War and Love - The Berlin Airlift

War and Love - The Berlin Airlift and a Fräulein

© JoeMo1619 - July 2025 ff.

The Berlin Airlift was the largest air supply operation of all time. At a time when all the Western Allies had massively reduced their air forces compared to World War II, an airlift operation to supply West Berlin -- with its 2.2 million inhabitants -- had to be established practically from scratch. There was a shortage of transport aircraft, a shortage of pilots, and a shortage of ground logistics both in the Western Germany occupation zones and in West Berlin.

Nevertheless, in a remarkable operation during the 11-month blockade of West Berlin, it was possible to increase the daily transport volume from just a few hundred to nearly 7,500 tons per day. This made it possible to thwart the Soviet attempt to starve and freeze the West Berlin population into submission and to force the Western Allies to withdraw from their sectors of the city.

The large, four-engine Short Sunderland flying boats played a small but very important role in the airlift due to their specific capabilities.

Hamburg-Finkenwerder, August 1948

RAF Flight Lieutenant Fred Miller went through the prescribed take-off routine of his flying boat with his co-pilot Harry MacIntosh, then cast off from the pier of the old German Luftwaffe and naval base in Hamburg-Finkenwerder, which was now occupied by the RAF, and guided his Short S.25 Sunderland Mark V into the open waters of the River Elbe to take off toward Berlin for the first time with more than 10 tons of cargo. He had landed in Hamburg only two days earlier, along with five other similar flying boats from the 205th Squadron of the Royal Air Force, having come from Singapore. These huge flying boats were intended to quickly increase the transport capacity of the airlift to supply West Berlin, which had begun five weeks earlier. In total, the RAF had pledged twelve of these large aircraft to the American General William H. Tunner, who commanded the entire airlift operation, and they were now being transferred to Hamburg from all available Empire bases.

At the first briefing in Finkenwerder, Fred Miller was able to greet a number of former comrades from wartime who were now flying as civilian pilots for various British and foreign airlines and had volunteered in response to the RAF's call for experienced flying boat pilots. After all, the flying boats were to operate in three shifts around the clock. Many of these fellow pilots had flown the twin-engine Catalina during the war like Fred Miller, but they also had experience with the much larger, four-engine Sunderland.

As he manoeuvred his nearly 26-ton flying boat into the middle of the Elbe, a flood of thoughts raced through Fred's mind. He had spent almost five years of war piloting flying boats against German targets in the Atlantic and later against Japanese targets in the Indian and Pacific Oceans. Now, he and his squadron were to help supply over two million people with life-essential goods, trapped in Berlin and cut off from all ground transport. On June 24th, the Soviet Union, after increasingly tense disputes with the Western Allies, had initiated a blockade of roads, railways, and inland waterways connecting West Berlin to the three western occupation zones. The immediate trigger had been the currency reform a few days earlier in the western zones, which replaced the largely worthless Reichsmark with the new and stable Deutsche Mark. In response, the Soviet-occupied zone introduced its own currency. When the Western Allies implemented the new Deutsche Mark in their sectors of Berlin and refused to recognize the East German currency in West Berlin, the Soviets initiated the blockade.

Fred Miller knew relatively little of these political backgrounds on this bright August morning. His briefings from the British RAF command had focused mainly on flying operations. He knew the landing point on the River Havel in West Berlin, as well as the strict rules for the air corridors from Hamburg to Berlin on the outbound journey and from Berlin to Hanover on the return. And he knew that thanks to the Sunderland's long range, he wouldn't have to refuel in Berlin. It was also the first flight over Germany for his co-pilot; only their navigator knew Berlin from the air, from several bombing missions during the war.

As a pilot of Catalinas and Sunderlands, Fred Miller had been extraordinarily lucky. During the long years of flying with Flight Lieutenant Charles M. Watts, and even after his own promotion to Flight Officer, he had never lost a crew member during the Second World War. Even during the three post-war years flying mainly out of Koggala in Ceylon and later Singapore in Southeast Asia, he hadn't caused any accidents, despite several difficult landings and take-offs in the open ocean and among countless islands. In contrast, his private life had been less fortunate. Unlike Charles, who had found happiness with ATA pilot Patricia Justin, the only British-Canadian Catalina delivery pilot, Fred had remained unattached throughout the war. A brief post-war marriage to a childhood sweetheart ended after just a year and a half, as he was still always in the air and rarely home.

Now Fred Miller was 32 years old and had logged many thousands of flight hours. "I'm married to my aircraft," he had told his squadron leader when the pilots for the Germany deployment were being selected. "Where my aircraft is stationed, that's where I live." Now that place was Hamburg, though like most of his fellow pilots, he assumed the mission would only last a few weeks.

"Supplying Berlin from the air through the whole winter? That's impossible." He'd heard this assessment repeatedly in the first few days. "The politicians have to find a solution before then."

The first landing on the Havel was just as smooth as the take-off from the Elbe. As the flight speed in the air corridor from Hamburg to Berlin was set at exactly 200 mph for all aircraft, regardless of type, the Sunderlands, powered by four 1,200 HP Pratt & Whitney engines, had no trouble maintaining the scheduled flight pattern, despite their massive size. Over West Berlin, they veered off onto their own flight path. While British land planes landed at RAF Gatow and the American planes at Berlin-Tempelhof, the flying boats used the long stretch of the River Havel as their runway. Everything here was different than at land-based airports. The Sunderlands were pure flying boats, so they had to be unloaded and, if necessary, reloaded directly on the water. This was done using small barges that docked at the main cargo hatch and carried the manually unloaded sacks and packages to shore.

During their approach over the Havel, Fred and Harry flew over a German city for the first time in their lives -- during the Elbe approach, they had only flown above the river. Though the war had ended over three years ago, the aerial view of Berlin still left a lasting impression on the pilots.

"My God, the city is destroyed," Fred blurted out as they banked sharply over Reinickendorf and Siemensstadt, preparing to land on the long stretch of the Havel.

"And more than 2 million people still live in just the western part of that rubble city," Harry replied. "How do they survive the winter?"

Fred shrugged. "No idea. But the first two postwar winters in Europe were bitterly cold, only the last one was milder. Hundreds, maybe thousands, must have frozen to death."

