by Jeff Kildow
Berthold knew this was a test, “Messerschmitt’s ME-610, which is based on their design study P1101-28 – do you know it? – is already moving toward production. It will be faster, and more maneuverable than the ME-262, and because of far better engines – it will use the new Hirth HeS 011 Turbojet – will be less susceptible to the enemy during takeoffs and landings. I believe this will be an excellent aircraft for us; we can use early ME-262s as trainers. I recommend continued production of the ME-262 until it proves itself, however.”
He consulted his notes, “Now, there has been a proposal from the firm Blohm und Voss – do you know them?”
Speer nodded, “Yes, they build those remarkable, huge flying boats.”
“Yes, good. They have proposed an impressively powerful ground attack aircraft designated BV-271. It appears strange, but the flying prototype has shown it will be formidable.”
He removed a folded drawing from his large leather folder. “As you can see, its design comprises a long, slab-like straight wing with a massive radial engine in the center and one on each wing tip. The pilot sits here, at the rear of the tailless, center fuselage; dual rudders are on the end of each wingtip nacelle. It easily carries heavy loads of bombs and rockets, as well as a nice selection of machine guns, and cannons. It is also fast enough to defend itself against Allied Mustang P-51s and Spitfires, although less maneuverable. Our new rocket guns are also a possibility. It is, if I may say, a step up from the American Lightening P-38 concept. With external fuel tanks, it could take the fight to English soil. It lacks only the approval from this office; the Luftwaffe is begging for it. So is the Abwehr; experiments with captured enemy tanks show that this aircraft is a strong deterrent against armor. I recommend immediate, priority production.”
Speer nodded again, “I received an urgent request from the Luftwaffe only this morning concerning this aircraft, so yes, I concur,” and made further notes in his expensive leather folder.
Berthold pressed on; so long as he listens so, I must tell him my opinion.
“The firm Dornier is exploring a clever modification to their impressive push-pull DO-335 Pfeil [Arrow] night fighter. They have begun installation of a jet engine in the tail, in place of the piston engine. Calculations indicate a substantial increase in performance, and yet the airplane could be flown economically on the front engine alone, saving the speed of the jet until it is needed. It would make our most deadly night fighter even more deadly.”
“That is most intriguing, Heinz; how long until it could reach production, do you think?”
“With proper priorities, the prototype could be flying in about thirty days; full production in no more than four months from approval. As they have designed it, with my help, existing airframes could be converted, so in the end, all or as many as we wish, would have this superior performance, at a small fraction of the cost of a completely new aircraft.” From his reaction, it seemed to Berthold that Speer liked that idea very much.
Berthold pulled out another drawing from his folder.
“Lastly, for a relatively small expense, the Arado AR-234 jet could be upgraded. A new bubble canopy, so, greatly increases visibility for the pilot, and rids us of one of its great vulnerabilities, lack of rearward vision. Using the same improved engines as the ME-610, we gain almost thirty knots in speed, and a range increase of about 125 kilometers [75 miles], due to efficiencies.”
Speer shook his head. “An elegant concept, but this I disapprove. Arado has proposed a four-engine variant, with two crew, that I prefer; it would also use the Hirth engines.”
Berthold felt his ire rising, then pushed it aside with mighty mental effort.
Arado didn’t show me all of their concepts. But, better to lose such a small battle, and win the larger ones, he told himself.
He shifted in his chair, and continued.
“A less glamorous aircraft that deserves our support is the Junkers JU-290 transport. We all love Iron Annie, the wonderful old JU-52, but it is sadly obsolete. The changes made to the JU-290 for von Schroeder’s mission have shown us how versatile this aircraft is. They have a design for a transport/aerial tanker which deserves urgent, serious review, in my opinion. If we could refuel fighters in the air, they could take off with much heavier loads of ammunition or bombs, or they could escort the Gothas much deeper into English airspace. According to their proposal, they could refuel simultaneously four fighters.”
