by Robert Elmer
“Of course.” Captain Yevchenko still looked amused. “I already told him I have no interest in harming anyone. He’s free to leave.”
Well, that was fine. But Erich decided he couldn’t let Yevchenko off so easily.
“Did you hear me?” The Russian raised his voice. “Leave us!”
Still Erich didn’t move, except to park himself beside DeWitt. He didn’t even have to think about it. He wasn’t leaving the man behind. DeWitt was beyond help over in the Soviet sector, and he’d be in deep trouble if he were found out. Erich’s glance darted around the room. If he could find a piece of wood, he might have something to defend himself with.
“Listen, Yevchenko.” DeWitt must have remembered the name from their last meeting. “Maybe you’ve got me mistaken for somebody else. I don’t have anything to tell you. My enlistment’s up in a couple of weeks, so I’m done with the service. I’m just a journalist, okay?”
“Just a journalist.” Yevchenko spit back the words. “A journalist who happens to organize a subversive parachute-dropping campaign over the Soviet sector.”
Subversive? As in dangerous? The way a traitor was dangerous? Erich marveled. DeWitt didn’t think so, either.
“Didn’t know you guys would get so bent out of shape about a little candy,” he replied. “We just wanted to cheer the kids up a little.”
“And you are just a journalist, you say, yet you also work as an American agent?”
“Oh, come on.” DeWitt dropped his shoulders. “You guys would think my ninety-two-year-old grandmother was a spy.”
“I know nothing of your grandmother. But in my country, we shoot people like you.”
Erich’s blood ran cold when he saw Yevchenko’s finger on the trigger. And he heard in the man’s voice how serious he was. Just as serious as DeWitt’s low warning.
“It’s time you get out of here, Erich.” DeWitt didn’t take his eyes off the Russian’s gun. “Go home now, and don’t look back. Tell your mother — ”
“No.” Erich wasn’t sure what was going to happen. All he knew was that he could not leave now if he wanted to. Who would help them, anyway — over here? “You tell her yourself.”
For once Erich didn’t mean it the way it sounded. Only that he could not carry a message from a dead man. A dead man that he cared about.
“Erich!” DeWitt’s voice took on a harder edge. “I didn’t come over here to see you get hurt. You need to — ”
“I’m sorry, DeWitt. But I’m not leaving.” Erich crossed his arms and planted his feet. “Not unless it’s with you.”
That did it. Yevchenko glared at Erich. And Erich tried not to stare at the man silently slipping up behind Yevchenko, a broken board raised over his head like a club.
Helmut Weiss.
Yes, he’d been silent as he’d slipped up behind the captain. But the little janitor’s weapon looked too big for him to hold. And as he pulled back just a little farther, ready to swing, a piece of glass snapped under his foot.
“What?” Captain Yevchenko glanced over his shoulder, probably expecting to see Wolfgang or his assistant. When he didn’t, he snapped his gun hand around, too quickly for Erich to grab it. Without thinking, Erich launched himself headfirst at Captain Yevchenko, clawing and grabbing. At the same time, Helmut Weiss bellowed as he swung the club over his head. DeWitt dived for Yevchenko’s feet as the captain’s gun fired wildly.
Even if he’d been shot, Erich wasn’t sure he would have known right away. All he knew was a wild moment of wrestling, of grabbing the gun, another shot, yelling all around, and another dull thud as Herr Weiss connected with his target.
Then all was deathly quiet as they untangled themselves from the mess of arms and legs on the floor. Captain Yevchenko lay still on the ground, unconscious but still breathing, an angry red welt appearing on his forehead. While DeWitt got to his feet, Herr Weiss stood panting over his victim, eyes wide with horror, blood staining his shirt just above the elbow.
“Herr Weiss!” Erich blurted out. “You’re shot!”
But Herr Weiss didn’t move. “I’ve never done that kind of thing before,” he gasped, ignoring the wound in his left arm. “Is he dead?”
DeWitt took charge again, and Erich felt his arm nearly pulled out of its socket as the sergeant pulled him from the floor.
