the reports that damned him as a Russian collaborator. Berthold Hollweg lifted the first page and began to read, then turned his back and wrung his hands.

“The truth!” Falkenstein demanded.

“They made me sit for hours in an empty office in police headquarters,” he muttered. “Schatz came ... three, four nights a week ... I was followed everywhere ... they threatened to kill my little grandson ... you can’t imagine what it has been like!”

“Yes, I do know what it is like.”

“Great God! All men cannot be like you!”

Ulrich Falkenstein’s final disdain ruled out pity. “Was there nothing left for the things we lived for? Was there nothing left of the memory of our comrades that Hitler destroyed? Was there nothing left to cry out in anger at Rudi Wöhlman? Was there nothing left?”

Hollweg wept.

“Fool!” Falkenstein cried.

“You are the fool!” his friend screamed back. “How long will the Americans stay before they are sick of the German business? How much blood will they spill for us? Do you really believe the Russians can be stopped? You are the fool, Ulrich! I cannot live through it, again.”

Ulrich flopped his arms helplessly. Beneath him writhed a person whose innards were eroded by the political terror of two decades.

Falkenstein unfolded a sheet of paper, placed it before Hollweg, and handed him a pen. “You will sign this. It is your resignation from the Democratic Party and as Oberburgermeister of Berlin.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

I
T HAPPENED WITH LIGHTNING
speed!

The session of the Berlin Assembly came to order in the red-brick, churchlike structure on Rathaus Strasse. The banner of the city with its symbolic Berlin Bear looked down on the great room from behind the rostrum.

During the early morning hours, Ulrich Falkenstein had quietly marshaled his forces and held secret meetings with the leaders of the Conservatives and Christians. The air was still supercharged by Colonel Hazzard’s broadcast. A new ounce of courage was in them all.

The chief clerk of the Assembly stood, and read the resignation of Berthold Hollweg as Oberburgermeister.

Rudi Wöhlman never knew what hit him! Before he could gain his wits, the free parties had elected Ulrich Falkenstein to the office.

Collaborating with the American guarantee, Sean had used this precious timing to inflict a catastrophic setback on the Russians. It was the first real display of offensive action as against defensive reaction.

General Hansen was too wise not to understand the temper of the moment. He displayed another quality of his many-sided character by the admission that he had made a mistake and he set out to rectify it.

Hansen now took responsibility for Hazzard’s broadcast and argued with the State Department that it was entirely within his discretion and general American policy. Washington now was faced with rebuking their military governor publicly. They backed down with an announcement of their own:
THE AMERICAN GARRISON IS REMAINING IN BERLIN.

“General, we have contacted Colonel Hazzard in Frankfurt. He is on the line.”

“Neal?”

“Speaking.”

“Hansen, here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Neal, on second thought, Berlin needs you more than Kansas City.”

“To hell with Berlin, General.”

“I’m trying to say, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to, General. I knew what I was doing. I’m the one who is sorry I had to put you in hot water.”

“Will you come back?”

“No, sir. I’m tired of sleeping with a pistol under my pillow. I’m tired of my wife being threatened. I’ve got children sixteen and seventeen years old. I want to get a quiet job and have enough money to put them through college. General, I’ve got a wife in the next room crying her heart out. She really hasn’t enjoyed the country club we’re supposed to be running in Berlin. I’ve never seen Claire cry before ... not in twenty-two years of this. We’ve just had a belly full.”

Sean lifted the extension. The general nodded that it was okay to speak. “This is Sean. We need you here.”

“Find another pigeon.”

“Listen, dammit. Hollweg resigned as mayor and Falkenstein was named in his place. The Russians never knew what hit them.”

“You’re kidding ...”

“We’ve got to make this stick. Your pal Trepovitch is screaming for an emergency meeting of the Kommandatura. You’ve got to go in for us.”

“Hold on.”

Both of them could hear him talking to Claire Hazzard. We’ve got to go back, he was saying. No I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again.

“General, if we get a plane this evening we should be in Berlin by midnight.”

“I’ll dispatch mine right away,” Hansen said.

When the call was over Hansen said to Sean, “I wonder if Senator Blanchard thinks a shiftless clod like Neal Hazzard really earns his eight thousand bucks a year?”

“Veto! Veto!” Nikolai Trepovitch said darkly. “We veto the resignation of Berthold Hollweg. He must continue to serve in office. Therefore, the election of Ulrich Falkenstein is illegal ... and we veto that too.”

Hazzard, the chairman of the month, recognized T. E. Blatty.

“I say, General Trepovitch, you can’t veto Hollweg’s resignation. It is clearly permitted under a constitution which you personally agreed upon and gave to the city of Berlin. Nor do I see how you can veto Herr Falkenstein as it specifically states in Article Twenty-three of the same constitution that the Oberburgermeister shall legally be voted into office by the Berlin Assembly. You just can’t go around vetoing, my dear fellow.”

“We have substantial suspicion that Ulrich Falkenstein is engaged in black-marketeering. We demand an investigation.”

“No dice,” Neal Hazzard said. “Either present charges or forget it.”

