International: Operation Pullback

Between the Baltic Sea and the Bavarian Alps, the U.S., Britain and France have a string of air bases equal to any in the world. Inherited from the Nazis, the accommodations at these bases reflect the care that Hermann Goring lavished on his pet Luftwaffe. Runways (extended by the jet-flying allies) are long and smooth, operations buildings snugly efficient, living quarters furnished down to the last monogrammed china dinner service.* Only snag about the old German system of air bases: it faces the wrong way. The best of the fields, i.e., those in the Reich's rear areas, have two irremediable defects: 1) they are uncomfortably close to the Iron Curtain—many of them less than ten minutes by jet; 2) their supply lines run back eastward toward Soviet Germany. "The U.S. Air Force in Germany," cracked a U.S. staff officer after the fields had been taken over, "is ideally deployed to fight France."

New Frontier. The only solution was to pull back from Göring's finest bases to safer territory on the west bank of the Rhine, far enough away from the Iron Curtain to give allied planes a chance to get into the air before being overrun by Russian Panzers. Slowly, painfully slowly, NATO began building a brand-new air frontier, 100 to 250 miles farther back, in France and the Low Countries.

To pay for the new bases, NATO has already put up $750 million (the U.S. share: about 40%) and laid down plans for "standard bases," designed to suit the operational requirements of all participating air forces. Specifications for the standard fields: 8,000-ft. runways (a compromise between the U.S.A.F.'s demand for 9,000 ft. and the R.A.F.'s insistence that 6,000 ft. is plenty); standardized lighting, storage and fueling facilities. Beyond these bare essentials, each air force builds its own barracks, canteens and bowling alleys—at its own expense. To get a standard airfield ready for occupation by Americans, the U.S. shells out an extra $12 to $18 million.

There were endless delays. French peasants refused to part with their land; wasteful engineering, hurry-up construction and sloppy workmanship resulted in lumpy, sagging runways that chipped under the weight of taxiing aircraft. Yet, one by one, good serviceable runways are being finished. Last week in the vital Central European Tactical Zone (see map), there were three times as many 8,000-ft. runways as there were a year ago. By the end of 1952, 60 big bases will be combat-ready.

Buildup. In France to investigate Washington reports of "slow progress, bad conditions and bottlenecks," General Hoyt S. Vandenberg, U.S.A.F. Chief of Staff, found his crews living in damp, crowded tents, tramping across muddy fields to exhume crates of spare parts stacked in the open for lack of hangar space. Ground controllers still radio instructions to hovering planes from the backs of olivedrab trucks, parked near the runways. At the 48th Fighter Bomber's bleak, bare base at Chaumont, the Chief of Staff saw

G.I.s, muffled in parkas, working in a slashing downpour to convert their flapping tents into wooden hutments.

Conditions are improving, and U.S. General Lauris Norstad, NATO air commander in Central Europe, promised to have every one of his men in warm hutments before winter sets in. Impressed after five days' touring, Hoyt Vandenberg reported morale "damned good."