Friday, August 17, 1962 – East Berlin – The Wall Near Check Point Charlie – 1100 Hours

“Rolf, give me a smoke.”

“You need to buy your own,” the older VoPo grumbled.

“Hey, I give you cigarettes all the time,” Schreiber complained. “I’m short right now, that’s all.”

“It’s that girlfriend of yours,” Fredrich complained. “She’s bleeding you dry.”

“Oh, but she’s worth it,” Schreiber groaned. “She wears me out.”

Both men laughed and nodded at each other as they stood and collected their AK-47s before departing from the guard room. The pair followed the other VoPo’s as they headed out for a long, dull day of guard duty in the summer sun.

Fredrich and Schreiber didn’t speak the entire time it took them to reach their duty posts. They’d learned the hard way there were plenty of disgruntled conscripts in the Volkspolizei who would gladly curry favor with the Stasi by quietly repeating a comment or complaint some poor soldier had thought nobody had heard. In a matter of days, the denounced conscript would vanish. Rumors about where the poor soul had wound up would circulate through the unit. Fredrich was of the mind some of the worst rumors were started by a soldier he was sure was a Stasi informant and done so at the order of his Stasi master.

Once at their assigned post for the day, Fredrich nodded towards West Berlin and pointed to a spot some ways from their post. “There it is, Erich. Check Point Charlie.”

—

“Lunchtime,” Kulbeik whispered.

“I thought it would never get here,” Fechtor whispered in agreement.

Of late, the pair had taken to buying their lunch at a place close to the work site so as not to draw attention when they departed. The pair laughed and joked as they walked along. It was a typical day, like any other for the casual observer.

Once out of sight of their fellow workers, the pair quickened their pace, heading in a direct line for the wall. Careful to appear relaxed, the pair stopped at each street corner and took a second to ensure they were not being followed or watched.

Reaching the wall, the pair assumed a nonchalant pace, arguing about German football. Less than a block away stood their destination, an abandoned building that once housed a carpentry shop. They had discovered it during their countless searches for a place to launch an escape from and wasted no time exploring the abandoned structure.

Stopping in front of the building’s entrance, the pair stood and stared at it as if somehow they were interested in the structure. Given that they were apprentice bricklayers, the story they concocted, if questioned, was that they were interested in the brickwork because the building was old.

Nobody was to be seen, so the pair dashed from the street to the entrance and vanished from sight. Picking their way through the old building, they arrived at the lone room with an unbricked window from which the first wall could be seen. In the distance, much of the death zone was visible, and finally, the second wall—the one they would have to climb in full view of armed guards.

Nervous yet tired from not sleeping, the pair buried themselves in a massive pile of wood chips to wait out the remainder of the day. Talking to pass the time was out of the question. Volkspolizei wandered about while on duty. To be caught in the abandoned building with an open window only feet away was a sure trip to a Stasi cell.

Fechter thought of his parents and the note he’d left for them, explaining his decision to defect to the West and freedom, his desire to see Lise and her family, and finally, begging for understanding and forgiveness for his decision. He snuck a peek at his watch, noting the time was nearly half past one in the afternoon.

Stretching to relieve the pain in his neck and aching back, tight and sore from stress, Fechter heard the distinct sound of voices approaching.

“Helmut, someone is coming!”

“Time to go then,” Kulbeik whispered.

The pair scrambled from their hiding place, neither bothering to brush the wood shavings from their clothes. Fechter climbed the boxes they had placed by the window and tugged at the barbed wire covering the opening to prevent its use to escape. On the fourth pull, the wire shifted enough for Fechter to slip through and fall to the ground.

Kulbeik scrambled up the boxes and followed his friend through the window, landing on his feet in the sand below. Fechter was already scrambling over the first barbed wire barrier, with Kulbeik ten feet behind. They had chosen their point of entry wisely. From the window, the direct path to the second wall was in a blind spot, preventing the guards on duty from spotting the escapees as they sprinted toward freedom.

—

“Rolf, look!”

