At least the Russians provided his delegation generously with champagne, beer, and white wine. What they didn’t offer was the otherwise ubiquitous Vodka. Dean wasn’t sure whether this was meant as an affront or not. And he didn’t really care. All he wanted was to leave this damned place and get on the road again.
When nobody returned with news from the Soviet headquarters, he finally exploded. “Look I have orders to go to Berlin. These orders are clear and cover all my men and all my vehicles. What they don’t say is, if the Russians are willing to let you pass. Do you understand?”
“I’m afraid you will have to take up this point with my superior, since I’m bound to follow the Berlin agreement,” Gorelik said and kindly suggested, “Let me get him for you.”
It took an agonizing forty-five minutes until a one-star general arrived and greeted Dean with the warmest welcome wishes. But despite supposedly being the man in charge, he repeated the same bullshit Colonel Gorelik had said and insisted that according to the elusive Berlin agreement they couldn’t take more than the stipulated amount of men and vehicles through the Soviet occupied zone.
Dean couldn’t openly threaten the general, but he still made his opinion known and said, “I’m sure my superiors won’t like this incident and it may cause repercussions. Our entry into Berlin was agreed at the Yalta conference.”
The general wouldn’t budge, be threatened, reasoned with or scared, he wouldn’t be bluffed and couldn’t even smile at a joke. Dean was at a dead end. He asked the general to let him talk in private with his deputy Major Jason Gardner, who was waiting in the car. Together they went over the options, which weren’t many. Return to Halle or continue with only a third of the convoy.
“I say we return and ask for further orders,” Gardner said.
Dean exploded. “No way I’m going to let those bastards win. If we give in now, who knows whether they’ll ever let us drive up to Berlin.”
“Dean, there are agreements in place…”
“…that they ignore at will and instead pull up some phony shit nobody has ever heard of. I tellya it was a mistake letting the Russians get to Berlin first. Now we have to wrench every single inch of that damn city out of their damn hands.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Gardner as always was the embodiment of calm reason.
Yes, what do to? He’d rather cut off his right arm then return to General Clay with his tail between his legs. “We split up. I take the allowed men to Berlin and you return with the rest to Halle, letting headquarters know what kind of blockheaded bastards the Russians have turned out to be.”
“You sure, you should take on the Russians in your current mood?” Jason teased him, fully aware that Dean was about to explode at any moment.
Dean growled at his friend and then left the car to let the Russians know about his decision to submit to the mysterious Berlin Agreement. If the general felt victorious, it didn’t show on his face, and Dean was way beyond caring one way or the other. All he wanted was to leave this goddamn place and reach Berlin before nightfall.
Half an hour later after repacking everything, because the Russians insisted they weren’t allowed to bring machine guns with them, Dean hopped into his jeep cussing a blue streak.
“At least we’re moving and you’ll see, it’ll be a breeze to reach Berlin on the four-lane Autobahn,” Bob, his driver and translator said.
But after a few kilometers, the leading Soviet car pulled off the Autobahn and guided them along a cobblestoned secondary road.
“What the hell are they doing now?” Dean bumped his fist against the metal frame.
“No idea.”
Dean waved down their escort and got out of the jeep, the vein in his neck pulsating dangerously. If those damn Russians didn’t stop their antics right now, he’d crush their skulls. “Why aren’t we going on the Autobahn as planned?”
The Russian shrugged, pretending not to understand.
“Autobahn?” Dean asked with growing frustration.
The Russian shrugged again and Dean’s fingers twitched. He knew methods to make the bullheaded lout speak. But with superhuman effort he somehow managed not to strangle this so-called ally and instead motioned for Bob to join him.
“He says the Autobahn is under maintenance, therefore we have to take the secondary road,” Bob translated, nervously eyeing Dean. He knew his boss’s temper all too well and added, “Dean, you promised the general not to cause a diplomatic incident.”
Dean gritted his teeth. The Russians were causing the incident, not him. Back in the jeep he growled, “We have every right to take our convoy into Berlin. So far, I’ve sucked it up and smiled, but these rotten bastards better not believe they can take me for a ride.”
Chapter 6
“Z ara, are you sure you can walk?” Marlene asked. They needed to go to the administration office and register Zara to receive a ration book for her. Although food was still almost nonexistent, without a ration book a person was doomed to starve.
“Yes,” Zara pressed out between gritted teeth. Her breath was labored and she had shiny eyes, despite the fact that her fever had broken the night before.
“She can’t return here,” Marlene’s mother said.
“But where shall she go? She has no place to live,” Marlene objected.
“This is not our concern,” her father joined the conversation. “She has been here for five days eating our food. Now she must leave. Her presence puts us in danger.”
And what about her safety? Marlene wanted to shout. But it would be an unthinkable act of defiance to raise her voice against her father. Therefore she nodded and said, “Yes, Father.”
For Zara’s benefit she put on a brave face, but deep within she was worried to death. There was no way her friend would survive out on the street. Whilst walking the two blocks to the registry office, she racked her brain to find a place where Zara could stay. The only person who came to mind was Dr. Ebert. His makeshift hospital was always overcrowded, but he surely wouldn’t send Zara away until Marlene had found her another place to live.
Dr. Ebert wasn’t at the hospital, but a young man in his mid-twenties with curly brown hair and warm brown eyes greeted them, “How can I help you?”
“I am looking for Dr. Ebert,” Marlene said. Zara slumped against the wall, barely able to hold herself upright. She was completely exhausted from walking just a few blocks.
The young man glanced at her and then back to Marlene. “I’m sorry Fräulein, but he’s not here. My name is Georg Tauber, by the way. I am helping Dr. Ebert with his patients.”
“I am Marlene Kupfer and this is my friend Zara Ulbert.” He visibly flinched at hearing the name and Marlene hesitated. He must have recognized Zara’s last name and she felt a need to explain. “Dr. Ebert came to my house to treat my friend Zara several days back, but she can’t stay with us and so I thought…” His kind eyes emboldened her to finish the sentence. “Can she stay here, please? Just for a few days until I have found her another place to live.”
He nodded, giving her a smile that eased all her worries. “For the moment, yes. But Dr. Ebert needs to make the final decision, I am just helping out.” He glanced in Zara’s direction with barely concealed curiosity. Marlene basically saw the words forming at the tip of his tongue, but no sound came out. Instead he stretched his back and said, “Can you give me a hand and settle her on the cot over there, please?”
“Of course, Herr Tauber.”
Together they led the stumbling Zara to a cot in the far corner of the room. The bedsheet was surprisingly clean and Marlene wondered how they did the washing.