The Berlin Tunnel

by Roger L Liles

  Thomas glowered at me, but I continued, “As many as possible should speak German, with at least fifteen who have no discernible accent!”

  “Why? Again, young man, this is the first we’ve heard of that requirement!” Thomas exclaimed.

  “Before I became involved, it was decided to build the tunnel in a very densely populated urban area. Native German-speaking workers will be needed to perform all of the tasks that require interfacing with the local population both around the building and in Berlin itself. This is essential if we have a chance to hide this construction project in plain sight.”

  In a friendly tone, Gerald asked, “Why sixty-two?”

  “To have any chance of meeting your construction deadline, we’ll need two shifts running the Tunnel Boring Machine (TBM) up to sixteen hours a day. Here’s a breakdown of my current plan.” I handed several sheets of paper to Gerald Scherman.

  Thomas stood and shouted, “We’re acting as if this kid has the job and we plan to blindly follow his lead by building the ramp tunnel and then just hope for the best!”

  I kept my facial expression neutral as Thomas Lane stomped around the room.

  I wondered, What I had done to warrant his obvious displeasure.

  “How old are you?” Thomas asked me in the condescending tone one would use with a misbehaving child.

  “Twenty-six.” I quickly lost respect for this pompous ass.

  “Do you have any construction experience?”

  “A year and a half at March Air Force Base, building hangers and runways.”

  “Wasn’t that as a sub-contracts administrator, not a hands-on construction manager?”

  “I was also responsible for directing the efforts of twenty-three people, who performed maintenance and repairs of the entire base infrastructure.”

  “Supervising the replacement of toilets in the Officer’s Club is a far cry from being responsible for the construction of the United States’ most critical intelligence collection facility while trying to meet what you’ve characterized today as an ‘impossible deadline’!”

  I declined to dignify that personal rebuke with a response.

  “Neither Gerald nor I are engineers, so I am very troubled by the prospect of allowing you to be solely responsible for this construction project,” Thomas barked, shaking his index finger at me in a hostile manner.

  Gerald pointed out the obvious. “Thomas, you know Robert is the only individual with the right clearance who was available in time to meet our deadline.”

  “We should immediately explore alternatives!”

  Standing, Gerald approached Thomas, his demeanor and gestures designed to be calming. “I know you are concerned that failure of the tunneling project will affect your next promotion, but you must be reasonable. Let’s take this discussion to my office. It’s not Captain Kerr’s fault he was the only choice available.”

  I was astonished by their exchange. Thomas Lane voiced the same fears I harbored, but I detested his belligerent grandstanding.

  When the two men returned, Gerald carried a metal case, which measured perhaps one foot by three feet by eight inches. “Put all of the material you need to describe your plan in here. It is a classified document courier case; the combination is 24-34-17. A staff car’s waiting to take you to Army Corp of Engineering Headquarters in Washington, D.C.”

  I stood and placed the materials on the table into the courier case. I’d do almost anything to get away from Thomas Lane, who sat in a nearby chair and glared at me.

  Gerald continued, “Colonel George Stevens will meet you there. Tell him everything you’ve told us. He’s fully cleared for this project and has twenty-seven years of civil engineering experience. If you can convince him that the ramp in the location you’ve selected is the correct choice, then the matter will be settled.”

  Thomas added, “At least, for now.”

  I didn’t bother with a reply, although I nodded at Gerald Scherman as I departed.

  Feet of Tunnel Completed: 0 Days until Deadline: 331

  Chapter 23

  Tuesday, November 1, 1960

  Colonel George Stevens, whose uniform displayed an impressive collection of ribbons, had gray, thinning hair, and a welcoming countenance. He’d arranged for a catered lunch. To begin the meeting Colonel Stevens said, “Meet Senior Master Sergeant Neal Loring. He will lead the Corp of Engineers team, which will arrive in Berlin in January.”

