by Jeff Edwards
Indeed, the entire look of the V-1 was more like something out of a space opera adventure story than real life. But the V-1 was not a figment of creative fantasy. It was very real, and it was lethal.
Until that point, three decades of effort and expense had yielded only a few hundred unmanned flying weapons. Not one of those programs had met with more than marginal success under actual wartime conditions. By contrast, the Nazis manufactured nearly 30,000 V-1 rockets, thousands of which were used in combat, with brutal effectiveness.
German V-1 Rocket and Launch Rail
(Photo courtesy of Peter Garwood, of the Balloon Barrage Reunion Club)
With an operational range of about 155 miles, the V-1 could not fly directly from Germany to England. The Luftwaffe compensated for this shortcoming by building 96 launch sites in occupied Northern France, well within range of London.
The first V-1 attack was launched on June 13, 1944, one week after the Allied D-Day invasion of Europe. The rocket reached the end of its flight path, and dropped out of the sky near a railway bridge in the East End of London. Eight civilians were killed in the blast.
A handful of additional V-1 attacks were launched over the next day and a half, before the first serious barrage began. Between the afternoon of June 15th and midnight of June 16th, the German Flakregiment 155 launched 244 V-1s toward London. Approximately 90 of these failed to cross into British territory, due to problems during (or shortly after) launch. Roughly 50 impacted in uninhabited areas south of the target city, and another 22 were shot down by British antiaircraft fire. The remaining 73 weapons struck targets in London, causing significant structural damage and killing hundreds of people, most of whom were civilians.
The strange throbbing cadence of the V-1’s pulse jet engine reminded many witnesses of the buzzing of an insect. This characteristic droning sound led to diminutive nicknames like doodlebug, and buzz bomb. But—odd noises and funny nicknames aside—there was nothing comical about the V-1 weapon itself. The people of England would soon come to associate the insectoid buzzing sound with destruction, and death.
Controlled by a gyro-magnetic autopilot, a vane anemometer to calculate elapsed distance, and a weighted pendulum mechanism for attitude adjustment, the V-1 guidance system lacked the precision to strike small targets. Its simple guidance system was accurate enough to strike a city-sized target, and that was good enough to satisfy the tactical employment needs of the Luftwaffe.
According to a report written by American General Clayton Bissell, Germany launched an estimated 8,025 V-1s at targets in England during a single nine-week period in 1944. More than a million houses and other buildings were damaged or destroyed, and tens of thousands of people were killed.
Although England was the primary target of the program, the Belgian city of Antwerp was hammered by nearly 2,500 V-1 attacks.
In March of 1945, the last V-1 launch sites in France were overrun by the advancing Allied armies, just five and a half weeks before the collapse and surrender of the Nazi Third Reich. Hitler’s infamous Vengeance Weapon #1 would no longer darken the skies over England or Belgium. The deadly reign of the buzz-bomb was over, but its legacy was only beginning.
Captured German V-1 sites, including hundreds of unfired weapons, fell into the hands of the United States, France, and the Soviet Union. All three countries began reverse-engineering the V-1 design, and producing their own versions of the robotic flying weapon.
Many military historians now consider the German V-1 rocket to be the first true cruise missile. There are points of argument to support this assertion, and (perhaps) an equal number which challenge it. Regardless of the accuracy of the label, it’s obvious that the V-1 program became a catalyst for the future development of cruise missile technology.
The concept had been proven with brutal effectiveness. An unmanned aerial weapon could locate and strike a distant city, with no human intervention whatsoever. In the years following the Second World War, research and development teams all over the planet rushed to duplicate—and then exceed—the Nazis’ success with the V-1.
The age of the cruise missile had arrived. The future of warfare would be changed forever.
CHAPTER 27
WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON, DC
FRIDAY; 28 NOVEMBER
8:30 PM EST
President Wainright shook the Indian Ambassador’s hand, and gestured for her to take a seat in one of the nine wingback chairs that formed the meeting area of the Oval Office. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Madam Ambassador. I apologize for the late hour.”
Ambassador Shankar took the offered seat and smiled pleasantly. “Please do not trouble yourself, Mr. President. It is my duty and my pleasure to answer your summons, whenever it may come.”
The president took his traditional position at the head of the circle of chairs, his back to the famous presidential desk—crafted from the timbers of the nineteenth-century British sailing barque, HMS Resolute.
The ambassador’s chair was to his right, and the chair to his left was taken by National Security Advisor Gregory Brenthoven.
“I appreciate your indulgence,” the president said. He made a loop in the air with one finger to encompass the nearly empty circle of chairs. “As you can see, we are dispensing with the usual trappings of protocol, in the interests of both speed and privacy.”
The customary staff of diplomats and advisors was missing. Ordinarily, a direct meeting between the president and a foreign ambassador would include his chief of staff, the Secretary of State, the Assistant Secretary of State for Southeast Asian Affairs, the National Security Advisor, and a scribe from the National Security Council. Except for the National Security Advisor, everyone on that list was now absent.