"And now the Russians have cut off their supplies. Only air transport remains."

"Let's hope the politicians sort this out before winter. Supplying this city from the air in this state? No way," Fred said grimly. "Unless we bring in a huge number of large aircraft."

"But where would they land?" Harry was sceptical. "I heard in Hamburg they need 7,500 tons per day."

"Madness!" Fred calculated. "That would be 750 planes a day if we carry 10 tons each. Even with two full roundtrips per aircraft per day, that's 350 to 400 large planes. That's 15 landings an hour--one every four minutes. Insane!"

The cockpit then went quiet as they neared their first landing. In calm summer weather, it went off without a hitch.

Unloading the nearly 10 tons of salt and food sacks by hand into the barges took over two hours. During that time, the four crew members sat idly in the Sunderland. Fortunately, the large flying boats had proper toilets and a mini-kitchen onboard from their long ocean missions.

Their surprise was all the greater when a young, fair-haired woman with a picnic basket arrived on the second barge, bringing a thermos of hot coffee, another of hot tea, some pastries, and sandwiches. "We're from the RAF Gatow Officers' Mess and responsible for looking after the flying boat crews," she said in English with a very German accent. "Real coffee. And English tea. Very rare in Berlin."

The crew was delighted. The coffee, biscuits, and fresh sandwiches were a very welcome improvement over their usual rations.

"This'll perk us up for the return trip," Fred said happily after the first sips of hot coffee.

"Revives the soul," Harry added. "We really needed this."

"I'm glad you like our service," said the woman with a smile. "It's a small thank-you for your mission. And it's my first job with the RAF."

"What did you do before?" Fred asked, curious. The young woman, with light blonde braids wrapped around her head, looked slim beneath her loose but thin summer dress.

"Like so many women: rubble work, breaking and sorting stones. It paid a bit extra on top of the food ration cards. That's how I fed myself and my daughter."

Fred wasn't sure how to respond. Having spent years in the Far East, he was unfamiliar with conditions in Europe, especially Germany. "I think German women have had to work very hard these past years."

"Oh yes," she sighed. "Many lost their husbands and now have to support their families alone. I'm lucky I only have one daughter--just two mouths to feed."

"Is your husband still a prisoner?" Fred had noticed her simple gold wedding ring.

"Officially missing. Since 1944, in Russia. I don't know more."

"Hope dies last," Fred said, immediately regretting the cliché. He had meant to comfort her but sensed that it landed poorly. He saw two small tears appear in her eyes.

"I wish. But my hope has shrunk over the years. I don't even dream of him anymore. And I would if he were still alive."

Fred wanted to comfort her, maybe even embrace her, but it felt totally inappropriate in the cockpit doorway.

Meanwhile, the third barge had been loaded, and the young woman was preparing to leave. She packed the thermoses and mugs into her basket.

"What's your name?" Fred suddenly asked.

The young woman turned. "Hildegard Müller, but everyone calls me Hilde."

Fred laughed. "Then we almost have the same last name. I'm Fred Miller." He held out his hand.

Hilde stepped closer and shook his hand. "Very nice to meet you. Fly safely and stay healthy. We need men like you -- more than ever." Then she left the flying boat, turned back one more time from the barge as it pulled away, and waved.

That image of Hilde waving goodbye burned itself into Fred's memory. During the return flight to Hanover and on into the Bizone toward Hamburg, it kept reappearing in his mind. "Fly safely and stay healthy," she had said. He silently promised himself to do just that.

The next morning, when Fred and his crew returned to their Sunderland, it was already loaded with another 10 tons of salt, yeast, and some chemicals. In the early weeks, flying boats could only land on the Havel during daylight, until lights were installed. Otherwise, confusion with the nearby Gatow airfield posed too great a risk, especially in poor visibility. Radar guidance also had to be developed for water landings--currently, they landed visually, which was no issue for experienced pilots in daylight.

"Think we'll get coffee again today?" Fred asked his co-pilot during a quiet flight moment.

"I hope so. That coffee yesterday was better than what we get at the Hamburg mess. Really revived me."

"Let's see." As they approached the Havel, Fred again had the image of Hilde waving in his mind -- soon it became reality. She appeared again with her picnic basket on the second barge, fulfilled her duties with cheerful friendliness, and chatted with the crew as best she could with her limited English. In a quiet moment, Fred and Hilde caught each other gazing deeply into each other's eyes -- just two meters apart, but as if in their own world.

"Eyes are the window to the soul," Fred thought -- and Hilde let him look into hers.

That moment -- just a few seconds -- felt like an eternity for both of them.

Fred cleared his throat awkwardly when the gaze broke and poured himself more coffee. "Are you always out here in the mornings?"

"Yes. I can only work the morning shift because a friend watches my daughter. In the evening, Inge works, and her two kids sleep at my place so they're not alone." Hilde didn't mention that she and her friend had once worked at a bar for British soldiers -- a form of female "support" for the troops many German women pursued during hard times. The pay was good. Hilde had been asked twice to return, but a severe venereal disease she'd contracted the previous winter -- and only recovered from in spring -- had held her back.

Fred and his crew flew to Berlin every day in August, always with the morning shift. Almost always, Hilde was there to greet and care for them. Only on Sundays was someone else assigned. With each visit, Fred and Hilde became more familiar -- at least as far as the flying boat's conditions allowed. But the moments where their eyes met in silent depth became more frequent and lasted longer.

Still, strict orders from the airlift commander forbade crew members from leaving their aircraft during unloading, to prevent delays -- this rule applied even to the flying boats.

Early September, after almost four weeks of continuous operation -- interrupted only by one day of maintenance in Finkenwerder -- a weather warning was issued during the morning pilot briefing: "By midday and afternoon, severe thunderstorms with sudden gusts of wind are expected over Berlin."

Fred and Harry, who had gained a lot of experience with thunderstorms during their long missions in Asia, simply shrugged their shoulders.

"It'll just be a bit bumpy," the two pilots commented casually on the weather warning.