  Sergeant Loring’s firm, two-handed handshake was welcoming. He was short with broad shoulders and the ramrod-straight military bearing of a career soldier. His appearance spoke volumes—immaculate uniform, very short haircut, thin mustache precisely located in the middle of his broad lip, and jutting chin.

  “Captain Kerr, as I understand it, what Mr. Scherman and Mr. Lane expect from us is to validate or reject your concept for the building of the tunnel. Correct?” Colonel Stevens asked.

  “Yes, sir.” I then gave the same briefing I’d just presented to Gerald and Thomas. For this audience, I used more technical terms and provided significantly greater details. In return, I received more penetrating questions. Most I fielded without difficulty.

  After my briefing, the Colonel said, “That all makes sense. What you’re suggesting is a conventional tunnel, which would begin at the bottom of a ramp. Tell me about it. First, why?”

  I provided a lengthy explanation, concluding with the comment, “We don’t have to worry about the structural integrity of the southeast end of the building—we’ll be twenty feet below it when the tunnel reaches that point.”

  An hour later, the colonel stood to stretch his legs “If you want a job after you get out of the Air Force, come see me. I’d hire you in a minute. Your plan to install two pressure doors to maximize the construction rate is clever. I’ll have to remember that one.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your validation of my concept.”

  As I put away my materials, the Colonel approached to shake my hand. “Captain, I have another meeting now. You have my full endorsement, and I’ll inform our friends at Fort Meade of that fact.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And Captain, I hope you’ve taken the admonitions of your superiors to heart. I believe your tunnel is the most important construction project the United States government has undertaken recently.”

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

  “Since 1945, the Russians have won on virtually every front. We desperately need the intelligence this tunnel will provide to reverse that course of events. It’s the reason I’ve assigned my best people, led by Sergeant Loring here, to help you. Make this pipe dream a reality. We’re relying on you!” He smiled, patting me on the back.

  “Sergeant Loring,” he added, “immediately determine if any of your men can speak German. Most can operate any machines or vehicles you can name and do any construction job.”

  I shook the Sergeant’s hand. “I’m genuinely glad you’ll be leading the team, and I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  “Thank you, sir. Together, we’ll crack this nut.”

  “All of your men will be required to look like Germans while on this assignment. Tell them to start letting their hair grow out now. No GI buzz cuts or white side walls. Be sure their superiors don’t give them a hard time over that in the interim.”

  “I’ll make sure they understand the importance of this request, sir.”

  Informing Anna by telephone that my return would be delayed for a week proved difficult. Several military operators refused to connect a personal call, and long-distance calls were prohibitively expensive. Finally, the best I could manage was when an individual who identified himself as the manager of the Post Exchange at Tempelhof agreed to tell her of my change of plans.

  My itinerary took me to six cities, eight business firms, and a tour of two tunnels that were currently under construction. When I boarded my flight back to Europe, I felt certain that my ramp tunnel was the correct solution for the task I
’d been assigned. I couldn’t wait to get back to Anna.

  Feet of Tunnel Completed: 0 Days until Deadline: 331

  Chapter 24

  Friday, November 11, 1960

  After I arrived back at Tempelhof early Friday morning, I went immediately to the bookstore. After being told that Anna was on a break and would return shortly, the clerk said, “I believe she anticipated your return last Friday, and she was disappointed when you did not show up for your date.”

  Oh, shit! She apparently hadn’t gotten my message about my delayed return. What could I do to make amends? I know—that little shop in the airport terminal.

  A few minutes later, I returned to the bookstore. The bell over the door rang as I entered. Anna stood directly before me. The surprised look on her face was followed by a brief smile and then a scowl. She turned her back on me, walked into her office, and slammed the door.

  Although I expected her to be angry, the intensity of her reaction gave me pause. The clerk at the front desk gave me a questioning look. I had to leave or face up to Anna’s displeasure. I hadn’t heard the lock on her office door click shut. Without knocking, I tried the lever, pushed open the door, and stepped inside. Extending the giant bouquet of red roses I hid behind my back, I pleaded in English, “Please forgive me. I tried very hard to let you know my return was delayed.”