“Impressive. But aren’t they very vulnerable to enemy fighters?” Speer asked.
“They are – what’s the American expression – ducks sitting? Yes, they are indefensible and would be shot down all but immediately if caught by Allied fighters. However, the added range and payloads they would make possible for our aircraft makes it worth the risk, I believe.”
Berthold hesitated, wondering if this was the time, then decided to press ahead.
“Are you aware, Herr Speer – Albert – that the experiments combining jet kerosene with alcohol derived from waste are successful? A great advantage is the simplicity of making the alcohol from almost anything organic, in small facilities scattered about which are much harder targets for the enemy. To be fair, however, the fuel has a short useful life, only about three weeks. Using it would not only increase the available fuel for the jet propelled aircraft, it would free up feed stocks for gasoline.”
Berthold left two hours later, smug in the knowledge he had significantly contributed to his nation’s defense. Albert Speer had gained a powerful ally in reordering Germany’s production of aircraft. It did not bode well for the Allies.
Two days later, Berthold received a call from Speer’s office, “The Herr Minister invites you to attend a meeting with himself and General der Luftwaffe Adolf Galland. Will you attend?”
Berthold quickly agreed; the last thing he wanted was to somehow alienate this powerful man who had become his friend.
4 October 1943
Berlin, Albert Speer’s Office
0145 Hours
Berthold was last to arrive, not purposefully late, but thanks to an attempted strafing attack by an American P-51. It galled him to the depth of his soul that this enemy could penetrate so deeply into Germany’s heartland. He had watched with cold satisfaction as a sleek Ta-152 dispatched the intruder. He hoped it would set the tone for the meeting.
“Ah, there you are, Heinz! Please come in.”
Albert Speer gestured to the man sitting in the chair as if introducing guests at a party, “General der Luftwaffe Adolf Galland, may I introduce Herr Doctor Heinz Berthold, of whom I have told you so much.” Speer was always the gentleman.
The handsome man who stood to shake Berthold’s hand was a genuine national hero. Where some SS thugs swaggered with their power and supposed invincibility, this man exuded confidence based solidly on practical experience. He was, after all, Berthold reminded himself, a multiple ace and a legitimate hero, not one of Goebbels’ created phonies.
“My dear Doctor! How good to meet at last the man who has given me tools I can actually use. I am in your debt, sir.” They shook hands.
“You are too kind, sir.” Berthold always felt awkward in formal situations, especially around legitimate heroes. He decided to say little.
Speer led them to the same comfortable chairs Berthold had sat in only days before. Coffee awaited them, and from the silver bottle holders, some stronger fare as well.
“So, Herr Doctor, Albert tells me you have plans to take away my aeroplanes.” The dark eyes snapped with humor and intelligence.
Berthold felt flustered; “Oh, no, General, not at all. Only the obsolete ones, and the ones which are more trouble to you than help. And only as we replace them. Do you not understand this?” He looked first to Galland, then to Speer.
Both men laughed. “My dear Heinz, of course we understand. The General was only having at bit of fun at your expense.”
“This is true, Berthold,” Galland said, serious now. “I think your ideas are exactly what we must do. Like al
l pilots with their favorite airplane, I fell in love with the lovely ME-109. It made me an ace, after all. But times change, and I am here to offer suggestions and to help coordinate the changes. It may be a case of too little, too late, but we must leap into this and make it work, yes? I am also very interested in your aerial refueling of the Gothas; do you think fighters could be refueled so as well?”
Berthold brightened.
I should have known such a man would grasp the significance of this at once, he told himself.
“Yes, of course General. One of my associates is drawing plans for kits to refit existing types as well as incorporating the capability into new airplanes as they are built.”
“For existing aircraft, the process should take about ten days per aircraft at first, then perhaps as little as two days when we have learned the process. You would know better than I, of course, but I believe that training the pilots to perform aerial fueling could take longer than equipping their airplanes.”
“This is very good. Do you propose to convert aircraft a staffel [squadron] at a time, then?”
