Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [230]
“Berlin is still in ruin.”
“Berlin cannot be saved.”
“Mr. President. I do not believe anyone can make a determination of how long we would have to be committed. General Hansen speaks in terms of forty-five to sixty days, but suppose it has to go longer. It could well run into months.”
“We have been unable to draw up a cost estimate, but it will run millions a day. The Soviet Union might deliberately keep the blockade going in an effort to bankrupt our economy.”
“Berlin cannot be defended. It is entirely indefensible.”
The generals gave their opinions on the condition of the defense establishment. The country could not call up enough reserve to deter the Kremlin’s planning. Hansen’s own commander, Billy Crossfield, had told him the same thing.
“Sure, we could send an armored convoy up the autobahn, but it is a calculated risk that could mean total war. Suppose the Russians did make a challenge or suppose the closeness of the situation made them fire by accident. Our forces would be swamped.”
“Mr. President. It is suicide to put all of our air transport capability into supplying Berlin. It simply makes us too vulnerable to pressure everywhere else in the world.”
“Mr. President. I do not believe it is possible to supply Berlin from the air, not even for the forty-five days General Hansen desires.”
The ambassador to the Kremlin reported complete frustration in attempts to see Stalin or Molotov, much less pin them down to a meeting.
General Hansen was not without his champions. Hardline men demanded action, but they spoke more out of pride and anger, for on this day practical men brought home the unpleasant facts of life.
“General Hansen,” the President said, “I think we should wrap up this meeting. Is there any more you believe we ought to know?”
Andrew Jackson Hansen studied the room. They were all there. Friends and a few adversaries of three decades. They were hard-nosed, brilliant, dedicated men and he was beaten, for this was not a situation that could be solved with logic. How could one convince wise men to go against the grain of their knowledge?
Yet, there had to be a flicker of hope, for in the final analysis it was not a joint decision, but that of the lone man at the end of the table, the President. He would have to weigh and decide on the words of the day after his captains departed. He was an earthy man, the President, and he was strong on the issue of stopping communism. He was ahead of his countrymen, his diplomats, his Congress, and even some of his military.
There was little room spared in the pages of glory for a general whose fate or talent kept him from the romance of a combat command, the utterance of a salty slogan under enemy fire, or the drawing of a gory wound; but Andrew Jackson Hansen believed, and he placed those beliefs on the line now. The general was pale and watery-eyed from a persistent cold. His chest was heavy from four days of argument at conference tables.
“Mr. President,” he began hoarsely, “gentlemen. A few years ago we concluded a war with the naive hope that an accommodation could be achieved with the Soviet Union to bring us a lasting peace. I shall not insult the intelligence of this distinguished body by a recounting of tragic errors made ... not by you and me alone ... but by the temper of the American people. We know that all that has prevented total collapse has been that thin, thin line of British and American troops on the European continent.”
An uncomfortable fidgeting began around the table from those who had followed the line of try to reason with the Soviet Union.
“If there is one lesson we should have learned it is that the Soviet Union looks upon diplomacy as merely another means of waging war. They do not come to the conference table to seek peace or solutions ... they come to seek victories.
“The blockade of Berlin is designed to force this country to negotiate under pressure.”
He left his chair, walked down the length of the table so that he stood at the opposite end of the table from the President