“He’s not dead, and neither are you,” DeWitt told them. “But we all will be if we don’t get out of here now!”
Still Helmut Weiss stood over the limp body of the captain.
“Listen, pal,” DeWitt told him. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here. But trust me, it’s time to leave, and — ”
And it seemed a very odd time to notice, but there on the floor lay the bag of coins, just out of Captain Yevchenko’s reach. It must have fallen out of Erich’s pocket during the fight. He reached over to pick it up. Maybe it wasn’t the huge treasure he’d expected, but that didn’t matter now. DeWitt watched, curious.
“God go with you, Erich,” Herr Weiss said. He dropped his club then shook Erich’s hand. “You know the way out.”
He did. But the bodyguard must have heard shots. And what had happened to Wolfgang?
“Don’t worry,” Herr Weiss added as he saw Erich’s expression. “Just go.”
Erich nodded. And then Helmut Weiss limped into the darkness as quietly as he’d come.
Erich and DeWitt, on the other hand, weren’t out of the building yet. And as footsteps thundered down the hallway toward them, closer and closer, Erich knew what to do.
“This way!” he whispered.
18
KAPITEL ACHTZEHN
CELEBRATION
THREE WEEKS LATER . . .
“There, you look fine.” DeWitt straightened Erich’s bow tie, which in a past life had been a piece of his mother’s dress. “Never seen a finer-looking best man.”
Erich nearly didn’t recognize himself in the mirror they’d set up in the back room of the Bergmannstrasse missions kirche, the Lutheran Mission Church. Hair slicked back with a little dab of Brylcreem hair gel. Freshly pressed shirt. Long pants even, borrowed from Pastor Grunewald. Never mind that the pastor stood three inches taller and the pants had to be rolled and safety-pinned at the hem. Even his shoes looked as if they’d been given a military spit shine.
Just like DeWitt’s. The American wore his brown dress uniform, creased at all the seams and fresh from the cleaners. Same as his Air Force buddies, ten of whom had showed up early. Strange how many stood by the doors, though, their eyes on the street, arms crossed. Somehow they didn’t quite look as if they were waiting for wedding guests.
Katarina, on the other hand . . . well, she knocked before poking her head in the door. “Are you boys ready yet?”
“Ready when you are!” answered the groom-to-be, and he gave his own tie a nervous yank. He could look as cool as a magazine ad, but Erich knew better. Under it all he could see the man’s hand shaking. The jokes only helped to cover.
“You didn’t invite our friends the Russkies, did you?” He winked at Erich.
“Did you want me to? Haven’t seen them for the past couple of weeks.”
“Just want to make sure they don’t crash the party.”
“Maybe they’re tired of following us.”
“I hope so.” DeWitt checked out the window. “But hey, what kind of talk is this for a guy’s wedding day?”
“The pastor’s waiting,” Katarina reminded them before disappearing again. At least she sounded like Katarina. The rest of the girl, Erich wasn’t sure. Aunt Gerta had sewn her a yellow dress with a frilly hem and had braided her dark hair into a bun.
“I’ve never seen her dolled up like that,” DeWitt said as he followed her out the door, then he held up a finger of warning. “You keep the guys away from her, okay?”
“Not a problem. But . . . DeWitt?” He felt in his pocket for the little cup he’d been carrying around for the past few months. The only physical thing that still connected him
with the memory of his father.
“Yeah?” DeWitt looked back over his shoulder.
Erich felt the knot in his stomach but held out the silver cup before he could change his mind. This would be for his mother as much as for the American, he told himself. And it was his job to take care of his mother, wasn’t it? God would want him to do this . . . this crazy thing. “I want you to have this.”
“Are you serious?” At first DeWitt didn’t seem to understand, not even as he rolled the little cup around in his hand to read the inscription:
“Presented to Rev. Ulrich Becker, Reconciliation Church, 12 June 1936.” He looked up again, a question still on his face. “This belonged to your father, didn’t it?”
Erich nodded.
“Why are you giving it to me?”
Erich swallowed down the lump in his throat.
“Just keeping a promise.”
