* * *
That night, once they had set up camp, Armstrong commandeered a German motorcycle and sped back to Paris on a forty-eight-hour leave, arriving on Charlotte’s doorstep at seven the following morning.
When she was told by the concierge that there was a Lieutenant Armstrong asking to see her, Charlotte said that she didn’t know anyone by that name, assuming it was just another officer hoping to be shown round Paris. But when she saw who it was, she threw her arms around him, and they didn’t leave her room for the rest of the day and night. The concierge, despite being French, was shocked. “I realize there’s a war on,” she told her husband, “but they hadn’t even met before.”
When Dick left Charlotte to return to the front on Sunday evening, he told her that by the time he came back he would have taken Berlin, and then they would be married. He jumped on his motorcycle and rode away. She stood in her nightdress by the window of the little apartment and watched until he was out of sight. “Unless you are killed before Berlin falls, my darling.”
* * *
The King’s Own Regiment was among those selected for the advance on Hamburg, and Armstrong wanted to be the first officer to enter the city. After three days of fierce resistance, the city finally fell.
The following morning, Field Marshal Sir Bernard Montgomery entered the city and addressed the combined troops from the back of his jeep. He described the battle as decisive, and assured them it would not be long before the war was over and they would be going home. After they had cheered their commanding officer, he descended from his jeep and presented medals for bravery. Among those who were decorated with a Military Cross was Captain Richard Armstrong.
Two weeks later, the Germans’ unconditional surrender was signed by General Jodl and accepted by Eisenhower. The next day Captain Richard Armstrong MC was granted a week’s leave. Dick powered his motorcycle back to Paris, arriving at Charlotte’s old apartment building a few minutes before midnight. This time the concierge took him straight up to her room.
The following morning Charlotte, in a white suit, and Dick, in his dress uniform, walked to the local town hall. They emerged thirty minutes later as Captain and Mrs. Armstrong, the concierge having acted as witness. Most of the three-day honeymoon was spent in Charlotte’s little apartment. When Dick left her to return to his regiment, he told her that now the war was over he intended to leave the army, take her to England and build a great business empire.
* * *
“Do you have any plans now that the war is over, Dick?” asked Colonel Oakshott.
“Yes, sir. I intend to return to England and look for a job,” replied Armstrong.
Oakshott opened the buff file that lay on the desk in front of him. “It’s just that I might have something for you here in Berlin.”
“Doing what, sir?”
“High Command are looking for the right person to head up the PRISC, and I think you’re the ideal candidate for the position.”
“What in heaven’s name is…”
“The Public Relations and Information Services Control. The job might have been made for you. We’re looking for someone who can present Britain’s case persuasively, and at the same time make sure the press don’t keep getting the wrong end of the stick. Winning the war was one thing, but convincing the outside world that we’re treating the enemy even-handedly is proving far more difficult. The Americans, the Russians and the French will be appointing their own representatives, so we need someone who can keep an eye on them as well. You speak several languages and have all the qualifications the job requires. And let’s face it, Dick, you don’t have a family in England to rush back to.”
Armstrong nodded. After a few moments he said, “To quote Montgomery, what weapons are you giving me to carry out the job?”
“A newspaper,” said Oakshott. “Der Telegraf is one of the city’s dailies. It’s currently operated by a German called Arno Schultz. He never stops complaining that he can’t keep his presses rolling, he has constant worries about paper shortages, and the electricity is always being cut off. We want Der Telegraf on the streets every day, pumping out our view of things. I can’t think of anyone more likely to make sure that happens.”
“Der Telegraf isn’t the only paper in Berlin,” said Armstrong.
“No, it isn’t,” replied the colonel. “Another German is running Der Berliner out of the American sector—which is an added reason why Der Telegraf needs to be a success. At the moment Der Berliner is selling twice as many copies as Der Telegraf, a position which as you can imagine we’d like to see reversed.”
“And what sort of authority would I have?”
“You’d be given a free hand. You can set up your own office and staff it with as many people as you feel are necessary to do the job. There’s also a flat thrown in, which means that you could send for your wife.” Oakshott paused. “Perhaps you’d like a little time to think about it, Dick?”
“I don’t need time to think about it, sir.”
The colonel raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll be happy to take the job on.”
“Good man. Start by building up contacts. Get to know anyone who might be useful. If you come up against any problems, just tell whoever’s involved to get in touch with me. If you’re really stymied, the words ‘Allied Control Commission’ usually oil even the most immovable wheels.”
It took Captain Armstrong only a week to requisition the right offices in the heart of the British sector, partly because he used the words “Control Commission” in every other sentence. It took him a little longer to sign up a staff of eleven to manage the office, because all the best people were already working for the Commission. He began by poaching a Sally Carr, a general’s secretary who had worked for the Daily Chronicle in London before the war.
Once Sally had moved in, the office was up and running within days. Armstrong’s next coup came when he discovered that Lieutenant Wakeham was stationed in Berlin working on transport allocation: Sally told him that Wakeham was bored out of his mind filling out travel documents. Armstrong invited him to be his second in command, and to his surprise his former superior officer happily accepted. It took some days to get used to calling him Peter.
Armstrong completed his team with a sergeant, a couple of corporals and half a dozen privates from the King’s Own who had the one qualification he required. They were all former barrow boys from the East End of London. He selected the sharpest of them, Private Reg Benson, to be his driver. His next move was to requisition an apartment in Paulstrasse that had previously been occupied by a brigadier who was returning to England. Once the colonel had signed the necessary papers, Armstrong told Sally to send a telegram to Charlotte in Paris.