The forecast proved accurate. By late morning, during the approach to Berlin, the sky was already filled with towering clouds indicating thunderstorm activity. As they approached the Havel, strong turbulence caused Fred's Sunderland to slam down onto the water with a series of forceful splashes. The first barge was already struggling, fully loaded, against the strengthening wind and increasing waves to reach the shore. On the second barge came Hilde, actually, with her picnic basket in hand, coming to supply "her favourite crew," as she now referred to Fred and his three crew members.

Hardly had she come aboard when Fred, from the cockpit and through the cargo hatch, spotted the black storm front rapidly approaching from the west, lightning and thunder announcing its presence.

He ordered unloading operations to cease and the half-loaded barge to return to shore as quickly as possible.

"Close the hatches," came his command. "All hands to stations." When he looked back from the cockpit, Hilde was still standing there with her basket. "What are you still doing here?"

"I missed the barge. When I came down, the cargo hatch was already closed, and the barge had left."

"All right. Find a safe spot below and sit down. I'm afraid, things are about to get rough."

Hilde followed his instructions, while Fred and Harry started the engines to turn the Sunderland to face the storm front.

"Now we're going to ride out the thunderstorm on the water," Harry grinned at his captain. "Haven't done that in a while."

Then, at midday, the sky over the Havel turned pitch black. Lightning flashed, and two bolts struck the river within visible range. One could actually see the lightning dancing a few meters above the water surface before an ear-splitting thunderclap echoed through the seaplane.

Fred noticed that the other two Sunderlands, which had landed before and after him, were executing similar manoeuvres. This way, they avoided being torn from their moorings by the gusts and drifting uncontrollably to the opposite bank.

Twenty minutes later, the thunderstorm had passed.

Fred shut off the engines and left the cockpit to check on Hilde. He found the young woman crouched on one of the sleeping bunks, pale as chalk.

"That was as bad as an air raid," she murmured apologetically. "What would've happened if lightning had hit the plane?"

Fred smiled, held out both hands, and helped her to her feet. Hilde was shaking noticeably. He embraced her, like a comforting father.

"Nothing at all, my dear. The flying boat is a full-metal construction--a Faraday cage. Lightning would have travelled along the wet outer surface and gone straight into the water. The only real risk is to the radar and radio equipment. The antennas could be damaged."

Hilde pressed herself against Fred's chest. She had her arms around his waist, and they stood together for a long moment. Fred's nose was right above Hilde's head, and he inhaled her natural scent in several deep breaths. It felt... nice.

Then came a loud knock at the hatch. The next barge had arrived over the still-choppy water to continue the unloading.

Fred and Hilde parted -- right as Harry descended from the cockpit ladder to open the door.

"I would've liked to stay in your arms a little longer," Hilde whispered and looked deeply into Fred's eyes. "That was nice."

"Thank you, Hilde," Fred replied, a little sheepishly. "It was really nice holding you."

Fred and Hilde continued speaking in English, so the shift from formal to informal address ("Sie" to "du" in German) happened naturally and neither of them noticed it. They now called each other by their first names.

Then they both went back to their tasks, interrupted by the storm.

In the following four weeks, Fred and Hilde saw each other practically every morning when the mighty Sunderland completed its morning flight and was being unloaded on the Havel. Twice, Hilde even brought a small, homemade cake for Fred and his three crewmates.

"Where did you get the ingredients?" Fred and Harry asked admiringly. "Everything's so scarce here."

Hilde giggled softly. "With kind support from the officers' mess at RAF Gatow. I baked the cake there -- with the agreement that half goes to the crew, the other half to the canteen."

"And nothing left for you and your daughter?" Fred was genuinely upset.

Hilde waved it off. "No, no. I was able to make a small extra portion with the batter. That's our cake." She shrugged a little helplessly. "My little one cried when I brought the cake home yesterday. She hadn't seen cake in a long time. She carefully divided her piece so it would last several days."

"And you?"

Hilde shrugged again. "Not so important."

Fred immediately stopped eating his own slice of the rich, chocolatey marble cake. "This piece is for you," he said, offering it to her. "And so that you treat yourself for once, you'll eat it here. Otherwise, you won't."

Hilde hesitated for a moment, then beamed and took the cake. "Sweet of you to make me. Otherwise, I wouldn't have." She enjoyed the next few minutes of cake with obvious pleasure.

Neither Fred nor Hilde could stop thinking about the shared cake in the days that followed. It felt like a profound gesture of love -- sharing something so rare and delicious.

"I wish I could share more than just cake with this man," Hilde sighed one evening, watching her friend's children. "But I don't know how. The crew isn't allowed to leave their planes, and I only have a small window of time to stay on board before heading to my next stop."

"Then you just have to wait a bit," Inge comforted her. "If fate wills it, you'll get your chance." And fate would prove her right -- in a curious way.

By mid-October, after nearly three months of operations, the twelve flying boats flying in from Hamburg-Finkenwerder had settled into a highly efficient routine. The night crew usually landed at 4:00 a. m. on the Elbe, giving the mechanics plenty of time for quick maintenance, while the loading crews prepared for the morning flight.

Unlike the four-engine Douglas landplanes -- now the dominant American transport aircraft -- or the patchwork fleet of converted British bombers, the flying boats, though slower and harder to load, had one key advantage: they were resistant to corrosive cargo like salt or chemicals due to their all-metal, water-adapted construction. The twelve Sunderland flying boats were performing a vital special mission in the airlift.

For the early-morning flight that was to land on the Havel shortly after sunrise, three planes were fuelled and loaded. They took off in thirty-minute intervals. Fred and Harry had just entered their designated air corridor at the lowest altitude when the plane ahead reported fuel issues and engine trouble. Shortly after, Fred's and the third plane reported similar issues. The flight engineer was working frantically to keep the four engines at the minimum required power. Misfires and engine sputtering became more frequent, and Fred struggled to maintain both altitude and required speed. The lead aircraft had to shut down its starboard outer engine and was now flying significantly slower for the final twenty minutes of the trip.

Fred's Sunderland still had all four engines running, but the engineer gave a concerning update: "We're burning fuel like we've got holes in the tank -- just to keep power at the minimum."

Fred asked the obvious question: "Do we have enough fuel to get back?"

After a long pause, the flight engineer answered: "We have two problems. One, I suspect the fuel we got in Finkenwerder is of poor quality -- clogging the fuel lines and causing power loss. Two, based on our current burn rate, we won't have enough for the return trip. And even worse, we likely won't have enough power to take off again."