  She frowned, turned her back to me and moved toward the back door. I stepped into her path and switched to German. Soon she giggled as she faced me and declared, “Your German is worse when you get excited and try to use the familiar form. We must work on that. I forgive you. I was just worried something terrible had happened to you.”

  Putting my arms around her waist, I whispered in her ear, “I had a rather special night planned. Supper at the Zum Hugenotten Restaurant in the Intercontinental Hotel and dancing at the bar on the roof of the hotel until dawn. Remember I need to stay awake until tomorrow evening.”

  She clasped my face with her hands and kissed me. “The entire evening sounds wonderful.”

  “I’ll even pick you up in Cinderella’s carriage or perhaps a taxi—depending on what I can find. I’ll be there at…say 7:30.” After a hug and another long kiss, I walked out, throwing a thumbs up to the nosy clerk.

  Anna wore a light blue shimmering silk, full-skirted dress with puffy sleeves.

  “Wow! You’re a knockout!” I proclaimed as I fell to the floor.

  She dropped to her knees, sure I’d fainted. I took her in my arms and began to passionately kiss her. She finally pulled back. “You are going to mess up my makeup, and my dress will get wrinkled. Get up, silly clown.”

  I stood, helped her to her feet, gave her a light kiss, bowed and then announced, “Your chariot awaits, my princess.”

  The maitre d’ assisted Anna into her ornately carved chair. The French Provencial style table was covered with crisp white linen, crystal glasses, fine china, flickering candles inside of a heavy cut-glass holder, and a fresh flower centerpiece.

  She took my hand, squeezed it, and whispered, “If you were trying to impress a girl, you have certainly succeeded.” We both marveled at the scene. High ceilings adorned with large crystal chandeliers complemented the walls covered with intricate molding, dark red-flocked wallpaper, cut-glass sconces, and antique étagères and sideboards.

  I squeezed back. “Am I forgiven?”

  “Yes, I was primarily concerned that something had happened to you or you did not really care for me.”

  “I care for you more than you know!” I announced, clasping her outstretched hands.

  Our meal proved memorable—excellent wine and food, exceptional service and a posh setting. We were together, laughing, flirting and holding hands.

  Chapter 25

  Anna

  Friday, November 11, 1960

  The view of the lights of Berlin from our table in the rooftop bar was spectacular. I especially remember Robert observing, “One can certainly see the dividing line between the two Berlins. Bright lights on this side and relative darkness over in the East. It’s almost as if there’s no human activity on the other side of the line that divides this city.”

  We sipped champagne and danced until the orchestra stopped playing. We followed our taxi ride to his apartment with a glass of wine on his worn couch. For the first time, I let a man hold me and kiss me passionately. I followed his lead, returning his kisses with abandon. Our lips fused and our tongues explored. Soon we were both breathing heavily. Then, he stroked my breast and cupped it with his hand. I froze, flashing back to an alley when I was only seven years old. Fright gripped me. I pushed him away.

  Looking shocked, he anxiously asked, “What is wrong, Anna darling. Have I hurt you in some way?”

  I shook my head, still shaken by the flashback. “Robert, it’s not you, it’s me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It isn’t something that’s easy for me to talk about.”

  “I’m a good listener and our relationship means everything to me. Tell me, please Anna.” He used his fingertip to gently tilt my head up so he could see my face.

  “I’ll try,” I said swallowing hard. “I was just seven years old in March 1945, which was when the Russians surrounded Berlin. They cut off all avenues of escape. My family, like most others, was trapped. As several million people waited for the inevitable Russian attack, food supplies rapidly dwindled. Because I was so young, I was frightened and confused.”

  “Our home was in northeast Berlin, away from the government, railroad and factory targets of central and southern Berlin. This meant that most of the late 19th-century, gray stone homes in our neighborhood were spared the devastation. Soon, Russian shells started to fall all around us. Our electric and gas service stopped. We hid in the cellar, seldom venturing out, because the shelling was intermittent and often started without warning.

