Helena P. Schrader's Blog, page 5
October 15, 2024
Secondary Characters of "Cold War" -- Flight Sergeant Gordon MacDonald
The cast of characters in "Cold War" would not be complete without Gordon MacDonald. His role is perhaps minor in the series as a whole, but as a man in a wheelchair given a chance to be useful again, he personifies how the Airlift gave people hope and purpose again.
Gordon will be more familiar to many readers as "Daddy" MacDonald, the flight engineer on Kit Moran's crew. Gordon came up through the ranks, starting his RAF career as a Halton apprentice at 15. He trained as an aircraft mechanic or fitter and worked his way up the ranks. He married and had two daughters. By the time the war came, he was already a sergeant and soon a crew chief as well.
But he didn't like sending other men off to die and when the chance came, he volunteered for aircrew. It was late 1943 and he'd been in the RAF 18 years, but he had never flown in an aircraft. He was half the way through his flight engineer training course when he went up for the first time, and discovered it terrified him. To admit that and not complete the course, however, might have exposed him to accusations of "lacking moral fibre." So rather than risk being called a coward, he swallowed down his fear and completed the course.
At the Operational Training Unit crews were formed, and most of the young pilots looked a little askance on an "old man" of 33 as MacDonald now was. Or his fear of flying affected the way he interacted with pilots while in the air and had put most of the skippers off. By the end of the second week, MacDonald was without a crew and Kit Moran was without a flight engineer, so "the powers that be" assigned MacDonald to Moran's aircraft. The two men became friends almost instantly.
When on his last operational flight over Germany, Kit recognizes that the Lancaster is too badly damaged to fly back to Allied controlled territory he orders the crew to bale out. Daddy, however, returns to the cockpit to assist Kit. When he realizes there is not time left for them to bale out, he straps Kit in and stays with him. On impact, Gordon's back is broken and he returns to the UK paralyzed from the waist down. Although he receives extensive rehabilitation and physical therapy after repatriation, he is discharged from the RAF as an invalid.
Gordan doesn't blame Moran for his disability. He knows he made the choice to return to the cockpit and he believes firmly that he saved Kit's life by strapping him in. He is proud to have saved Kit's life. His problem is that he hates being idle and 'worthless.' And then Kit brings him a new proposal.
An excerpt with Gordon MacDonald:
Gordon MacDonald deftly folded up the ironingboard and shoved it back in its stowage space beside the refrigerator. He’dlearned how to open it at a height that enabled him to iron from hiswheelchair. Although he still made a hash of tricky items like shirts, he couldmanage dish towels, napkins and the like. With three of the latter on his lap,he wheeled himself to the cramped dining room and put the freshly ironed andneatly folded napkins on the three place settings he’d laid. He paused to surveythe little room, looking for something he’d forgotten. He’d polished the silvertea service, and he’d dusted everything he could reach. Seeing nothing more hecould do, he rolled himself back to the parlour and looked it over critically.
Gordon remembered how pleased he and Maisy hadbeen to move into this house when they married eighteen years ago. Maisy had goneto a lot of effort to find the right furniture and had been proud to inheritthe china service and a proper cabinet to store it in. His parents had giventhem the etchings on the back wall, and his sister had stitched the cushioncovers. The photographs on the mantlepiece recorded the milestones of his life:a big-eared kid grinning at the camera in the uniform of a Halton apprentice, aproud corporal on the arm of Maisy in a white wedding dress, the Christening ofboth daughters, the wedding photo of the eldest, a formal picture of him withsergeant’s stripes and his aircrew brevet, and finally, a crew picture in frontof the Lancaster Z-Zebra. Everything in the room had a memory attached to it;most of them good. It wasn’t the past that hurt, but the future, so he dwelt onthe past.
... No sooner hadhe arranged everything on the coffee table than the doorbell rang. Punctual tothe minute, Gordon thought with an inner smile; that was the Skipper all right.If they were even 30 seconds late over the target, he was unhappy about it. Callingto Maisy that he’d get it, he rolled himself to the entryway and opened thedoor. Kit Moran stood on the doorstep with a large bouquet.
“For the Mrs,” Kit explained with an almostapologetic smile.
“That was thoughtful of you, Skip. Come in,”Gordon pushed himself backwards.
Kit entered, his eyes sweeping hissurroundings, and Gordon found himself mumbling apologies about not being ableto keep it up as he should. “But it’s wonderfully cosy!” Kit assured him, and histone made Gordon start to relax a little. If only he knew why his former pilothad invited himself to dinner.
Leaving Kit in the parlour, Gordon went tofetch a vase and water for the flowers. Together Gordon and Kit together founda place for them and then Kit sat down — only to spring to his feet again whenMaisy arrived. She was still flushed from the heat in the kitchen but withouther apron or scarf. Tall and slender for a woman her age, the strength of herHighland upbringing was reflected in her sharp features and upright bearing.
“We’re so pleased to have you here, FlightLieutenant Moran,” she welcomed him as she shook his hand vigorously. “I onlywish I could have made you a better meal. Who would have thought that threeyears after the Germans surrendered, we’d still be clipping ration coupons! Andnow they’ve even put bread and potatoes on ration as well — like they neverwere in the war. But meat is the worst, you know, I can’t seem to get — why amI babbling on like this? I’m sorry, Flight Lieutenant. Please sit down. We’vegot the cheddar at least.” She indicated the platter.
“Thank you, Mrs MacDonald, and I’m the one whoought to apologise for inviting myself like this, but —”
“Oh, let me get you something to drink, first.What would you like?” Mrs MacDonald broke in to ask, and Gordon could tell shewas nervous because she didn’t usually chatter or interrupt.
Kit took it in his stride and with a glance atGordon asked, “What are you drinking, Gordon?”
“Guinness.”
“Then I’ll have one as well.”
Maisy disappeared and returned with twoglasses and two bottles of beer; she didn’t drink herself. ...
“Now, don’t keep us in suspense any longer, Skip. What is thisall about? There’s nothing wrong at home is there?”
“No. Not at all, but I wanted to tell you inperson about a job I may have. I owe you my life, and I’ve felt so badly aboutbeing unemployed and—”
“Now, don’t go talking like that! You don’thave to be someone important for me to feel it was worth saving you. It’s enoughjust to see you with Georgina and that bairn of yours.”
Whatever Kit had meant to say, Gordon’s remarkthrew him off his stride. Briefly, he was visibly distressed, then he pulledhimself together. “Gordon, I may have a chance to fly on the Berlin Airlift,delivering food to the civilian population.”
“Congratulations!” Gordon sat up straighterand reached out to clap Moran on the knee in sincere delight. “Well done!”
“It’s not certain, however. First, I have to pulltogether a complete crew.”
“Why don’t they assign you one or let you crewup like we did?” Gordon asked confused.
“The job’s not with the RAF. It’s with aprivate company.” ... Kit was looking so earnestly at him that Gordonsensed there was more. “What is it?”
Kit drew a deep breath. “My father-in-law—”
“The reverend?”
“Yes, Reverend Reddings. He claims that coincidencesare the hand of God in human affairs.” Gordon grunted to suggest his scepticismbut waited for Kit to continue. “The company that I may be flying with wants tohire German aircraft mechanics to do the maintenance work. They need a crewchief who could supervise and train the Germans on Hercules VI engines.”
Gordon was puzzled why Moran would mentionthis so solemnly — and then the penny dropped. Something hot seemed to slidedown his inert spine. “You — You — think — I — could do that?” he askedcautiously.
Kit nodded. “I’m sure of it. The knowledge isall there in your head. You don’t need to do the work, just explain it,and make sure the others do it right. I recommended you.”
“Why did you do a daft thing like that?” Gordonexploded feeling overwhelmed. Already he wanted this job so badly, he wasstarting to tremble. Yet, he didn’t want false hopes or charity either. “Whatcompany would want to hire a cripple and why? What’s in it for them? Where’sthe catch?”
Kit looked back steadily, and Gordon sensed thestrength and goodwill that had always drawn him to the younger man. “It’s anair ambulance outfit run by one of McIndoe’s Guinea Pigs and a woman pilotformerly with the ATA. They aren’t your usual profit-driven businessmen.”
“You told them I was in a wheelchair?”Gordon just couldn’t believe it.
“Yes, I did.”
“And they were still interested?”
“Yes.”
“But why? There are lots of other men asqualified as me who aren’t cripples.”
“Well, it seems their British ground crewrefused to remain in Berlin after the blockade started, which is why they decidedto hire Germans. In other words, thisjob would be in blockaded Berlin, and it will only last as long as the blockadedoes. It’s a very temporary and somewhat risky proposition, so few qualifiedcrew chiefs are likely to want it.” Kit explained, adding in a gentle voice,“And no one would be surprised or upset if you said no.”
“I’m not saying no!” Daddy snapped back,frowning. “I’d take any legitimate job, let alone one working withaircraft. And I don’t care about the pay, but I don’t want charity, either. Asfor —” He cut himself off as Maisy reappeared in the doorway.
She looked from one to the other, then handed Kitan opened envelope. “That’s the invitation to the flight engineers’ reunion.It’s going to be held in Warrington a week from tomorrow.”
“Thank you. I was just telling Gordon that thecompany I hope to work for also needs a crew chief to train Luftwaffemechanics. They asked me to find out if Gordon might be interested—”
“Oh! That would be splendid! A job with aircraft again!” She looked at herhusband.
“The work would only be temporary,” Kithastened to explain.
“That doesn’t matter, does it, Gordon?” Maisyanswered turning to her husband with an expression of almost painful eagerness.Turning back to Kit, she declared. “He’s been doing much better since I startedletting him help around the house but working with aircraft and engines — that’shis life. He loves them. It would do him a world of good to get back to them,even if only for a short spell or on an irregular basis. The pay doesn’tmatter. Not with the girls earning their own way now, and with my job payingsteady. How long would it be for?”
“We don’t know. It depends on how long theRussians keep up the blockade of Berlin. The job, I’m afraid, is in Berlin.”
“Oh!” She was taken aback by that but thenturned to look at Gordon. Their eyes met. He didn’t have to say anything.Turning back to Kit she declared. “Ithink Gordon should go.”
Gordon was too overwhelmed for words. All hecould do was reach out and clutch her hand with so much force he saw her wince.
She did not pull away, however. Instead, shedeclared firmly and steadily. “I want you to do this. It’s what’s meant to be.”
Gordon is a character in all three volumes of the Bridge to Tomorrow Trilogy
The first battle of the Cold War is about to begin....
Berlin 1948. In the ruins ofHitler’s capital, former RAF officers, a woman pilot, and the victim of Russianbrutality form an air ambulance company. But the West is on a collision coursewith Stalin’s aggression and Berlin is about to become a flashpoint. World WarThree is only a misstep away. Buy Now
Berlin is under siege. More than twomillion civilians must be supplied by air -- or surrender to Stalin's oppression.