“I understand,” the ambassador said. If she was uncomfortable with the departure from established White House protocol, she didn’t show it. And this was a departure. Apart from the lack of the usual participants, it was rare for the president to meet directly with an ambassador, and even more unusual for such a meeting to occur in the Oval Office.
Ambassadors almost always dealt with representatives of the State Department, and the meetings would typically take place in the Roosevelt Room, or—if the ambassador happened to be in ill favor—the West Wing Lobby. For Ambassador Shankar, the current meeting was contrary to all expectations: face-to-face with the president, in the Oval Office, with no diplomatic support team.
“I’m glad to hear that,” the president said. “I hope you will forgive me if I skip past the polite small talk, and go directly to the matter at hand.”
“Of course,” said the ambassador.
“Good,” the president said. “Because I would like to know whether or not your country intends to carry out an attack on the Three Gorges Dam.”
He nodded toward Brenthoven. “It’s my understanding that Greg… that is to say my National Security Advisor… has relayed our concerns to you regarding the potential consequences of such an attack. Have you had an opportunity to discuss this issue with your government?”
“I have been fully briefed on my government’s intentions in this matter,” the ambassador said. “Officially, there is no plan to attack the Three Gorges Dam.”
“What about unofficially?” the president asked.
“The unofficial answer, I’m afraid,” said the ambassador, “is somewhat different. Unofficially, I have been authorized to inform you—in strictest confidence—that the destruction of the Three Gorges Dam is considered a valid and necessary military option, if hostilities with the People’s Republic of China continue to escalate.”
President Wainwright rubbed the back of his neck. “I see. Your government is aware that China will almost certainly regard such an attack as a direct strategic assault against their critical national infrastructure? And is your government also aware that such a devastating blow will likely result in nuclear reprisals?”
“My government has been advised of your concerns,” t
he Indian Ambassador said. “But we do not agree with your assessment of the PRC’s response. My government does not believe that the Chinese politburo will resort to nuclear retaliation.”
“What if your projections are wrong?” the president asked. “Why would you even risk the possibility?”
The ambassador folded her hands in her lap. “Mr. President, China is not my country’s only concern. As your satellites have no doubt revealed to you, our Pakistani neighbors have begun massing troops near our eastern border, in the provinces of Punjab and Sindh. Even as we speak, Pak Faza'ya—Pakistan’s Air Force—is carrying out a campaign of intensive air patrols just within the boundaries of Pakistani airspace. Although these measures technically do not qualify as military action against my country, the armed forces of Pakistan are moving to an aggressive footing. The Pakistani government is clearly preparing to take advantage of India’s current discomfort.”
She raised her eyebrows. “To use an American idiom, the sharks are circling, Mr. President. Both to our north, and to our east. We cannot allow them to smell blood in the water.”
“I understand your concerns,” the president said.
Before he could continue, Ambassador Shankar spoke again. “With all due respect, Mr. President, you do not understand our concerns. If the United States truly understood the cultural and political tensions in our portion of the world, you would not be so quick to sell weapons to Pakistan, or to back up the regime of terrorists who sit in power in Islamabad. Nor do you understand our concerns about China. I turn your attention to the so-called Sino-Indian War of the early 1960s. My people know what it is like to have the People’s Liberation Army come crashing across our borders. Your country, I am pleased to say, has never had such an experience.”
“For us, this is not an exercise in foreign policy,” she said. “It is not political theory. We are faced on two sides by enemies who have historically demonstrated their will to destroy India, and are currently taking actions which are directly hostile to my country. We will not show weakness. And if that means that the Three Gorges Dam must be destroyed, then such is the price China will pay for massacring our villages without warning or provocation.”
The president shook his head. “Madam Ambassador, I beg you not to do this.”
Ambassador Shankar sat for several seconds before speaking. “Can you offer us an alternative? Will you align your military power directly with ours, and signal to China and Pakistan that to fight India is to fight the United States of America?”
The president said nothing.
The ambassador smiled sadly. “There is your answer, Mr. President. If you will not stand with us, then we will defend ourselves without your help. And we will use whatever means are at our disposal.”
“What if your projections are wrong?” the president asked again. “What if China retaliates with nuclear weapons?”
Ambassador Shankar sighed. “Then they will discover that India also has such weapons, and—if we must—we are not afraid to take the war to our enemy’s doorstep.”
CHAPTER 28
CNN CENTER
190 MARIETTA STREET
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
SATURDAY; 29 NOVEMBER
10:19 AM EST
The video came to an end, and Irene Schick immediately hit the play button again. She had watched the clip five times in a row, and she still couldn’t believe it. She fast-forwarded to the point where the assault rifles started firing into the crowd, and the bodies began hitting the ground.
The audio was muffled and nearly unintelligible, but the video footage was amazing… Chinese troops gunning down peaceful protestors with no visible provocation of any kind. Blood. Raw panic. The terrified crowd stampeding like cattle.
Tibetan activists had been accusing China of similar atrocities since the 2008 riots, but the evidence—what little there was—had nearly always been lacking in quality or persuasiveness.