  “I will never forget when one night my mother told us we had no more bread. We ate cabbage soup in the morning and potato soup in the evening. Each day for the next several weeks, my fifteen-year-old sister, Sophia, and I ventured out to collect boards from the back fence. We started the fire so mama could prepare our meals in a black pot that hung on the hook over the fireplace. I had difficulty sleeping because I was hungry, terribly hungry. Everyone’s portions grew steadily smaller.”

  I blinked back tears. “We knew our defenders had failed to keep the Russians out when the guns finally fell silent. Papa went out on a reconnaissance mission, but soon returned and told us, ‘Russian troops are looting occupied houses across the street at gunpoint. I will reopen the surgery. Perhaps they will respect the property of a healer.’ Amazingly, they didn’t touch our house. In fact, Russian soldiers soon lined up outside his surgery as Papa treated their numerous infirmities. In return, they gave us a little food, some wine, and vodka. My father continued to treat our neighbors and strangers for numerous maladies, including wounds inflicted by the Russians, but his medical supplies were rapidly depleted. He shook his head as he whispered to my mother frequently about the number of women who had been violated. I only vaguely knew what that meant.

  “By mid-May, the five of us had not eaten for a few days. Some of my father’s German patients paid him in then-worthless Reichsmarks. His requests for food went unheeded. The only time I heard my father curse was when he returned home from a fruitless search for food, saying, ‘Those God-damned Russians. They have intentionally stopped food supplies from reaching Berlin. Revenge on all of us for the war that madman Hitler caused.’ One night, Sophia awakened me. She said ‘I cannot sleep. I’m too hungry. Come with me. We’ll find food in the Schaffers’ house. They fled Berlin in February with their daughter, Gisela. There were cabbages, turnips, hams, and large rounds of wurst in their basement.’ I told her, ‘Someone will already have taken that food.’

  “Sophia said the food was well hidden behind a false wall. I dressed and followed her out the back door. As we moved through the shadows of a moonlit night in the alley, I
heard ‘frau, komm’ (woman, come), then closer ‘ah, fraulein, komm’ (young woman, come) in a lustful tone. Five massive Russian shock troops surrounded us. Their strange, filthy faces still haunt me in my sleep. They were apparently from Central Asia.” I began to cry, tried but failed to regain my composure and ended up weeping uncontrollably, “They violated Sophia. Papa had to repair her….”

  “Anna, it’s all right.” Robert said. “I don’t need to know all of the details now….let me dry your tears….please…please stop now…”

  Unable to see through my tears, I blurted out, “She was a virgin and….she had to have an abortion….”

  Robert shook his head as if to clear it, handed me his handkerchief, and said, “Use this to blow your nose and dry your tears.”

  When I finished, he pulled me to my feet and embraced me. We stood this way for a long time. He then lightly kissed my lips. “It is too late for you to return to your apartment, darling. You take the bed, I have to stay awake all night, anyway.”

  After several minutes of back and forth on where I should sleep, Robert said something I’ll always remember. “I care for you and want nothing to harm our relationship, so you take the bed. I’ll join you briefly, because I want to hold you and reassure you that you’re safe with me.”

  I wore a tight corset. It went from the midriff to the top of the thigh. I could not sleep in it, so I asked Robert for a pair of his pajamas. I changed in his bathroom and then got under the covers in his bed. In a few minutes, he joined me similarly dressed. I snuggled into his arms and fell asleep. He woke me up when he left the bed later. Nothing happened—beyond a kiss on the top of my head.

  The next morning Robert came into the room, sat on the bed and announced, “It’s after 10 a.m., party girl. Time to face the world.” After kissing my cheek, he declared, “Anna, you’re very precious to me. I’m absolutely willing to wait until you’re ready. Until then, I would like to make you part of my life.”