Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [133]
The Russian lieutenant whirled around, was handed a document by a subordinate, stood ramrod before Sean, and read:
“I am pleased to welcome this, the first convoy of Americans on this route. You are privileged to join us in Berlin after the Soviet Union’s glorious victory over the Nazi aggressor. Soviet victory was inevitable, but came sooner because of your aid. You are welcome to Democratic Germany as our guests.”
Sean faced his own astonished men and with an expression warned them to keep their mouths shut.
“I should like to see the commanding general of this district,” he said to the Russian.
“He is not available.”
“I should like his name and information on where, when, and how he can be reached.”
“That information is not available.”
“When you find out who and where he is, give him this medal from my government for being the first to reach the Elbe and join forces in this area.”
The Russian looked in his hand, puzzled. He studied the medal, confused, ordered the Cossacks to sing, and left the reception room quickly without excusing himself.
Two dozen bellowing Cossacks prevented too close a discussion of the situation.
“What are you going to do, Major?”
“Damned if I know.”
He drifted over to Bradbury. “Don’t take any notes and better tell Mac to keep his camera out of sight. It’s a cinch they’ll take the film.”
Nellie nodded.
A new song began with a bellowing opening verse, and stopped instantly as a heavily decorated Russian colonel entered the foyer.
“I am Antonov, the colonel general’s aide. I thank you for the decoration.”
“Now that we have warmly welcomed each other, Colonel, I should like to proceed to Berlin.”
“But!” Antonov said with an expression of shock, “we have many more songs prepared and we must have some toasts.”
Sean looked at his watch. “I’m sorry, Colonel.”
“A moment,” he said huffily, “and we will get your orders cleared.”
The moment stretched to ten and then twenty. Accordions and balalaikas continued a history of Russian folk song. The Americans stood around stiffly, embarrassed. Forty minutes later Antonov returned and took Sean into a side office.
“I am most regretful,” he said, “that you cannot proceed to Berlin with your present complement. It is in direct violation of the Brandenburg Agreement.”
“Colonel, I am impressed by the warmth of your welcome and I am moved by the magnificence of your artists. However, as one soldier to another, my orders are to bring my convoy to Berlin with all possible speed. I am unaware of the existence of the Brandenburg Agreement.”
“So? Well, I see. The agreement drawn up by your government and mine puts numerical limitations on all convoys moving through Democratic Germany. You are not permitted with a convoy of more than twenty vehicles, twenty officers, and forty enlisted men. The agreement specifically states that the men may not be combat troops, but I will overlook this technicality.”
“Just when was this Brandenburg Agreement drawn up?”
“Weeks ago. I cannot assume responsibility that your government has not informed you properly.”
“Colonel Antonov,” Sean pressed unruffled, “I want to see your copy of the agreement. I am certain your government informed you well enough to send you a copy.”
Antonov looked angrily at the American whom he now recognized as an opponent who would not be bullied. He smiled, threw his hands open. Unfortunately, Major, no copy in English.”
“Russian will be fine,” Sean said.
“I see.” Antonov excused himself.
His absence stretched. Sean knew no course under the restrictions of his order but to ride it out and keep firm. The harassment was obviously deliberate and well-planned. He had left Halle in the morning certain there would be no trouble on something so routine as a convoy of G-5 personnel.
He had discussed with his people the possibility of some red tape and the natural curiosity of two distant allies seeing each other for the first time. What was