USAF Captain J.B. Baronowsky and RAF FlightLieutenant Kit Moran once risked their lives to drop high explosives on Berlin.They are about to deliver milk, flour and children’s shoes instead. Meanwhile,two women pilots are flying an air ambulance that carries malnourished andabandoned children to freedom in the West. Until General Winter deploys on theside of Russia. Buy now!
Based on historical events, award-winning and best-selling novelistHelena P. Schrader delivers an insightful, exciting and moving tale about howformer enemies became friends in the face of Russian aggression — and how closethe Berlin Airlift came to failing.
Winning a war with milk, coal and candy!
October 8, 2024
Secondary Characters of "Cold Peace" - Charles "Chuck" or "Kiwi" Murray
Although only a secondary character, Kiwi is an indispensable character. Kiwi is first and foremost a friend to the principles. He is someone who is on their side and can be trusted even when things go very wrong -- as he will prove in the final book in the series. In the first two volumes he is more in the background, yet reliable and well worth getting to know.
Kiwi is a character in all Three of the volumes of the Bridge to Tomorrow Trilogy
“Bloody bastard!” Kiwi exclaimed furiously ashe slammed down the receiver and pushed out of the hotel phone booth. He shovedhis peaked cap onto the back of his head in frustration, revealing his redface.
Ron and Chips, standing just outside thebooth, pounced on him at once. “What did he say?”
“That bureaucratic arse says he ‘can’t’ let usfly from any RAF facility until he has orders from General Robertson making anexception for AAI aircraft! It’s nothing but bumpf! Sheer bureaucratic bumpf!”He resisted the urge to fling his cap down and stamp on it.
"Maybe we could fly from one of the U.S.bases?” Ron suggested.
“We’d spend nearly a full tank of fuel just toget there and they’re twice as far from Berlin!” Kiwi snapped back, thensoftened his answer by adding, “I know you’re just trying to help, Ron. I don’tmean to take it out on you, but this is just pure bunk! Pig-headedness!Arrogance! Bagshot’s an effing bastard!”
“Did you tell him patients are waiting to beflown out?” Chips asked.
“Of course! I told him there were dozens ofdesperately ill patients waiting. I told him their lives depended on us gettingthem out, and this was a high priority of the Berlin City Council — to which heanswered that he didn’t take orders from the Berlin City Council and allGermans could die as far as he was concerned!” Kiwi was so angry he was notkeeping his voice down and was starting to attract attention. This last commentharvested shocked and angry looks from across the lobby.
“Maybe we should go get a drink and do somemore brainstorming,” Ron suggested reasonably.
“You carry on. I’ve got ring Mr Goldman andlet him know we’re still stuck here and don’t know when we can get to Berlin.We don’t want the patients waiting around at Gatow, and maybe he can get amessage to Robertson.”
The mechanics nodded and headed for the hotelbar, while Kiwi returned to the telephone booth to ring David. He was relievedwhen Emily answered the phone and promised to advise David of the situation forhim. David had an unpleasant way of making Kiwi feel he was to blame whenthings went wrong, and he didn’t want to get a bollocking for this latestcock up.
As he started for the bar, however, Kiwi wasintercepted by Virginia Cox of the Times. “Chuck, Darling!” she calledout to him waving and smiling. “What a delightful surprise!”
Kiwi couldn’t think of anyone he wanted to seeless! He’d never forgive the way Virginia had set a trap for him once before.She’d asked for an interview about the launch of AAI and over lunch at theHotel Adlon, she’d charmed all sorts of proprietary information out of him. Afterflattering him through lunch, she’d brushed him off like a piece of dirt — andadded insult to injury by writing a misleading article. He looked her straight in the eye and asked,“Do we know each other?”
“Chuck Darling! What a card you are! You can’thave forgotten that lovely lunch together at the —”
He cut her off. “What I remember is youchasing after the next story before we’d even finished and then writing anarticle that twisted the facts enough to put AAI in jeopardy.”
She gazed at him with an expression of woundedsurprise that would not have shamed a Hollywood actress. “But Chuck! That’s myjob — chasing after stories, I mean. And I’m stunned, no crushed, thatyou didn’t like the article. I so wanted to do you justice in it. I thought itread—”
“Like we were a pair of crazy, barnstorming,bush pilots ignoring aviation regulations!”
“Chuck! That wasn’t my intention at all. Itruly wanted to show what a wonderful job you’d done.” She looked and soundedso profoundly sincere that Kiwi wondered if it had been a misunderstanding.
“Please, Chuck. Let me buy you a drinkand we can talk this through. What are you doing in Hamburg, by the way?” Shehad slipped her hand through his elbow and pulled him to her just enough so hecould feel her breast against his side as she led the way toward the bar.
Damn it! He couldn’t control his attractionfor her despite what she’d done to him. She was a corker anyway you looked atit with bright blond hair and legs to kill for. It didn’t hurt that she wasdressed now in a sleek two-piece suit, silk stockings and pearls. She’d beenthe debutante of the season ten years ago. Damn her! And except for thatembarrassing one-night-stand with a girl whose name he couldn’t remember, he’dbeen celibate ever since his wife left him seven months ago.
Virginia, meanwhile, had drawn him to thehotel bar, where Ron and Chips were gaping at him as the stunning woman led himin and then perched herself on a bar stool in a way that drew all men’s eyes toher legs. “What are you drinking, Chuck Darling?” she asked with aheart-warming smile.
No, Kiwi told himself, he was not going to getdrawn into cocktails and God knew what next. He gone off the heavy liquor eversince he’d failed his first flight test on twins and had had to retake it athis own expense. David had given him a second chance and he was not going toscrew it up. “A half-pint of that German beer they sell around here.”
“Holsten, I think it’s called,” she suppliedthe name with a glance at the bartender for confirmation. He nodded and she ordered,“A Holsten for the captain and a Cuba Libre for me.”
The bartender withdrew and Kiwi cautiouslytook his seat beside Virginia. Without physical contact, he found he couldthink a little more clearly. He concluded that the best way to stop her fromluring him into a new trap was to ask some questions of his own. “What are youdoing here in Hamburg? I thought you were covering the Airlift.”
“So, I am!” Virginia assured himenthusiastically. “That’s exactly why I’m here.” He looked at her blankly, andshe exclaimed, “The Sunderlands! Surely you saw the news? They flew into Berlinfor the first time yesterday, and I managed to get an exclusive interview withthe squadron commander operating out of Finkenwerde. But there’s no good hotelthere, so I’m staying here. I’m here half the time anyway because the AirliftStory isn’t all about Berlin, you know. It’s also about the organization behindthe Airlift and the departure fields, and ships bringing in supplies and allthat.” She seemed to realise she was talking too much and suddenly exclaimed,“What a wonderful coincidence to run into you! I assumed you were flying yourselfragged, getting sick people out of Berlin.” She paused, looking at him withbig, admiring eyes.
“Well, that’s what I wish I were doing andought to be doing!” Kiwi burst out, and without thinking added, “But a certainGroup Captain Bagshot, who happens to be in charge of the RAF effort, refusesto approve a flight plan for us unless he has express orders from GeneralRobertson!”
“Good heavens! What a lot of nonsense! Peoplemight die if they can’t get out of Berlin to get the medical attentionthey need! You can’t be serious?”
“Of course, I’m serious! We’re cooling ourheels here wasting money on hotel bills and airport fees while seriously sickpeople are trapped in Berlin all because Group Captain Bagshot is too stubbornor too cowardly to approve a flight plan!”
“He ought to be called out on this,” Virginianoted.
“What do you mean?” Kiwi asked, suddenly wary.
“Well, an article describing the plight ofsick children who can’t get out of Berlin—”
“Oh no you don’t!” Kiwi cut her off. “I wasjust telling you why I’m here. I don’t want you screaming about it in thepapers. Bagshot will have it in for us if you do that.” Not to mention, hethought to himself, David will kill me for blabbing again. “Promise me youwon’t publish anything about this!”
“Now, Chuck Darling, you know the rules,” sheadmonished with a flirtatious smile. “When talking to journalists, unless yousay upfront that something is ‘off the record,’ then anything andeverything you say can be used.” She said it in a nice way, but Kiwi knew shewas coldblooded when it came to her job — and he knew an article againstBagshot would ruin them.
He reached out and clasped her wrist in afierce grip. “I wasn’t talking to you as a journalist!”
Virginia looked down at his hand pointedly,and he removed it. They sat tensely side-by-side. Kiwi watched her like a hawk.Her face had become hard. Then something seemed to click inside her, and sheturned on a charming smile. “All right, Chuck, I won’t write anything about it.I just wanted to do you a favour. A little negative publicity often doeswonders to clear away pointless bureaucracy, but if you don’t want my help…”she finished the sentence with a shrug.
“No. I don’t want you meddling in my affairs.We’ll work this out in our own way. And that’s that.”
Their drinks arrived, and Kiwi lifted his beerin salute and Virginia replied in kind. As she put her glass down, Virginiaasked with a reconciliatory smile, “What are you doing for dinner tonight,Chuck? I’ve discovered this wonderful old beer cellar that didn’t get blitzed.It’s underground, you see, with big, vaulted ceilings and gigantic, wooden beerkegs. Very romantic.”
Did she mean that? Part of Kiwi was tempted,but he caught sight of Ron and Chips watching him alertly and he shook hishead. “No, I’m here with my ground crew and we’ll do something together. That, or”he had a better thought, “I’ll hitchhike to Berlin to discuss the situationwith Mr Goldman.”
“Oh,” she seemed surprised, almost hurt by hisrejection. She didn’t get turned down very often, Kiwi presumed.
“Maybe another time,” he offered, halfregretting what he’d just done.
The first battle of the Cold War is about to begin....
Berlin 1948. In the ruins ofHitler’s capital, former RAF officers, a woman pilot, and the victim of Russianbrutality form an air ambulance company. But the West is on a collision coursewith Stalin’s aggression and Berlin is about to become a flashpoint. World WarThree is only a misstep away. Buy Now
Berlin is under siege. More than twomillion civilians must be supplied by air -- or surrender to Stalin's oppression.
USAF Captain J.B. Baronowsky and RAF FlightLieutenant Kit Moran once risked their lives to drop high explosives on Berlin.They are about to deliver milk, flour and children’s shoes instead. Meanwhile,two women pilots are flying an air ambulance that carries malnourished andabandoned children to freedom in the West. Until General Winter deploys on theside of Russia. Buy now!
Based on historical events, award-winning and best-selling novelistHelena P. Schrader delivers an insightful, exciting and moving tale about howformer enemies became friends in the face of Russian aggression — and how closethe Berlin Airlift came to failing.
Winning a war with milk, coal and candy!
