Armageddon (69 page)

“The Soviet Union will engage us in a war for one reason and one reason alone ... because they think they can win. Do you think they need a currency issue? They’ll invent any damned issue that will please them when they feel the time is ripe.

“Gentlemen. Mr. President. We have fought two wars against the German people in our lifetime. I know some of you here who have lost sons. And God knows there is no love of Germany from me. Yet, we find ourselves in this alliance and the man and the woman in Berlin shows us he is made of remarkable stuff.”

Hansen’s fist pounded the polished oak.

“Contrary to every evaluation made here today I flatly state that the people of Berlin will not crack.” And his voice fell to a whisper.

“We have been told that this city cannot be supplied or saved or defended. I say that it is not expendable. Have we lost the imagination, the skill, the guts that has made our nation perform two centuries of miracles? Are we too content to defend ourselves? Have we lost faith in ourselves?

“You speak of costs, gentlemen. Has anyone calculated the cost to our coming generations if Europe is lost?

“If we leave Berlin, the Soviet Union is then free to consolidate its empire behind a closed border. As long as we retain our outpost in Berlin, communism can never consolidate.

“We cannot abandon the one place on this planet where we hold an offensive position.

“This is no ordinary city. Berlin ... is our Armageddon.”

Hansen leaned forward, his knuckles pressed against the table and turned white. He looked now at the President alone. “In the name of God, Mr. President, the future of freedom on this earth requires our presence.”

The full misery of Hansen’s cold crashed down on him with the feeling that his mission had failed. He returned to his hotel, the Hay-Adams, and received a score of old comrades rather listlessly.

Those who had attended the meeting tried to buck him up, but he hadn’t the spirit for it. The repeated specter of the national apathy that preceded the war had come back to haunt the military. The country was a fat cow riding a postwar boom and things over there just did not matter.

By evening his aide insisted that he accept no more visitors and take no more calls, but get into bed and send for a doctor. Hansen growled against medical attendance, ate a bowl of hot chowder, had tea spiked with brandy, then sat in the greatest dejection of his life staring at the White House just over the way. He sat alone recounting the past four days.

What had gone wrong? He blamed himself for failure to bring home the truth. There was small solace that the man in the White House now wrestled with this problem.

Beyond the White House jutted the illuminated obelisk pointed skyward in memory of George Washington, and past that the circle of lights and airplanes taking off and landing in quick succession at the Washington National Airport on the river. He did not believe he could ever see an airplane again without thinking of Tempelhof.

Weariness overtook him. He dozed in his chair.

He did not know how long he slept, but when he was awakened by the phone it was dark outside. He squinted at his watch. It was three in the morning. He was certain his phones had been shut off by his aide.

“Hello,” he rasped.

“General Hansen?”

“Speaking.”

“Sorry to disturb you at this hour, but the President would like to talk to you.”

Hansen looked out of the window again and drew an image of the Chief.

“General, how’s that cold of yours?”

“I’ll live, sir.”

“I’ve sent a couple bottles of Jack Daniels over to your hotel. Best thing in the world. Take a couple of stiff belts before you go back to sleep. I’ll send a doctor over to see you in the morning.”

He was about to spout that he didn’t want a doctor, but thought better of it

“General, I’m going to send you those Skymasters you want. You get back to Berlin and tell those people we intend to stick by our word.”

A long grateful silence followed.

“It is going to take a little time to convince everybody here, but you just leave that to me. You can depend on the first squadrons arriving within the week. Now, what else do you need?”

“I’d like General Stonebraker recalled.”

“It has my approval.”

“Good. I’ll leave for California in the morning to see him.”

“Give him my best and get over that cold.”

By the next morning Hansen had made a remarkable recovery. His aide had his plane stand by at the MATS terminal and as he flew out for Los Angeles to see Hiram Stonebraker, the Defense Department announced that Skymasters would be on the way to Germany shortly.

More B-29’s marked for less peaceful missions touched down on British airfields loaded with A-bombs as Operation Top Hat was put into effect.

