National Affairs: No Land of Saints

On Bahnstrasse, on the edge of Berlin's U.S. sector, is a small restaurant named Rodestock's. One evening last week, while a score of Germans sat around drinking Rodestock's watery beer, three smartly dressed U.S. paratroopers, white gloves folded under their shoulder straps, strode in and sat down. But only for a moment. Suddenly they were on their feet, with guns drawn. Rodestock's terrified patrons backed against the wall. Swiftly the soldiers frisked them, gathered up watches, cheap jewelry and a few thousand marks. They emptied the cash register and locked Rodestock's patrons in a back room. Outside, they climbed into two...

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