For two days Dean barely left his office. He was in constant phone conversations and personal meetings with his superiors, the air base in Wiesbaden, and his colleagues Generals Ganeval and Herbert.
This was the defining moment everyone had awaited with anxiety. All talks with the Soviets had ended a few days prior with their bold move to put an entire city under siege.
The Moscow thugs didn’t flinch at the prospect of starving two point two million people with their traffic blockade and announcement that no food would be supplied from the Soviet occupied zone into the three Western sectors of Berlin.
“Rotten rats!” Dean cursed in a rare moment when he wasn’t talking on the phone. Jason, who’d taken up residence in his office, didn’t even lift his head at the expletive. He was bent over
