Read The Good German for Free Online Page B

Military Government reports in to Ike. Technically, to the Allied Control Council. That’s Ike, Ismay, and Zhukov. We’re USGCC, U.S. Group, Control Council.”
    He was drawing boxes on the paper, an organization chart.
    “Control Council’s the final authority for the country, at least for the sign-off, but the real work’s here, in the Coordinating Committee. That’s Clay, as Ike’s deputy, and the other Allied deputies. Under Clay you’ve got your executive staff line, like Colonel Muller here,” he said, turning to Judge Hardy, who nodded.
    “Nice to put a face on a box,” Breimer said eagerly, but Ron was already moving down the sheet.
    “Then the functional offices—Political Affairs, Intelligence, Information Control, and so on.”
    Jake watched the lines and boxes spread across the bottom of the page, a kind of bureaucratic family tree.
    “The functional divisions down here are the ones that work with the Germans—Transport, Manpower, Legal, and so on.”
    Breimer was studying the chart with care, familiar with the world as a pyramid of boxes. “Where does Frankfurt come in?”
    “Well, that’s USFET, G-5, civil affairs.”
    <>“USFET. The army’s got more damned alphabet soup than the New Deal,” Breimer said, evidently his idea of a joke, because he looked up. Ron smiled obligingly.
    “In other words, overlap,” Breimer said.
    Ron smiled again. “That I couldn’t say.”
    “No, you don’t have to.” He shook his head. “If we ran a business this way, we’d never make any money.”
    “We’re not here to make money,” Muller said quietly.
    “No, to spend it,” Breimer said, but pleasantly. “From the looks of things, we’ve got a whole country on relief and the American taxpayer footing the bill. Some peace.”
    “We can’t let them starve.”
    “Nobody’s starving that I can see.”
    <>Muller turned to face him, his expression grave and kindly, Judge Hardy lecturing Andy. “The official ration is fifteen hundred calories a day. In practice, it’s closer to twelve hundred, sometimes lower. That’s only a little better than the camps. They’re starving.” His voice, as precise and rational as one of Ron’s boxes, stopped Breimer short. “Unless they work for us,” he went on calmly. “Then they get a hot meal every day and all the cigarette butts they can scrounge.” He paused. “They’re the ones you see.” Jake glanced over at the serving man, quietly removing plates, and noticed for the first time his thin neck bobbing in its oversized collar.
    “Nobody wants anybody to starve,” Breimer said. “I’m not a hard peace man. That’s that nut Morgenthau in Treasury.” He glanced over at Tommy. “One of your trust-busters, by the way. Wants to make ‘em all farmers, take the whole damn thing apart. Dumbest thing I ever heard. Of course, those people have their own agenda.”
    “What people?” Tommy said, but Breimer ignored him, sweeping along.
    “I’m a realist. What we need to do is get this country back on its feet again, not put ‘em on relief. Now, I’m not saying you people aren’t doing a fine job here.” This to Muller, who nodded dutifully. “I’ve been in Germany two weeks and I can tell you I’ve never been prouder to be an American. The things I’ve seen— But hell, look at this.” He pointed to the chart. “You can’t do much when you’re spread this thin on the ground. One group here, another in Frankfurt—”
    “I believe it’s General Clay’s intention to combine the organizations,” Ron said.
    “Good,” Breimer said, annoyed at being interrupted. “That’s a start. And here’s a whole other group just for Berlin.”
    “Well, you know, the city’s jointly administered, so there’s no way around that,” Ron said, still on his chart. “The Coordinating Committee set up the Kommandatura to deal with Berlin. That’s Howley—we see him tomorrow after Clay.”
    “Kommandatura,” Breimer said. “That the Russian