The Berlin Tunnel

by Roger L Liles

  “How can I help, Captain?”

  “Lie down…I must lie down,” I strained to say.

  With his massive arms, the Chief swept everything off my desk. He then gently guided me to it and lifted my legs as he pulled his desk over to support my feet. I lay flat and began my deep breathing exercises. Good air in…bad air out…breathe deep…again…and again!

  It took almost twenty minutes before the Chief and I could carry on a coherent conversation.

  “Captain, no one could’ve anticipated that the cellar would be right in our path.”

  “That doesn’t make any difference. I’ll get the blame.”

  “Let’s discuss alternatives.”

  “Okay. What are your thoughts?” I asked, feeling able to function.

  “Raising the TBM to a horizontal position and then backing it up would involve removing several structural sections we recently installed.”

  “We’d have to back up a long way to take a new route that avoids the wine cellar. And…”

  “—Dismantling the TBM would take a week or two,” the Chief interrupted. “Then we’d need to start over on a different route after we reassembled the machine.”

  “By the time we implement either of those options we’d be so far behind schedule that meeting the deadline would be impossible. I…”

  “—Captain, our best bet is to find some way to prop up the TBM and continue forward on the same route.”

  “That’s impossible. The top of the TBM is about forty feet beneath the floor of the basement. It’s not accessible, and it weighs eleven tons.”

  “If only we could get that massive A-frame and sling we used to shift the TBM into place when we began tunneling….”

  “—I’ve got it!” I shouted, “We dig a shaft down to the wine cellar, then use that A-frame to return the TBM to its previous position and hold it in place with the sling….”

  “—Then we fill the entire wine cellar with sand, using the cement pumping equipment and skip loaders,” the Chief added, excited about this solution.

  “It’s so obvious, it should work,” I observed. “How long do you think it’ll take, Chief?”

  “Five or six days, working 24 hours a day—maybe less,” he responded.

  “If we lose only a week, that would be wonderful. Get the men started,” I ordered.

  I remained there, observing the cutting of the slab and jackhammering of the section we needed to remove. Hunger pangs forced me to look at my watch, 2127. You dumb shit. You had a date with Anna this evening. You were supposed to meet her outside the bookstore at five!

  Looking at my two senior NCOs, I asked, “What’s your plan?”

  “We’ll work three shifts all weekend,” Neal Loring replied. “In a few minutes, the last of the concrete slab will be removed. An 18-inch auger bit has been fitted to the back of a backhoe. Fortunately, we have numerous extensions for the auger bit. Within an hour we’ll begin drilling down. We’ll need to stabilize this damn Berlin sand with Bentonite as we go. That’ll be our most time-consuming task. We’ll have a better idea tomorrow about how long it will take us to recover.”

  “Chief, can I have a private moment with you?”

  In a deserted corner, he said, “Sir, your secret is safe with me. Take the weekend off, and we’ll see you Monday morning.”

  When I arrived back at out apartment that evening, Anna was in bed reading a book. She seemed to accept my excuse that I’d lost track of time at work. She warmed some leftovers. I ate, when suddenly she exploded, “If you’re a weatherman, you should have very regular hours! Yet you seem to be carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. When are you going to tell me what you really are doing in Berlin?”

  “Please understand, I have responsibilities and have made commitments which sometimes will interfere with our plans. I’ll make a special effort to let you know in the future when our plans must be changed.”

  She left the room in a huff. When I entered the bedroom, she pretended to be asleep. After I showered, I snuggled up against her. She finally relented after several minutes of cajoling and caresses. We enjoyed wonderful make-up sex until the wee hours of the morning.

  Feet of Tunnel Completed: 158 Days until Deadline: 215

  Chapter 58

  Saturday, February 25, 1961

  After lunch, Anna left to visit her parents in East Berlin for the weekend and I returned to Tempelhof under the watchful eye of two Stasi agents. Once there, I arranged to be transported from the airport steam-generation plant to the building in the back of one of our plumbing vans.