“Yes, and if we are clever, Herr General, we ought to be able to reequip aircraft as they undergo heavy maintenance, and add in other upgrades as well.”
The meeting broke up hours later. Speer had even brought in a professional planner, who laid out the first of the needed detailed steps for turning Berthold’s ideas into reality.
Berthold left the office more hopeful than in months.
Perhaps, just perhaps, we can blunt the attacks of the Allies long enough to find a way out of this miserable war that isn’t a repeat of the Treaty of Versailles.
Chapter 53
Saturday Morning, 2 October 1943
Millville Army Air Field, Millville, New Jersey
0430 Hours
Lighthouses, Interrupted
Joel woke up early, even for him, and grabbed a light breakfast at the Officer’s Mess. By 0600, with the sun just coming up, he headed to the flightline, with a stop at the parachute shop for a seat pack ‘chute for both of them. AT-6 tail number 43-00163 was sitting out in front of the maintenance hanger. Two mechanics were fueling it. Joel waited for them to finish, checked the fuel levels and verified that both fuel caps were on securely. Just then, Sergeant Ledbetter walked up, with two cameras slung over his shoulders
“Colonel Knight, the base photo shop only had high speed film, but for what we’re shooting today, that shouldn’t be any problem.”
“No, I’m sure that’ll be OK, John. Be sure to get the receipt to me, so I can reimburse you. Your parachute is on the seat. I’ll get the pre-flight done.”
The morning was beautiful, and Joel went about the preflight check whistling a big band tune.
A bright green flash from the handheld light in the tower cleared them to taxi onto the runway. In position, he keyed his mic, “Army 163, ready to go.”
“Army 163, cleared for takeoff.”
Joel clicked his mic twice in acknowledgement, and advanced the throttle. As always, he got a thrill feeling the aircraft come alive.
He retracted the landing gear and they climbed out, turning toward the Atlantic Ocean. In minutes, they crossed over the little village of Strathmere, and banked north to follow the shoreline.
“Our first target will be Absecon Lighthouse, just south of Atlantic City, then the Barnegat Lighthouse, to the north,” he told the young photographer over the intercom. “I’ll do a fly-by first so you can see how you like the light, and then you tell me where you want me, OK?”
“Sounds, swell, sir. If you slow us down when we get there, I’ll open the canopy, and it’ll be easier to take the pictures.”
It only took minutes to fly up the coast to the Absecon Lighthouse. Making a couple of passes while the photographer judged the light, Joel swung back around at about 200 feet, lowered the flaps, and slowly flew past first on the ocean-facing side of the lighthouse, then its land side.
This is a fun way to fly, he decided.
Finishing, they flew ten miles to the scenic Barnegat lighthouse which Ledbetter captured on film as well. As they climbed back up to altitude turning north, they saw a pair of big, grey Navy blimps slowly moving out to sea. As clumsy as they seemed, they provided yeoman service to the country in spotting and tracking, even sinking German submarines, Joel knew. Easily avoiding the slow moving lighter-than-air craft, they continued north.
“What’s next, sir?” asked Ledbetter over the intercom.
“That’d be the Twin Lights, John. Quite an interesting old building, with a light house tower on each end. Still use it, too! I think it was built in the late 1800s.”
Within minutes, the distinctive building was visible. “Gee, sir! I’ve never seen anything like that!” exclaimed Ledbetter.
“Yeah, it’s the only lighthouse like that in the world; at least that’s what I’m telling my sister!”
The early morning light made the red brick building glow, and the faceted glass covering the lights contrasted sharply with the green grass around the building.
They flew past at 1,000 feet, with John clicking off as many shots as he could. Dropping down, and again lowering the flaps, Joel slowed them to make several passes. Ledbetter kept making little exclamations as he twisted in his seat to get just the right view.
After the last south-bound pass, Joel turned inland and began once again to climb, heading north.
“Now we’ll go shoot the Sandy Hook Light, up in New York harbor,” Joel told him.