So DeWitt accepted the gift. The day might have been perfect, if not for the bittersweet knowledge of who was missing. Fred’s Air Force friend Joe Wright stood with the groom, hardly knowing a word of German but smiling for the whole ceremony. Katarina’s mother took her place next to the bride, and a handful of people from the little church joined them. But Oma was not there. That was expected, and Erich could understand why she had stayed home. Not because of her health. She’d begun to feel a little better these last few weeks. But because of who she said she would become at this ceremony.
An ex-mother-in-law, if there was such a thing.
“No, absolutely not.” Mrs. Fred DeWitt put her foot down, just a few weeks after the wedding. “It’s much too dangerous.”
Dangerous because autumn had turned to winter and fog hung over the city nearly every morning? Or because they’d heard stories of C-54’s forced off course, even fired on?
“I’m going, Mom.” He looked at her and tried to sound as grown up as he could. “I have to.”
“It’s all right, Brigitte.” DeWitt could talk her into just about anything. “I’ll be with him the whole time.”
She sighed and turned away, her arms crossed. Yes, she was outnumbered now, two to one, and maybe deep down she didn’t mind.
“Just don’t tell me anything about it afterward.”
The two men grinned and headed for the door. And Erich couldn’t help smiling even more as he waved at Katarina, who had come to see them off that cold Saturday afternoon, hitching a ride in Lieutenant Anderson’s Berlin Baby. The plane looked a little grimy for all its loads of coal but still purred as loudly as ever. And this time the plane ride would be different, very different.
“Hear you’re a married man now!” Jolly old Sergeant Fletcher still co-piloted the plane, even after all these months. He looked about as grimy as the rest of the C-54, but he gave them his wide smile and a slap on the back for DeWitt. “Way to go, guy.”
“Pre-flight checklist!” barked the pilot. Lieutenant Anderson hadn’t changed a bit, either.
“I’m on it.” The sergeant pulled out his clipboard as the others settled in for a quick flight to Rhein-Main and a Frankfurt dusted with early season snow, hopeful Christmas candles in its shop windows. A few hours later Erich enjoyed the wreaths on many of the shop doors; he hadn’t seen any in Berlin for years.
“So what are we going to get her?” DeWitt asked as they stepped down the newly shoveled street together. Erich stopped at a shop window to look at a box of chocolates and knew the answer.
“You doing the honors this time?” Sergeant Fletcher wanted to know, and DeWitt bowed at Erich with a flourish of his hand. The plane lurched as they approached Berlin once more.
“Wait a minute.” Erich tied the corners of the next handkerchief as quickly as he could. “I still have a few more.”
“Tempelhof in three minutes.” Lieutenant Anderson put the plane into final approach as DeWitt opened the flare hatch. “Just make it quick, Sergeant. I don’t want those things — ”
“ — snagging your landing gear!” Erich and DeWitt finished the pilot’s warning at the same time, which made them both laugh. But the Berlin Baby wasn’t slowing down for anybody; they’d have to work quickly. DeWitt handed the box across.
“Need some help?”
Erich shook his head no. “Not this time. But thanks.”
No, not this time. He could do this. So Erich took a handful of carefully folded parachutes, ready to let loose as the wind whistled below them. He shivered as the cold December wind stiffened his fingers.
“Woo!” the sergeant chirped. “Somebody opened the barn door! A little chilly out there.”
It didn’t matter. This time Erich didn’t think about the other bombers, the bombers during the war. He didn’t think about anything except dropping candy to the kids on the ground. They would release right over Oma’s apartment, as they’d agreed. So DeWitt glanced up through the forward windows to get their position before he started the countdown.
“Drei, zwei, eins . . . Let it loose!”
And Erich did.
HOW IT REALLY HAPPENED
History books tell us that the Cold War began in 1948. World War 2 had ended, but the countries that had defeated Nazi Germany didn’t get along. Soviet (Russian) forces took over the eastern half of Germany, while Americans, British, and French occupied the western half.
