Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [181]
“Herr Stumpf wants to see you,” Hippold said.
Fritz Stumpf was no longer gentle or elegant to her. “Hilde,” he said, “your bar bill is growing too large. Last week you drank more than you earned.”
The girl was still beautiful, but the childish charm had hardened and she no longer played at innocence.
“You do not get enough dates for me.”
“There are over a quarter of a million lovely girls in Berlin. Thousands of them would change places with you in a moment. Do you need a drink now, Hilde?”
“Yes.”
She used both hands to steady her glass.
The chanteuse sang the old Kurt Weill Berlin theater song:
“Oh, the shark’s teeth,
How they bite....”
“We are having a little party at my apartment later,” Fritz Stumpf said. “Some of your friends will be there. Elke asked me particularly to invite you. You might be surprised. Things could become better for you again. Shall you be there, Hilde?”
She closed her eyes and nodded ... yes.
Chapter Twenty
A WEEK BEFORE THE elections the weather began to be cold.
In the Potsdam palace of Commissar V. V. Azov, Rudi Wöhlman and Heinrich Hirsch went over final campaign plans.
“It is time for the American radio,” Azov said. He turned the power on and dialed RIAS, paced in a slow gait, hands clasped behind him, eyes on the floor.
“This is the Voice of Freedom.”
Rudi Wöhlman laughed. A slight twitch developed on the right side of the commissar’s face. Heinrich Hirsch prepared to scribble notes.
This is RIAS, Radio in the American Sector. The next voice you hear will be Colonel Neal Hazzard, commandant of the American Sector.”
Azov stopped his pacing and hovered over the radio.
“My friends. In keeping with American policy of bringing the truth to the people of Berlin, I will debunk the latest lie written in the Soviet newspaper, Täglische Rundschau, yesterday. The article by Heinrich Hirsch gave false figures on the contributions of the four occupation powers in the feeding of Berlin. Soviet contributions have amounted to 10 per cent of the total although a third of the population is in the Soviet Sector. Furthermore, this food has been taken entirely from the economy of the Russian Zone of Germany. The United States has spent sixty million dollars of the American people’s money to bring food to this city in the first year of occupation ...”
Azov snapped the radio off, returned to his desk, drummed his fingers. The portrait of Comrade Stalin seemed to glower at him.
Wöhlman wiped his glasses, replaced them. “RIAS has some nuisance value. It will have no effect on the election.”
Wöhlman had reasons to be cocksure. He had engineered a classical campaign mixing inducements with threats. Feed them with the right hand, hold a club with the left.
“Let us continue,” Azov said testily.
Heinrich Hirsch had plotted a whirlwind campaign finish. The usual demonstrations, speeches, and inundation of literature. “In addition, we have the special events. Four days before elections a fifteen-car trainload of wheat and potatoes will arrive and be distributed with extraordinary news coverage.”
There was more. Ten thousand tons of Polish Silesian coal would arrive for the winter.
The final coup would take place two days before the election. Five Democratic candidates for assemblyman had been “persuaded” by Schatz’s SND to join the anti-Fascist front, legal only in the Russian Sector. They would make their announcements at almost poll time.
It all looked well on paper. Yet Azov was not entirely certain. Brigadier Trepovitch had reported a stiffening Western attitude at the Kommandatura. Moreover, the Western military government personnel had too much experience in open elections to fall for trickery. The Russian attempt to have different-colored ballots for each party failed.
The West insisted Trepovitch submit the list of eligible voters and that he use the stamping of ration books to assure a single ballot to a single voter.
British, French, and American officials would be on hand at every polling station in the Russian Sector.... It would be damned hard to rig.
“These bourgeois