by Jeff Kildow
“It’s too bad they’ll be apart so much, but they’ll be able to save up enough in the meantime to get a nice apartment, maybe even a house, so it’ll be worth it, don’t you think?”
“Oh, probably, in the long run, but it will be hard while they go through it. I—”
“Time,” said the landlady in a no-nonsense voice.
“Sorry, Joel, I must go. Bye ‘till next time.” She hung up, leaving Joel feeling like he’d walked into a wall he didn’t see.
Chapter 40
11 June 1943
Berlin, Germany
General Heinrich Müller’s Office
0800 Hours
Fraud Exposed
Standartenfuhrer Heinz Koller himself brought the autopsy results to Müller’s office. To Müller’s secret amusement, the man was still afraid.
“We spent the night searching his flat, Herr General. Hidden behind the walls were several of the current key and date books. He must have smuggled them out of the printing plant,” he explained unnecessarily.
“We found also a book and documents written in Russian. The documents are being translated now. The Identity Disk belonged to the real Hans Schmitt, who was killed in Russia. This man, this imposter, somehow got it and took on his identity. As for the body, it is positively that of a Russian: he has stainless steel dental work instead of proper gold.”
Müller sat stone faced and silent for a moment, looking at the terrified man.
“You have done well, Standartenfuhrer, in a very short time. My report will reflect your devotion to duty.”
The relief that flooded the man’s face was palpable.
It is always good to have an SS Colonel in your debt, Müller thought to himself wryly.
“Please provide me a complete report on this entire incident at your earliest convenience, Herr Standartenfuhrer. I must report to my superiors, and I will have need of your expert opinions, and the details of how this imposter was foisted on you.”
Now a look of gratitude swept across the SS man’s face. Müller had set the hook deeply.
Chapter 41
24 June 1943
Gotha Werkes, Gotha, Germany
1000 Hours
Proof of the Pudding
Oberst Freiherr Gerhard von und zu Schroeder walked down the fight line, inspecting the modified aircraft.
They have worked wonders, he thought to himself. Here are forty-four aircraft nearly ready for me, and it is only late June. Remarkable!
He heard engines starting and turned around. They had prepared one for him to test fly. He was anxious to see what it would be like, whether this big tailless airplane could fly as well as Dr. Berthold promised.
Two Hours Later
Von Schroeder made the last landing, and it wasn’t bad. He’d flared just a bit high, but was easily able to recover and landed smoothly. He turned to the Gotha test pilot beside him.
“This airplane is surprisingly nimble for such a large craft, and it has a better feel on the controls than either the ME-264 or the HE-177. It is even quite stable. I believe you have a success here.”
Chapter 42
Saturday, 26 June 1943
Lieutenant Colonel Joel Knight’s Office
Millville Army Air Field, Millville, New Jersey
10:45 Hours
Black Widow
“Colonel! There’s a plane coming in on fire!” Joel jumped up from his desk and grabbed his hat. “Let’s go, Bill,” he told the excited First Sergeant.
The staff car skidded to a stop near the base of the tower. Joel jumped out and ran up the stairs, powerful binoculars in his hand. The stricken plane was evident by the long, black trail of smoke boiling off the right hand engine. Hollywood might have depicted the troubled plane wandering and skidding all over the sky, but this aircraft was headed straight toward them with solid, determined precision. Joel strained to determine what it was, focused the binoculars, and was surprised to see one of the new twin-boom Northrop P-61 Black Widow nightfighters.
They’re not even in production yet! Amazing to see one this far away from the Air Corps desert test center in California!
As he watched, the base fire trucks and rescue vehicles raced toward the flight line, sirens screaming. The pilot clearly had his hands full; as Joel watched, there was a bright flash, and portions of the cowling around the right engine blew off, sailing through the air. The smoke changed to gray, evidence the fire was running out of fuel. The big four-bladed prop slowed and stopped, feathered. The aircraft smoothly turned to its right, lowered its landing gear and flaps, and began flaring to land. It touched down firmly, just beyond the start of the runway, and bounced. Parts scattered as the pilot firmly applied the brakes, smoking the tires. The emergency vehicles raced after it, dodging the parts on the runway. The left hand propeller stopped before the aircraft did.