October 1, 2024
Secondary Characters of "Cold War" - Virginia Cox-Gordon
The post-war period is rightly remembered as a nadir in women's rights. When "the boys came home," many women who had been doing 'mens' jobs' were dismissed and told it was time to become 'wives and mothers.' Most women were probably glad to see the last of an ordinance factory, but others were frustrated to be thrown out of responsible and challenging work. As always, there were also women who defied the trend and found ways to remain active professionally. Virginia Cox-Gordon is such a woman.
Virginia is one of those women who has found herself during the war. The daughter of a millionaire, she was the "catch of the season" when she made her debut just before the outbreak of the war. Beautiful, rich and spoiled, she enjoyed being 'daring' and dating not-so-suitable men such as the aerobatics pilot Robin Priestman. Yet fundamentally, she was bored to death with life -- until the war broke out. The war opened up opportunities that she had never dreamed of and also fed her insatiable curiosity with real news rather than gossip. She became a journalist for The Times.
Yet while opportunities of women journalists opened up during the war, the profession remained male-dominated. Competition for the best stories and first report was cut-throat. Virginia had to play the game by the brutal rules -- or get left by the wayside. By the end of the war, she has established herself as a first-rate reporter, but the prejudice against her sex is worse than before. She uses the weapons she has -- beauty, sex-appeal and a powerful and wealthy father -- to hold her own. But her struggle has warped her and she has paid a heavy price in personal happiness for her success.
An excerpt with Virginia:
“Mrs Hart, please try to understand.” VirginiaCox argued patiently with the WAAF officer. “Everyone is talking about theseparachutes with sweets attached. There were scores and scores of witnesses, butno one has a photo of it. A picture is worth a thousand words. All I’m asking is that you lend me youradorable little daughter for a few hours. With her bright blond hair, she looksGerman. We can braid it the way the Germans do and dress her in the oldest,most faded clothes she has. I’ve already made a parachute with one of my oldscarves and have attached some Hersey’s chocolate that an American friend gaveme to it.” Virginia held up her contraption. “We can throw the parachute out ofan apartment building window and position Hope below, waiting with upliftedarms. It will be a sensational shot!”
“It would be fake,” Kathleen answered tartlyand indignantly. She did not like this idea at all.
“No more ‘fake’ than most of the films andphotos we made during the war,” Virginia countered. “You know as well as I do thatall those laughing ‘Fighter Boys’ lounging around waiting for a scramble wereposed for the photographers. And so were the images of Bomber Boys intentlywaiting to hear the ‘target for tonight.’ But they weren’t lies. They werestaged, yes, but they replicated reality as accurately as possible. Thatis what I propose to do now. What is so wrong with that?”
Kathleen didn’t have an answer. She lookedover at Hope, who at once started begging. “Please, Mummy! Please!” Kathleenhated being manipulated and all her instincts said this was wrong, but shelacked the arguments to plead her case.
Yes, she could slam the door in the reporter’sface, but that would probably land her in more trouble. The reporter worked forthe Times, and her father sat in Parliament. Perhaps more relevant, the WAAFOC was on very good terms with her and had brought her over, saying she was“sure” Assistant Section Leader Hart would have no objections. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I’mnot going to let you just borrow Hope. If you want to take Hope anywhere, thenI am coming with you. It is my day off.”
“Oh, splendid!” Virginia agreed withexaggerated enthusiasm.
An hour later, Kathleen and Virginia weresitting in the back of a confiscated “Kuebelwagon” with British occupationlicence plates while Virginia’s photographer drove them along the edge of theHavel on their way to Tempelhof. Hope was sitting in the front seat beside thephotographer. She was happy as a lark in the open vehicle with the wind blowingher hair. Where Virginia got the petrol rations for this outing, Kathleen couldnot fathom, but apparently the press had privileges and it was not her place toquestion them.
Virginia had Kathleen trapped as she turned toask, “Why is it, Mrs Hart, that I get the feeling you disapprove of me? We’reboth career women, after all. We ought to be allies! We should join forcesagainst a world that would like to shoo us both back behind the stove.”Although she tried to make the question sound light-hearted, Kathleen knew shewas deadly serious.
“What I don’t like,” Kathleen answered,meeting the reporter’s eyes, “is that you are turning Hope’s head, making herfeel special and glamorous. It’s quite misleading. She’s just an ordinary seven-year-old.”
“Is she?” Virginia asked with a raisedeyebrow. “I think Hope is an adorable and photogenic child. She’s sure to growinto an attractive girl. Every beautiful woman should learn to use her charmsto get what she wants as early as possible.”
That was not the way Kathleen had been raised.Then again, she hadn’t been happy in the world her parents had made for her. Wouldshe have been happier following Miss Cox’s advice? She didn’t think so. It wastoo mercenary, too exploitative, and didn’t leave room for giving as well astaking. Out loud, she reminded Virginia, “Beauty is ephemeral. It can beshattered in a single accident or fade over time. Either way, it is better fora woman not to depend on it too heavily.”
“Beauty is the most powerful weapon women haveand ought to be used mercilessly as long as one has it,” Virginia countered. “Whichdoesn’t mean one can’t develop other skills. I think it’s marvellous thatyou’re an air traffic controller. I was serious about wanting to interview you.I’m sorry you didn’t get in touch with me after our last meeting.”
“I am very busy.”
“I’m sure you are, but we have lots of timeuntil we get to Tempelhof. Why don’t you start by telling me how you landedhere? Weren’t you worried about bringing a child into what is practically awarzone?”
“When I volunteered for Gatow, it was a sleepy,forgotten backwater, and I wanted to be near my husband.”
“Your husband?” Virginia gasped, glanced atKathleen’s hand. Only now did she notice her wedding ring. “Silly of me! Iassumed you were single. What’s his role?”
“Navigator on a Lancaster. He’s in theCommonwealth War Cemetery.”
“Oh! You mean he’s dead! Well, thatdoesn’t count then, does it?”
“To me it does,” Kathleen retorted, thinking howthe longer she was here, the more often he seemed to visit. Mostly he came inher dreams, but sometimes she sensed his presence when walked beside theperimeter fence to get fresh air, or when she sat alone in her flat after Hopehad gone to bed.
Virginia had been talking and when Kathleendidn’t respond, she repeated her question, “Do you feel you are treated thesame as to your male colleagues?”
“Most of the time,” Kathleen answered, appendingher answer with, “it depends on the CO.” Soon, without realising what washappening, Virginia had drawn Kathleen into a conversation so successfully thatKathleen was surprised when they reached Tempelhof. American Skymasters wereswooping down at them, and the roar of their engines was deafening. Their wheelsand flaps were down as they passed directly overhead, and one could see the oilstains on the wings and the bolts holding the fuselage together.
“Oh, look!” Virginia exclaimed. “There’s agroup of German children over there. They must be hoping for a sweet drop!Let’s go and talk to them.” Flinging the car door open, she made a beeline for Germanboys and girls, Hope and Kathleen forgotten. Kathleen took a disgruntled Hopeby the hand and followed.
Virginia emerges as a more important character only in "Cold War."
Berlin is under siege. More than twomillion civilians must be supplied by air -- or surrender to Stalin's oppression.
USAF Captain J.B. Baronowsky and RAF FlightLieutenant Kit Moran once risked their lives to drop high explosives on Berlin.They are about to deliver milk, flour and children’s shoes instead. Meanwhile,two women pilots are flying an air ambulance that carries malnourished andabandoned children to freedom in the West. Until General Winter deploys on theside of Russia. Buy now!
Based on historical events, award-winning and best-selling novelistHelena P. Schrader delivers an insightful, exciting and moving tale about howformer enemies became friends in the face of Russian aggression — and how closethe Berlin Airlift came to failing.
Winning a war with milk, coal and candy!
September 23, 2024
Characters in "Cold Peace" - Jakob Liebherr
While the conflict in Berlin 1948-1949 was primarily between the post-war superpowers, the United States and the Soviet Union, the Berliners were not just pawns. Indeed, they could have ended the entire crisis at at any time simply by indicating their preference for Soviet. The West was only willing to make the huge effort to supply Berlin by air as long as the Berliners themselves wanted to remain free.
Jakob's role in "Cold War" is to bring to the reader the perspective of the Berlin City Government. Through Jakob, we take part in political developments and face the challenges confronting the civilian government.
Although a fictional character, Jakob is a composite character bringing together many features typical of Berlin's leaders in this period. First of all, he is a Social Democrat, and secondly he is a man with an indubitable track-record of fighting the Nazis. Jakob Liebherr isn't young any more. In fact, he's losing his hair and two years in a concentration camp have left his internal organs damaged in a variety of ways. But his determination to make Germany a better place is unbroken. He can see the dangers bright as day -- just as he saw the danger Hitler posed 1930 - 1933. He knows the enemy is in the East, disguised as "Socialist solidarity" and "brotherhood of the working classes." But as the Russian bear licks his chops and prepares to devour Berlin, Jakob begins to despair about the willingness of the West to stand up to him. As a result, the decision to attempt an Airlift astonishes and encourages him. He works closely with the allies to determine how much of what the Berliners need to survive. He also supports the establishment of a police force free of Soviet political control and manipulation. Yet Jakob is too old not to be a little cynical about the chances of success.... Here is an excerpt in which Jakob Liebeherr is active:
High-pitched hysterical screaming from thestreet below interrupted the discussion. Charlotte recoiled and curled up, herproud bearing collapsing like a house of cards. Mrs Priestman, on the otherhand, looked startled and moderately alarmed, but not frightened. She turned tolook out the window in the direction of the screams. Liebherr had already leaptto his feet. With an “excuse me” he hastened out the door.
On the landing, he nearly collided with Christianvon Feldburg, coming out of the apartment opposite. Together they started downthe stairs in the wake of the three young men who shared the flat under theLiebherr’s. Jakob knew that all three men, who went by names such as Meyer,Schultz and Braun, were black marketeers who also sold homemade schnapps ofvery dubious quality. They had served together on U-boats. They were cynicalbut young, fit and tough.
By the time he reached the ground floor,Liebherr lagged behind the younger men. Emerging from the front door, he found alarge crowd had collected around the entrance of the adjacent apartment house. Inaddition to the woman’s frenzied shrieking, people were shouting and callinginsults. The crowd blocked the way between the door and the canal. Jakob glanced toward the street and spotted anAmerican car of some sort with police licence plates.
Aheadof him, Feldburg and Kapitaenleutnant “Meyer” pushed their way throughthe crowd, Meyer’s two crewmen in his wake. Abruptly a shot rang out. Everyonefroze and silence crashed down over the crowd. The only sound was the rustling of the wind in the chestnut trees.
