Berlin Part IV: Turbulence on the Ground

Bumping into an "Old Friend" Approximately six weeks after being detained at Rechlin-Lärz, we were on our way north to the city of Stralsund, where we had reservations in a local hotel. Inadvertently, we ran smack into an East German military exercise. The Germans, ever efficient, quickly captured us. For three hours I sat waiting for the Soviet commandant to arrive, while the East Germans kept an AK-47 automatic rifle held about six inches from my head. When the Soviet commandant arrived, it was the same guy who had presided during my previous detention. I complained about the way the Germans had held guns at our heads, and he quickly told them to disperse. When he first saw me, however, his face lit up, he smiled, and exclaimed in Russian, "Stariy Droog (Old Friend) what are you doing here?" Then in perfect German, which he had refused to speak during our last encounter, he asked, "Lieutenant, why are you always going to our airfields?" There was in fact an airfield in the area, Demmin-Tutow, but it was not on our target list. I explained that we were on our way to Stralsund, that this was the only way to go to avoid his mission restriction signs, and pointed out that according to the Hubner-Malinen Agreement that established the missions, I had every right to be where I was. He took note of what I said, dismissed the Germans again, and escorted us to our destination in Stralsund.

At this point in my life, I had no particular interest in making the Air Force my career. However, I loved what I was doing. Every trip into the so-called German Democratic Republic (GDR) resulted in the collection of a significant batch of intelligence. Often I would have more than ten rolls of Kodak black and white tri-x or plus-x film to be developed. Of course, it was also a great adventure. I was young and loved to match wits with the East German and Soviet security services. Ratz and I were brash and sometimes even brazen as we set out to fight our part of the war against the godless communists. At times, they won and I was captured and detained. But by and large, we won many times over and I was confident that they were no match.

There were many “incidents” during this period of  time. For example, a British Mission driver, Corporal Douglas Day, RAF was shot by East German border guards on the outskirts of Berlin. He lived, but lost his spleen and some toes.

General Clark and Marshall Koniev. Chief among the USMLM incidents, that I remember, was the shooting at Major William Schneider in March 1962, as he was observing and photographing a Soviet train containing SA-2 missile systems. His car was demolished, and there was a huge outcry from both sides. Somehow this all got caught up in the anti-US sentiment being promoted by East German authorities. Soon, the East German goons were tailing all our vehicles in contravention of the basic agreement that established the missions. At the end of the day the commander of the U.S. Army Europe, General Bruce Clark, met with the Commander of the Soviet Forces in Germany, Marshall Ivan Koniev (of World War II fame), and things went back to normal.

Clark and Koniev

I am fired. My assignment to USMLM came to an abrupt end in the late spring of 1963 under conditions that caused me enormous emotional turmoil. Lieutenant Colonel Gordon was transferred to Air Force Headquarters in Europe (largely because of his bad heart). A new boss, also a Lieutenant Colonel who shall remain nameless, was brought in. Instead of the devotion and dedication to duty I had experienced in Ben Gordon, this new man was an immoral lout, who cared only about how many women he could conquer. Our first trip together took us to Dresden, where we were to stay in the Wild Park Hotel. As it turned out, the day was Rosenmontag, one of the last days of the German holiday season called Fasching. The hotel was having a large and very successful celebration. In our American uniforms, we were an immediate hit. Everyone wanted to buy us drinks or for us to sit with them at their table. Women wanted to kiss us. The new boss simply exploited this opportunity and took a very young East German girl to bed. The next morning he appeared in the room I was sharing with Sergeant Krieg, a sometimes driver who was replacing Ratz on that trip, and said he had just put the girl in a taxi. I was shocked, but reasoned that things of that nature sometimes happened. Nonetheless, I was gravely concerned since all the security briefings I had been exposed to dealt with the issue of entrapment by communist authorities using young girls as bait.