"So we'll need a full refuel with good aviation fuel. Right?"

"Yes. And from what I can tell, all three Sunderlands will need it."

"Okay. Let's see what Gatow can do about that."

They landed safely on the Havel, noticing the first Sunderland already taxiing to its mooring, belching black smoke from its three remaining engines.

"Do we look that dirty too?" Fred asked Harry.

"Probably. But we no longer have a tail gunner to ask."

Their own thick smoke confirmed it soon enough.

The first Sunderland had been flown by Squadron Leader Bill Wilson, who now contacted the Gatow tower by radio to report the issue and coordinate a solution. He then called the other aircraft: "All pilots come ashore with me. Engineers and navigators stay with the planes."

Fred and Harry took the first barge the short distance to the makeshift pier -- once a rowing club. Two jeeps waited to take them to the operations centre at Gatow Airfield.

The chief ground engineer greeted them in a side room of the canteen.

"First, I'll get you a round of coffee," he began -- just as a server arrived with a tray holding a large thermos and several cups.

It was Hilde. She noticeably flinched when she saw Fred and his crewmates -- but said nothing and went about her work.

"I have good news and less-good news," the engineer continued. "Good news: we have enough quality aviation fuel here to refuel all three flying boats, with reserves." The pilots nodded approvingly. "Bad news: our tanker trucks' hoses are nowhere near long enough to refuel the flying boats from land."

"What are we doing now?" asked Bill Wilson.

"We're exploring two options. First, maybe there's a decommissioned tanker ship on the canals that can get here -- but that's unlikely. Second, there's a small ferry north of Heerstraße that can carry a tanker truck. It could dock at the rowing club slipway, and the trucks could refuel the planes from there. But it'll take a few hours."

The pilots groaned and sighed loudly. But what choice did they have?

Fred excused himself to go to the restroom. On the way, he passed through the main canteen and ran right into Hilde.

"I've got a 15-minute break coming up. I'm taking a supply basket to the flying boats. Want to meet me outside and come with me to your Sunderland?"

Fred nodded. "I'll check in with the squadron leader and say I need to inspect my aircraft. Meet you outside."

And so, it happened. Ten minutes later, they met outside the canteen, embraced, and shared a warm, deep, but not-too-long kiss. Only after they pulled apart and Hilde picked up her basket of coffee and sandwiches did they speak again.

"It would be wonderful to spend a few hours with you," Hilde sighed.

"I dream of you every night -- of having you with me."

"Same here. When I fly to Berlin in the morning, I spend the whole two hours looking forward to seeing you and having your coffee," Fred smiled. "Today's the first time I've actually set foot on Berlin soil. Our orders are strict: 'Crew stays with their aircraft.' Only the fuel issue got us ashore."

"Then let's make the most of the next few minutes," Hilde said playfully as they boarded the boat heading for Fred's Sunderland. "Is your plane unloaded yet?"

"Definitely. We're just waiting for refuelling."

Fred noticed the ferry had arrived and a heated discussion was underway between the tanker truck driver and some officials about how to get the truck aboard. "This might take a while," Fred said dryly. "And I bet the squadron leader's plane will be refuelled and tested first."

Back aboard, Fred discussed the situation with his engineer and navigator while Hilde served coffee and sandwiches.

"I've inspected the fuel lines," the engineer said. "No blockages. The fuel was simply poorly refined -- burns badly, creates soot, clogs valves and pistons, and the combustion is weak, no matter how I adjust things. Hence the smoke and the lack of power."

"What do we do after we finally get good fuel?"

"Let the engines run hard on the water -- blow everything through. That'll clean a lot out. Final service in Hamburg -- but I can't say how fast that'll go with three planes and twelve engines."

Fred nodded, then waved Hilde toward the back.

"I'll stay on board," he told his crew. "Let me know when we get our fuel."

As Fred led "his" Hilde through the plane, he pointed to a bulkhead door at the end of the now-empty cargo bay.

"Behind that bulkhead, we'll have an hour of peace. During the war, it was the tail gunner's station. But now we fly without gunners -- to save weight and carry more cargo."

Fred opened the door and helped Hilde inside.

Hardly had Fred closed the bulkhead door behind Hilde when the two lovers fell into each other's arms, full of longing. This time, they didn't have to worry about being watched because what they were doing now was strictly forbidden: they were making love. Even their first embrace was intense and highly erotic. Hilde had slipped Fred's sheepskin-lined flight jacket off his shoulders and stuffed it straight into an open compartment. Her own short uniform jacket lay on top. All four hands started the expedition of the unknown all over their bodies. Fred's manhood reacted immediately to Hilde's kisses and her purposeful searching hands. He took revenge with an intensive massage of her breasts, first through her blouse and her bra, then he had moves both aside and started to play additionally with her nipples. Hilde opened Fred's belt buckle, unbuttoned his uniform trousers and pulled with one energetic move everything down. Fred's cock jumped full of expectations against her.

"Oh, how nice," was Hilde's spontaneous reaction. Fred' cock was indeed above average. "This beauty deserves a very special, loving treatment."

To Fred's surprise Hilde squatted down, which forced his hands from her breasts to both sides of her head. Hilde didn't need a further invitation. She struck his cock several times hard, opened her mouth and started a blow job, Fred had never experienced in his life. He tried to suppress his moans as much as possible, without roaring engines his flying boat was a very quiet place.

Hilde knew exactly how long and how intensive she had to treat Fred's cock to enjoy him as long as possible. She interrupted her blow job treatment three times to cool him down just before he exploded. Then, suddenly, she stood up, stripped her knickers, bend forward, lifted her skirt and found some railing to position her securely. "Now come, my love. I want to feel you with all your strength and power!"

What an invitation! Fred positioned his glans, ribbed it twice through the entire length of her labia and pushed forward.

"Ohhhh," was Hilde's silently whispered reaction when she felt Fred's cock penetrating her fully. "That feels great!"

Very quickly, the two of them had found a relatively slow but intense rhythm with each other. The advantage of their position along the longitudinal axis at the rear of the flying boat was that their lovemaking didn't cause any noticeable swaying of the aircraft.

