Cold Victory has a large and diverse cast. There is no one character who dominates the book and deserves the title of "main protagonist." Nevertheless, as the senior officer at RAF Gatow -- at this time in history the business airfield in the entire world -- Robin does take precedence of the others. Besides, he's was the hero of "Where Eagles Never Flew" and is familiar to my loyal readers as a Battle of Britain ace and squadron leader.
This excerpt is the first scene in which Robin appears in Cold Victory and highlights the situation he finds himself in at the the start of the book.
The drizzling rain from the low overcast sky suited Wing Commander Robin Priestman’s mood. Although somewhat better than the dense fog of the previous few days, the ceiling was still too low to allow a return to full operations. The tower was landing aircraft with ground-controlled approach (GCA) once every five instead of once every three minutes, and due to worse weather at the departure fields, there were intermittent gaps in the incoming traffic.
Hearing the silence, Robin left his desk and went to gaze into the gloom. Spread out directly before his window were the hangars and hardstandings where the aircraft off-loaded inbound cargoes and a couple of the civilian charter aircraft loaded outbound cargoes. Further in the distance were the parallel runways, one surfaced with pierced-steel-plate or PSP for take-offs and one made of concrete and surfaced with tarmac for landings. Roughly two dozen Yorks were being off-loaded just below his window, while a squadron of Dakotas was drawn up beyond the farthest runway preparing to embark children bound for the West. But no aircraft were moving.
Robin sighed. He was no longer the station commander, merely the “acting station commander” until his replacement arrived. He could not allow that subtle change to alter his efficiency or his outward appearance and behaviour. He had been careful to arrive sharply at 7:30 am as usual. He had dressed in his best blues with his shoes polished to a shine and the creases of his trousers smartly pressed. He attempted to look and sound cheerful whenever he interacted with other personnel.
In the privacy of his office, however, it was hard to maintain that façade of normality. Although he had accepted the assignment to Berlin reluctantly, in the eleven months since his arrival, his lingering wartime hostility toward the Germans had melted away. In its place, first mistrust and then gradually hatred of the Russians had taken root. He had come to see Stalin as every bit as bad as Hitler — if not worse. Stalin had institutionalised inhumanity and was actively trying to spread his reign of terror to the whole of Germany and ultimately the rest of Europe. He had to be stopped. As a result, with each day of the Airlift, Robin’s commitment to aiding the besieged Berliners had grown. It had long since reached the point where his work here was not a job but a mission. Only, as of Sunday, it was not his mission any more.
There was a knock on the door, and he called “Come in” over his shoulder. Flight Lieutenant Boyd, the intelligence officer, entered. “I’ve got today’s papers for you, sir.”
Robin returned to his desk but remained standing as Boyd spread the press clippings out in front of him. Most of the headlines declared “SED Putsch!” or “Attempted Communist Coup!” He also noticed an article headed with the words: “Mayor Reuter requests Allied protection.” According to the translations tacked to the Soviet-controlled newspapers, the tone in the Eastern media was triumphant: “Workers and Farmers End Tyrannical Government,” “Capitalist Puppets Thrown Out!” “Democratically Elected Council Boots Out Reuter Terror-Clique!”
“I’d like to draw your attention to the following item,” Boyd continued his briefing by pointing to one of the clippings. “In this article, the Soviet Military Administration promises to increase coal rations and to provide 250 grams of chocolate per household per month to those registered in the East.”
Robin snorted, then with a glance at his intelligence officer, he asked, “Do you think many West Berliners will take the bait and register in the East for the sake of a little more coal?”
“It’s hard to know,” Boyd admitted. “Everyone I’ve been able to talk to scoffs at the idea — pointing out that it highlights Soviet stinginess and contempt. But it’s the people I can’t talk to who may be inclined to take up the offer.”
“Not that it hurts us in any way,” Robin reflected. “The more coal the Berliners get from the Soviets, the less we need to fly in. As for the chocolate….” He shrugged. “Why would any child want Russian chocolate when American chocolate rains down on them from the skies?”
“My view exactly. You may be more interested in this piece.” Boyd indicated an article he had circled. “The SED’s counter-mayor has promised to give workers a 30% pay rise while declaring his intention to expropriate all factories and businesses employing more than five people.”
“At least he’s honest and open about it. Anything else I need to know?”
“Not just now, sir,” Boyd replied. Robin thanked him and the flight lieutenant withdrew.
Before Robin could settle into his work, however, there was another knock. This time the head that looked in was that of Lt. Colonel Graham Russell of the Corps of Royal Engineers. Graham was not his subordinate; he was a friend.
“Got a minute, Robin?” Graham asked.
“For you, yes,” Robin answered.
Graham closed the door behind him and advanced across the room to stand just in front of Robin’s desk. “I had to talk to you because I’ve heard a terrible rumour at Army HQ.”
Robin raised his eyebrows.
“Herbert made an off-hand remark that you were on our way out. Surely that isn’t true?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“But why?” Graham sounded stunned.
“Because I went ahead with the evacuation of the children and other vulnerable citizens without clearing it through Group Captain Bagshot.”
“But the Berlin City Government requested the evacuations?”
“Correct.”
“I must be missing something,” Graham admitted and looked at Robin expectantly.
“General Herbert is Commandant of the British Sector of Berlin. He has no authority over the Airlift. He asked General Tunner to handle the evacuations and Tunner said ‘no,’ but gave explicit permission for the RAF to do whatever it liked. Herbert asked me for RAF action, bypassing Bagshot, and I agreed without clearing it. Bagshot, unsurprisingly, was livid about my breach of military protocol and sacked me on the spot.”
“Did he order the evacuations halted?”
“Even he recognised that I’d made that impossible by my promise to the City Council and by starting the evacuations on a large scale before running cameras. Which is why, no doubt, he was so determined to have my head.”
“I can’t say how sorry I am about this. Your friendship, Emily’s hospitality — it has meant the world to me,” Graham stammered out. [...] "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.”
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