And then the British Parliament was stunned by a couple of fiery speeches by the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary. In cold anger seldom heard in the ancient Commons, the British lion, minus a few of the old teeth but none the less still potent, said bluntly that tampering with British rights in Berlin meant war.

This powerful reaction from the West gave the Kremlin reason to re-evaluate. The Russian troops in Berlin suddenly melted away and with open-armed benevolence for the “sake of world peace,” they invited Western missions to come to Moscow and talk over a Berlin settlement.

Chapter Six

A
STAFF CAR DROVE
Hansen between a pair of whitewashed brick pillars, down a gravel-top road that was flanked by young hedge and bisected an orange grove, and continued to a bluff that hovered above the Pacific Ocean. Along the bluff rambled a California Spanish-style house.

When Hiram and Martha Jane Stonebraker greeted him, he thought how wonderful they both looked. Deep healthy tans had erased the signs of fatigue that came with the constant pressure of duty.

They showed him around the layout with obvious pride. The Stonebrakers had four acres which ran from the highway to the bluff and included a beach below. The land held an orchard, a small corral with horses for the general and visiting children and grandchildren, and an extensive garden for Martha Jane. It was located near the Ventura County line at the end of Malibu strip. The Malibu movie colony was fifteen miles away with only a few ranches between them and the nearest settlement.

Hansen saw it all with a twinge of envy. He and Agnes had never known this kind of peace and he wondered if such a place was ever in the cards for them. He had misgivings for his mission of taking Crusty away from it.

Hours were needed to fill each other in on old comrades and the situation in Germany. They sat the afternoon out on a patio which stood at the far edge of the bluff where it sloped gently to the shore and was covered with a wild array of multicolored pelargoniums. The tide was out and they could see the rock-filled surf surging ever so gently.

As the sun moved behind them, M.J. brought cocktails and sweaters so they could enjoy the last sharp contrast of sea and sky.

“How do the days go here?”

“I take a horseback ride on the beach every morning, summer and winter, check out the orchard and stable. And ... I’ve got a bit of correspondence and a lot of reading.”

“Ever get a yearning to be back in harness?”

“Hell no. Chip, I made more money last year as an advisor to private industry than I ever made in uniform in a year. Seems I know a thing or two after all. I have been invited to sit on the board of two airlines to develop their freight services ... if I wanted to work that hard.”

“It’s good to see you like this.”

“It took a long long time to get here and it’s only for a short stay.”

The light failed and the breeze became stiffer. They walked toward the house. “I’ve got a boat at the cove about five miles down the highway. Let’s go fishing tomorrow.”

During dinner, Hansen continued to avoid the purpose of the visit. M.J. was suspicious and sent out a number of indirect questions.

After dinner, the two men settled in Crusty’s study. The room was filled with mementoes of the Hump and photographs and gifts of presidents and kings and grandchildren.

“Okay, Chip, let’s have it.”

“I brought some papers with me that I want you to study and give an opinion on.”

“About this Berlin situation?”

He nodded. “We are committing ourselves to supply Berlin by air.”

“For how long?”

“Long enough to take the pressure off negotiations. Forty-five days ... sixty. Talks are starting in Moscow next week and it could end sooner than that.”

“And if negotiations collapse?”

“We will have to supply the Western Sectors indefinitely.”

Crusty Stonebraker, who once insisted on air corridors to Berlin, showed no sign of emotion. The reports would reveal the situation accurately. “I’d better get started reading.”

Hansen could see from his bedroom across the patio to Crusty Stonebraker’s study. The light burned until very late and on several occasions Crusty paced the patio bundled up in an old flying jacket looking out to the sea as if hoping to find mystical answers coming in with the tide.

Breakfast the next morning was in silence. Crusty grunted through the meal and said, “Let’s go fishing.”

They drove in a jeep down the highway and turned off onto a eucalyptus-lined road that ran down to the ocean. The sun was trying to force its way through the morning fog as they parked at the foot of a long wooden pier.

The
Betty-Lee,
a rock-cod sportsfishing boat, was just pulling away filled with half-asleep anglers.