The inner tension that Hilde and Fred felt -- resulting from this unplanned and unexpected opportunity for a first sexual encounter -- dissolved more with every movement. In the end, they fully enjoyed each other and had completely forgotten their surroundings for a long moment.

"I can't hold it anymore," Fred finally moaned into Hilde's ear. "It's unbelievably amazing."

"Give me your cum! Give it to me!" was Hilde's command. "I want it all inside my pussy."

That was the final command. Fred exploded and pumped his cum half a dozen times deep into Hilde's pussy. He hold her tight at her hips to stabilize himself, for a few moments they stayed absolutely motionless to enjoy the moment and the slowly decreasing feeling of an intensive orgasm. Hilde's tights were still shivering after few further minutes; she had never experienced such a tremendous climax for years. Cooling down, she turned around and wrapped her arms around Fred's neck and kissed him. "Thank you! I have dreamt about this moment for weeks. Not on your flying boat, but better than nothing."

At that moment, they heard Fred's flight engineer. "Fred! The tanker is coming! Where are you?"

In a flash, the two of them got dressed again, adjusted their uniforms, and left through the rear bulkhead. Just in time to see the ferry with the tanker truck docking at the hull, positioning itself under the wing, and raising the hose so the refuelling could begin.

Without another hug or even a kiss, Hilde left the flying boat through the main hatch with her basket and transferred to the next aircraft to take care of the remaining crew there. She gave a small, discreet wave when she reached the neighbouring flying boat and saw Fred standing in the main hatch of his aircraft. At the same time, she felt his semen slowly oozing out of her pussy and spreading across her thighs. A brief visit to the toilet of the other flying boat solved that problem. The rest of Fred's load remained inside her -- and Hilde was pleased, as if she were carrying a hidden treasure.

The fresh refuelling solved the problem for the three flying boats. Squadron Leader Bill Wilson was the first to blow out his four engines at anchor for ten minutes with a loud roar. The heavy smoke and soot clouds seen during landing disappeared within minutes. Then he taxied his Sunderland into take-off position and had no trouble racing his massive flying boat at full throttle across the Havel and taking off. Fred's and the third Sunderland followed the same procedure and departed on the delayed return flight to Hamburg-Finkenwerder. Once there, they received an alarming piece of additional information during the debriefing from the station commander:

"The civilian tanker driver responsible for fuelling the three affected aircraft has disappeared and is nowhere to be found. We are currently investigating whether the in-flight fuel issues were the result of a communist-motivated act of sabotage. Until further notice, we have issued special safety regulations for the aviation fuel supply of all flying boats."

This information sparked quite heated discussions among the affected crews. In the explosive political climate, none of them wanted to risk, for whatever technical reason, to leave the narrow air corridor over the Soviet-occupied zone and to make an emergency landing.

For the next four weeks, nothing changed in Fred's and Hilde's lives. Fred flew to Berlin every morning. The increasing darkness of autumn now meant take-offs before dawn and landings on the Havel just as the sun was rising in the east. Hilde continued supplying the morning flight crews as usual.

By mid-November, the weather changed. It became colder, but above all calm and foggy. Aircraft that didn't have the most modern radar equipment on board could no longer land safely at Tempelhof or Gatow. Consequently, the number of daily flights and transport capacity dropped dramatically. Half of the Sunderland flying boats were equipped with the latest instruments, allowing them to fly and land purely on instruments. Still, Fred's Sunderland landed hard on the water -- only spotting the surface from less than 50 meters up. In the cargo hold, a few sacks of salt burst open and scattered their contents. Not a major issue, as the flying boats were designed to handle corrosive substances like saltwater without damage. It just needed to be cleaned up. The bigger problem was navigating on the water after landing. That morning, they couldn't see the shore in any direction. Very slowly, the Sunderland crawled on compass bearings toward what they assumed was their usual anchorage -- until a barge suddenly loomed nearby, forcing an abrupt stop and worsening the chaos in the hold.

At last, they saw the red lights on the quay, manoeuvred the flying boat into position, and waited for the barges to unload the sacks of salt and yeast for bakeries and chemical sacks for the waterworks. Fred climbed from the cockpit into the hold to assess the mess and estimate how long unloading and clean-up would take. Halfway down, he slipped on the wet ladder with one foot, lost his grip, and crashed down to the floor of the hold. A stabbing pain shot through his left lower leg, and he cried out so loudly that both his co-pilot and navigator rushed to his side.

Fred lay curled on the floor, clutching his left leg. Tears ran down his pain-wracked face. "My leg! I think I broke my leg!" he gasped out, wincing and crying out again at the first touch from his crewmates.

"I'm calling for medics via the tower," said Harry, climbing back into the cockpit to do so. Meanwhile, the first barge had docked, and the navigator opened the main hatch. Hilde had already come over on this barge and now knelt beside her beloved pilot, comforting him. Moments later, two RAF medics who had driven to the pier in a small truck arrived, crossed to the flying boat, and examined Fred as best they could.

"I suspect a fracture of the tibia and fibula in the left lower leg," diagnosed the medic sergeant after a preliminary check. "We'll splint it and get you ashore," he told Fred. Hilde continued kneeling by Fred's side, stroking his head as the medics applied a splint professionally. Then they helped Fred to his feet -- he leaned on their shoulders, hobbling on one leg toward the hatch, groaning in pain as he squeezed through to the barge outside. A few minutes later, the medics had him on a stretcher and loaded into their medical truck.

"Where do you take the injured Flight Lieutenant?" Hilde asked the driver before he got behind the wheel.

"Straight to the military hospital on Kladower Damm. The leg definitely needs X-rays before the staff doctors decide on further treatment." Then he drove off.

After finishing her morning shift, Hilde got on her bicycle and rode to the British military hospital to check on Fred's condition. To her surprise, she learned at the front desk that he had already been assigned a room.

"Is it possible to visit Flight Lieutenant Miller? I take care of him and his crew daily and witnessed the accident."

The duty guard examined Hilde's service ID from Gatow Air Base and nodded. "Room 304. Second floor."

Moments later, Hilde stood at Fred's bedside. Two other beds in the room were occupied by wounded soldiers; the fourth was empty. Hilde didn't dare to greet Fred with more than a handshake and a symbolic air kiss, but she could see how happy he was to see her.

