Vladi smacked his forehead on the bar top in one of the shadier places in Berlin, where he’d been drinking all day.
“b****y son of a b***h! He did it!” he cursed, wondering whether this day could become any shittier. The Westerners had their third airport fully functional, sunshine and winds had lifted the impenetrable fog, and to top it all off, the Americans had just announced a new record tonnage being flown in.
Wallowing in self-pity he wanted to order another vodka, when two of his comrades from Red Army Intelligence burst through the door and came straight up to him.
“Hey, Vladi, you’re needed in Karlshorst,” his old pal Grigori said and motioned for the other man, Alexej, to grab him by the arm. Together they dragged him out of the bar and to the waiting car.
“Hell, man, it’s no
