Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [228]
With the West in their barracks, the Russians would “in fact” control the entire city in a bloodless coup.
The propaganda organs would then leap into action and explain that the workers, tired of Western imperialism and unemployment, had rebelled. Only the benevolence of the Soviet Union prevented a blood bath.
0515. Putsch day.
Blessing’s breath darted out, evaporated in the morning chill as his driver, Danny Sterling, pulled up to the Kreuzberg Town Hall where a temporary command post had been established in the foyer.
The Borough of Kreuzberg lay directly across from Mitte Borough in the Russian Sector where a series of rail lines would exchange the heaviest traffic.
Blessing had checked his subway and elevated stations, which were due to take the first shock of the Putsch. It was deceptively calm.
Deputy Police President Hans Kronbach, who had quietly built a force loyal to the Magistrat, made his decision earlier to commit them. They were staked out along with the newly trained Order Companies to spot Communist leaders.
The Constabulary under Blessing would act as a mobile force. In the Russian Sector, dozens of American informers were in Mitte, Pankow, Friedrichshain, Treptow, for the purpose of watching for Communist movement.
The final back-up force was the regular garrison under Colonel Mark Parrott with headquarters at Tempelhof and all troops poised to move to trouble spots.
Blessing stepped outside the Kreuzberg Town Hall, uncapped the thermos jug, sipped some coffee, and offered some to his driver. The street was gray and quiet with only the first small sounds of the day, wheels on the pavement, a pair of angry hungry cats.
He walked over to Victoria Park, where a group of police were hidden, and spoke a few words to the German officer. The quiet made him restless. He got into the jeep and told Danny to drive him toward the major subway and elevated transfer point on the Yorck Strasse. It was 0545. If their information was correct, the Communists would be coming soon. Bless tuned in on the British and French frequencies and heard them checking in. They stopped at Yorck Strasse and waited. 0600.
The sound of wheels on steel rails humming in the distance from the direction of the Russian Sector grew louder and louder. The train leaped into view with a smell of brakes as it screeched to a halt. The doors opened and the first rush of morning passengers exploded onto the platform.
Four known Communists were buried in their number to take up a position at the Kreuzberg Town Hall. At the foot of the steps they were spotted by a member of an Order Company.
Four American Constabulary walked quietly alongside each, snapped on handcuffs, and walked them away quickly and efficiently toward a holding station. One of the Communists began to protest. The soldier locked his arm with a billy club and pressured so that it would break. The Communist became quiet.
Blessing picked up the microphone in the jeep. “This is Sportsfisher One calling all piers. The tide is coming in. How is fishing in your area?”
“Hello Sportsfisher One, this is Redondo,” the squad at Moritz Platz subway radioed back. “One small sand shark.”
“Sportsfisher One, this is Venice Pier,” Koch Strasse detachment called, “the tide is coming in fast but no fish yet.”
‘This is Long Beach Pier calling Sportsfisher One,” called the key complex of Anhalter Banhof, with its numerous exchange points and masses of movement in proximity to the Russian Sector. “We picked up two sand sharks, three blues of about sixty pounds, and a man-eater.”
“This is Sportsfisher One calling Long Beach. Are they hitting hard?”
“This is Long Beach. No, they’re kind of sluggish. We reeled them in easy.”
The pattern was beginning to open. Blessing listened to the British and French frequencies again. All along the line Communist leaders were getting picked up as they departed the trains.
“This is Santa Monica Pier,” called Grozgorschen Strasse elevated. “Couple of big blues hanging around right here. I think they