"How are you? What did the doctors say?"

Fred gave a weak grin and shrugged. "How do you think? Not so great. Clean fracture of the tibia and fibula, about a hand's width above the ankle. No open wound, though, so they're hopeful it'll heal without surgery. It's all in a cast now." He pulled back the blanket so Hilde could see the plaster cast, which extended from above the knee to past the ankle.

"How long will it take?"

"If all goes well, six weeks. After three to four weeks, they'll cut this cast open and X-ray it again. If everything looks good, I'll get a walking cast and can move around on crutches."

"And you'll stay here that whole time?"

"At least until I get the walking cast."

"Good," Hilde said firmly. "I'll come to visit you every day. And if you need anything, you must tell me."

Fred beamed at her and clasped her right hand with both of his. "You're so good to me, Hilde. I'm so lucky to have you."

The following afternoon, Hilde returned with some updates. "Your plane was flown home yesterday afternoon by a flight officer who had come from Hamburg as a passenger."

"Good that the fat girl's flying again. The city needs every ton of cargo."

Hilde gave a faint smile. "That's the problem. Since last night, the fog over Berlin has got so thick that operations at RAF Gatow are almost entirely shut down. The flying boats aren't flying at all. Visibility is less than 50 meters. Tempelhof is reportedly at a standstill too."

"Oh my God." Fred's brow furrowed with worry. "The city needs our transports every day!"

"But nothing's moving. The tower at Gatow can't even see the tarmac, let alone the runways."

"Phew." Fred looked at his beloved, questioning. "So now what?"

"We'll get through it. The fog can't last forever."

Hilde's optimism was a bit like whistling in the dark. The thick fog that had almost completely halted the airlift lasted an incredible eleven days and didn't lift until December 6th.

Fred looked forward to Hilde's visit every day -- it was, so to speak, the highlight of an otherwise incredibly boring and slow-moving day. He wasn't sick, just "injured." On two consecutive afternoons, he and Hilde were lucky: they were alone in Fred's hospital room during her visit.

"May I help you relax a little?" Hilde asked with a knowing grin. Before Fred even understood what she meant, her right hand had already slipped under his blanket and into his very loose underwear, firmly grasping the target of her relaxation treatment.

Fred leaned back with a sigh and closed his eyes. "Nothing I'd like more."

"How long is your roommate gone?"

"Probably another hour. He's getting his discharge exam. That usually takes a while."

"Good!" Hilde continued with unrelenting enthusiasm. The result of her manual treatment was quickly becoming noticeable -- within minutes, Fred was on the verge of exploding. "Now?" Hilde asked clearly.

"Oh yes, definitely!" Fred moaned in pleasure.

Moving her other hand quickly, Hilde lifted the bedsheet, pulled Fred's underpants down and put her open mouth over his already convulsing cock. Just in time, Fred exploded with full power and only his cast stopped him to lift his bottom from the bed and to penetrate Hilde's throat even deeper. With all her experience Hilde took care that not one splash was missing its target. Fred's bed stayed clean.

One minute later she released his shrinking manhood from her mouth, looked at him provokingly and licked with her tongue tip around her lips. "I love your cream, my love," she smiled. "Again, and again. Anywhere we are."

Fred reached out his arms to her, hugged her, and kissed her all over her face. Her mouth still had a lingering taste of his own semen, but that didn't bother him. Hilde was simply a horny lover.

A day later, they repeated the game even more intensely. Fred was now officially alone in the four-bed hospital room, and during visiting hours they were completely undisturbed. But that opportunity ended that same evening, when two ground soldiers from the airbase were admitted. They had crashed their jeep in the thick fog and suffered multiple fractures, bruises, and other serious injuries.

On the evening of St. Nicholas Day, a cold front from the west finally pushed through and blew away the thick Berlin fog. That night, full flight operations resumed at the West Berlin airports and the water airport on the Havel. The next day, Fred's first cast was cut open. After reviewing the new X-rays, the doctors were satisfied with the healing progress and put his already significantly atrophied left leg into a walking cast, so that he could at least move around again with the help of two crutches.

One day later, Flight Lieutenant Fred Miller reported to the office of the RAF Gatow commander, Group Captain Sir William Boston. "I certainly won't be able to fly again for weeks," Fred explained, "but I think that with my many years of experience on land and water, I can still be of use, even with a cast, sir," he offered as his reasoning.

The Group Captain was visibly pleased with Fred's return to duty. "You couldn't have come at a better time, Flight Lieutenant," he said with approval. "The officer responsible for winter operations on the airbase had a jeep accident a few days ago. I urgently need a replacement officer to take over his duties."

"I know, Group Captain. Lieutenant Cane is now in my hospital room."

"Then you know the case. So, I need an officer who can organize snow clearing and salting operations for the onset of winter and deploy the soldiers under his command effectively. Do you think you're up to the task?"

Fred smiled. "As long as I don't have to shovel snow myself, it should work, sir."

"Very good. I'll have one of your sergeants come right away to show you the way and brief you on your duties." He looked out the window of his office toward the airfield. "You might be getting a lot of work very quickly."

Fred quickly learned that he had a mixed team of British RAF ground troops and German civilian workers at his disposal, along with a collection of vehicles and special equipment added to standard army vehicles. "The hardest thing here in Gatow is snowdrifts," Sergeant Gibson explained, based on his experience from the previous year.

"We're practically unprotected from both west and east winds. That means we can't just pile up large amounts of snow at the edge of the runway or airfield -- we really have to haul it away. Otherwise, we end up blowing the freshly cleared snow right back onto ourselves." Fred understood.

"Did we experience any problems due to ice last winter?" he asked, remembering the conditions in northern Scotland during the war, where the salty Atlantic remained open, but everything on land was frozen solid.

"Not too bad. The only real restriction due to ice that I expect affects the Sunderland flying boats. Once ice forms or the river starts to freeze over on the Havel, they'll definitely be grounded. There's nothing we can do about that."

Fred nodded in agreement. Nothing was more dangerous for the large flying boats than solid, floating debris in the water, like ice floes or large driftwood.

