Shumovsky and Tupolev (holding camera) on the road in US, 1935
Tupolev knew that the Soviet Union needed thousands of aircraft to deter an enemy attack. By 1935 the rearming Germans had already built 10,000 modern planes and would soon be all set to challenge the Russians for control of the skies. Tupolev himself had announced, ‘Comrades, very much has been done, but all that has been done is far from all that is possible. We already have military aircraft, but I declare that we in the Soviet Union can create planes that will far outstrip all that the capitalists have. We will do this because the Soviet country needs powerful aviation, we need such a strong aviation so that no one dares to approach our borders.’4 The air force was integral to the plan of making the Soviet Union an impregnable fortress.
The golden-toothed Tupolev was at the top of his game in 1935. During his career, he would design or oversee the design of more than a hundred types of aircraft, setting seventy-eight world records. In recognition of his work he was even made, late in life, an honorary member of the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics. Tupolev was the leading light of TsAGI, which was the base for his Central Design Office, or TsKB, producing bombers and airliners. In 1925, he had designed an all-metal twin-engined monoplane, the TB-1, which was the most advanced of the period. One of this model, Land of Soviets, had flown via Siberia to New York – a journey taking over a month – in November 1929, showing America the technology the Soviet Union was capable of building.
Tupolev was already far more than an aircraft designer. On 4 December 1935, following his report on this latest trip to the US, he was made deputy head of GUAP, the controlling body of the entire Soviet Union’s aviation industry. He had played a pivotal and occasionally divisive role in the evolution of the Soviet air force; so that it was no longer relying on a few outmoded foreign aircraft. By 1935, on paper at least, it was the most powerful in the world, with a fleet designed and built entirely domestically. The Red air force had commissioned from the Tupolev bureau unprecedented numbers of designs for both fast tactical and heavy strategic bombers. To achieve the extraordinary feat of building so many planes of his design, Tupolev had been given an unlimited budget. In the Soviet Union, his talent had propelled him to the very pinnacle of society. He and his wife, to whom he was devoted, could travel outside its borders with complete freedom. He could argue on budget issues with the notoriously parsimonious Stalin and win when seeking support for the development of the aviation industry. Stalin now wanted to see results.
• • •
By 1934 it had become evident to the Soviet leadership that, despite displaying to the world a positive image of its power, the aviation industry was on course for a crisis caused by its own success. The fact was that the industry had conflicting priorities. Each year the goal was to increase production while building a product that matched world-class standards and incorporated the latest technical innovation. But a serious gap had developed between the high quality of Soviet aircraft design in prototype and the poor finished product. In theory, the Soviet Union deployed vast numbers of world-beating planes, but the build quality was so low it was causing serious reliability issues. At best a large percentage of air force planes were always under repair, at worst pilots were killed in avoidable accidents.
The 1929 plan for the air force had set as a goal ‘a rapid improvement of its quality to the level of the most advanced bourgeois countries … every effort must be made to plant the seeds, cultivate and develop our own, Soviet scientific and design cadres, especially in engine construction.’5 With new help from the US, both purchased and acquired through intelligence, the hope was that within a decade Soviet industry would complete the journey from craft manufacturer of a few hundred biplanes made from wood and canvas to mass-producing each year 10,000 planes, including all-metal modern fighters and bombers. The starting point had been very low and the aircraft industry had to be built from the beginning. By 1931 onwards, fed by information from abroad that included the latest technological innovations, supplied by Shumovsky in America, Soviet aviation design had evolved to a world-leading standard. But on the production line, the factories’ management were isolated from the most recent international developments in materials, methods and techniques. Relative to the best in the world, the US, in even the newest Soviet factories there was a lack of mechanisation, modern materials and labour efficiency. The managers and workforce could not keep up with the demands placed on them for more and better aircraft.
The problems encountered along the way were challenging. Imported technology and ideas helped, but the most obvious difficulty the Soviet Union faced was the absence of a deep pool of skilled workers, especially in factories outside Moscow. Given the extent and significance of the issues developing at home, and in answer to the urgings of Shumovsky to come and see the latest US developments, in 1935 Tupolev and a large entourage of technical experts travelled to America. The party filled seven cars in total.6 They knew in advance from the painstaking reports sent by Shumovsky in the last two years that they were going to see factories employing modern methods and American efficiency, but had no idea how far the Soviet Union was behind the pace. The Soviet decision-making system was cumbersome, functioning as it did by means of endless commissions and reports, so Tupolev had to make the long journey to see everything for himself. He brought with him not only hand-picked members of his design team but, crucially, the country’s leading experts on aviation metals and production methods.7 He even brought two representatives of his customer, the air force. They were there to rubber-stamp any orders for aircraft, for which Tupolev had been given a generous budget of $600,000 to spend.