  I watched for hours as the hole down to the TBM was completed. The huge A-frame was positioned over the hole, a sling fed down and attached to the tunnel shield. The TBM was carefully hoisted back into position and held in place while a temporary support structure was built beneath it. Concurrently, five tunnel sections were removed and the TBM was carefully towed back into the tunnel. The crew then removed the sling from the hole.

  I asked the Chief, “How long until we finish?”

  “It’ll still be towards the end of the week—maybe midday on Thursday.”

  As the Chief was replying to my question, I saw a three-inch flexible hose emerge into the wine cellar. Soon three men were controlling this hose as a steady flow of sand emerged. The men wore hip boots and continually shifted position to maintain their footing in the wet sand as they filled the lower sections of the immense wine cellar.

  After a few minutes, I walked up to the basement of the building. There, skip loaders dumped sand into the pumping machine, Bentonite-impregnated water being added to help lubricate the sand installation. This mixture supported the immense weight of the TBM when we eventually tunneled our way through the wine cellar.

  At 0400 on Sunday, I finally left the building. Despite doing little actual physical labor, I felt exhausted but also relieved that this snafu hadn’t delayed our progress for long.

  Feet of Tunnel Completed: 148 Days until Deadline: 214

  Chapter 59

  Anna

  Wednesday, March 1, 1961

  Several times recently, Robert used work as an excuse for his failure to come home on time or to keep dinner dates with me. After Stasi Agent Holburg showed me the photographs of Robbie with the redhead, I’d worried he was seeing another woman.

  To ensure his faithfulness, I implemented a campaign to make love to him so often, he wouldn’t wind up in anyone else’s arms. Last week, he came home late, disheveled, and so exhausted his lovemaking performance felt perfunctory at best.

  On Sunday, I left my parents’ home immediately after the noon meal. I planned to spend the afternoon in bed with Robbie. I found him still asleep when I arrived at our apartment. Although he claimed he’d worked almost all night, I doubted him. My senses of smell and sight assured me another woman had not been in the apartment. Perhaps they had made love at her place. I didn’t even try to initiate a lovemaking session.

  After that, finding out what was actually going on began to taunt me. I couldn’t eat, sleep, or think. Somehow, I intended to determine the truth. If I saw them together, I would know. One of the Stasi photos had shown them dining at a restaurant near the American Mission. I took the afternoon off and began my quest for the truth.

  To my amazement, Robert and that redhead sat at the same table in the Restoration 1900 restaurant window. Robert was wearing his officer’s uniform, and she had on a pink sweater. I watched them from across the street.

  For several minutes, lively conversation went on between the two, much smiling and laughing. Robert took something out of a box and held it up, examining it. I recognized a charm bracelet similar to the one he’d given me. The one I wore on my wrist at that moment. As I touched my bracelet, I started to cry. Then, I lost my temper.

  I crossed the street as he placed the bracelet on her wrist. I shook my head, as if to clear it of that hurtful image.

  Entering the restaurant, I confronted them, “Robert, you told me you love
d me and that you wanted to marry me. All the time you’re seeing another woman! How could you?”

  He jumped up as if bitten and flushed declaring, “Anna, darling, I can explain…we’re business associates. We’re planning the German American Festival together. Please understand!”

  “Do you give all of your girlfriends charm bracelets? Careful young lady, he’s a…Casanova…a lothario…he’s just no good!” I shouted.

  The redhead stood, moved her hand up and down to calm me down, and then pulled a chair over from an adjacent vacant table. She said, “Robert is telling you the truth. Please join us so that we can explain. Everyone in this restaurant is staring at us…Please…”

  In a final fit of anger, I shouted, “You American men say that German girls are easy. Well, at least I made you work hard before I gave you my maidenhead.”