Fred, his fellow airmen, and the Berlin population dependent on air supply would be fortunate during the winter months. The extremely harsh winters of 1945/46 and 1946/47 did not repeat. On the contrary, although ice did form on the Havel after Christmas, making further use of the flying boats impossible, the winter was comparatively mild with relatively little snowfall.

For Christmas, Fred was invited for the first time to the small apartment shared by Hilde and her friend Inge. That's when he also met Hilde's four-year-old daughter Martha for the first time -- a girl he had been supplying with small chocolate bars from his own ration over the past few weeks.

"Are you the chocolate pilot?" the light-blonde girl with two cheerfully braided pigtails asked cheekily. When Fred nodded yes, Martha curtsied before him and held out her hand again. "I just want to say a big thank you for the chocolate that Mama kept bringing home from you. I love chocolate, and I made it last as long as possible by saving every little bit."

Fred's knowledge of German language was still rudimentary, but he had understood Martha's joy and thanks.

Late in the evening, Fred had to return to his accommodation at the airbase. Hilde and Inge's apartment had exactly two beds, in which the women each slept with their children. There simply was no room for an adult man with a walking cast.

"The time will come when we can go to bed together like a normal couple," Hilde assured him as they said goodbye. "I truly believe that."

They stood in a long, tight embrace at the front door until the taxi driver honked impatiently. He didn't want to wait any longer for this lucrative fare paid in hard currency.

Whether with a walking cast or, as of early January, with just a spindly, fragile lower left leg and crutches, Fred Miller proved himself to be such an effective and successful organizer of winter services at RAF Gatow that Group Captain Boston summoned him to his office in mid-February.

"You're doing a good job," the Group Captain began. "It's encouraging to see that we've only had minor interruptions to air traffic due to winter so far."

Fred thanked him for the praise. "Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do about the ice on the Havel River. I do miss the Sunderlands a bit."

Group Captain Boston laughed heartily.

"How long did you fly seaplanes, Flight Lieutenant?"

"Ten years, Sir. Catalinas and Sunderlands."

"Do you want to return to the cockpit once your leg is fully healed?"

Fred shrugged slightly.

"That's been my post all these years, Sir. Many, many miles alone over the world's oceans. And now a blockade-runner helping to supply over two million people."

"And none of us know how long the Soviets plan to keep playing their game." The Group Captain sounded resolute. "But we're proving to the Red Army and their masters in Moscow that we won't be scared off. At this point, we manage the airlift so well that we could keep it going for another year or more, if necessary."

"I agree, Sir."

"Good, Flight Lieutenant Miller. That's why I've called you in." The Group Captain and base commander took a deep breath. "I like the work you're doing here, and I'd like to keep you on longer. We don't know how many months this airlift will continue. But we do know that even after it ends, the RAF will operate a large and capable airport at Gatow -- likely for many years, perhaps decades. And to achieve that, the RAF needs its best seaplane squadron to RAF Gatow."

"That would mean permanently relocating my duty and residence to West Berlin?" Fred asked cautiously.

"Exactly. We'll assign you housing appropriate to your rank and position in our housing estate. Mostly new buildings, in good condition."

Fred raised his eyebrows.

"An apartment of my own -- in Berlin!" he murmured to himself. His thoughts raced to his beloved. "Thank you for your encouragement and the offer, Sir. I just have one question: would it be possible for me to complete my required annual flight hours to maintain my pilot's licence?"

"That can certainly be arranged. There are a number of RAF officers here who do exactly that." He grinned at Fred. "Including myself."

"I'll think about the transfer request during lunchtime and let you know this afternoon," Fred said with a military salute as he left the commander. Then he went out to the airfield, gave a few orders to his ground crew due to the falling sleet, stood under a canopy for shelter, and breathed in the damp, cool air of the late February morning.

"Not flying every day anymore?" he murmured repeatedly to himself with raised eyebrows, his gaze drifting across the airfield toward the runway, where a chain-link and barbed-wire fence marked the border with the Soviet Occupation Zone. "And living here in West Berlin?"

He had spent a good half hour in internal debate before deciding to discuss the Group Captain's offer with Hilde. His beloved came to his office every afternoon after her shift ended -- the office was just a few steps from the canteen.

"I'm curious to hear what Hilde will say," Fred said to himself as he headed back to his office. Suddenly inspired, he picked up the cane that had now replaced his crutch and walked the last few steps without any support.

"There we go!" he praised himself. "In a few weeks, I'll be completely healed."

Hilde reacted to Fred's news with barely concealed joy.

"You're staying in Berlin?! For good?" she squealed. Then she couldn't hold back, walked around his desk, and hugged and kissed Fred. "You couldn't have told me anything more wonderful!"

"Maybe I could," Fred grinned. "Here's the cherry on top. The Group Captain told me I'll be assigned an officer's apartment in the newly built RAF and Army housing estate. 'According to rank and function' were his exact words." Fred slapped his thighs with both palms. "I'll write my transfer request this afternoon and submit it to the office. Then I'll head to Administration and get the details on the apartment offer."

Hilde's eyes welled up with happy tears. She hugged Fred again, then moved back around the desk. She didn't want to be caught in a compromising position by a soldier suddenly walking in -- that could lead to awkward questions at the wrong time.

That evening, Fred went to Hilde and Inge's cramped emergency apartment in Spandau. "I submitted my transfer request to the Group Captain's office," he reported. "I expect it'll be answered this week, and I'll be reassigned soon."

Hilde clapped her hands in delight. Martha and Inge's two children followed suit, even if they didn't quite understand why.

"Did you already speak to Administration?"

"Yes. As an unmarried Flight Lieutenant, I'm entitled to a two-and-a-half-room apartment -- fully or partially furnished, or empty if I prefer. If I were married and had a family living with me in West Berlin, I'd be entitled to a three-and-a-half to four-room apartment."

Hilde and Fred exchanged a brief but intense look. Through unspoken communication, it was clear what each was thinking. But the presence of the three children prevented any further discussion. Fred, however, clearly noticed Hilde's reaction. She nodded -- barely noticeably, but unmistakably.

Three weeks later, Fred received the keys to his fully furnished apartment. After her shift, Hilde stayed an hour longer at the base, and then they rode their bikes together to Fred's new home.

