Maung Myint Kywe - Snake Snake Chin Kaem Myin

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Berlin

(1945) May (14)

By the time the speeches began, Brigadier General Robinson Campion Jr. was drunk. He didn’t slur his words. He didn’t sway. He didn’t look drunk at all. But all the reporters at the press table and those who knew him well could see the signs of his drunkenness. The big, buffalo-like shoulders, the drooping eyelids over his blue eyes, the mumbling that was audible to everyone, were as clear to those who knew him as a pediatrician would see a child about to have measles. And there was also the potential for Brigadier General Campion to become a mess when he was drunk. So they didn’t look at anyone else but Brigadier General Campion.

That day, the Allied forces held a joint parade. All the Allied battalions marched in formation through the ruined streets of Berlin. The Allied commander also marched with them.

The highest level of concessions was made to allow for this. A large number of senior military officers also came to sit on the General's podium. These dignitaries delivered speeches at a dinner held at the American headquarters that evening.

Some Russian generals attended today's parade, and it's clear they recognized Campion. It was easy to recognize him. Four rows of medals were pinned to his tightly-stitched combat jacket. Five overseas service ribbons on his left sleeve, and four World War I medals on those ribbons, the bright shoulder insignia of the Ninth Army tucked into his shiny boots, his riding breeches, a silver-plated .45 revolver on his right and a Smith & Wesson .375 Magnum revolver on his left, and the three stars on his polished helmet made Campion stand out in this ceremony, which was so full of high-ranking officers.

The Russians also wanted to be friends with Campion. However, Campion treated them with a stern face.

Yet in the large dining room, the Russian officers, smiling and raising their glasses to greet him, seemed to drink more and more, and their mouths were slurping. Everywhere you looked, you could see only high-ranking military officers. The tables were arranged in the shape of the letter E, and the famous people were seated at the long table at the top, the backbone of the E. The high-ranking officers believed that such dinners would improve relations between the victorious allies. The press was always invited to these events, and they were accustomed to good food and drink, so they attended. Roosevelt, Churchill, and Stalin had drawn up new divisions for Europe the previous February, and were now planning to divide Berlin into four parts. The issue was a headache for senior officers. Journalists knew that Campion did not accept the Yalta agreement. He even said once or twice that the American army should continue to advance all the way from Berlin to Moscow, since the Americans would sooner or later face the Russians.

I have said so. So, observing Campion drinking heavily, the sweat dripping from the upper lip of Campion's personal aide, Lieutenant Colonel James Hansel French, and the uneasy expression on the face of the British officer to Campion's right,

They are watching. These people are not pessimists. But now that World War II is over, the main thing is to get good news. Anything that is done in the campaign is likely to be good news.

James (Jim) French sat slouched in his chair, not drinking the glass of wine in front of him, watching the reporters watch Campion. He had already been outside the building once. He had ordered Campion’s driver, Sergeant Bob Howard, to be ready to drive off as soon as he gave the signal. Howard was standing in the doorway, and French was looking toward him. Howard nodded slowly. Thank God, things were still going well. After five years of watching his friends and his enemies drink and die, French had stopped praying to God. He had become immoral. But tonight, he whispered, "I pray that Brigadier General Campion will not be disgraced." He had seen the Allied commanders flay Campion for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong people. He didn't want to see that again. Campion was now at odds with Eisenhower, and if he said the wrong thing again, he would be severely punished. When the war was over, everything had become "political." Campion, who was in the political arena, was not suited to the situation.

The general in Eisenhower's office stood up and knocked his glass with a knife to silence everyone. When the noise had subsided to a whisper, he asked the British general, who was sitting in the middle of the top table, to give a speech. As General Sir Anthony Sheppard stood up, everyone applauded. The British officers shouted their voices until they were hoarse. General Sharpe, speaking in a nasal voice that was not too low and not too low, spoke of the hard work and bravery of the Allies in the Second World War, which made French, who was watching Campion, hear with a wheezing and aching ear. General Sir Anthony Sharpe became more and more enthusiastic as he spoke. Campion said something to a British officer on his left, and the man raised his head. The expression on the man's face was clearly displeased. French thought uneasily.