  “Anna can we please discuss this rationally? You’ve…”

  “—I know what you Americans say—the four Fs—find them, feel them, fuck them and then forget them! Well, you can forget me. I’m moving out. Don’t come to the bookstore and don’t try to contact me!”

  I half turned, paused, and then managed to open the clasp on my charm bracelet. I hurled it at Robert before I rushed out of the restaurant sobbing.

  A taxi sat at the curb. I got in. As it pulled away, I looked back through tear-filled eyes. Robbie was chasing the cab down the middle of the street, waving his hands up and down.

  “Fraulein, a man is chasing us! Do you want me to stop for him?”

  “No! Never! Drive faster!”

  Chapter 60

  Robert

  Wednesday-Saturday, March 1-5, 1961

  That Wednesday after our altercation in the restaurant, I followed Anna back to our apartment. Her reaction to my presence as she packed was tempestuous; I soon realized that I was better off leaving. When I returned that night most of her possessions were gone. The rest disappeared the next day.

  I approached Mark and Scott and asked them to speak to her about a reconciliation. Both failed to persuade her. She threatened to quit the bookstore position if we didn’t leave her alone.

  At 0800 that Friday morning, almost a week after the wine cellar accident, the day shift commenced regular tunnel-building operations. Filling the wine cellar with sand had taken nearly every grain from our colossal stockpile, but we remained eight days ahead of schedule. Our next significant milestone involved the installation of the second pressure door at the 425-foot point. At least, one aspect of my life seemed to be back on track.

  Late Saturday morning I called her parents’ home. I heard the conversation between Anna and her mother:

  “Robert is on the telephone, and he would like to talk to you.”

  “Tell him I’m dead!”

  “I’ll say no such thing, young lady. You must talk to him.”

  “Never. He is a dirty, lying, cheating bastard!”

  When she came back on the line, I told Emma what had happened and how I desperately wanted Anna back.

  Emma left the phone off the hook, and I heard her say, “Please tell me your side of the story, sweetheart.”

  Anna recounted all of the details, including her encounter with the Stasi agent and the photos he showed her. This was the first I had heard of their involvement. Then, she recounted my many late nights and long absences. I didn’t blame her for feeling suspicious.

  “Anna, I think your Robert is an exceptional young man, who was only trying to do his job. What you thought is understandable, but I believe Robert’s version of the story.”

  “All the times he was late getting home from work and that woman!”

  “First and foremost, you cannot believe anything a Stasi agent tells you. He was intentionally trying to cause trouble in order to get you on his side.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Did you tell Robert about the Stasi photographs?”

  “No.”

  “The redhead’s name is Lorna Sanderson. They are working on a special project. It is natural for them to eat lunch together.”

  “What about the charm bracelet?”

  “The young lady’s clasp on her charm bracelet was broken. She had it repaired and the box was a jeweler’s box, not a gift box. What you saw was Lorna explaining each of her charms.”

  “He was smiling as he put the bracelet on her wrist.”

  “Robert was telling the young woman that his girlfriend Anna always has a difficult time getting the clasp closed with only one hand.”

  “Well, I will have to think about it. Perhaps I could be wrong.”

  Chapter 61

  Monday, March 6, 1961

  I looked at her note again and again. “Come home to a scrumptious dinner. All my love, Anna.”

  Frustrated that my taxi had only gotten two blocks in as many minutes, I threw a ten Mark note into the front seat, exited and started to run. Pedestrians became stationary obstructions as I sprinted to our apartment building. When I finally reached the sixth floor, I scooped Anna in my arms and carried her into the bedroom.

  “Goodness, you must be glad to see me!” she said as we hurriedly undressed each other.

  “There is only you. There’ll only ever be you, darling—believe me!” I declared as I put the charm bracelet back on her wrist after a very passionate lovemaking reunion.

  Chapter 62

  Thursday, March 16, 1961

  “Do not go home—I must see you urgently—I’m in the bookstore. Anna,” read a note I found outside of my office.