Ledbetter looked slightly off to their left toward New York City, and shouted, “Hey, sir, look at that! A whole formation of B-17s flying down the Narrows! Hey, what’s all that smoke over the city?”
Joel looked with astonishment at the spectacle.
Why, there must be fifty or sixty of them! Why didn’t they tell me the Air Corps was flying a formation over the City?
Then, with a chill of fear, he realized that the airplanes were not B-17s.
“Dear God, protect us! Those are German! They’ve bombed the City!” he shouted.
Chapter 54
2 October 1943
Aboard US Army AT-6 43-00163, Near New York City
0710 Hours
Enemy Encounter
“God Almighty!” Ledbetter cried. “What are they? They look like giant bats!”
The aircraft began to turn eastward away from them, climbing, heading out to sea.
That distinctive V shape – they’re the flying wings I briefed the admirals and generals about!
Instinctively, Joel slammed the throttle wide open, and the aircraft leapt higher. Without thinking, he was flying to intercept them, as if he was in a fighter. The enemy formation was climbing away from them.
We’ll have a hard time catching them in this ‘T-6.
“John,” he shouted anxiously over the intercom, “if you have any telephoto lenses, take as many pictures as you can. I’m going to try to catch them.”
Turning to the right as they climbed, they began to slowly overtake the enemy craft.
They’re closing up the formation for protection, he thought. They were only about a quarter of a mile away.
They should be shooting us! And we’re unarmed!
He leveled out, almost in formation with the lead aircraft.
Swastikas! They are German!
With a jolt of surprise, he spotted a distinctive bright red slash and baronial badge on the lead aircraft’s upper wing.
“That’s von Schroeder! Gerhard Schroeder, the ersatz baron! It’s gotta be!” Joel burst out. They were the same marking he’d seen on von Schroeder’s Me-109 back in 1936, he was sure of it! Joel was stunned; he’d never expected to see his old nemesis again, and certainly not over New York City!
“Get pictures of that one! The one with the red stripe!” he shouted at his passenger.
In the rear seat, the terrified Ledbetter was taking pictures as fast as his camera would allow. He ran out of film. Switching to his backup camera, he shot m
ore pictures, including several of the plane with red markings. Somehow, he managed to keep his hands from shaking.
“I’ve used up all my film, sir.”
“That’s OK, they’re too fast for us anyway, John. Now we’ve got to get those photographs back home ASAP.” With bitter reluctance, Joel rolled away to the right, and began a diving, straight line, full throttle return to his home base. The engine tachometer was redlined, the airspeed still climbing, at nearly 180 MPH. He pushed the aircraft as hard as it would go.
“Close your canopy, John. It won’t be so cold or loud.”
He tuned the radio to113.6 MHz, “Millville Control, Army 163, emergency straight in approach requested!”
“Army 163, what is the nature of your emergency?” the reply was laconic.
“Millville Control, Army 163; this is Colonel Knight; inbound from Sandy Hook, ETA 20 minutes. The Germans bombed New York City, and I photographed their aircraft! Have a car meet us on the runway. Call Colonel Watkins and Colonel Randolph and tell them I have pictures! These pictures have to get to Washington immediately! Call Lakehurst; maybe the Navy can intercept those bastards!”
“What? The Germans bombed New York?” the control tower man replied. “How could they? Is this a drill?”
“This is no drill!” Joel shouted, unconsciously echoing the famous radio call from Pearl Harbor.
“I say again, this is Lieutenant Colonel Joel Knight, in AT-6 number 163; we flew right alongside them. New York City is on fire; they bombed it sure as Sunday! Now, clear me for a straight in approach ASAP!”
Chapter 55
2 October 1943
Main Runway
Millville Army Air Field, Millville, New Jersey
0811 Hours
Post Attack
The flight seemed to last forever, but in twenty-five minutes, they were in sight of the base. Joel flew straight onto the runway, not flying the normal pattern, took the first high speed turnoff, and stopped quickly beside the waiting staff car.