This was not a one-time affair for the new boss. Instead, it seemed to consume him. It was all he cared to talk about. Sitting in an observation point, where we would monitor East German and Soviet flying programs, he would not shut up. This was an impossible situation; I was appalled by his behavior and deeply concerned about our security. Finally, I could stand no more and reported the man's activities to Colonel Gordon. Unbeknownst to me, Sergeant Ratz had made the same report. So, the two of us were called to headquarters to make a report. I remember with great clarity, being patted on the back and told that I had done the right thing. The accused had his pass allowing him to enter East Germany taken away, and I was advised to take a few days off. I grabbed a flight to Copenhagen. When I arrived back in Berlin, I was being paged at the airport. The Soviets were conducting a giant exercise, and every pass holder was expected to be out in East Germany. The accused had his pass back and was insisting that he tour only with me. For two days, I had to listen to his accusations of disloyalty.

A few days later, the new Director of Intelligence, named John Gibbons, from the headquarters came to Berlin. He hardly spoke with me. When he left, the accused told me that Ratz and I had both been fired, and I was being transferred to Frankfurt. I came unglued, as this was patently unfair. This time I went to the Army Chief of Mission and reported what had happened. The Army headquarters in Heidelberg now got involved. I received an order to report immediately to Air Force headquarters in Wiesbaden. When I did, I was ushered into the Director of Intelligence's office, forced to stand at attention, while Colonel Gibbons browbeat me about being disloyal to the Air Force. We did not, he emphasized, air our dirty linen before the Army. I was ordered to say nothing more about the incident. Interestingly, Gibbon was later promoted to general. Obviously, I didn’t care for the man. He had tried to protect his selection of the man, as well as the man himself. What he did deserved only disdain and punishment.

I fought the reassignment as best I could under the circumstances. I was, after all, only a lieutenant. However, by now enough people understood the injustice of the situation that my orders to Frankfurt were canceled, and I was allowed to remain in Berlin. Less than six weeks after this, the accused insulted a French officer's wife with some overt sexual advance. The French complained to the Berlin Commandant and within twenty-four hours this despicable person was shipped back to the United States.

This was my first real encounter with the politics of injustice. I felt the Air Force owed me a debt of gratitude for exposing the activities of this guy who, I believed, placed our operations at risk. We operated in a sensitive and hostile environment in East Germany; in my view there was no place for any activities, which could bring discredit on the United States. It seemed I was wrong.

Case Officer. For the remaining fifteen months of my tour of duty in Berlin, I became a case officer. In other words, I learned to direct the activities of spies operating in the East. My basic pseudonym was Otto C. Hawk. With this name, I signed all my reports. In addition, I had two other identities, with documents to match. One was Peter Lund and the other was Robert Johnson. In a short, and very informal, training course conducted in Frankfurt I learned the art of secret writing and various other skills associated with what was known as tradecraft. But in reality, it was not a very professional operation. I still lived in military housing on Argentinische Allee, used my military identification to get into the Post Exchange, and generally was recognized to be an air force officer.

I was able to reactivate a spy we had lost contact with when the Berlin Wall went up and had a couple of other minor successes. In general, however, this was a line for work for which I had little enthusiasm. The quality of information we were getting was extremely poor and hardly justified the investment. Then, too, we were just using and discarding people. The final straw came when I made contact with a sergeant in the East German Air Force who worked in a facility that set the frequencies for all East German radar. He agreed to defect, if we could find a way. Using his sister and her boyfriend, we made all the necessary contacts. The CIA approved the operation, but would lend no assistance. As a result, I had to make contact with a local Berliner who specialized in getting people out of the East. He modified a Volkswagen Karman Ghia so it could hide a passenger. He made the gas tank so it would only hold two liters and used the space saved to build a secret compartment. He said he wanted to test it once before using it for my man. It worked fine.
On the night we were to exfiltrate the East German, his sister and I were waiting in a rendezvous point expecting word of a successful operation. None came. Finally, violating all operational rules, we drove to Checkpoint Charlie and arrived just in time to see her brother being dragged off by the police. They had discovered him. Luckily, this was near the end of my tour and I was soon able to divorce myself from this ugly business. Lest I be judged naive for my dislike of this activity, I would note that I recognize its importance in the general scheme of things in the modern world, but it is still largely a business I find personally repugnant. Nevertheless, I understand the importance of the endeavor and admire those who do it well.