Horrified, Jakob forced himself forward. He pushedthrough the stunned crowd to find three policemen holding a man crumpled upbetween them; a fourth policeman held a pistol pointed at the sky. One of thepolice officers looked straight at Jakob and barked, “Tell these fools to backoff or next time I’ll shoot to kill!”
“First tell me what is going on here,” Jakobcountered moving cautiously closer. His heart was pounding furiously in hischest but if you learned anything in a concentration camp, it was not to showfright or anxiety. The thugs of both fascism and communism fed on fear.
“We are making an arrest—”
“They’re Markgraf’s men!” someone shouted frombehind Liebherr. Markgraf was the Chief of Police installed by the Soviets assoon as they had conquered the city.
“My husband is innocent!” screeched thehysterical female voice that had shattered the afternoon’s peace. From thedoorway she wailed, “He’s done nothing — NOTHING!”
“He’s a capitalist warmonger who has beengouging the proletariat —”
“He runs a barbershop!” the woman yelled backan octave higher than her normal voice. “We can hardly make ends meet!”
“Shut up or I’ll arrest you as well!” thepolice officer with the pistol retorted, lowering the barrel of his pistol sothat it pointed at the woman in the door.
She answered by flinging open her arms and howled,“Shoot me! Shoot me! I’d rather you shot me than left me here without my Paul! Shootme!” it turned into a long, drawn-out keen of grief.
The officer turned away as she sank to herknees in despair and snapped at his men. “Get him in the car!”
The other three policemen started shoving anddragging the stunned victim toward the waiting vehicle. The crowd didn’t part,but it didn’t stand firm either. The police officer narrowed his eyes, and hispistol swung back and forth as if looking for a target.
Jakob was no more courageous than the others.His mouth went dry, and he felt his muscles cramping up. He hated beingdefeated. He hated giving in, but he recognized the look in the policeman’seyes. He would have liked to kill someone.
The police shoved their victim into the back seat,and two of them squeezed in beside him, while the third went around to thedriver’s seat. He climbed in behind the wheel and turned the key in theignition. Only then did the man with the pistol start backing towards the car.He kept his pistol pointed at the crowd, his eyes daring anyone to make a move.His lips were curled in a sneer of contempt. He opened the door with his freehand and then in a swift movement, spun about and dropped inside.
No sooner had his door slammed shut than thecrowd erupted. Several young men grabbed bricks from the heaps lying beside thesidewalk and threw them at the car. Several hit the side, boot and bumper, crashingand crunching as the metal buckled. The driver started to pull away from thecurb, but the crowd chased after the car. More bricks and cobblestones raineddown on the boot and the back window shattered. From the corner of his eye.Jakob registered that someone was drawing a pistol. In horror, he turned andsaw Kapitaenleutnant “Meyer” start to take aim. “NO!” he shouted andknocked his arm away. “If you shoot a policeman, you’ll be the next victim!”
“They aren’t policemen!” someone shouted inanswer. “They’re Stalin’s pet wolves!”
With the police car now far out of range, thecrowd turned their rage on Jakob as a representative of their city government.
“They steal from us and kidnap and intimidatehonest citizens!”
“When are we finally going to get protectionfrom the criminals in police uniform?”
“We want police who aren’t Soviet stooges!”
“So do I!” Liebherr responded, raising hisvoice to be heard above the snarling of the others. “Believe me! No one wantsreal police more than Mayor Reuter and I!”
“Then do something!”
“How many more people are you going to letthem kidnap?”
“When are you going to stop the theft? We havealmost nothing left as it is!”
The hostility around him was so powerful that Liebherrwas relieved to feel Christian von Feldburg move up beside him. He had his handinside his jacket, and Liebherr sensed that he, too, was fingering a pistol.Feldburg was joined a moment later by Kapitaenleutnant “Meyer,” whosepistol was still in his hand.
Encouraged by this support, Liebherr raisedhis voice again to project authority as best he could. “Mayor Reuter is tryingto recruit men for a new police force. If any of you wish to volunteer, let meknow and I will see that you speak to the right people.” To his relief, thisannouncement harvested so much excitement that the hostility snapped. People startedtalking among themselves, while several of the women turned to comfort thewoman sobbing in the doorway.
Liebherr joined them, sinking down on thefront step to ask the name of the victim. He would, of course, protest to theChief of Police, but he knew he would earn nothing but a sneering rebuff.Markgraf did not recognise the authority of the elected city officials; he tookhis orders solely from the Soviet Military Government.
As the women took the victim’s wife backinside, the rest of the crowd dispersed, and Liebherr turned to go back to hisapartment. Glancing up, he saw that MrsPriestman was on the balcony and had apparently seen everything. Very good. Itwould do no harm for the RAF station commander to know what was going on in thecity, even if there was nothing he could do about it.
Feldburg and Meyer were talking in low voicesamong themselves. As Liebherr went entered the building, they joined him. “Isthat true about a new police force?” Meyer asked intently.
“Yes. Interested?”
“I might be,” Meyer tried to sound evasive,but Liebherr could tell he was tempted. After a moment, the young man admitted,“I’m tired of doing nothing. Just watching them trample all over us. Iused to hate the Amis and Tommies as much as the Ivans, but…” He shrugged toexpress his frustration, “Well, they are flying in food and coal, aren’tthey?” He automatically looked up where, nowadays, an aircraft was alwaysvisible somewhere.
Jakob is a character in all three volumes of the Bridge to Tomorrow Trilogy
The first battle of the Cold War is about to begin....
Berlin 1948. In the ruins ofHitler’s capital, former RAF officers, a woman pilot, and the victim of Russianbrutality form an air ambulance company. But the West is on a collision coursewith Stalin’s aggression and Berlin is about to become a flashpoint. World WarThree is only a misstep away. Buy Now
Berlin is under siege. More than twomillion civilians must be supplied by air -- or surrender to Stalin's oppression.
USAF Captain J.B. Baronowsky and RAF FlightLieutenant Kit Moran once risked their lives to drop high explosives on Berlin.They are about to deliver milk, flour and children’s shoes instead. Meanwhile,two women pilots are flying an air ambulance that carries malnourished andabandoned children to freedom in the West. Until General Winter deploys on theside of Russia. Buy now!
Based on historical events, award-winning and best-selling novelistHelena P. Schrader delivers an insightful, exciting and moving tale about howformer enemies became friends in the face of Russian aggression — and how closethe Berlin Airlift came to failing.
Winning a war with milk, coal and candy!
September 17, 2024
The characters of "Cold Peace" - Galyna Borisenko
The threat of tyranny hangs over Bridge to Tomorrow. As historian Timothy Snyder documents all-too-well, no people -- not even Europe's Jews -- were subject to as much oppression and tyranny as the Ukrainians. Before the backdrop of Russia's renewed attack on Ukraine, I decided to include two Ukrainian women in this trilogy: one a refugee from tyranny who has found a home in Britain and the WAAF; the other a former partisan and "Heroine of the Soviet Union." Despite their differences, they recognize a kinship across ideological borders. Their friendship is a key element in the Bridge to Tomorrow trilogy as a whole, but Galyna plays the more important role in Cold War.
When the Bridge to Tomorrow Series opens, Galyna is a WAAF corporal who started the war as a stores clerk, rose to radio mechanic and is now a Russian translator. In her dreams, however, she is a heroine of the SOE. Unfortunately, she when she looks in a mirror, she sees a short and plump young woman not sufficiently glamorous to be taken seriously as the next "Mata Hara." Still, she achieves an "intelligence coup," when she brings information about the impending blockade to her RAF superiors before the Soviets take action. Although MI6 remains skeptical about her value to them, Galyna gets a lucky -- and very dangerous -- break in Cold War.
An excerpt featuring Galyna:
Galyna did not wear uniform and she travelledby public transport from Spandau to Lehrter Station before walking theremaining distance to the rendezvous venue. She was as nervous as the firsttime she’d met Mila and they had found this sordid and rundown bar. The disreputableclientele had intimidated Galyna, but last time, Mila had been armed and unabashedlydiscouraged unwanted approaches by showing her pistol. Galyna didn’t have a sidearmand wouldn’t have been able to use it even if she had. As she descended thethree steps into the seedy bar, her heart was already racing. She didn’t have agood plan for what to do if Mila wasn’t there, which seemed probable since theyhad not set a time.
The air that hit her as she entered was heavy,hot and smoke-filled. Although crowded, Galyna could not spot another woman inthe entire joint, while the men who looked back at her showed predatory interest.Galyna searched for an RAF uniform she could cling to, but she couldn’t spotany British or American military personnel. All the customers appeared to beGermans or member of the forgotten legion of displaced persons. From a nearbytable, the men jocularly signalled for her to join them. “Komm, Fraulein!Komm! Zahlen gut!”
Galyna’s German was not good, but good enoughto understand what that meant! She spun about and started up the stairs again.She couldn’t do this.
Someone grabbed her from behind and shestarted to scream. Instead, a hand came down over her mouth and Mila hissed inher ear. “It’s me and I’m armed.”
Galyna hadn’t recognised Mila because she woremen’s clothes and a peaked cap low over her brow that covered her hair. Face toface with her and feeling her strong embrace, Galyna felt a rush of relief. Sheflung her arms around her friend in gratitude.
“Come, come,” Mila urged, taking her by thehand and leading her to a little table almost behind the stairs. A candle stuckin the mouth of a bottle was half burned down and a beer glass contained afinger of liquid left. Mila had been waiting for a while.
Mila signalled imperatively to the waiter, andhe hastened over as if he were afraid of her. The other men had turned away,too. Mila was prominently armed again.
“What do you want to drink?” Mila asked Galynain Ukrainian.
“Tea,” Galyna answered.
“You’re sure?” Galyna nodded, and Mila placedthe order in German. The waiter bobbed his head and retreated.
The Ukrainians sat down opposite one another,and Mila reached out to take Galyna’s hands in both of hers. She lookedintently into Galyna’s face as she asked, “Are you all right?”
“This place frightens me, that’s all.Otherwise, I’m fine.” Galyna felt ashamed that she had almost run away. Whatsort of secret agent would she make if she were afraid of going to a bar alone?
“Look! I’ve brought you everything I could!”Mila responded, pulling her bulging knapsack onto her lap and unloading it.“Sausage, smoked ham, canned sardines, cheese, condensed milk.” As she spoke,she unpacked the items and spread them out on the table.
Galyna gaped at them, confused.
“And here,” she ended proudly, “because mandoes not live by bread alone, some caviar I snitched from Marshal Sokolovsky’slast banquet.” As she spoke she placed alarge glass of caviar on the table. It was the only jar with a label inCyrillic lettering. All the other goods were American products sent to theSoviet Union during the war.
“Mila! What? Why?” Galyna’s eyes swept backand forth.
“You must be starving, Galyna. I know that. Iknow you would never tell me, but we have all heard that you are getting almostnothing to eat any more.”
