Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [256]
Beaver started the Task Force Times on twenty-four hours’ notice because Stonebraker thought it would be a good separate entity and said, “The Stars and Stripes is good for morale. At first Buff Morgan did not take kindly to a enough for the rest of us peasants.”
When he finally did authorize it, he conveniently forgot to allot paper, but Beaver proved equal to the task by foraging and scrounging so that the first issues came out in a variety of shapes and colors.
One of Beaver’s brain storms was to hold a contest to give the Airlift an even more romantic name. “Operation Vittles” won the day and was good for copy in the world press. The contest winner, by coincidence, was a WAF working in Headquarters whom Beaver just so happened to be dating at the time.
Stonebraker decided to humble his rambunctious press officer by pouring on flight duty. On his third flight to Berlin, Beaver happened to pick up a passenger, a fraulein working at the mobile field canteen at Tempelhof. Their return flight somehow went wrong and they ended up in Marseilles.
The girl stuck to her story that she stowed away, and Beaver insisted that his instruments got fouled up by a strange magnetic phenomenon. Stonebraker told him to concentrate on his public-information efforts.
“Beaver has just entered the building, sir.”
Stonebraker emitted a low, ominous gurgle like a stewing volcano.
“Beaver! Where did you get this goddamned animal.”
“You mean Sidney, sir? Well, I was up at Fühlsbuttel covering the arrival of the first Australian crews and this kangaroo was their mascot and ... anyhow... I thought ...”
“Beaver, I’m not running a zoo.”
“Sir, yesterday we got a ton of toys in Lübeck and we’ve got a pledge of a ton of sausage from Bremen. Now you know these Germans have never been hot for each other. This is a very good sign.”
“What the hell are you, a political philosopher? How the hell we going to get this junk to Berlin?”
“By the end of the year we might be able to spare a few planeloads for an Operation Santa Claus.”
“Santa Claus!”
“Just look at all these things we’ve collected.”
Stonebraker realized it was a great public relations idea and backed off ever so slowly.
“After all,” Beaver said, “you commanded me to use my initiative and make advance planning.”
“Well ...”
“Sidney’s brothers, Humphrey and Octavius, have just arrived. We can cover all three Zones if the General will just sign this authorization for some extra trucks.”
Stonebraker scratched his name on the requisition, then proceeded to chew Beaver’s tail out for a cartoon in the Task Force Times making jest of what the Airlift referred to as “temporary duty.”
“Beaver, I see by a decent paper, The Stars and Stripes, that Bob Hope is giving a show in Paris. It is my opinion that Bob Hope would be good for the morale of our people.”
“Excellent idea, sir. I’ll write an invitation for your signature.”
Hiram Stonebraker shook his head, no.
“You go to Paris and bring Bob Hope back with you, personally.”
“But ... but ... but ...”
“Beaver, I believe in you.”
“Yes, sir,” he croaked. He slunk toward the door.
“And Beaver,” the general said, chuckling devilishly, “don’t come back without him.”
Chapter Sixteen
CLINTON LOVELESS WAS DEEPLY involved in the Airlift Control Center of Headquarters on Taunusstrasse in Wiesbaden. Here were direct lines to Frankfurt Air Traffic Control Center and Tempelhof Approach and Gatow and all the fields in the zones. Minute to minute records were kept twenty-four hours a day recording movement of all air traffic, the status of each squadron, weather maps, and forecasts. And mainly, the Howgozit board showing the tonnage set down in Berlin. In these days it had edged to three thousand tons a day.
Statistical Service turned the Control Center and the staff conference room into mazes of charts and graphs showing turn-around times, engine availability, utilization of craft, flying hours per crew,