Trepovitch began banging on the table. “It is a Western plot! We will never allow Falkenstein in office!”

An advisor whispered into the Russian commandant’s ear. He was warned to beware of an American trap. Remembering how Hazzard allowed the new labor union to form in the American Sector there was a danger he might try the same trick with the city government. Under no circumstances could the Soviet Union risk removal of the Assembly and Magistrat from the Soviet Sector.

“For the sake of Allied unity,” the Russian began hollowly, “I shall propose a compromise. We will accept Hollweg’s resignation on the condition that Falkenstein’s illegal election is set aside. We will agree to Hanna Kirchner as acting mayor until the problem is fully worked out.”

Hazzard smelled victory, but Blatty was at it. “Don’t you know,” the Englishman said, “that we can’t do all this mucking around without consent of the Berlin Assembly.”

As chairman, Neal Hazzard called a recess before Blatty went off on a full-scale parliamentary tangent.

In his office he reached Ulrich Falkenstein and advised him of the Soviet proposal.

Falkenstein was delighted. “Hanna will make an excellent Oberburgermeister. The Russians believe that because she is a German woman they have found another weak spot like Hollweg. They have picked on a tough hen.”

“How about the Assembly?” Hazzard asked.

“I am certain I can get them to agree.”

For the following half hour the three Western commandants locked themselves up in Blatty’s office, the other two convincing the Englishman to accept the compromise. If the Kommandatura were to “suggest” this to the Berlin Assembly, perhaps the Assembly would make the accommodation.

At last Blatty gave in.

Hanna Kirchner was “suggested” and the Berlin Assembly approved her as acting Oberburgermeister. She had achieved the highest political position of any woman in Berlin’s history.

On People’s Radio from the Russian Sector, the “voice of the masses” brought Berthold Hollweg to the microphone.

“My fellow Berliners,” his weary voice said, “I have resigned as Oberburgermeister of Berlin because I found it impossible to conduct the office under the constant threats of Colonel Hazzard and his imperialist henchmen Blatty and Belfort. They imposed upon me a reign of Fascist terror and attempted to have me work against the working class of Berlin. My conscience could no longer bear it. I have asked Comrade Rudi Wöhlman to allow me to serve the interest of freedom through the Democratic Party in the Soviet Sector in the anti-Fascist front.”

Chapter Thirty-nine

E
RNESTINE OPENED THE DOOR
quickly, put her finger to her lips and stepped into the hall.

“Shh,” she whispered, “Uncle Ulrich has dozed at his desk. I don’t want to awaken him.”

Sean helped her into her coat, took her arm, and led her to the Horsche sedan.

“What time does the concert start, Colonel?”

“I have a confession, Fraulein Falkenstein. I lured you out tonight under false pretenses.”

“So?”

“We have met four times. One piano recital, one dramatic reading of Goethe no less, one museum exhibition, and one opening of a play. The way I look at it is this ... there is only so much culture a man can absorb.”

“And what do you have in mind, sir?”

“A table at a nice French restaurant on the Tegeler Lake. Are you angry?”

“As a matter of fact, there is only so much culture a woman can absorb.”

He clicked on Armed Forces Network, where there was apt to be music no more serious than Glenn Miller, and swung to the northern end of the city past the medieval borough of Spandau.

In the middle of the French Sector, the Jungfernheide and the Tegel forests surround the Tegeler Lake. At the lake’s edge the French Officers’ Club operated a lovely restaurant for occupation forces.

It was that kind of warm and balmy night that, with the freshness of the woods, made Berliners boast about their rare brand of air. Their table was ready on the outside terrace.

“What a lovely idea,” she said.

Sean excused himself as he always did when they arrived at a destination. She watched him leave to phone in to Headquarters and give his whereabouts.

After their first date they did not see each other for ten days, until Ernestine phoned him to ask him to the opening of a play. She was glad he had decided to drop the “cultural” pretext as a reason for seeing her. They were quite at ease with each other now, in a formal sort of way. What was it besides his rugged good looks that made him so attractive? The inevitable comparisons with Dietrich Rascher and the other men she had known came to mind. She realized that Sean and her uncle were the most interesting people she had ever known. His range of knowledge and his ability to express it seemed limitless, like the teacher he was.

There was a certain peace within Sean that was apparent. He did not need to prove the masculinity that obsessed most German men. He was certain of himself about so many things.

The opening of a warm and sentimental side began when Sean tried to apologize to her. No German boy would so humble himself; it was a new experience for her.

But there were other moments when she felt she could read his thoughts and those thoughts were ugly. He constantly seemed to be reminding himself he was sitting with a German woman, asking himself why. “German woman ... leper.”

Ernestine was curious to know if she could loosen him from an obsessive hatred of Germans. Or was their friendship nothing more than two lonely people who needed to talk to each other? Would Sean’s hatred always lurk and suddenly be triggered?

He returned to the table.

The menu was a bit on the thin side, but the French could do wonderful things with sauces, even over Rhine River eel. Fortunately, there was no shortage of champagne.