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guerra con drones utilizadas, Apuntes de Derecho Procesal Civil

Guerra utilizando drones como arma principal

Tipo: Apuntes

2019/2020

Subido el 27/08/2023

maria-jesus-ruf
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2 documentos

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Why the Border Guards
Defect
BY MICHAEL MARAMore than one thousand East
Berlin border guards have defected to the West
since the Wall went up in August of 1961. One of
them is the author of this article,MICHAEL MARA,
a twenty-four-year-old Berliner who,on Christmas
Eve of 1961,escaped to the West.
ByMichael Mara
DECEMBER 1963 ISSUE
SHORTLY after our arrival at the Twelfth Border
Company at Drewitz it was impressed upon us that we
must expect to be the target of provocative acts from
the West side. There would be Americans in
Steinstücken who would throw stones at us to provoke
us into shooting at them. We were warned that the
West Berlin police in the Kohlhasenbrück area were
controlled by an American spy ring and that they would
try to bribe us with cigarettes and liquor.
My first impression of the border was the barbedwire
barrier around Steinstücken, “Over there,” said my
patrol leader, pointing to a bar, “that’s where we used
to get Western cigarettes. That’s all finished now.” He
was in a nasty mood. “Just had a letter from my girl,” he
went on. “She’s running out on me. Her mother told her
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Why the Border Guards

Defect

BY MICHAEL MARA More than one thousand East

Berlin border guards have defected to the West

since the Wall went up in August of 1961. One of

them is the author of this article , MICHAEL MARA,

a twenty-four-year-old Berliner who , on Christmas

Eve of 1961 , escaped to the West.

By Michael Mara

DECEMBER 1963 ISSUE SHORTLY after our arrival at the Twelfth Border Company at Drewitz it was impressed upon us that we must expect to be the target of provocative acts from the West side. There would be Americans in Steinstücken who would throw stones at us to provoke us into shooting at them. We were warned that the West Berlin police in the Kohlhasenbrück area were controlled by an American spy ring and that they would try to bribe us with cigarettes and liquor. My first impression of the border was the barbedwire barrier around Steinstücken, “Over there,” said my patrol leader, pointing to a bar, “that’s where we used to get Western cigarettes. That’s all finished now.” He was in a nasty mood. “Just had a letter from my girl,” he went on. “She’s running out on me. Her mother told her

to find someone who isn’t on the border. The old cow ought to be in jail.” View This Story as a PDF See this story as it appeared in the pages of The Atlantic magazine. Open It was a dark, peaceful morning, the air damp with rain. The strands of barbed wire looked unreal, like ornamental scrolls decorated with crystals, and the smoothly raked death strip reminded me of the cinder track in an athletic stadium. I just couldn’t grasp the truth of the situation — until I saw the first prisoners, those who had sought to cross the Wall. They were led away by Corporal Roselle and the other members of his patrol. They Were forced to line up against the barrack wall and put their hands behind their necks. A few days earlier I had seen a similar picture in Neues Deutschland: it was of partisans captured during the Second World War. I stood on guard at the entrance to the enclave of Steinstücken. My orders were to take the names and addresses of all persons coming in and out and to pass this information on to my patrol leader, who stood next to me. The first car drove up — a small blue one. The driver held up his identity card against the window briefly and got ready to move on.

Next, I patrolled a section which included the Breitscheidestrasse. The broad high barbed-wire barrier stretched straight across the Villenstrasse, separating us from the West Berlin side. The people living in the comfortable houses on the West side, and those who were visiting there, often used to stand and look along the street into the East sector. Out of one of these houses came a man with two young and elegantly dressed ladies. “Look, there are two of them,” said the girl who was wearing a fur coat. It was as though she had said, “Look, there are two rabbits.” My patrol leader and I stood touching the barbed wire, on the same sidewalk with the people who were looking at us. We remained motionless. The man eyed us critically. He shouted across to us, “One of your gang shot another refugee trying to escape across the Spree!” “That’s enough,” said the younger girl. Then the three of them got into a car, and before the younger girl disappeared inside, she waved to me. A pain shot through my heart. Did those people on the other side really know what their freedom meant?