“Mila!” Galyna gasped out, reaching across thetable for her friend’s hand. “You are so sweet! So kind! I don’t know what tosay.”
“Don’t say anything. Just pack it up. You havea knapsack?”
“Yes, yes, but you don’t understand. We aren’tstarving. Look at me!” She gestured toward her solid figure. “I’m as fat asever.”
Mila paused to look at Galyna, cocking herhead to one side puzzled.
“Seriously,” Galyna stressed. “The food isgetting boring and almost all of it is dried now — dried potatoes, dried milk,dried eggs — but there is enough. At least so far. Or anyway for theoccupation forces. That’s not why I called you.”
“No?” It was Mila’s turn to look bewildered.
“No. Something else has happened. Somethingthat has — has —.” She stopped herself and took a fresh approach. “You knowwhat happened to my father.”
Mila nodded solemnly.
“Now another friend, not a close friend, anacquaintance really, but he’s a British officer, Mila, and he disappeared duringa sightseeing trip in the Soviet Sector. The official answer is that they don’tknow where he is but… I don’t believe them.”
Mila shook her head. “Of course, you don’tbelieve them. You shouldn’t. They tell lies all the time.”
“If we could find out where he is, who is holdinghim, then we could protest through the proper channels, but as it is….” Sheended with a helpless shrug, her gaze fixed on the far side of the room. Turningback to Mila, she added in a softer, tenser voice, “That frightens me, Mila.” AlthoughGalyna had planned this appeal, she discovered that she did not have to pretendfear; she was sincerely frightened.
Mila put a reassuring hand over hers. “Iunderstand. This is very dangerous for you.” She looked around the bar, saw thewaiter bringing Galyna’s tea and sat back in her chair. Galyna followed herlead and they both waited while the waiter placed a tea and a beer in front ofthem. Galyna hastened to bring some D-marks out of her pocket to pay. Then thewaiter retreated again.
Galyna is a character in all three volumes of the Bridge to Tomorrow Trilogy
The first battle of the Cold War is about to begin....
Berlin 1948. In the ruins ofHitler’s capital, former RAF officers, a woman pilot, and the victim of Russianbrutality form an air ambulance company. But the West is on a collision coursewith Stalin’s aggression and Berlin is about to become a flashpoint. World WarThree is only a misstep away. Buy Now
Berlin is under siege. More than twomillion civilians must be supplied by air -- or surrender to Stalin's oppression.
USAF Captain J.B. Baronowsky and RAF FlightLieutenant Kit Moran once risked their lives to drop high explosives on Berlin.They are about to deliver milk, flour and children’s shoes instead. Meanwhile,two women pilots are flying an air ambulance that carries malnourished andabandoned children to freedom in the West. Until General Winter deploys on theside of Russia. Buy now!
Based on historical events, award-winning and best-selling novelistHelena P. Schrader delivers an insightful, exciting and moving tale about howformer enemies became friends in the face of Russian aggression — and how closethe Berlin Airlift came to failing.
Winning a war with milk, coal and candy!
September 10, 2024
The Characters of "Cold Peace" - Christian Freiherr von Feldburg
Christian is the contrast to the disabled and scarred heroes and heroines of this series. He is the "golden boy" who seems to have it all: good looks, wit, charm, money -- and good luck. His war wounds were not crippling and he fell into American rather than Soviet hands so his experience as a prisoner was not one of privation or abuse. He returns to Germany with his body and spirit intact and at once starts to re-build from the substantial remnants of the family's not inconsiderable pre-war fortune.
Yet Christian is anything but a light-weight. Those who remember him from best-selling "Where Eagles Never Flew," know that he saw through the Nazis even then and that he has a strong, internal ethical compass and a strict code of personal honour. In the post-war years, Christian feels his responsibility to both the living and the dead. He has married his dead-friend's widow to remove her from an intolerable situation in France, and he has assumed control of the family estates to help get his mother back on her feet and ensure his nephew has a sound financial basis to start off in life. Yet, his sense of responsibility to his dead brother is also powerful. He is determined to see that the Nazis who destroyed his Germany are brought to justice -- and equally obsessed with reminding the rest of the world that not all Germans were Nazis.
An excerpt featuring Christian:
Christian stared at the door in front of himwith a sinking heart and an unpleasant weight in his stomach. Glued to the woodat eye level was a large SED sticker showing two hands clasping each other.Other SED posters were tacked above and below the sticker. “Fatherland! Peace!And Socialism!” one shouted. “Unity for the Working People of the World!”another promised. “Profit to the People, not the Plutocrats!” “Socialism isPeace and Progress.” Christian was especially struck by a dark poster showing anight landscape with four-engine bombers flying through the sky and a large,muscular hand with curled fingers reaching upwards. The text read: “Drag theTerror-Fliers from the sky!”
That was the last straw. “There is no point inknocking!” Christian stopped Sperl as the black marketeer reached out his hand.Because Voigt had been socialist for as long as Christian had known him, he didn’tdoubt this was the man he was looking for. Yet anyone who could supportthe Soviets and buy their propaganda wholesale was not going to want any partin assisting the Airlift. He turned to go back down the stairs and get somefresh air.
“Don’t be so hasty,” Sperl advised catchinghis arm.
“I used to like and respect Voigt. I don’twant to see him parroting this Russian shit.”
“You don’t know what hides behind the symbolsand the slogans,” Sperl warned. “Be honest, you think I’m a Nazi fanatic, don’tyou?”
Christian considered Sperl a moment and then replied,“Let’s just say that U-boat captains had a reputation for loyalty to the Naziregime, and I have reservations about U-boat warfare.”
“Why?”
“Because it targeted unarmed merchantmen andused stealth and deception to attack unseen.”
“The merchantmen may have been unarmed, butthe escorts certainly weren’t. Not to mention Coastal Command’s bombers couldcarry both torpedoes and depth charges. As for tactics, didn’t you prefer toattack out of the sun, unseen, on unsuspecting targets?”
“Touché,” Christian conceded.
“Now, regarding my politics…” Sperl shrugged.“While it’s true I was an enthusiastic Hitler Youth leader at the age of 16, I grewup. I certainly didn’t shoot myself when I heard Hitler had blown his brainsout. Ask the others. I would have thrown a party — if we’d had anything left toparty with. The Nazis were a bunch of corrupt thugs, and I know it as well asyou do. People are disgusting animals, and politicians are the worst of thespecies. Now, we’ve come all this way, let’s find out if this Voigt is the manyou’re looking for or not.” Sperl rapped hard on the door with his knuckles.
A voice from far away called, “Who’s there?”
Sperl just turned to Christian and waited forhim to answer.
Christian raised his voice and announced, “Feldburg.Christian Freiherr von Feldburg.”
Something seemed to bang, and then rapidfootsteps approached the door. It was yanked open, and an aged young man stoodbefore them. His hair was reddish brown and thinning at the crown. His face wasdeeply lined, his eyes darkly circled. He was dressed much as they were, inold, workers’ clothes. Frowning, he stared at Christian, shifted his head thisway and that as if trying to see him better before he uttered, “Herr Major? Isit really you? Where did you come from? What are you doing here?” His eyes ranover Christian’s clothes baffled.
“I wanted to — see how you were doing. HerrMeyer here,” Christian indicated Sperl, “said he had met a couple years ago.”
Voigt frowned at Meyer as if he didn’tremember him — or maybe didn’t want to remember him. “Go down to theManifesto, it’s on the right when you come out onto the Schoenhauser. I’lljoin you there in fifteen minutes.” Then he slammed the door in their faces.
“Well, that was friendly,” Sperl commented sarcastically.
Christian nodded confused. It was Axel, but thesmirk, the self-assurance, and the cheekiness were all gone. In their place wassomething grim and embittered. The Nazis had never broken Voigt, but… His eyesscanned the SED posters again. Sperl was right. If Voigt believed all these slogans,he would feel triumphant and excited by the impending expulsion of the WesternAllies.
“Shall we go down to the kneipe?” Sperlasked.
“Why not? We’ve come this far.”
The tavern was already crowded. Customers werestanding around the bar and sitting squashed together on small, straight-backedwooden chairs that stood haphazardly around the black-painted tables. The smellof beer, broth, and heavy tobacco smoke dominated the air. The soup smell was notappetising, but then no food in Berlin public houses was tasty these days. Themen were smoking roll-your-own cigarettes with terrible quality tobacco.Christian and Sperl found a table in a corner and sat with their backs to thewall, the kneipe spread out before them.
...
Voigt [arrived and bought] three murky-brown, waterybeers with little foam. He set them on the table and sat down again. Lookingearnestly at Christian he professed, “I thought you were dead, Herr Major.”
“Oh. You mean no one at the squadron heardabout my miraculous survival?” Christian was surprised.
Voigt shook his head. “What happened?”
“Nothing miraculous. I was badly shot up by anAmerican P-47 and took some shrapnel to the back of my head. The next thing Iknew I was aboard a hospital ship in mid-Atlantic with two broken legs. Thealarm was going off as we zig-zagged frantically to avoid being sunk by aU-boat.” He ended with a reproachful look at Sperl. That was the sanitisedversion, of course. In fact, after realizing he’d been badly shot up in thedogfight, he’d the decision to crash-land at an American field. He’d consciouslychosen imprisonment over fighting another day for Hitler and his thugs.
Sperl, meanwhile, was laughing. “So that’swhy you developed such a strong dislike for our cute, little boats. I note, however,the U-boat didn’t sink the hospital ship you were on.”
“No, I told the Americans to turn the damnsirens off because no officer of the Kriegsmarine would sink a ship with largered-crosses on it — only to learn that some cocky U-Boat captain had done exactlythat the week before. It was very embarrassing.”
Voigt was looking from one to the otherconfused.
“Herr Meyer has a past — as do we all,”Christian explained, adding, “But I came to talk to you about the future.”
“Future? What’s that?” Voigt snapped back withwithering bitterness.
“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow — and theday after,” Christian answered.
Voigt leaned so close to Christian that hecould not really be heard; his words seemed only to form in Christian’s headfrom lip reading. “Eating SED shit for breakfast, lunch and dinner so I can getthe morphine my mother needs.”
“What happened to your mother?” Christianasked.
“She was caught under a beam when the ceilingcollapsed at the armaments factory where she had been conscripted. It broke herback and hips. She’s crippled and in constant pain — unless I can get hermorphine. Do you know what morphine costs?”
Christian shook his head slowly. “Not a clue.”
“Well,” Voigt answered in a low, even voicelike molten lava, “enough morphine to keep my mother pain-free for a week, costsmore than a man like me, working in a Peoples’ Own Factory producing gearboxes,can earn in a month. Which means my mother can have one week of relief and thenlie in agony for the next three while I beg for my dinner — or I can earn alittle extra by showing up at SED rallies, helping to trash voting booths, beatingup students that say the wrong thing, making sure scientists and engineers aredragged from their beds at night to be shipped to the Worker’s Paradise or—”with a glance at Sperl he added “— digging around in forgotten mass graves forbaubles that appeal to our American friends.”