Startled by the shout from Schreiber, Fredrich looked in the direction his friend was pointing.

“A runner, no, two runners!”

Fredrich readied his AK-47 and began aiming at the faster of the two runners.

“What do we do, Rolf?”

“We shoot, Eric. If we don’t, we’ll be the ones in trouble!”

Fredrich pulled the trigger of his AK-47. Nothing happened. Furious with himself, he thumbed the safety off and squeezed off a burst. Three bullets kicked up the sand a good ten feet away from the first escapee.

Next to him, Schreiber came alive, spraying a burst at the second runner, likewise missing wide.

The first escapee, a slender youth, suddenly stopped, frozen in his tracks, mere feet from the nearly seven-foot tall concrete barrier. The second runner leaped at full speed, striking the wall with his left foot, and propelling himself upwards, catching the top of the wall with both arms. Bullets hit the wall on either side of him, pummeling his body with concrete fragments. Despite being caught in the barbed wire, the youth threw his leg over the top of the wall and tumbled from sight, taking several strands of barbed wire with him.

Both guards took several steps forward and aimed again, sending sand and bits of stone flying. The second runner’s face appeared at the top of the wall, and he began shouting at his companion standing at the base of the wall.

Terrified both might escape, Fredrich and Schreiber fired again.

Both men watched in horror as the youth crumpled by the base of the wall, blood spewing from his hip where an AK-47 round had struck his pelvis and exited his body. So quiet was it following the roar of the two assault rifles; both could hear the youth crying out.

“Help me! Why aren’t you helping me!”

Neither guard noticed the other guards running up and standing next to them. Fearful of doing something wrong, nobody took a step towards the death zone and the wounded escapee.

—

“It’s after two in the afternoon,” Angela complained to the nearby soldier. The GI studiously ignored Angela. He’d learned the hard way to ignore pretty girls when on duty. Hating the fact time moved so slowly, Angela decided the best course of action was to get a cup of tea before making her crossing into East Berlin. She’d expected to at least see Michael on the other side of the checkpoint, and if not Michael, then her fiancée’s partner in crime, Werner.

Shouting, followed by the sound of gunfire, jarred Angela out of her pique. A hundred or so yards from Check Point Charlie, a young man appeared at the top of the wall, caught in the wire. Spellbound, Angela watched as the man made no effort to free himself from the wire, simply rolling off the top of the wall and falling, taking several feet of barbed wire with him.

The bark of gunfire stopped, and a West Berlin police officer pulled himself up to the top of the wall and peered over, looking down. Screams from the onlookers propelled Angela forward. Sprinting towards the chaos, she could hear the cries of a man in pain, begging for help.

Another West Berlin police officer reached the wall as the first dropped down from it. They spoke, and the second officer climbed the wall and shouted to the man on the other side. Angela watched in horror as the second officer produced bandages and dropped them over the wall.

“Murderers!”

“Criminals!”

As an angry crowd gathered, Angela took notice of the escapee who had made it over the wall. He was cut and bleeding and clearly stunned by what had happened.

“You! You’re an American!”

Turning to the voice, Angela stared at the red, angry face of a young Berliner.

“Neither side will do anything to help him! Get the American soldiers!”

The sound of tear gas canisters being launched could be heard from somewhere on the other side of the wall. In seconds, tendrils of the greyish-white gas and its pungent smell began to reach across the wall.

The Berliner covered his face and pushed Angela. Shouting, “Go! Now, while there is still a chance to help him!” Angela nodded, relieved to suddenly find herself useful. She turned and ran as fast as her feet would take her to Check Point Charlie.

“Someone’s been shot trying to escape,” Angela panted as the Lt. in command of the detail came out to meet her. He said nothing, instead looking up in the sky at the helicopters that had suddenly appeared.

“We have our orders, Ma’am.”

“Your orders?!”

“Yes, Ma’am. We contacted General Watson for instructions.”

“Good, do something.”

“Ma’am, our orders are to stand down.”