The problem was, the capital city of Berlin was stuck like an island in the middle of the Soviet territory. And about three years after the official end of fighting, the Soviets decided to seal off Allied-occupied West Berlin from the outside world. No trains or trucks would be allowed in.
What could the Allies do? Give up and go home, leaving all of Berlin to the Russians? No. Instead, the United States, Britain, and France joined to provide a massive 24/7 air supply line known as the Berlin Airlift. Between June 26, 1948, and September 30, 1949, Britain and the United States flew in 2.3 million tons of supplies to keep the western part of the city alive. Day after day they kept it up, even when no one thought it was possible.
It was a huge, and sometimes dangerous, job. And it was a hard time for the people of Berlin, who had already been through so many tough times during the war. But with the world against them, the Soviets gave up fifteen months later and once more allowed supplies in by traditional land routes.
The gum and candy drops really did happen, thanks to an American flier named Gail Halvorsen. His bravery and compassion showed the world that Americans wanted to help, any way they could.
The Reconciliation Church, the Versöhnungskirche, was also a real place, stuck in the no-man’s-land that would grow up along the border between east and west. This border would divide a city and a people more and more over the next forty years. But the story of the people living around that remarkable church is not over —
QUESTIONS FOR FURTHER STUDY
1. In the opening chapter, why do you think getting a chocolate bar was such a big deal for Erich? Explain what he was going through.
2. According to Erich in chapter three, whose fault was it that his father had been killed? Do you see why he felt that way? What made him so bitter about life?
3. In chapter four, both Erich and Katarina wanted to help Oma Poldi. Why did they disagree, and who do you think was right?
4. Why did Erich change his mind about stealing food (chapter five)? Why did he still get in trouble?
5. In chapter eight, how did Erich and Katarina feel when they saw the kids on the other side of the fence? What would you have done, if you were Erich and Katarina?
6. The story about the gum drops is true (chapter nine), except in real life it wasn’t Erich and Katarina who started dropping candy on the city. Who did, and why? (You’ll need to do some research on this one.)
7. In chapter eleven, Oma compared her daughter-in-law to a person written about in the Bible. Who? And why would Oma say that?
8. What really happened to Erich’s father? In chapter thirteen, how did Erich’s ideas about the Americans change?
9. Who was Wolfgang real
ly working for (chapter sixteen)? Why do you think he would do that?
10. Which church did Erich and his family attend in chapter eighteen? What is different about this church, compared to other churches in Germany?
BEETLE BUNKER
PROLOGUE
ST. LUDWIG’S HOSPITAL, EAST BERLIN
APRIL 1955
“We will wait until you decide to stop blubbering, Sabine Becker. Until then, you can just stay in there.”
Seven-year-old Sabine sat on the closet floor and shivered, holding her head in her hands.
Tomboys never cry, she told herself. But no matter what, she could not stop the sobs.
“B-b-b-bitte,” she repeated, over and over. “P-p-p-please. I d-d-don’t want to d-d-do any more today. . . . It hurts s-s-so much — ”
But begging had never worked with Nurse Ilse. Neither had deal-making or screams or tantrums or hunger strikes. Even smiles and promises to do better later only brought a slap on the hand from the ruler Nurse Ilse carried in her apron pocket.
“We can wait as long as you like,” said the nurse, “but we will return to your exercises.” She turned the key in the lock and walked away. As her footsteps grew fainter, Sabine closed her eyes.
She didn’t let herself fall asleep, though. What if Mama came while she was asleep? Nurse Ilse wouldn’t wake her. She only did that in the middle of the night, when she pinched Sabine’s cheek to get her attention, then forced nasty medicine down her throat. It was supposed to make her polio better.
Sabine bumped her head against the inside of the door and shivered. She prayed to her mother’s Jesus and talked to her own made-up friends — like the characters from the books Mama read to her. Sometimes she wasn’t sure which was which, though she would never dare admit that to Mama.
At least for a little while she was away from Nurse Ilse. Here she could escape to her pretend world, the place where she could walk and run, just like all the other kids.
Only not forever. Nurse Ilse came back a few minutes later with another threat, this one worse than locking her in a closet.