Both Christian and Sperl responded withsilence. The pain, the bitterness and the helplessness burned like acid.Christian drew a deep breath. “In that case, my friends would not be able topay you enough to meet your needs, either.”
“What friends? What are you talking about?”Voigt demanded angrily.
Christian drew a deep breath, “My cousinCharlotte is working for a British air ambulance company that plans to base anambulance in Berlin — at Gatow to be precise — and they want to hire Germanaircraft mechanics as ground crew. I thought you might like that work, but Iunderstand that —”
Voigt grabbed his arm. “Did you say an air ambulance?You mean an aircraft that flies patients to hospitals?”
“Yes.”
“Where does it fly?”
“Wherever the best medical treatment can beprovided for the patients on board — Hamburg, Frankfurt, Dusseldorf, Munich.”
“To the West?”
“It’s a British company.”
“It must cost a fortune! Who can afford to payfor an aircraft to fly them to a hospital hundreds of miles away?” Voigt spatout furiously. “The Ivans are right about the capitalists only taking care oftheir own!” He had raised his voice for the first time, and Sperl stirreduneasily, watching the reaction of those around them.
Christian met Voigt’s eyes and shook his head,“Wrong. The Amis are paying for it.”
“What?”
“The American taxpayers will pay for theflights.”
“Why would they do that?” Voigt scoffed.
Christian shrugged, “For the same reason theyare flying in food, coal, and clothing into Berlin for the Berliners?”
“Are they really?” Voigt scoffed.
“Come with me to Tempelhof and see foryourself.”
It was Voigt’s turn to look over his shoulder nervously.Then he leaned closer to Christian again. “But how do they decide who to flyout? Who gets to go to a hospital in the West? “
“As I understand it, the hospitals decide.”
“Which hospitals? The hospitals in the West?”
“The hospitals in Berlin that request the airambulance service,” Christian explained.
Voigt jumped to his feet and kicked his chairagainst the table furiously. “The West. Always the f***ing West. And no doubtyou need real money—”
“Shut up!” Sperl jumped to his feet and yankedVoigt back down with one hand while gesturing calmingly to the rest of the occupantsof the room with the other.
Christian is a character in both of the First two volumes of the Bridge to Tomorrow Trilogy
The first battle of the Cold War is about to begin....
Berlin 1948. In the ruins ofHitler’s capital, former RAF officers, a woman pilot, and the victim of Russianbrutality form an air ambulance company. But the West is on a collision coursewith Stalin’s aggression and Berlin is about to become a flashpoint. World WarThree is only a misstep away. Buy Now
Berlin is under siege. More than twomillion civilians must be supplied by air -- or surrender to Stalin's oppression.
USAF Captain J.B. Baronowsky and RAF FlightLieutenant Kit Moran once risked their lives to drop high explosives on Berlin.They are about to deliver milk, flour and children’s shoes instead. Meanwhile,two women pilots are flying an air ambulance that carries malnourished andabandoned children to freedom in the West. Until General Winter deploys on theside of Russia. Buy now!
Based on historical events, award-winning and best-selling novelistHelena P. Schrader delivers an insightful, exciting and moving tale about howformer enemies became friends in the face of Russian aggression — and how closethe Berlin Airlift came to failing.
Winning a war with milk, coal and candy!
September 3, 2024
The Characters of "Cold War": Jasha
Strong, resilient women and the scars of war are two important themes in the "Bridge to Tomorrow" Series. Jasha embodies them both.
Ethnically Polish but born in White Russia, she has been a victim of both Stalin and Hitler's racial wars. By early 1948 she is stranded in Berlin, a former slave labourer, now a displaced person, working as a cook for the occupation forces.
Jasha's husband and her teenage son were both murdered by Stalin in the purges of the late 1930s, but her flight to relatives in Poland proves an error when Hitler invades. She "volunteers" for work in the Reich and has the good fortune to land on a large estate owned and managed by a humane nobleman, Graf Walmsdorf. By late 1944, however, the Red Army is approaching and Jasha chooses to flee with the Walmsdorfs rather than submit to Stalin's terror again. Strafed by Soviet fighters during the journey, only Jasha, the coachman Horst, and Graf Walmsdorf's daughter Charlotte survive to reach Berlin. She is there when the Soviets surround and take the city by storm in May 1945 and like hundreds of thousands of other women is brutally gang raped by Russian troops after they seize the city. Yet life goes on....
An excerpt of Cold War featuring Jasha:
Charlotte had spread out three dresses and twoboxes with shoes. “Look!” Charlotte exclaimed. “I thought of you when I sawthis!” She held up a pretty, navy-blue dress with a white collar and cuffs. “I’msure it would fit!” Charlotte insisted.
“It’s beautiful,” Jasha whispered, reachingout to touch the material and confirm that it was silk. “But where would I everwear it?”
“To mass,” Charlotte answered, “or to dinnerwith Lt. Col. Russel.”
Jasha looked over sharply. Was she thattransparent?
Charlotte met her eyes with a smile. “He’svery attentive. Don’t you like him?”
“I like him very much,” Jasha admitted, hereyes caressing the dress.
Charlotte caught her hand and clutched it. Surprisedby the intensity of the touch, Jasha turned to look at the younger woman andwas horrified to see Charlotte’s face dissolving into tears. “Jasha!” shegasped out.
“What is it?” Jasha asked back, confused bythe change in her mood.
Charlotte pulled Jasha into her arms and clungto her as she stammered, “Jasha, I feel so terrible. I never thanked you — notonce. I never even asked about how — what — I was so wrapped up in myself. Iwas so selfish.” She was sobbing miserably.
Jasha felt tears in her own eyes, and she clungto Charlotte. All the barriers she had built against the memories collapsed asif the last three years had never been. It felt as if the rapes had happenedyesterday. The women cried in each other’s arms, comforting one another as theyhad not been able to do at the time.
Slowly, the initial storm of emotion ebbed. Jashafound herself stroking Charlotte’s back and whispering, “It’s all right,Charlotte. I never blamed you. You were — so broken, so shattered and confusedby it all. You were a virgin and a lady, after all. You were less prepared thanI was.”
“How can anyone be prepared…” Charlottestammered out, pressing her hands to her face to wipe away some of the tears.
Jasha found a handkerchief in her skirt pocketand handed it to Charlotte. “I have seen many terrible things: a famine thatdrove men to cannibalism, the Great Terror that made us fear every neighbour,every knock on the door and mistrust even our closest friends, the Germaninvasion, and finally the end of the war. But the worst — My son was only seventeen when they accusedhim of being a Polish spy. He had never been to Poland in his life. He was utterlyloyal to the Soviet Union. Yet they shot him in the back of the head and dumpedhim in an unmarked grave. After a mother has survived that, a rape is not soterrible.”
“You never told us!” Charlotte reproached her,horrified.
Jasha shrugged and wiped her own tears away.“I don’t like to remember.”
Charlotte sank down beside the pile of clothes,“Do you think — do you think….”
“What?” Jasha settled on the other side of dresses.
“Will you ever want — ever be able to — Imean, with a man you love — could you? Couldyou love again?”
Jasha turned to look at the pretty navy bluesilk dress spread over the heap of things. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I wishI could be married to a good man who cares for me, who is protective andrespectful and looks after me. I wish we could have a farm — or at least agarden — together. I’d like to grow things with him and have chickens andducks, maybe even a cow. I’d like to cook things so good that he eats too muchand gets a pot belly. I’d like to grow old and fat together. I’d like to havegrandchildren come to visit and laugh and play in my house. But I don’t knowabout the bedroom part….”
“I’m so afraid of that — and yet afraid, too,that — I might — I don’t know!” she ended with an inarticulate shake of herhead.
“But you like Mr David, I think?” Jasha askedcautiously.
“He’s absolutely wonderful! I never thought Iwould ever feel so much for another man as I’d felt for my fiancée Fritz. But it’sbeen so long since Fritz disappeared, and David is so gentle with me and sokind. He has made me feel like a lady again — like I am someone worth loving.”
“Of course, you are worth loving!” Jasha admonished.“And Mr David is a good man, I think.”
“Yes, but that’s exactly what makes me ashamedto deceive him. Shouldn’t I warn him that I’m not — not — what I appear?”
“But you are who you appear to be, Charlotte.”
“No, Jasha!” Charlotte shook her headviolently and the tears were flooding down her face again. “I’m not a lady anylonger! I’m not even a maid. I’m nothing but a piece of trash, kickedabout, used by six men one after another and then pissed upon—”
Jasha sprang up and pulled Charlotte back intoher arms. “Hush! Stop! What they did to you, to us, doesn’t change who weare.”
Charlotte sobbed into Jasha’s bosom. “Yes, it does!I can’t ever be who I was before.”
Jasha knew that was true, so she did not denyit. She just held Charlotte in her arms until she had calmed herself again. Thenshe said softly, “No, we’ll never be the same again, but we must try to lovewho we are.”
Jasha does not feature as a major character until "Cold War."
Berlin is under siege. More than twomillion civilians must be supplied by air -- or surrender to Stalin's oppression.
USAF Captain J.B. Baronowsky and RAF FlightLieutenant Kit Moran once risked their lives to drop high explosives on Berlin.They are about to deliver milk, flour and children’s shoes instead. Meanwhile,two women pilots are flying an air ambulance that carries malnourished andabandoned children to freedom in the West. Until General Winter deploys on theside of Russia. Buy now!
Based on historical events, award-winning and best-selling novelistHelena P. Schrader delivers an insightful, exciting and moving tale about howformer enemies became friends in the face of Russian aggression — and how closethe Berlin Airlift came to failing.
Winning a war with milk, coal and candy!
August 27, 2024
The Characters of "Cold Peace" -- Lt. Col. Graham Russel
When the Airlift started in June 1948, Berlin had just two receiving airfields, no concrete runway and only one obsolete power plant. Before the Airlift ended, concrete runways had been built at both Gatow and Tempelhof, a completely new airfield had been built at Tegel, and a modern power plant had gone up as well. These represented astonishing feats of engineering under the circumstances so including an engineer among my cast of characters seemed appropriate. The character of Lt. Colonel Graham Russel, CRE, was born.
Historically, the Royal Corps of Engineers genius responsible for improvising in the absence of nearly everything needed was a certain Lt. Col. R. Graham, but I knew nothing about him and so chose to create a fictional character Graham Russel. My character has found a home in the army after a childhood that left him stunted and deformed. Ugly of face and body, he has thrown himself into his work, finding friendship and satisfaction in the job he does. Fear of rejection has stopped him from seeking female companionship, and in the absence of family he takes his solace in gardening. He has over the years found it therapeutic.