But the scene unfolding on her computer monitor was the real deal. As tactless as the cliché sounded in this context, this footage looked like the proverbial smoking gun. Not just one or two rioters fired at under questionable conditions, but a hundred people dead or injured. Maybe more. She’d have to assign a crew to analyze the video frame-by-frame, count the bodies, and pull up subtle details that might be overlooked without meticulous study.
According to Byron Maxwell at Amnesty, the recording had been shot from a cell phone. Judging from the quality of the video, it must have been a good one. Even when expanded to full size on Irene’s 25 inch LCD monitor, the images were clear and well-defined. Far short of professional quality, but more than good enough for broadcast.
The video would lose some detail and pick up some digital artifacts when it was enlarged for A-roll, but that would only add to the drama, and confirm the authenticity in the minds of the viewers.
They could get the tourist guy who shot it into a local affiliate studio in California, or maybe just do a voice interview while his video ran in the background. They’d also have to let one of the Amnesty International spokespeople sneak in some air time, as payback for the tip and the video. Irene was already starting to plan the first segment in her head. This was going to be the lead story for days. She could already feel it.
She picked up her phone, punched a number, and started talking as soon as the call was picked up on the other end. “Roger, this is Irene. How long will it take to get Tom Gwinn or Kelly Spencer into Tibet with a full crew?”
There was a half second pause before Senior Producer Roger Calloway spoke. “Are you serious?”
“Damned right I’m serious,” Irene said. “We’re going to need one of the headliners on the ground in Tibet fast.”
She looked at the slaughter playing out on her computer screen. “Hang on to your ass, Roger. I’m about to drop a stick of dynamite in your lap.”
CHAPTER 29
USS CALIFORNIA (SSN-781)
NORTHERN BAY OF BENGAL
SUNDAY; 30 NOVEMBER
1824 hours (6:24 PM)
TIME ZONE +6 ‘FOXTROT’
The Sonar Supervisor’s voice came over the net, “Conn—Sonar. Sierra One Five bears zero-three-niner. Contact shows slow right bearing drift.”
Captain Patke touched his Officer of the Deck on the shoulder. “Let’s come a couple of degrees to starboard, and keep as close to the center of his baffles as we can.”
The OOD nodded. “Aye-aye, sir.” He began issuing quiet orders to the helmsman.
Sierra One Five was the current sonar tracking designator for a Chinese Shang class nuclear attack submarine. USS California had been trailing the Chinese sub for nearly twenty-hours, and now they were about to follow it past the perimeter ships of the Indian aircraft carrier strike group.
Patke and his crew had performed a similar operation five days earlier, when they had slipped past the defensive ring of ships surrounding the Chinese aircraft carrier, near the southern end of the Bay of Bengal. Then, they had received orders to break off their surveillance, to locate and trail this Chinese attack submarine. And here they were at the northern end of the bay, following the sub as it tried the exact same maneuver against the Indians.
There was a good chance they would succeed, too. The Chinese sub skipper was skillful and cautious, and his boat was reasonably quiet. As quiet as Chinese submarines ever got, at any rate.
Captain Patke glanced at the master dive clock. It was coming up on 1830 hours. Above the surface, the world would be experiencing that strange period of illumination known as nautical twilight, when the sun was below the horizon, but its rays continued to light up the sky. The surface of the sea would be too dark to make out visual details, and the still illuminated sky would be too bright to allow the human eye to properly acclimate to the darkness.
This was the time of day when aircrews and shipboard lookouts would have the hardest time spotting the silhouette of a submerged submarine, or the feather of an exposed periscope.
Patke nodded. The C
hinese sub commander was doing it right. If the noise of his boat’s reactor plant didn’t give away his position, he would make it past the defensive ring of Indian destroyers and frigates, and into the heart of the aircraft carrier’s screen.
A half-hour later, it was clear that the skipper of Sierra One Five had succeeded in his objective. His boat was well inside the screen of the Indian aircraft carrier, INS Vikrant. Patke’s own boat, the California was still trailing silently behind, using the screw noise and reactor plant noise from the Chinese sub as a mask against detection.
Contact Sierra One Five, the Shang, was one of China’s second-generation subs, and its acoustic signatures were significantly reduced from the older Han class boats. But there was a world of difference between less noisy, and silent. Despite the skill of her commander, Sierra One Five might be just a smidge too noisy to escape detection by the sonar operators in the Indian battle group. And given the close trailing-distance, that would probably mean detection of the California as well.
Patke pulled off his wire rimmed glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose before returning his glasses to their usual perch. Following close on the ass of a potentially hostile submarine was risky on the best of days. Doodling around inside the defensive perimeter of another navy’s aircraft carrier brought an entirely different order of risk. Now, the California was suddenly doing both at once. If anything went wrong at all, it would take about three seconds for this entire situation to go straight down the frigging toilet.
Patke took at last look at the tactical plot, and then strolled over to the accordion door that led to Sonar Control. He leaned against the door jam, and stared into the dim interior of the sonar compartment. The boat’s leading Sonar Technician, Chief Petty Officer Lanier Philips, was the Sonar Supervisor on duty.