BERLIN ONE LAST RUN HANS WEIDNER HAD BEEN HOPING FOR MONTHS TO 
ESCAPE DRAB EAST GERMANY AND MAKE HIS WAY TO THE WEST 
. THE ODDS WERE AGAINST HIM, FOR WEIDNER, 40, WAS A 
CRIPPLE ON CRUTCHES WHO LIVED IN THE VILLAGE OF NEUGERSDORF, 115 
MILES SOUTHEAST OF THE FRONTIER OF FREEDOM BUT HANS WEIDNER DID 
HAVE ONE MAJOR ASSET, THE BUS THAT HE OPERATED FOR THE 
LOCAL COMMUNIST REGIME . IT WAS AN UGLY THING, AND ANCIENT 
. ITS CHASSIS CREAKED, AND THE ENGINE COUGHED ; A CREAM-COLORED 
COAT OF PAINT COULD NOT DISGUISE THE WELTS AND BRUISES OF 
TWO DECADES OF CHUGGING SERVICE . IN FACT, THE BUS WAS 
READY FOR THE JUNK PILE WHEN WEIDNER DECIDED TO PRESS IT 
INTO SERVICE FOR ONE LAST RUN . SHARP BLADES . THE 
HAZARDS WOULD BE GREAT ON THE JOURNEY TO THE BORDER ; 
SO WEIDNER SIGNED UP A FELLOW VILLAGER, JURGEN WAGNER, 22, TO 
TAKE THE WHEEL . EIGHT DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, THE PAIR BEGAN 
THE FEVERISH PREPARATIONS IN WEIDNER'S GARAGE . FIRST WEIDNER AND WAGNER 
ATTACHED A HEAVY SNOWPLOW TO THE FRONT OF THE BUS, NOT 
TO PLOW SNOW, BUT TO SCOOP AWAY THE HEAVY OBSTACLES THEY 
KNEW AWAITED THEM AT ROADBLOCKS AHEAD . TO ALL SIX LUGS 
ON EACH FRONT WHEEL THEY BOLTED SHARP BLADES OF THE TOUGHEST 
STEEL, AFFIXED SO THAT THE WHIRLING EDGES WOULD CHOP BARBED WIRE 
TO BITS . THEN THEY WEDGED ONE-QUARTER-INCH SECTIONS OF STEEL PLATE 
INSIDE THE BUS TO STOP BULLETS . AT LAST ALL WAS 
READY . ON CHRISTMAS EVE, WEIDNER AND WAGNER PILED THEIR WIVES 
AND FOUR CHILDREN ABOARD, NOT FORGETTING THREE TONS OF HOUSEHOLD BELONGINGS 
. FOR ADDED PROTECTION THE PLOTTERS SHOVELED A TON OF COAL 
AND POTATOES INTO THE BACK OF THE BUS . THEN THEY 
CHUGGED OFF NORTH TOWARD BERLIN ALONG BACK ROADS TO ESCAPE COMMUNIST 
PATROLS . JUST BEFORE THEY REACHED THE WALL, THEY PLANNED TO 
SWING WEST IN ORDER TO ENTER THE EAST-WEST AUTOBAHN LEADING TO 
THE U.S . SECTOR OF THE CITY . EN ROUTE, THE 
RADIATOR FROZE IN THE SUBZERO WEATHER . THAT FIXED, THEY WERE 
ONLY A FEW MILES FARTHER WHEN A TIRE BLEW OUT . 
THE KIDS WERE CRYING AND THE WIVES SHIVERING WITH COLD AND 
PANIC WHEN, AT LAST, THEY ARRIVED AT DREWITZ, THE MOST HEAVILY 
GUARDED CHECKPOINT ON THE ENTIRE AUTOBAHN TO BERLIN . IT WAS 
NO TIME TO STOP AND RECONSIDER . FLYING POTATOES . " 
WAH-AH, WAH-AH, " SHRIEKED THE POLICE-TYPE KLAXONS THAT WEIDNER HAD THOUGHTFULLY 
INSTALLED IN ADVANCE . THE COMMUNIST GUARDS OBEDIENTLY RAISED THE FIRST 
OF THREE BARRIERS . BUT WHAT WAS A BUS DOING ON 
EMERGENCY DUTY ? SUDDENLY THE SHOOTING BEGAN TOO LATE . WAGNER, 
AT 40 M.P.H., WAS ALREADY CRASHING THROUGH THE SECOND BARRIER 100 
YARDS AHEAD, THEN THE THIRD, ONLY 20 YARDS AWAY . ITS 
WINDSHIELD SMASHED, ITS PASSENGERS SHAKEN, ITS CARGO OF COAL AND POTATOES 
IN EVERY CORNER OF THE CAB, THE OLD BUS FINALLY LURCHED 
TO A STOP A FEW MILES DOWN THE ROAD WHERE THE 
COMMUNISTS NO LONGER MATTERED AT THE U.S . CHECKPOINT, A FOOT 
OR TWO INSIDE WEST BERLIN . 