As ever, Tupolev was thorough. His demanding travel schedule was to include revisiting every aircraft factory that he had last seen in 1930. The only one of the party to have made that previous trip, he could appreciate the advances. Shumovsky was working to an agenda, driving home to the party how dynamic and efficient American industry had become in adapting to the harsh times of the Depression. He was keen to demonstrate how the removal of the airmail postal subsidy from the airlines had forced efficiency and cost saving into manufacturing. Airlines and plane makers struggled for profitability in the Depression. Many firms had gone bankrupt. The surviving plane manufacturers now produced, efficiently and cheaply, large numbers of high quality, reliable planes for their customers in the civil aviation industry. The simplicity of design and the manufacturing process helped reduce costs, as did using as many high-quality parts as possible. On top of this, mechanisation of the factory floor raised productivity levels. Factories in the US were becoming assembly centres where interchangeable parts sourced from a supply chain were rapidly put together. Curtiss-Wright assembled engines from parts sourced from ten separate suppliers. The airlines received fast, reliable planes with long ranges, allowing them to turn a profit in the growing and competitive transport industry. Travellers could always choose to use the train or drive if they had concerns about cost, safety or punctuality. But for speed, nothing could beat the plane if you wanted lunch in Chicago and dinner in New York.8
Air travel was pitched as glamorous and luxurious. An American Airlines infomercial movie of the era profiles its growing customer base. The company’s passengers were those who could afford the sky-high fares: glamorous showbiz stars, powerful politicians and successful business executives, the US elite. True mass civil air travel was only to take off after the Second World War, when a surplus of planes and trained pilots hit the market. But even by 1935, the US had built a network of new airports that linked the great cities of the continent, with planes guided by ‘the beam’, a system of nationwide radio direction finders. Passengers were steered away from bumps and turbulence by an efficient meteorological service that would use radio to keep their journey safe and comfortable.
Tupolev recounted first hand how impressed he was with American transport infrastructure. In one incident, following a road accident outside the then small town of Las Vegas, t
he party was waiting at the airport for an official to fly in from New York to deal with the issues. The plane was delayed owing to bad weather en route:
In less than five minutes, the head of the airfield at Las Vegas radioed all the intermediate airports and gave us an accurate update: the passenger Braillo and his companion the Doctor are 1600 km away. They could not fly because the airfield is snowbound. Your comrades have decided to continue their journey to you by express train. Here is an area in which we are still far behind America. We still need to work very hard to achieve the heights of American technology in the organization of the flight business.9
Fantastic service!
The detailed planning for Tupolev’s long trip had taken Shumovsky and his colleagues at AMTORG many months of hard work. The visit was scheduled to last more than three months, and there were many meetings to arrange with manufacturers, suppliers, research facilities and government agencies. Shumovsky had stayed on at MIT as information on new aviation developments flowed through the faculty. The aviation industry was so new that many companies shared common parentage. The founders of Grumman were, for example, all former employees of Curtiss-Wright, as were those of Pratt & Whitney. On the West Coast Northrup had grown out of Douglas. In a country that required letters of introduction, the MIT letterhead was a great door opener.
Much knowledge could be gleaned from the many American magazines that kept the legion of aviation enthusiasts abreast of the latest developments. Unlike today America was a very open market and the aircraft manufacturers had learned from the automobile industry the importance of annually refreshing their model line by adding a few new bells and whistles with a publicity blitz. New model launches were a splash news event. Manufacturers provided their planes to famous pilots such as Amelia Earhart, relying on them to achieve headlines with their feats of daring. The plethora of magazines paid for by advertising spread news of innovations and discussed future developments. US manufacturers would even advertise their wares in magazines published in the Soviet Union. However, there was nothing to beat a face-to-face discussion with Donald Douglas on his visits to MIT for gaining access to cutting-edge thought. Stan’s college taught its engineers the theory and application of manufacturing efficiency as part of its course, equipping its graduates with the skills to make a difference on the factory floor.
Each of the travelling Soviet experts required in advance an extensive briefing pack on the companies they were to visit and their latest products. The experts wanted to delve deep. Meetings would not last hours but days, each group involving separate discussions between those interested in different issues.10 The Soviets were as keen to learn about anti-corrosive paint coatings as the type of aluminium alloy used in the construction of a plane. At the highest level Tupolev wanted to discuss with the top designers aerodynamic theory and his particular passion, wind tunnels. After a factory visit the party would assemble for dinner each evening to debrief on their findings. Tupolev would stay in with his wife unless there was an official dinner, while the balance of the party, away for months from their wives and responsibilities, headed out on the town in search of trouble.
• • •
Stan meanwhile was looking for recruits. The US was becoming cagier and more secretive about the flow of information as war clouds darkened around the world. The Russians were complaining that performance data on aircraft was becoming harder to obtain, and from 1935 the balance of his work began to shift from collecting open-source material to see what could be gained from agents.