An excerpt featuring Lt. Col. Graham Russel:
“So, sorry!” the cook called. “Wing Commanderis on water!” She gestured toward the still-visible sailboat.
“That’s all right,” Graham assured her. “Icame to do some gardening. Wing Commander Priestman said that I should talk toyou about that. I thought I might do some weeding for you.” He pointed to a bedof vegetables that looked in need of such service. Then remembering hismanners, he held out his hand to her. “My name’s Russel. Graham Russel. Pleasecall me Graham.”
She was momentarily taken aback but then brokeinto a wide smile which made her look much younger than he had thought her tobe. She shook his hand exclaiming, “Hello, Mr Graham. I’m Jasha. I see youbefore, no?”
Because of his misshapen body, people tendedto remember Graham, so he was used to being recognised. “Yes, I was here fordinner earlier in the week, which was when I saw and admired your garden. Youwouldn’t mind me helping you with it, would you?”
“No, no,” she agreed, but continued to lookpuzzled. Pointing to the garden, she asked hesitantly, “You want to workin garden?”
“Not for pay, just for the sake of doing it.”
She smiled at that. She was a pretty womanwhen she smiled, Graham thought, but she shook her head in protest too, “Youare important man. Not gardener.”
“I’m only important when I’m dressed up,”Graham answered. “Now, I’m just a gardener — if you’ll let me.” Although Jashanodded vigorously, Graham had the feeling she still didn’t fully understandhim. So, he tried a different tack. “Why don’t you show me what you’veplanted?”
“Yes, yes!” She lit up at that and started onthe tour at once. They progressed slowly through the extensive garden withJasha pointing things out and explaining when each crop would ripen or if therewere problems. She often reverted to German or Polish, but it didn’t matterbecause Graham was more interested in winning her trust than the details ofwhat she said. He nodded, asked sparse questions, commiserated over the problemof slugs, and praised what she had done. When they got the henhouse, Jashawaxed very eloquent – in Polish. Abruptly, she realised what she was doing andbroke off to laugh at herself. Graham laughed with her. When the laughter died,he pushed at one of the walls, causing it to sag and tilt. “The earth’s too wethere. We should move it to drier ground and shore it up a bit more.”
Jasha shook her head. “Wing Commander not wantchickens near house.”
Graham looked back toward the elegant housewith its wide terrace and French windows and had to agree. “Well, in that case,I could find some cinder blocks or bricks to use as piers to lift it off thewet ground.” She looked confused, so he explained with gestures and his patchyGerman until she nodded vigorously and smiled widely again.
As they walked back up the slope of the lawn, thedog came bounding up to shake himself beside them and then kept them companyback to the house. At the top of the garden, the dog separated himself to dryhimself on the warm flagstones of the terrace, while Graham again asked if hecould do some weeding, bending down to demonstrate his intent. This time, Jashaagreed, and Graham set to work.
Gradually, the day turned hot and muggy. Fromthe Havel came the sound of lapping water and the deep-throated chugging of bargescarrying goods from Gatow into the city or returning empty. The chickens cluckedcontentedly in their yard and now and again a crow called from the tall treeson the fringe of the property. The Dakotas droned overhead incessantly, and oneof the Sunderlands put down with a great splash as well. Graham watched all thefuss for a few minutes before resuming his weeding. Now and then, Jasha checkedup on him. They found it surprisingly easy to communicate because of theirshared interest in making things grow.
Graham had learned to love gardening when hewas a schoolboy. Because of his stunted legs, he was not able to take part in schoolsports, so his housemaster had suggested that he help the school gardener whenthe other boys were playing games. Thatway he was not entirely sedentary or lonely. He also got some fresh air andsunshine. The gardener had been Indian. He’d come to England decades earlierwith some former headmaster and had remained at the school after his benefactorhad died. He was wise, patient, and gentle, and he had filled Graham’s headwith a thousand Indian tales that made him want to see the world. He might havejoined the merchant navy if the war hadn’t come along.
Graham had been fourteen when the Great Warbroke out. His father returned to active service. His older brother hadvolunteered at once and been killed in ’15. Graham had volunteered as soon ashe turned 17, but they turned him down on medical grounds. He was not infantrymaterial. Six months later, they weren’t so picky. He’d been accepted and assignedto the sappers. He’d earned his commission by early ’18 and spent the rest ofthe war building roads and airfields. In the process, he became addicted to thecomradeship he’d found.
When the war ended, he did not want to leavethe army, so he took a permanent commission. In the interwar years, he’d servedacross the Empire: Palestine, Sudan, India, Singapore. He loved it all and hadnever felt lonely because he made friends everywhere he went. His friends welcomedhim into their homes, included him in their Christenings, birthday parties, weddings,and funerals. Occasionally, he’d allowed himself sentimental affections forgirls who never returned his feelings, and he’d learned to dismiss such lapsesin sanity as unimportant. He went on to new assignments, made new friends,laughed, partied, and tended the odd plant or two.
This last war had been harder, however. He’dserved primarily in Burma with the “forgotten army.” The murky politicalsituation, the climate, the terrain, the undeniable sense of being forgotten indeedby a government obsessed with fighting Germany, and the brutality of the enemyhad all taken their toll. It was in Burma that Graham had discovered gardening astherapy.
This garden, however, reminded him more ofgrowing up than battling the Japanese. The smell of the earth was different,and the insects were less aggressive. Graham found himself thinking ofretirement and a garden of his own. He’d been in the army for 31 years, andhe’d built an awful lot of airfields. The thrill of going to new places andfacing new challenges was fading. Many of his friends had already retired. Someto “warm climates” — Oman, Kenya and Cape Town. Or, more commonly, to homes inthe suburbs near “the grandchildren.” It was odd, Graham reflected; he hadnever missed having children as much as he missed having grandchildren. Ifnothing else, Berlin was turning into a tale to tell them about. Uncomfortably,he realized that for the first time in his service life, he felt lonely. He wascompletely free, and that was rather sad.
Graham does not feature as a major character until "Cold War."
Berlin is under siege. More than twomillion civilians must be supplied by air -- or surrender to Stalin's oppression.
USAF Captain J.B. Baronowsky and RAF FlightLieutenant Kit Moran once risked their lives to drop high explosives on Berlin.They are about to deliver milk, flour and children’s shoes instead. Meanwhile,two women pilots are flying an air ambulance that carries malnourished andabandoned children to freedom in the West. Until General Winter deploys on theside of Russia. Buy now!
Based on historical events, award-winning and best-selling novelistHelena P. Schrader delivers an insightful, exciting and moving tale about howformer enemies became friends in the face of Russian aggression — and how closethe Berlin Airlift came to failing.
Winning a war with milk, coal and candy!
August 20, 2024
The Charactures of "Cold War" -- Charlotte Graefin Walmsdorf
Although her scars are not visible as David's, the war has ravaged her no less he. None of the characters in the Bridge to Tomorrow Series has greater difficulty in finding new stability and peace than Charlotte.
Despite her title, Charlotte grew up in a rural environment helping with the harvests and mucking out the stalls. Even in the prewar era, she was not well-traveled, well-educated, rich or spoiled. Then the Nazis came to power and started a war. Six years later, her brothers had been killed fighting for Hitler, her fiance had gone missing at Stalingrad, and her parents had been killed by a strafing Russian fighter before her eyes. Yet, most devastating of all was the brutal violation of her own body when she was gang raped by Russian soldiers in the final days before German surrender.
Things started to look up when she was hired to teach German to the new RAF station commander's wife, Emily Priestman. Through Emily, Charlotte met David Goldman, and he offered Charlotte a full-time, permanent job running the office of his fledgling new ambulance service. Charlotte starts to sit up straight again, to smile timidly and to hope for the future -- and then the Russian's choke the Western Sectors of Berlin off from all supplies. Charlotte recognizes this is just a prelude to a complete take-over. The thought that the Russians will return and dominate her life again shatters Charlotte's confidence and hope.
An excerpt introducing Charlotte:
Christian put the butter in the refrigerator, cynicallynoting that with only two hours of electricity, it couldn’t keep things verycold. Still, it served as a kind of insulated icebox, and the electricity wouldcome on eventually. He left his overcoat on the rack in the hall by the door andglanced into the sitting room that faced the street. The only furnishings were anold packing crate and some wooden chairs — and the huge sideboard at the farend of the room. No Charlotte. He continued to and through the large “BerlinerZimmer” at the corner of the building and turned to start down the darkened halltowards the bedrooms. He kept calling in increasing alarm, “Charlotte? Are youhere? Are you all right?”
A sob answered him.
Christian froze. “Charlotte?”
The sob came again, and he followed the soundinto Charlotte’s bedroom. She was curled up under the comforters on her bed. Christianwent down on his heels beside her. “What is it, Charlotte? Are you ill? Hassomething happened?” She looked like a complete wreck. Her face was swollenfrom crying and splotched with red marks; her short-cropped, blond hair was incomplete disarray.
“Would you shoot me, Christian?” she gaspedout. When he recoiled in shock, she begged more insistently. “Please! It wouldbe so simple and fast and merciful!”
Shock made him angry. “Of course not! Have yougone mad?”
“No, or yes, maybe. I don’t know. But I can’tgo on, Christian, I just can’t. It’s no good pretending. I’ve tried and triedthese past years, but…” She shook her head. “It’s no good. I can’t forget. And Ican’t live with the memories. It would be so good to end it all. Please shootme.” Her big, blue eyes focused on him like a wounded puppy.
“No! Never!” Christian told her forcefully,hoping to shock her out of this nonsense with his uncompromising tone.
“But itwould be the most merciful thing you could do.” She insisted, sitting upslightly to look at him more intently. “Itwould put me out of my misery — just as Horst killed Pasha when he was woundedby the Soviet fighter.”
“Pasha was a horse! Furthermore, he was unableto continue the journey,” Christian reminded her.
“But I can’t go on either, Christian,” Charlotteanswered, tears slipping down her face again. “Just because you can’t see howcrippled I am, doesn’t mean I’m not as broken as Pasha.”
Christian drew a deep breath to steady hisnerves. He met Charlotte’s eyes and they gazed at him, frightened yet astrusting as a child’s. He was all she had left. He knew he had to help her.
“Charlotte, I can’t understand how broken youare — or how to help you — if you don’t tell me what happened.”
She looked down and away and was silent for solong that Christian began to think she would not answer. Then abruptly she shrugged and withoutlooking at him whispered in a voice full of shame, “The Russians. They got me.”
“Today? Here in this house?” Christian rearedup, ready to kill someone.
