Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [309]
Consumer goods began to appear in dribbles: clothing, soap, bedding, books, radios, shoes, pots, pans. The B marks were replaced by the same Western currency used in the zones.
Those devils who used the threat of starvation were now finding themselves on the receiving end. The Western counterblockade staggered Soviet Berlin and Soviet Germany, creating havoc and turning the tables. Time, that ally which the Soviet Union used as a merciless tactic, now turned into a tactical enemy ... now it was they who wanted to make a peace.
Hiram Stonebraker ordered the Combined Airlift Task Force to create an all-out operational assault on every tonnage record with an elaborate plan. With weather promising, midnight of the day of April 16 was chosen as the start of the twenty-four-hour period. Woody Beaver seized upon the occasion to name it “The Easter Parade.”
At midnight the first blocs moved for Berlin from Y 80 and Fassberg with all other bases in ready.
M.J. and Hiram breakfasted at his usual hour of 0600. As he ate, he called the Control Center. His chief of staff was already there and reported everything had moved through the night on schedule.
Stonebraker quelled his anxiety. It would be a long day, the plan was daring, and he wasn’t sending in a single goddamned ounce of cheese.
“You know, M. J.,” he said in a rare show of nostalgia, “I signed the order yesterday taking the last Gooney Bird out of the Lift. I’ve been thinking about it. It’s a fine old ship. Maybe nowhere near as sophisticated as these new birds, but it knows all the tricks of the sky. When our backs were to the wall and it was needed ... it came through. They tell me the Gooney Birds will all be retired, but I’ll bet you that ten years from now in any air base in the world ... you’ll find a Gooney Bird.”
His wife patted his hand. She handed him a small package. “This came after you turned in,” she said. It appeared to be another of those gifts from the people of Berlin. A note was attached. He mused, “This is from Chip Hansen.”
Dear Crusty,
We have convinced this former Berlin manufacturer of small parts for armaments to reorient his production to something more useful. The factory began yesterday in a small way. They wanted you to have Model #1, Serial #1.
Faithfully,
Chip
Stonebraker’s leathery face beamed as he took out a stainless-steel spinning reel. “Look at this, M.J. It’s even left-handed.” He opened the bale, turned the handle, played with the drag adjustment.
“Maybe Chip Hansen is trying to say that we’re just a couple of old Gooney Birds too. Why don’t you start looking through the fishing magazines and catalogues you’ve been sending for and hiding. I put some of them in your briefcase.”
He grunted, decided to carry the reel to his office, disguised.
At Taunusstrasse 11 the general went directly to the Control Center. Almost everyone was there and the suspense was rising.
The Easter Parade was now in daylight, having flown out the night. Weather was holding, no Russian harassment, no breakdowns.
Through the night they had been landing in Berlin in one-minute intervals. With seventeen hours left to go they had already set down four thousand tons.
Clinton Loveless was in his office, doodling on his desk. It was ironic, he thought, that the two letters should arrive on the same day. One was from J. Kenneth Whitcomb III on gold-embossed Whitcomb Associates stationery.
Clint:
I’ll get right to the play. The deal we discussed before you took leave to go on your great patriotic mission is still open. We need you, baby. Let me say that we’ve checked out what you’ve been doing and we’re proud you’re on our team. We Americans can score a touchdown in any league.
Clint, I’ve picked up the ball on a big one. We are developing the first no-deposit, no-return bottle in America. It will revolutionize the industry ...
The second letter came on rather austere stationery from a mining company in Utah. It was from the president, who was the son of the founder. He