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Then the Americans Came: A Tribute to the Veterans of the Berlin Airlift
In March 1948, in the English Zone-of-Occupation, I lived with my mother Hedy in a rotting former Wehrmacht barracks, located off the north end of the Fassberg air base runway. I was a boy of 13, a Fluechtling, a refugee from the East. We refugees, still the unwanted human debris of an evil war, had just survived another terrible winter in this windswept part of northern Germany. During those long winter nights, with cold, hunger, and fear of tomorrow our steady companions, there were timesdoi:10.55540/0031-1723.1898 fatcat:n7va2oxb7bcirhdzbtu2aj6vj4