Monday. 8:45 p.m.
"Terror strike. Here in Berlin." My friend's kind, calm voice has but a slight undertone of urgency, as he scans his mobile phone for more info.
Silence. We all stare at him.
"A truck. Gedächtniskirche."
One of Berlin's most popular christmas fairs.
An hour ago.
The familiar big city sound of ambulances we hear howling by some blocks away suddenly snaps into a different context.
It happened barely 2000 meters away.
"How many victims?" I hear myself asking calmly, my brain switching into cold alert mode.
9, reports say, many injuries.
Mechanically, thoughts ticker through my brain:
Mediumsized attack.
No multiple strikes reported yet.
Chemical weapons currently unlikely.
Number of fatalities likely to rise.
Checking the options: Nothing we can do at the moment.
Breathing in. Breathing out.
Feeling the first ripples of sadness gradually approaching.
Focussed attention as everyone in the room starts scanning sources on the web and initial reports come trickling in.
We are all somewhat shocked, sad, yet calm - and utterly unsurprised. We had seen this coming in a long while.
Berlin as a terrorist target? It was but a matter of time.
This is not a drill. Triage. The first medics on site would have to decide whom to help first.
For a brief moment, I think of the rescue teams, wondering how the chains of command would work on site, calculate the number of ambulances.
50 injured persons, high density of hospitals in the vicinity, lots of good rescue teams on well-equipped ambulances.
Click. Click. Click.
Emergency coordination unit would have enough ambulance crews as spare capacity. Good. There may be a second or multiple strike, never send all ambulances to one place, a teaching learned in Tel Aviv and other places that saved many lives in Paris.
11 p.m.
Still no reports on second strikes.
It seems to be over.
For now.
Time to allow sadness to make its voice heard. 12 fatalities, innocent bystanders who wanted to share a nice evening out with friends or relatives on the Christmas fair. Mowed down. Out of the blue. Or rather out of the dark. By a black truck, they could not see coming. Some dead straight away, some ceasing their lives in endless minutes of agony.
No time to say goodbye, no sense, just slaughter.
50 wounded if not crippled, some still fighting for their lives on some intensive care units.
Countless relatives, friends and bystanders traumatized.
And yet, no one is surprised.
Until late at night, police forces and politicians still state that they merely assume that this was no accident, while special police forces already raid a refugee accommodation hangar on the former airfield of Tempelhof.
Again, no one is surprised.
Tuesday.
At the office the next day, my colleagues and I prefer not to talk much about the attack.
Like most Berliners, we keep a stiff upper lip. Grey, sad faces, deeply concerned, patiently waiting for more information. Better avoid hasty conclusions. Some take resort to cynism - I always knew that drinking hot wine punch could be pretty unhealthy, ha, ha - a fleeting smile and then change the subject.
Everyone is aware that this attack is likely to mark the beginning of a new era, a sinister sign of times to come. If confirmed as being of islamistic origin, it will severely impact politics, my colleague sighs.
He says "if", but we both think "when".
Our dear illusion of a safe and relaxed Germany begins to end here.
Initial reports come in of someone who knows one of the victims.
Not that it matters. Homicide as such does not change depending on whether one knows the victims. But it explains why some people are more wary than others.
Leaving the office, I visit the site. The christmas market is fenced off, the truck has long been removed. Lots of TV-vans are parked nearby, generators hum and numerous camera crews are busy with reporting but the mere fact that they are near "the site" in Berlin and how shocked everyone is.
Some project "pray for Berlin" has mounted a little but professional stage, big logo and all that, singing some overly sentimental song, as if telling people to be emotional and shaken. It feels terribly synthetic and out of place.
At least, they spared us having to listen to "we shall overcome".
A crowd of perhaps 80 sad and silent people stands in front of a huge patch of flowers, little posters and candles.
Apparently, some Muslims had been there today, too, protesting against the terror. No numbers given, but it is re-twittered all over the mainstream media. Pictures on twitter look like perhaps two or three dozen. Nice guys, I guess.
Or semi-pro PR-activists from some muslim associations. One can usually tell by the way, the move and speak in front of the TV-cameras. Seen it before, after the Paris attack in front of the French embassy.
Wednesday.
Berlin is in grief, but not in tears.
Stiff upper lip seems to be breaking news: Major German online media now headline that Berliners are currently unimpressed and do not indulge into drama.
One Pakistani suspect was released as apparently innocent, a manhunt is on for another one, a Tunisian. The usual. Some papers on his residence permit he "lost" in the truck. Seems a habit amongst these scatterbrains of terrorists, the same thing happened after the Charlie Hebdo massacre.
And a clever one to: Leave some kind of calling card serves to either confuse police forces and media, to claim the attack for yourself or even to simply stir up conspiracy theories. And some people would actually go for that bait. As if dark conspirator forces would launch a complex killer project, escape unseen - and then go for something as dumb as that when launching their false flag.
But it makes police forces look like a dumb bunch of liars to those who simply want to believe.
One calling card, several target groups served, along with sowing mistrust and disinformation. Presto.
No safe space, no neutral ground
My thoughts wander back.
November 2015, two days after the Paris massacres.
When a friend asked me to come over to attend a meeting. His best friend had been found. In the Bataclan.
Copenhagen, 15.2.2015.
A guy with an AK47 attempts to gun down people in a lecture, killing one. Two brave policemen, wounded, fired back. Crouched on the ground amongst shattered glas and next to the policemen lay some friends of mine.
This one happened some two hours after my colleague and I ploughed through the usual rushhour, driving home. I could have come across the truck. It does not matter.
But it shows that terror is not happening to some others somewhere far away.
It is here. It is close. *And there is no safe space. *
My friends and I are neither angry nor worried.
Concerned, sure, yes. But not afraid. Being afraid is what the killers want us to.
Neither are we angry. Anger is not cool. It makes people blind, stupid, ugly and slow.
There is no point in even attempting to negotiate with or appease fanatics.
Martyrs and their supporters have no interest in this world anymore, at least beyond leaving a havoc behind.
It is important to know where we stand.
Our fears do not matter, the importance lies in what we want.
What our values are matters, not what we despise.
This is war and it will get worse from now.
There is no longer any neutral ground.
There is no point in assuming that this does not really concern us. It does.
It is a time for separating between "us" and "them". Regardless of race or religion, we have a responsibility to stand together in society as those, to bring together those who share our core values as documented in our constitution.
And be totally uncomprising against those, who dare imposing their fanatic ideas upon us.
Politics will soon have to suspend a lot of nice stuff in order to preserve the above principles.
A dirty job, but better do it with half a worried brain and a good motivation now than breed a German Trump and leave the job to rightwingers.
I have sailed yachts in many years.
When heading into heavy weather, it is crucial to make good use of the hours before the storm hits. Preparing the boat, stabilize the rig, bringing out the lifelines, tidying and fastening everything, putting on the heavy weather clothes and harness.
Once in heavy seas, you can only do very little.
And you should better not panic.
Looking at Germany, it seems that this ship was diligently prepared for the weather conditions ahead.
By a party decoration team.
Nice paper lanterns, guys.