Lieutenant Colonel French looked over at the reporters who were pretending to copy General Sharpe's speech. He saw Sil Mauldin scribbling on his clipboard. Campion had complained to Eisenhower about Sil Mauldin's cartoons of soldiers. Sil Mauldin retaliated by drawing a very nasty cartoon of Campion. "Sil, don't look up," French pleaded.

General Sharpe was delivering a speech on the "spirit of cooperation and the battles in the Pacific." French, who had been listening intently to the generals' speeches, knew that the speech would not end well. He thought to himself, "Let's get this over with quickly." Campion

He poured brandy into a glass and drank it as if it were water. French shook his head. The man was a truly wonderful soldier. He was a great man, no doubt. Yet he was a strangely unpopular man among the higher-ups. Even though he had led the charge in North Africa and Sicily, and had penetrated so deeply into the heart of the Third Reich that he had won universal acclaim, and that no one in the entire American army had been more adept at war strategy than he, he was considered a disappointment and a nuisance to those who had the final say. He had been a man who could not be let go during the war, but now that the war was over, he had become a terrible burden.

French heard General Sharpe's increasingly clear tone and knew that the speech was coming to an end. It was obvious that they were getting bored with his speech, and some of the journalists were not listening to him at all.

They were talking openly to each other. "Well, we are looking forward to a happy future..."

The British general spoke in a voice that was so loud that it drowned out the whispering voices of the soldiers.

"I will drink a glass of wine and pray for the Soviet Army, which fought bravely against the Nazis in battle, destroyed the Nazi army, and then fought back until they reached the border."

He raised his glass, and the whole room rose to its feet, and they clinked their glasses with those of the men near them, and prayed in a low voice. The interpreters interpreted what General Sharpe had said. Here the Russian officers, all smiling, sprang from their seats, and clinked their glasses with General Sharpe's. Then they smiled and nodded at the tables in front of them, which were full of people. French, seeing Campion among the smiling faces and raised hands facing the top table, shouted. Campion remained seated in his chair, as if waiting to be pulled up. French, rising from his chair, signaled Sergeant Major Howard to drive the car to the gate and to get the engine ready. French is very careful.

He walked around the table and approached the commander behind him. However, before French could reach Campion, he saw the British officer on Campion's left bow his head and speak to him.

The British general said...

"You're not praying for the health of the Russians anymore, are you?"

"I never ask for a blessing."

Campion spoke again, his voice quieting down over the rattling noises in the room. The movement stopped in its tracks. All heads turned toward the top table. The sudden silence made Campion pause.

They heard every word that was said clearly.

"Tell those Russians that I'd rather cut my own throat than pray for their health, and that I think I'll have to fight them before I'm too old, and that I'll never drink for the people I'll fight alongside."

It was eerily quiet. French tried to sneak up on Campion without letting anyone know his movements. But he was worried that if he broke the tense situation, “there would be a commotion.” The interpreter, who had been speaking to Campion, turned pale and looked around for someone to help him. The person he was looking for was far away.

“Just tell him,” Campion shouted.

"This is an order.." "General"

The British general said, holding Campion's hand.

Campion brushed him off like a fly. Then he stood up, towering over the others. The interpreter, leaning close to the ear of a high-ranking Russian general, his barrel-shaped chest covered in badges, glared angrily at the Russians as he whispered. The Russian general's eyes widened, and for two heartbeats they stared at each other. Then the Russian general, tapping the table with his hand, said something to the interpreter in Russian. The interpreter nodded, then stood up, alertly, and said to Campion:

"The general said he had that opinion on you, anyway," Campion said, laughing before he could even stir his glass of wine.

He laughed, and a second later the Russian general laughed too. Their laughter had broken the tension, and everyone started laughing. "Oh my God... I think World War III has started," Frank heard a journalist say. "I think so too," thought French, as he crept up behind Campion.

French said with a straight face.

"Excuse me, sir, I'm outside the general's car."

Campion looked up at him with a stern look on his face. But French didn't back down.