Cold Peace

“Sir!” Flight Lieutenant Boyd stood in the doorway of the Station Commander’s office and announced, “We have reports coming in of rioting in central Berlin. An angry mob is allegedly breaking shop windows and stealing food.”

Priestman sat straighter at his desk and shot back. “Who’s reporting that? Do we have confirmation?” He’d been expecting a Soviet move for nearly three months, and just as Frank Howley had suggested, the introduction of the D-Mark had triggered it, but he had not expected riots -- or not right away. 

“All the radio stations are repeating the same information, sir, but I can’t track down the source. They’re saying things like ‘we’re hearing reports’ and ‘it is being alleged.’ No one seems to have first-hand information, and, no, I don’t have any confirmation from any authority.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Priestman agreed, but before he could take further action, the phone on his desk rang and he answered it.

“Sir? This is the Tower. Triple Two’s duty patrol is reporting armour clogging the inbound autobahn.”

Damn, he thought. He hadn’t expected either the electricity to be cut off or the tanks to move. In short, he’d made two miscalculations. Just to be sure the report was reliable, he asked, “Who’s reporting?”

“Flight Lieutenant Knight, sir.”

“Thank you.” Priestman disconnected with his finger without replacing the receiver on the base, and dialled his WAAF secretary in the outer office, asking her to connect him to General Herbert. As he waited, he looked at Boyd again. “Do we have confirmation that all access routes by land and water are interdicted?” 

“Yes, sir. No question about that. We have the official SMAD notification of the measures — ‘due to technical difficulties’.” Priestman nodded and glanced out the window toward the long shallow ditch filled with rainwater where his paved runway was supposed to be. The new PSP runway had been laid down three weeks ago, but the concrete runway was still two weeks away from completion. No, wait! If they couldn’t ship in concrete and steamrollers, he might not be able to get it finished at all.

“Sir!” Stan burst into the office.

Priestman just looked at him waiting. 

“The radio is reporting that Allied troops have fired on rioters in Charlottenburg, killing dozens!”

“That is not credible,” Priestman answered. “What station was reporting that?”

“I don’t know, sir. I heard it down in the mess. A bunch of German workers were standing around and staring at the radio in horror.”

“Boyd, would you please go down and find out what station they’re listening to? If it is Radio Berlin — or any other Soviet-controlled station — make them turn it off or listen to RIAS.” 

Boyd nodded and departed as from the telephone receiver Sergeant Andrews informed Priestman that she had a connection to the British City Commandant. Priestman opened: “Wing Commander Priestman here, sir. I wanted you to know that my duty section has reported Soviet armour blocking the autobahns. Also, we’re hearing rumours of riots and casualties. Can you provide me with any insight into the situation?”

“The city is completely calm. Tense, but calm. No riots, so no reason to shoot and certainly no casualties. I’ll pass on your information about the tanks. Meanwhile, I suggest you join me in my office with your IO for a full briefing.”