The roll out was straight, and as the big aircraft lurched to a halt, the crew bounded out and raced away while the smoking engine captured everyone’s eyes. Joel nodded approvingly as the fire crew quickly sprayed the smoking engine. Still, the aircraft was severely damaged, with portions of the cowling missing, others twisted, the right engine clearly drooping on its mounts. The right tail boom was oil covered and dripping.
An ambulance crew was checking out the obviously shaken crew as Joel walked up. To his surprise, the only officer was a Marine Corps Captain. The young man, perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three, straightened and presented a tolerable salute.
“Sorry about my abrupt arrival, sir!” he said. “The number two engine started running rough, and I guess it must have blown a jug. Gosh, what a mess! I’m Mark Best,” he said belatedly.
Joel returned his salute and introduced himself.
“I’ve got to ask, Captain, what’s a Marine doing flying an Army airplane?”
The Marine grinned boyishly, “The Corps wanted one of these new birds to evaluate, so I got chosen to bring one back to Pawtuxent, sir. This one is actually a YP-61, one of fifteen pre-production models. Of course, the Marines don’t call it that: it’s now a F2T.”
Pawtuxent Naval Air Station, in nearby Maryland, was the base where both the Navy and Marine Corps put new aircraft through their paces before accepting them into the fleet.
“OK, now who is this gentleman?” Joel queried, turning to the obvious civilian.
“I’m Oliver Pearson, the Northrop test pilot assigned to this exercise.” Nodding toward Mark, he said, “This young man is a pretty good stick, Colonel. I’m not sure I could have gotten this beast back on the ground in one piece myself.” They shook hands.
“And the sergeant?”
He’s Army; a lot of variety in this crew, Joel thought.
“Sir, Tech Sergeant Richard Arthur; I’m the crew chief. At least ‘till we turn it over to the Corps.” He saluted, and Joel returned it. He was about thirty, and had a serious mien about him.
“At ease, Sergeant. What do you think went wrong?” Joel asked.
“Can’t say for sure until I get a close look at it, sir, but that was as bad an engine failure as I’ve ever seen.”
“I agree.” Joel said. He liked that the sergeant didn’t jump to conclusions about what caused the problem. Too many post-incident problem evaluations were led astray by somebody deciding in advance what the cause was, and only looking at evidence that supported that conclusion.
Pearson stepped forward. “Your troops have the fire out, Colonel. I stowed a tow bar in the rear; if you’ll get us a stout tug, we can clear your active.”
“Good idea,” Joel countered, and turned to his sergeant. “Bill, have base ops send a tug over, and take this broken bird over to hanger 321, where we keep the base flight B-25; it ought to fit inside.”
“Already on the way, sir.”
Turning back to the crewmen, Joel said, “If everybody is OK, I can offer you a ride to Base Ops. Captain, you’ll want to call Pawtuxent; they’re probably worrying about you!”
“I’ll need to call Hawth
orne and give them the lowdown, too, Colonel,” said Pearson. Hawthorne, California was the home of Northrop Aircraft, where the P-61 was about to begin production.
“Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to follow my ship to the hanger, and start looking it over,” said Sergeant Arthur.
“Excellent; I’ll have my senior maintenance NCO send some folks over to help you. Don’t forget to check in with your unit,” said the Colonel.
Chapter 43
Monday, 28 June 1943
Lieutenant Colonel Joel Knight’s Office
Millville Army Air Field, Millville, New Jersey
1122 Hours
Sabotage
Bill stuck his head into Joel’s office; “Lieutenant Brody and Master Sergeant Hillborne, sir.”