To tempt their American hosts to open their doors, Shumovsky’s strategy was first to gain official endorsements. On the East Coast he stoked interest by organising gala events in New York and Washington. In New York the presidents and vice presidents of East Coast manufacturers and suppliers were invited to a business breakfast at which several senior State Department officials gave the Soviets endorsements. Tupolev gave exclusive newspaper interviews telling America he had come to buy technology. The State Department ‘halo effect’ worked wonders in opening doors.11
In Washington, the big diplomatic guns were deployed. At a function held at the Soviet embassy, both Soviet ambassador Alexander Troyanovsky and US ambassador to Moscow William Bullitt talked up the commercial opportunities and growing friendship between the two nations. They were even able to gain the endorsement of Henry L. Roosevelt, the Assistant Naval Secretary, who attended the event, as well as the prize of a meeting with NACA.
The second plank of Shumovsky’s plan was to give the impression that the Soviets had an open cheque book. Over the years the Americans had grown wise to the fact that the visiting Russian parties were discerning customers. Tupolev bought only two planes immediately on his trip, spending little of the $600,000 he had been allocated,12 although he committed to several more military aircraft the export of which was subject to State Department approval.
The buying process was slow. Tupolev would identify a key plane to buy, after which AMTORG and others would negotiate the fine detail with the manufacturer. As well as a delay while the plane was built, negotiations over the provision of metric blueprints, access for Soviet engineers to the US factory, technical assistance in Moscow and finally delivery times would drag on. A further delay was guaranteed if a US government export licence was required. It might take up to two years from ordering for a plane to reach Moscow, rendering it obsolete on arrival.
• • •
Stan had greeted his friends and colleagues off the boat in New York, whereafter they decamped to the Lincoln Hotel, the usual Soviet hangout. He did his best to answer the myriad of questions they asked about the plans for the next three and a half months. The party had read up on the wonders of the US and their excitement had been whetted by Tupolev’s tales of his previous trip. Many ventured out to see New York at night. They marvelled at the skyscrapers and the shaking of the sidewalks caused by the subway. Like all visitors to the city, they were struck by the pace of New York. Everyone seemed to run, rather than saunter as they did in Moscow. They headed off to see the glittering lights of Broadway. Unusually it was a telescope on the street that intrigued them the most. They had initially thought New Yorkers missed seeing the sky as it was blocked by the tall buildings, until they realised it was trained on the observation deck of the Empire State building. They were shocked to be charged for taking a look.
Early the next morning, fitted out in their best business suits, the sixteen-strong commission and their translators boarded a bus for the short journey across the Hudson for their first day of meetings. The real work began with factory tours around the New York area, including a reunion with their friends Curtiss-Wright at the company’s giant engine plant in Paterson, New Jersey. The Russians’ suits would become noticeably tighter as the trip went on and they grew used to the liberal availability of food. The haute cuisine meals on the boat had been too delicate for engineers used to a simple diet, but everyday American food was more to their taste. The travellers were amazed to find T-bone steaks available for breakfast at roadside diners. The jovial Tupolev, who had a sharp tongue to match his mind, greeted each passenger boarding the bus with early-morning wisecracks, reminding everyone that he was the expert on America. But he noticed the changes that had taken place: ‘The last time I was in America was five years ago. Since then enough time has passed for the technology, especially in aviation, to develop dramatically. Particularly striking is the fact that American aircraft manufacturers are now only making monoplanes.’13
There were several days of meetings with Curtiss-Wright ahead, and the Russians also had separate meetings with the ten subcontractors who supplied components. They were immediately struck by the quiet efficiency of the Curtiss-Wright factory floor. Soviet production quality suffered from a practice known as ‘storming’, a problem which had its source in the way workers were paid. They would meet their monthly production targets, but all the work was done at a frenetic pace in the last few days to maximise overtime and bonuses. The eff
ect on quality was noticeable. Russians were used to seeing workers frantically running around their factories. Outside the ‘storming’ days workers would be caught asleep at their machines – especially after pay day, when drunkenness was rife. At Curtiss-Wright there were none of the endless smoking breaks that puzzled visitors to Soviet factories. The plant was kept clean and tidy, with no food stored around the machines as in Russia.
By 1932, the Wright engine operation in Paterson, New Jersey was already the largest of its kind in the world, and it would remain so until eclipsed by the company’s factory in the USSR. Over 2,400 workers were employed in the plant, which produced the air-cooled Whirlwind engine and the more powerful Cyclone. In its engine development of the 1930s, Curtiss-Wright had pioneered innovations such as forged aluminium pistons, a dynamic damper which absorbed crankshaft vibration, finned cylinder heads for cooling, and nitrided cylinder barrels, a metallurgical process which gave the parts vastly improved life and better resistance to wear. The Cyclone engine powered the new Douglas DC-2/3 transports, which the Soviets were eager to see. In 1934, moreover, Curtiss-Wright had been chosen to build nine-cylinder radial engines for the four-engined Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress bomber commissioned by the US Army and Navy. Aero engines were the Achilles heel of the Soviet industry. Metallurgy was poor with only low-grade steel available for the engine blocks. Curtiss-Wright’s propeller division was also in New Jersey, and the Soviets were keen to learn about the variable pitch version that aided higher-altitude flying.
The Spy Who Changed History Page 21