“No, no,” she hastened to assure him. Addingas tears streamed down her face. “It was shortly after they took the city. InMay ’45. Jasha and I went out to get rations because we’d had nothing to eatfor two days. We thought we’d be safe together, but they cornered us. Jashatried to protect me, but they flung her aside and two — or maybe it was three? —fell on her and held her down and then took turns raping her. The others, therewere six of them.” She broke down into violent sobs again, her whole body shookas her lungs struggled to drag air into her lungs.
“Charlotte,” Christian spoke gently as he reachedout and pulled her into his arms as if she were a child. “Charlotte, it’s over,it’s done with—”
“NO, IT’S NOT!” she screamed at him, pullingaway. “I will NEVER get over it! Because of them Fritz would look at me likeslime, even if he should come back, and David —” she broke down into miserable,hopeless crying again. Fritz was her fiancée, missing since November 1943, andDavid was her employer — and the man she had fallen in love with against herbetter judgement.
Christian pulled her again into his arms andstroked her back and shoulders. “Hush, Charlotte. Hush. No one is going toblame you for being a victim—”
“Don’t be so naïve!” she rasped at him throughher crying. “Men do it all the time. A thousand times a day. I see it every daywith my own eyes! All of you — Russians, Amis, Brits, French and Germans!— you look at us like whores, like trash, like shit!” She spat out thelast word, one she had been taught from childhood never to take in her mouth. Theuse of it now underlined how traumatised she was.
But there was a spark of anger in thatdeliberate use of the forbidden word, too. It gave Christian hope. He did notanswer immediately. Instead, he made himself more comfortable, cradling her inhis arms until she had calmed herself down again. Then he bent and kissed thetop of her head as he told her, “I don’t think of you like that, and I nevercould. To me, you are still my favourite cousin. The one I loved to ride out with.The one, unlike my silly sister, who didn’t dislike the wind in her hair anddidn’t mind getting wet. You could harvest hay and drive the horse plough aswell as any of us boys. I always admired you for that. You were good with thehorses, too, and the dogs. So, at ease with nature.” He hesitated but thenrisked saying something that he knew might hurt her, but which he hoped would buildher up, he added, “I think that was what Fritz loved, too.”
Charlottestarted crying again, and Christian cursed himself.
Charlotte is a character in both of the First two volumes of the Bridge to Tomorrow Trilogy
The first battle of the Cold War is about to begin....
Berlin 1948. In the ruins ofHitler’s capital, former RAF officers, a woman pilot, and the victim of Russianbrutality form an air ambulance company. But the West is on a collision coursewith Stalin’s aggression and Berlin is about to become a flashpoint. World WarThree is only a misstep away. Buy Now
Berlin is under siege. More than twomillion civilians must be supplied by air -- or surrender to Stalin's oppression.
USAF Captain J.B. Baronowsky and RAF FlightLieutenant Kit Moran once risked their lives to drop high explosives on Berlin.They are about to deliver milk, flour and children’s shoes instead. Meanwhile,two women pilots are flying an air ambulance that carries malnourished andabandoned children to freedom in the West. Until General Winter deploys on theside of Russia. Buy now!
Based on historical events, award-winning and best-selling novelistHelena P. Schrader delivers an insightful, exciting and moving tale about howformer enemies became friends in the face of Russian aggression — and how closethe Berlin Airlift came to failing.
Winning a war with milk, coal and candy!
August 13, 2024
The Characters of "Cold War" - David Goldman, Entrepreneur
An important theme of the Bridge to Tomorrow Series is the scars of war and how they affect us for the rest of our lives. No one embodies this more completely than David Goldman -- one of Dr McIndoe's "guinea pigs," who lost his face after his Hurricane engine caught fire in 1940.
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David Goldman is the son of a German-Jewish banker, who got his family out of Nazi Germany in early 1934. David's rich father can finance private flying lessons, and David obtains private and commercial flying licenses in Canada, where his family has settled. In the summer of 1940, David volunteers for the RAF and comes to Britain. He joins a Hurricane squadron and is shot down in flames during the Battle of Britain. It takes years of plastic surgery to recreate a face and hands. In the latter years of the war, David serves as a flying instructor rather than in combat.
After his father leaves him a fortune in 1947, David establishes a private air ambulance company operating a single modified Wellington-bomber. His partners are his wartime friends Kiwi Murray and Emily Priestman. The company is based in RAF Gatow, and when the Russians lay siege to the city, the ground crew refuse to remain in the beleaguered city. David, however, is not prepared to pull out. He not only recognizes that the ambulance is needed more than ever before, he also admires the courage of the Berliners -- and has fallen in love with a German woman, Charlotte Graefin Walmsdorf. He is determined to stay and make the company viable.
Here an excerpt featuring David:
David got to his feet and left the librarywith its floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and rich Persian carpets. He wandered intothe cheerful winter garden. Until a week ago, the view from here had beenof a wide, well-kept lawn stretching to the banks of the Havel River. It hadbeen as lush, green and gracious as his childhood home above the Aussen Alsterin Hamburg. With the start of this blockade, however, the Priestman’s Polishcook Jasha had, with the help of the gardener, turned most of it into a massivekitchen garden.
Much as he loved the understated luxury that hadcharacterised the house before this conversion, he found the spirit ofendeavour exemplified by the cook and gardener significant. Rather than moaningto the Western Allies about dried eggs, dried milk and dried potatoes — muchless rioting as the Soviets had expected — all across the city the Berlinerswere defiantly digging in and declaring their determination to fight for theirfreedom. That impressed him. It even inspired him a little. It was part of theinchoate spirit that slumbered under the ruins of this city and made him warmto it despite its hideous face.
After all, his own face had once been hideoustoo. When he was first delivered to Dr McIndoe’s care after being shot down inSeptember 1940, it had been so repulsive it had made one nurse vomit. As thefamous plastic surgeon reconstructed his face one operation at a time, it wentthrough phases when it resembled a Chinese rice paddy, Frankenstein and a Greektheatre mask. Only gradually had it fused and formed itself into something morehuman. Eventually, it had become supple and marked by wrinkles. Few peoplenowadays suspected that his eyebrows had been cut from the skin under his arms orthat his lips and eyelids were taken from the inside of his thighs. Yet evenwhen his face had been at its most alien, the flame of his being had burnedbeneath the ugly surface.
Berlin, he thought, might be like that.Disfigured not only by the occupation and the bombing but by the Nazis beforethat. The Nazis — loud, violent, and aggressive — had obscured and drowned outthe others, but they had never represented all of Germany.
Living here had brought back memories of two childhoodfriends who stood by him after the Nazis came to power. Their memory had beenburied under the corpses of Auschwitz, Treblinka, and all the rest. What weretwo teenage boys distressed by what was happening to their Jewish friend comparedto the horrors of Nazi genocide? Yet they had been good to the core, and theywere not alone.
People like Ernst Reuter, Berlin’s SocialDemocratic Mayor, and the city councillor Jakob Liebherr had spent years in a concentrationcamp because of their opposition to the regime. Christian Freiherr von Feldburg, despitehaving flown Messerschmitts for the Luftwaffe, hated the Nazis with every boneof his body because they had dishonoured his country. Indeed, Feldburg wasbitterly committed to bringing the worst criminals to justice, while proudlyreminding the Allies — and the Germans themselves — that not all Germans had beenblinded by Nazi propaganda and victories. David had discovered that he wantedto work with men like these who were determined to rebuild a better Germany.
And it wasn’t just the opponents of the Naziswho had won him over. David had also come to sympathize with men like DrSchlaer, the optometrist who had taken over his uncle’s shop on theKurfurstendam. Yes, Dr Schlaer had done nothing to stop the SA from breakingthe windows. Yes, he’d served as a medic in the Wehrmacht. Yet he rememberedDavid’s uncle with respect and affection and was ashamed of what had been donein the name of Germany. That, David had discovered, was enough. Men likeSchlaer would also contribute to a new Germany and David was comfortable helpingthem.
He knew that the vast majority of Germans had cheeredand preened and lapped up Nazi racial ideology. They had loved being “themaster race,” predestined to conquer, rule and prosper. He understood thattheir selfish egotism had enabled the slaughter of millions. He despised theGermans who had swelled with pride when they oppressed others and now wallowedin self-pity because they were themselves oppressed. For such men and women,however, the humiliation of complete defeat and occupation representedsufficient retribution. Their presence no longer deterred David from wanting toremain in Berlin.
Yet the most compelling reason for staying herewas Charlotte. David had never felt the same way about any other woman in hislife. She was so vulnerable, so fragile despite her height and almost masculinefeatures. From the moment he set eyes on her, he’d felt a protectiveness forher. He wanted to be her knight in shining armour. In the best tradition ofchivalry, he wanted to be her servant, obedient to her wishes. Yet she wasskittish and shy, and he didn’t know how to approach her. Instead, they dancedaround what he sensed was a mutual attraction and hid behind their officialroles as employer and employee.
Which brought him back to his accounts and theserious situation he found himself in. He turned his back on the re-purposedlawn and returned to the library to face facts. The company had already run upsubstantial debts before the blockade started, but no sooner had the Sovietsmade their move than his British ground crew had mutinied and refused to remainin the beleaguered city. His partner Kiwi had flown them back to the UK intheir modified Wellington to give them a week to think things over. Aviationjobs, after all, didn’t grow on trees. But David had heard nothing from themsince.
Meanwhile, the Berlin City Council waspressing him to resume flights. Jakob Liebherr had called him just this morningto impress on him how urgently the city needed the services of his company — whileadmitting that they were still unable to pay him. They had again suggested thatthe company approach the Western military governors with a request for theAllies to cover the cost of evacuating patients.
David was not optimistic about that proposition.The Allies were spending astronomical sums on the Airlift already. He could notimagine them being receptive to a request to compensate a private company.
David is a character in both of the First two volumes of the Bridge to Tomorrow Trilogy
The first battle of the Cold War is about to begin....
Berlin 1948. In the ruins ofHitler’s capital, former RAF officers, a woman pilot, and the victim of Russianbrutality form an air ambulance company. But the West is on a collision coursewith Stalin’s aggression and Berlin is about to become a flashpoint. World WarThree is only a misstep away. Buy Now
Berlin is under siege. More than twomillion civilians must be supplied by air -- or surrender to Stalin's oppression.
USAF Captain J.B. Baronowsky and RAF FlightLieutenant Kit Moran once risked their lives to drop high explosives on Berlin.They are about to deliver milk, flour and children’s shoes instead. Meanwhile,two women pilots are flying an air ambulance that carries malnourished andabandoned children to freedom in the West. Until General Winter deploys on theside of Russia. Buy now!
Based on historical events, award-winning and best-selling novelistHelena P. Schrader delivers an insightful, exciting and moving tale about howformer enemies became friends in the face of Russian aggression — and how closethe Berlin Airlift came to failing.
Winning a war with milk, coal and candy!