"A real apartment," Hilde remarked as soon as she had seen it all. "In this still so-destroyed Berlin, this is an absolute treasure. And for one person!"

Fred just nodded -- but then caught Hilde off guard. He suddenly dropped to one knee, reached into his uniform pocket, and pulled out a small case, which he opened. Then he took Hilde's hand and looked up into her wide, expectant eyes.

"Hildegard Müller, after all the events that have turned our lives upside down, I hope this is the beginning of our future together. Will you be my wife -- and at the same time accept me as the stepfather of your dear Martha?"

Tears immediately welled up in Hilde's eyes, her lips trembled with excitement, and she had to take a deep breath. Then she beamed like sunlight breaking through thick, dark clouds.

"Yes, Fred. There's nothing I want more."

Still kneeling, Fred took the golden diamond ring from the case.

"Wait!" said Hilde suddenly. She put the ring finger of her right hand into her mouth to moisten it, then slipped off her wedding ring, which she had worn unchanged all those years. "I know I've been a widow for years, even if I still don't have a death certificate. But as a widow, I'm more than happy to get engaged again -- with a perfectly clear conscience."

She extended her left hand to Fred and let him slip on the engagement ring. Then she pulled him up by the armpits, embraced him, and fell into a long, intimate kiss.

"We have a bed here -- and no onlookers," Fred whispered suddenly in her ear.

Hilde laughed out loud and giggled like a teenager.

"Nothing I'd love more. Finally!"

The mutual striptease was sensual, yet highly arousing. Once they were both finally naked, they impulsively pushed the still unpacked bedding onto the floor and claimed Fred's new bed. Hilde was already treating Fred's manhood with her well-practiced hand and mouth skills.

"Have you ever done 69 with a woman?" she asked her freshly engaged fiancé bluntly and was met with a puzzled response.

"What?"

"69. Which means that I love and caress your cock with my mouth, throat and my hands. But you do in the same moment the same with my pussy because I will place my private sanctuary in cowgirl position on your mouth."

"No," was Fred's simple answer. "I've never done this. But you are more than welcomed."

A few seconds later, Hilde had moved into the right position. Fred and she started her "love battle" and pushed their partner reciprocal over the wet and nippy climax cliff. After some cuddling, they started a second round, this time with a long lasting and increasingly fierce Doggy-Style-Fuck; Hilde countered each push of her lover with full power so that she and Fred crashed into each other. Both lovers got louder, continuously louder. "We don't have to hold us back," moaned Hilde after some while. "And I love to become loud, if it is so good as it is." Hilde cried for joy as she exploded finally a second time."

Yes, there is nothing more beautiful than focusing entirely on you. I've forgotten the whole wild world around us."

Hilde laughed at Fred. "Better wild Hilde than a wild world, right?"

"Exactly. Much, much better."

In the following weeks, Hilde and Fred repeated their late afternoons at his apartment, at least as long as Inge was able to look after the three children before her evening shifts at the bar. The main problem with their engagement was a bureaucratic one: in order to even think about remarrying, Hilde first had to have her husband, who was missing in Russia, officially declared dead. "I need the death certificate of my first husband," she explained to Fred, "both under German and British law. And the registry office in Spandau can't even begin to tell me how long that will take, given the current circumstances of the blockade. But I've now officially filed the application to have him declared dead."

Fred could tell how difficult this step had been for Hilde and took her into his arms.

"I've actually been sure for a long time that he fell in the war. But the document will officially make Martha a half-orphan. Even though she has no memory of her father."

"I will be the best stepfather in the world for her," Fred promised. He held back the rest of what he wanted to say, sensing it wasn't the right moment. But he had already decided, even before proposing to Hilde, that at the right time, he would adopt his future stepdaughter and give her equal status to that of a biological daughter.

On May 12th, 1949, the Soviet Union and the East Berlin administration under Soviet control admitted that their attempt to force the Western Allies out of West Berlin had failed. The airlift continued on a reduced scale until the end of September, after which somewhat normal flight operations resumed at RAF Gatow. However, unlike before the blockade, regular civilian flights did not resume at Gatow. BEA, the authorized British civil airline, along with PanAm and Air France, used the larger airport in Berlin-Tempelhof for their scheduled flights.

The wedding between Flight Lieutenant Fred Miller and Hildegard Müller was delayed until the spring of 1950, due to the waiting period for the issuance of Karl Müller's death certificate. On a wonderfully sunny and warm May day, Fred and a now visibly pregnant Hilde were married in the presence of a small wedding party consisting of uniformed RAF comrades and Hilde's small, almost exclusively female circle of friends. Fred's best man was his long-time co-pilot Harry MacIntosh, who had since left the RAF and was now flying regularly to Berlin as a civilian pilot for BEA. At Hilde's side stood her long-time friend Inge, her roommate during the most difficult postwar times and also a young war widow. The wedding celebration in a beautifully located restaurant by Lake Kladow would ultimately also mark the end of Inge's widowhood. Six months later, she too married an RAF officer whom she had met at Fred and Hilde's wedding.

Epilogue:

Fred Miller spent the remainder of his active career at RAF Gatow. Five years after the end of the Berlin Airlift, following two training courses at the RAF College in Cranwell, he assumed overall responsibility for ground operations at RAF Gatow as a Squadron Leader.

Martha Miller, who was officially adopted by her stepfather at the same time, was raised fully bilingual -- like her two half-siblings -- due to an agreement between Fred and Hilde. According to her English teacher, when she started school at the Lily-Braun-Oberschule in Spandau (which functioned as a girls' grammar school), she spoke better English than the teacher herself.

After Fred's promotion, which corresponded to the rank of Major, he and Hildegard Miller built a single-family home near Lake Kladow, where their three children grew up. They remained in Berlin even after Fred's retirement. On November 9 th, 1989, when the barriers between the two divided parts of Berlin -- and then the entire Wall -- fell, they too went to the Tiergarten and walked along the Straße des 17. Juni toward the Brandenburg Gate. Amidst the jubilant crowds, the 73-year-old retired RAF officer embraced his wife and whispered in her ear through the deafening noise and celebration:

"Our mission is successfully completed. We can close RAF Gatow."

Four years later, his prophecy would come true.