Brody was the Second Lieutenant assigned to oversee the P-61 incident. Hillborne was the senior maintenance NCO on base, and an old Army veteran with decades of experience working through the vagaries of new and varied aircraft as the Army added them to the inventory. He was a no-nonsense man, not easily intimidated, with a keen insight into all things mechanical. Joel was anxious to hear what he had to say.
The two men reported, and were seated.
“What have you found, Lieutenant? What caused that beautiful new airplane to nearly self- destruct?”
“Sir, we suspect sabotage.” The young man said, looking as if he feared the worst for bringing such unwelcome news.
“What? Fill me in, Master Sergeant.” The boyish lieutenant looked slighted.
“Sir,” said the man in his gruff voice, “when we looked at the engine, we saw that the cylinders were coming loose from the engine case. Didn’t make sense. Those Pratt and Whitney R-2800s are good, reliable airplane motors. The best ever built, in my opinion. Never, ever, seen one fail like this.” He shook his head as emphasis. “I had the troops pull the remaining cylinders. Three were loose, and several others showed signs of movement on the case. Took us a while, but we narrowed it down to this.” He held out a handful of heavy nuts.
“What are these, Hillborne?”
“Colonel, those hold down the cylinders, on studs coming out of the engine case. Sir, you’ll notice that they are distorted, and cracked. When enough of them split, the piston forced the cylinder up, or tilted it to one side. Then, it probably only took a few seconds for the piston and cylinder to bind, and destroy the engine.”
“Where does the sabotage come in?” Joel asked sharply. He had a sense of what would ensue if it was true – the FBI, the Army’s Inspector General’s office, and who knows who else, all over the base, interfering with their mission.
“Sir, look inside the nuts,” offered the Lieutenant. Joel took a nut that was cracked and peered inside it; the nut had been sawed internally.
“Are they all like this?” he asked in astonishment.
“Every one we looked at,” replied Hillborne grimly; “and that’s really sneaky, sir, because you can’t see it when the nuts are installed. And, they probably wouldn’t fail right away, because it could take hours for the saw cut to turn into a crack that would break the nut.”
“Dear Lord, that’s diabolical! There are hundreds of R-2800s flying on all sorts of Army aircraft! All of our P-47’s have them.”
“Yes, sir, and even more on Navy and Marine airplanes, to say nothing of civilian airliners,” countered Hillborne. “And hundreds on the ships we’ve sent to the Brits and the Russians.”
“Did you inspect the other engine?”
Hillborne looked even more grim, his voice now a menacing growl; “Yes, sir, we tore it down too. Virtually every nut had been tampered with. That plane was a flying death trap; either or both of those engines could have failed anytime; it’s a wonder it didn’t happen on takeoff.”
Joel made up his mind quickly.
“OK, Lieutenant, listen up. You will immediately secure the hanger where that airplane is – nobody goes in or out unless I say so. Log everybody that goes in or out. Put a guard on it around the clock. Hillborne, make sure none of your guys take any souvenirs, just drop everything, even tools, and leave them where they are. Have each one write down what they found, without collaboration, and get it to me right away. You are dismissed; I’ve got to go see the Colonel.”
He spoke to his sergeant; “Bill, call Colonel Watkins’ office and tell them I must see him as soon as possible – we found sabotage on that P-61. And call Colonel Randolph too.”
Consequences
On the way to Colonel Watkins’ office, Joel mulled over how he’d bring this unwelcome news to the base commander.
The Colonel’s adjutant showed him in immediately.
“Colonel, what the hell’s this about sabotage on that P-61? Are you sure?” the Colonel demanded, as he stood.
Joel saluted and said “Sir, I’m sorry to say we’re very sure. Sergeant Hillborne brought me these engine cylinder nuts from the number two engine; they have been sabotaged – sawed internally before they were installed. Even worse, sir, when they pulled down the other engine, they found the same thing.”
The officer inspected the heavy steel nuts Joel had handed him. A pilot since the Great War, he had seen many broken parts over the years as part of post-crash analyses. He put on his reading glasses and examined all of them closely, then took a small magnifying glass from his desk drawer. He was silent for a moment, thinking about the procedure he now had to put into motion.