Crusty grabbed the tackle box and poles and they walked down the pier to the bait shop.

“Morning, General.”

“Morning, Bob. Where are they hitting?”

“You can jig or troll for bonita.”

“Got a freezerful waiting to be smoked.”

“Yesterday the half-day boat came in with a dozen good size halibut at Trancas and the bass were going crazy right in front of your place. I’ll run you out to your boat.”

They took the stairs that ran down the pilings to a floating platform dock and got into the skiff and putted out to where the
M.J.
, a practical and stout twenty-six-foot cabin cruiser, was moored.

The dock hand helped pull the canvas cover back, held the skiff fast while the two men transferred, and pulled away calling, “I’ll wait for you at the bait receiver, General.”

Crusty went about the business of blowing out the bilge, checking the hose fittings and levels, starting, warming up, connecting the live-bait tank. The
M.J.
showed that its owner was obviously a man of great knowledge in the science of the proper use of space.

Hansen cast off the painter and Stonebraker pulled alongside the bait receiver, handling the boat with the sure touch of an old barnstorming pilot. They took on a scoop of anchovies and headed out of Paradise Cove.

Chip Hansen fixed the poles with halibut leaders as they turned Point Dume, ran up the coast awhile, and began a drift on the edge of the kelp beds.

They sat with their lines in the water for several moments. Crusty pulled in a calico bass, put it into the gunny sack, and studied the horizon. The water was warming up. Soon the albacore and yellow tail would be running near Catalina.

His wife had become quite a fisherwoman in the past three years. They had been looking forward all winter and spring to trips to Catalina and the Channel Islands.

“Well,” Chip broke the silence, “you read it?”

“I read it”

“It can be done, then. We can supply Berlin by air.”

Crusty Stonebraker did not answer.

“Well, what do you think?” Hansen asked.

Crusty stared at his old friend. “I think you’re out of your friggin’ mind.”

Hansen handed Stonebraker his orders from the President recalling him to active duty. He said he knew Crusty all along would do it and told him a plane and crew were at his disposal.

“I’m going to have to have my own people and I don’t want any interference.”

“You’ve worked with Barney Root. He’s a good troop and all for you. The President has given this mission top priority and I’ll damned well back you up.”

“Chip, I’ll do my best to hold things together, but you’ve got to make a political settlement or we’re going to fall flat on our ass.”

“Have you told M.J.?”

“She smelled a rat the minute you phoned from Washington. I’ll follow you to Germany in a couple of days. I’ve already prepared a list of people I want transferred to Wiesbaden. I want to stop off in New York and see if I can get a particular man for production control... and I’ve got to call my daughter-in-law and see if she can come out and keep this place running.”

That same day Crusty gave instructions to his lawyer and went over everything with the maintenance couple. He was in his study going through the last of his papers.

Chip Hansen sat in the kitchen with M.J. grabbing a sandwich, and avoiding her eyes, for she was frightened and on tenterhooks.

“Isn’t there someone else?” she blurted.

Chip saw her on the brink of tears.

“No one in the world knows more about air transport than Crusty. We have our backs to the wall.”

She sat opposite him, gripped his wrist. “He has a heart condition, Chip.”

“I know. I hope you can get to Germany as soon as possible and take care of him.”

She got up and tried to work at the sink. He gave up on eating his sandwich. They could hear the car coming down the road.

“Chip, I don’t blame you. Don’t make this your responsibility. You’ve got enough to think about. Anyone in your place would have come for his help and he would have agreed.”

“Thanks, M.J.”

“All right,” Crusty Stonebraker bellowed, “let’s get the goddamned show on the road.”

The driver loaded their bags.

Hiram Stonebraker pushed out his leathery face, looked around the corral and the orchard, and for a long time at the sea. “Don’t worry, M.J.,” he said, “we’ll clean up this mess in two months and we’ll be back here when the yellow tail begin to hit.”

Chapter Seven

C
LINTON
L
OVELESS’S SWIVEL-HIPPED SECRETARY
entered his office. “General Stonebraker has arrived,” she said.