Cold Victory

“I can’t believe you’re being cashiered for doing what General Herbert asked you to do. Does this mean you could face additional unpleasantness?”

Robin drew a deep breath, “It could. The Air Ministry doesn’t like ‘insubordinate officers’ and I may be handed a bowler hat instead of a new assignment.” Robin tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible, but Graham saw through him. They were alike in this; the service was their life.

Graham asked in a low voice, “Do you regret it, Robin?”

“Not for a moment. Look out there, Graham.” He pointed toward the row of Dakotas and the dilapidated Berlin buses disgorging children beside them. “Every child that gets out of Berlin today is one who will not be subject to Stalin’s terror tomorrow. Every child boarding those Daks will have a chance to grow up without the fear of famine or arrest or a trip to the Gulag.”

Graham nodded grimly. Eleven days in Soviet detention had convinced him that the worst rumours of brainwashing, slave labour and mass murders were true. Graham had learned to fear the Russian bear.

Robin was watching the invariably chaotic embarkation of the children. Despite efforts by teachers and parents to keep the kids quiet and still, they were too excited to do as they were told. Even from this distance, Robin could see children drifting off to look at the planes and saw frantic adults trying to herd them back to the side as a Lancastrian tanker on approach fell out of the cloud and plonked down hard on the runway.

“Do you think the kids appreciate what we’re doing for them?” Graham asked from behind him.

“They understand, Graham,” Robin answered seriously, “they understand more profoundly than you could imagine.” He turned to look back at Graham and asked, “Haven’t you noticed anything unusual on my desk?”

Graham looked blank and then directed his attention to the station commander’s desk. It took him a moment before he exclaimed, “The Teddy Bear!”

Robin reached over and took the ragged, threadbare and lopsided stuffed animal from his desk. He looked down into the beady eyes of the toy for a few moments before turning it around and holding it up to face Graham. “Meet Bertie the Bear, a wise veteran of — I’m told — 62 air raids, including one that destroyed the house in which he lived. Bertie, his friend Liesl explained, kept his beloved friend safe day and night, even when the Ivans broke into her apartment and did terrible things to her mummy. Bertie, she said, was the only thing of any value that she could give to me. I tried to convince her that he wanted to stay with her, but she said ‘no.’ She said, ‘You are keeping us safe from the Ivans. I want Bertie to help you, so you can make sure my mummy will not be hurt like that ever again.’”

In the silence following his words, the sound of the rain seemed stronger.

“If I were still station commander, Graham, I would ask permission to increase, not reduce, these evacuations. I would seek to get not just the children and chronically ill people out of Berlin, but the single mothers and some of the youths as well. Did you know the Boy Scouts have asked permission to help off-load the aircraft? Not one of them weighs what they should at their age, but they insisted they could double up to carry ten-pound sacks of coal!”

Graham nodded understanding, and Robin concluded with a defeated shrug, “But I am no longer station commander, and God knows how my successor will feel about the evacuations — or the Berliners themselves.”