  When I entered Anna’s office, she closed and locked the door and handed me another note, “We need to talk. Can we go upstairs?”

  Under that note I wrote, “I’ll check. Wait here.”

  I found Scott in his office. Once I explained the situation, he escorted us into his office, closed the door, and asked, “Why all the mystery, Anna?”

  “Robert and I are going to a play this evening, so I took the afternoon off to get my hair done. At the third-floor landing, I passed a man going down that I had never seen before. I know most of the residents of our apartment building.”

  “All right. What is the monumental problem?” Scott asked.

  “Robbie…Robert will tell you I have an exceptional sense of smell. This man had a distinct smell, which I also detected inside of our apartment!”

  “A distinct smell?” I repeated.

  “Fowl tobacco smoke and cheap Romanian soap. When I was a kid, we called it stinky soap. It has a unique strong odor, and it’s only available in the East.”

  “Go on.”

  “I looked to see if anything had been stolen. Down behind one of the radiators in the living room, I found a round thing that looks like a microphone. And there is at least one more in the bedroom! A cord goes from it through the wall.”

  “Really,” Scott replied, now interested.

  “That’s when I came back here.”

  “Anna, stay right here. Robert, you come with me.”

  We went to Mark’s office, told him what had happened, and the three of us called Kurt on the KY-7 scrambler telephone. A lengthy discussion centered on what could be done. Kurt was adamant. “Anything we do will be detected by the opposition. For now, Robert, you and Anna will need to remember the walls have ears. I’ll be over tomorrow, and we can discuss other actions we can take. For now, you’re stuck.”

  I returned to Scott’s office, took her in my arms, and attempted to reassure her, “Anna, my love, our apartment has been bugged by the same people who are trying to find out what I’m doing here in Berlin. Go home, dress for the play, and I’ll be home soon. Act as normal as possible.”

  “What happens when we want to make love?” She asked. Are we supposed to entertain them?”

  “For now, we must act as normal as possible. I know it won’t be easy. The walls have ears.”

  Chapter 63

  Friday, March 17, 1961

  Early the next morning, the Security Committee met in my tank. Kurt addressed the group.
“The Stasi have bugged Captain Kerr’s apartment. This probably means Dieter Holburg and his bosses haven’t entirely accepted our gambit that Robert’s crew of Navy men are building nuclear-hardened bunkers. They may have concluded we’re using this hoax to hide something more important. But there is another, more ominous possibility. Someone may be leaking information to them.”

  “What exactly do you mean?” Mark asked with obvious concern.

  “The KGB, GRU or Stasi may be exploiting a relationship with one of Robert’s men to determine what he and his crew are doing here in Berlin,” Kurt replied. “Let’s say, that hypothetically, this guy brags to someone he’s here on a super-secret assignment. They slowly, very slowly, establish a relationship with him. Then, they start to ask questions.”

  “Perhaps they’ve even gotten him into a compromising situation, and they’re threatening to expose him if he doesn’t spill his guts” Scott suggested. “Perhaps he’s a homosexual or married, and they pump him for information with threats.”

  “Another possibility we must not overlook, is that they offer him money in return for information,” Kurt added.

  “Twenty-seven of our sixty-one men are free to leave the base on weekends,” the Chief advised. “They usually go to another American military facility here in Berlin, but some go to clubs and bars. It could be anyone except the Polish option men, who are conforming to their restrictions. Of that, I’m sure. We have implemented a strict sign-out, sign-in process, which I check.”

  “We can speculate on what’s going on, but we must take positive action now,” I said. “What do you recommend, Kurt?”

  He spent some time describing ‘the talking to the wall’ training he would conduct with Anna and me that afternoon. Then he said, “Robert, call all of the men together and reemphasize the importance of the tunnel and secrecy. Chief, you need to play detective and attempt to learn what the twenty-seven do when they leave the base.”