He looked up at the waiting Lieutenant Colonel.
“Joel, we’ll have to bring in the FBI on this right away. That airplane and the hanger it’s in is now a crime scene! I want you to secure everything and stop all work immediately.”
“Already done, sir,” Joel told him, glad to have correctly anticipated the Colonel’s wishes.
“I believe that we’ll have to notify Army IG’s office too, sir,” Joel said.
“Yes, of course; you are right; take care of that will you? I’ll call the FBI. I want any conferences on this matter to be held in my conference room, with Jerry in attendance.” Captain Jerry McDonald was Colonel Watkins’ adjutant.
White was frowning, deep in thought. “Did that Northrop pilot leave for California yet?”
“Yes, sir, yesterday afternoon on the west bound C-47 shuttle. The Marine Captain, Mark Best, took the train to Pawtuxent this morning.”
“Well, looks like this mess is ours to clean up, Colonel!”
Chapter 44
Tuesday, 29 June 1943
Lieutenant Colonel Joel Knight’s Office
Millville Army Air Field, Millville, New Jersey
0730 Hours
FBI
Two FBI agents were at Joel’s office first thing the next morning.
They look like Hollywood central casting sent them over, Joel thought with amusement. Look at ‘em: clean shaven, rugged jawed, perfect blue suits over impossibly white shirts, conservative neckties, perfectly shined shoes. Where are the Tommy guns and swelling music?
“Lieutenant Colonel Knight?”
“Yes.” Joel answered simply, suddenly remembering that all FBI agents were lawyers first.
The unsmiling man flashed a badge and ID in a leather wallet, as his counterpart did the same.
“I’m Agent Barnet; he’s Agent Rangely. Tell us about this sabotage. Now.” he demanded roughly.
Joel bit back his resentment at being ordered around in his own office. “Let’s take this slow and easy, gentlemen – we’re on the same side, after all. First, though, let me offer you both some coffee; no reason we can’t be civilized about this.”
The first agent reddened a bit at the gentle rebuke, and nodded. “Yes, thank you. Some coffee would be fine.”
Joel asked Bill to bring them coffee, and invited the men to seat themselves. Bill, always on top of the situation, had already made the coffee. Joel nodded at him, wordlessly thanking him as he left the room.
Stirring his coffee, Joel related the events surrounding the emergency landing of the P-61 the day before.
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br /> “When the senior maintenance NCO brought me these,” he laid the split nuts on the desk, along with a magnifier; “Colonel Watkins notified the FBI immediately. They are clearly sabotaged.”
The second agent looked at several of the nuts. “Where is the aircraft now? Has any more work been done on it? Did you keep all the parts?”
Joel noted that he didn’t ask where on the airplane the nuts came from.
“We secured the airplane immediately; it’s in a hangar, which we also secured. All work was stopped as soon as the sabotaged parts were found. I had each mechanic separately write down what they found.” He pushed several sheets of paper toward them.
“I personally went over both engine logs,” he said, sliding the documents toward them. “They are both brand new. Northrop installed them fresh from the Pratt & Whitney factory. The plane has less than forty hours on it.”
The agents passed a knowing look between them.
“We’ve seen this before,” said Barnet. “Counting this airplane, we now know of thirty-one engines with tampered cylinder nuts.”
Joel leaned forward, frowning in surprise; “Thirty-one? Has anybody been hurt? Who’s doing this?”
“We can’t give you details, Lieutenant Colonel Knight, but there have been several crashes and deaths. We’re afraid that some affected aircraft have gone to Europe. You can expect a mandatory inspection notice for all your aircraft with Pratt & Whitney R-2800 engines by the end of the day. I believe the correct term is ‘Emergency Time Compliance Technical Order’ [ETCTO]. That will ground all of those aircraft until inspection proves them safe. You are to impound all aircraft that do not pass inspection for these tampered nuts, and contact us immediately.” He handed Joel a business card. “That means any time of day.”