by Jeff Kildow
“Give me the cameras!” Joel shouted at the still pale buck sergeant. He jumped off the wing, shed his parachute, and raced to the waiting car.
He leapt into the Olive Drab 1941 Ford sedan and was stunned to realize that he was sitting beside Colonel Watkins, the base commander.
“Oh! I beg your pardon, sir!” he said in astonishment; “I thought this car was for me!” He reached for the door handle.
“It is, Colonel Knight.” Turning to the driver, he instructed, “Take us to the photo lab, Building 102, immediately.” The car lurched forward, and sped off.
Turning to Joel, Watkins said, “We heard about the attack right after you called in. We’re all shocked! It’s Pearl Harbor all over again!”
“That’s sure what it feels like, sir!” Joel replied, shaking his head in disbelief.
“You were up there in a ‘T-6? What did you see?”
“Sir, I was getting in my hours, and taking some lighthouse pictures with Sergeant Ledbetter. He spotted the Germans coming down the Narrows – thought they were B-17s at first. There must have been thirty or forty of them – maybe more, climbing out to the east. The whole city’s on fire! I think they’re that new Gotha design I briefed you on.”
“What? What did they look like, son?” the older man asked, incredulous.
“Colonel, they were flying wings! No tails! And they were big, four engines, pushers, with buried engines. They were bigger than a B-17. There was a cylindrical section sticking out in the front for the crew, almost as if they had tacked on the forward fuselage of another plane. They were a strange color – a flat gray top and bottom, but the Swastikas were bright enough! Funny thing – they never shot at us! And they had to see us!”
“What! You weren’t fired upon?” The older man seemed incredulous.
“No, sir, I don’t even think they had guns! I didn’t see any! We were a1000 yards from them – they should have shot us out of the sky! Oh, Dear God, how I wish I’d been in a Jug!” he said in anguish.
“Did any of them have battle damage – did you see any feathered props or smoke?”
“No, nothing I saw, sir. The photos will tell the tale – oh, darn! I should have brought Ledbetter! He does magic developing film!” he said regretfully.
“Don’t worry, Colonel; I ordered that you both were to come to the photo lab. He’ll be along presently.”
“I know who the lead pilot was!” Joel burst out.
“What? How could you know that?” the Colonel said, his eyes hard.
Quickly, Joel gave him an overview of his encounter with then Hauptman Freiherr Gerhard von und zu Schroeder. “The red slash with the baronial badge was unmistakable, sir. Nobody else in the Luftwaffe uses it!”
The older man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “He’s a colonel now, you see. We’d lost track of him after all the excitement about Göring and Hitler. He must have finagled command of this strike, damn his eyes!”
“He really hates America, sir, and I’m partly responsible, I’m afraid.”
“How’s that?” an eyebrow went up.
“I humiliated him pretty badly in front of his squadron in 1936, sir. And not just once; four times. He wanted to dog fight, and I beat him and in a ME-109 to boot. The Gestapo wanted to arrest me; I got sent home after that. Honestly, sir, the man wanted me to fight a duel! He threatened to kill me several times.”
“Yes, he’s known to be short of temper and long on ego.”
They rushed inside the photo lab.
The two were ushered into the big darkroom, and the film technicians took the cameras from Joel. Under a red safety light, the cameras were opened and the rolls of film began to go through the various chemical baths. They heard the light-shielded door open, and Sergeant Ledbetter joined them.
“What do you see, Corporal?” Ledbetter asked, very much in charge as he walked to the work bench.
“Not much, yet; we’re still sorting out your lighthouses, Sarge,” the lead technician said.
“Let me help,” Ledbetter said as he put on protective rubber gloves.
“Have the G-2 officers arrived yet?” asked Colonel Watkins as he carefully watched the processing.
“Should be here any minute, Colonel.” the photo lab boss told him.
Minutes later, the intelligence officers began to carefully examine the still wet photographs.
“Anybody recognize the planes?” asked Watkins; he glanced at Joel and shook his head slightly
“No, sir, that’s new to me.”
“Same here, sir; never seen anything like ‘em.” It was said in awe.
“Sirs?” a youthful voice said. “I think I know what they are.”
“Who are you, soldier, and why do you think you can identify them if we can’t?” said an intelligence officer testily.
“Sir, I’m Private First Class Henderson. Besides developing photographs, I build model planes for the Army, lots of them, for briefings and GOC aircraft ID training. It’s my duty to model new aircraft from all over the world, including classified ones. Those photos show the Gotha GO-447 flying wing that won the Luftwaffe long range bomber competition.”
The officers were stunned by his comments. The younger of the G-2 officers spoke first; “Sir, he’s right; that’s almost surely what they are.”
“Corporal, you just earned yourself another stripe! Congratulations, young man, well done!” the Colonel said. He looked at Joel “That’s a pretty solid confirmation, Colonel.”
“Now,” he said, turning to the senior intelligence officer, “get a dozen copies of the airplane shots, and take them, and the negatives, to the Pentagon ASAP. Send a fighter, get them there as quickly as possible. I’ve got some urgent phone calls to make.”
Chapter 56
2 October 1943
Office of the Commandant
Brooklyn Naval Ship Yard, Brooklyn, New York
0710 Hours
Grim Assessment
Rear Admiral Monroe R. Kelly wore impeccable dress whites, as always, but his face was pale and drawn. He’d seen the explosions as he came into the facility, and had even gotten a glimpse of the bat-winged bombers. Several anti-aircraft guns on the north end of the Yard had still been hammering away at them.
He laid his hat on his desk and turned to his adjutant.
“How bad is it, Andy?” His voice was a little shaky.
The younger man was pale and shaken himself.
“Admiral, we’re still getting reports, but here’s what we know: Missouri took four or five hits, a couple of which were glancing blows. She’s still solid on her hull supports, but she may have serious damage. We’ll get a thorough report in an hour or so. Both baby flattops took nasty hits; Ferguson’s foredeck was holed, and her below decks machinery and hanger bay are badly damaged. She’s on fire. Grover took a direct hit on the bows. Damage isn’t too bad from that, but she was knocked off her hull supports; it may have bent her hull when she hit the dry dock wall. Her island is knocked sideways, too; looks bad. None of the destroyers seem to have been hurt, but a couple of dry docks were breached. Real assessment will have to wait ‘till we can drain them. A lot of the dockside machinery is busted up, and there are fires all over the yard.” He handed his report to the Admiral.
“I can’t believe it; I just can’t believe that they could actually bomb us. Who else got hit, or was it just the Yard?”
The Lieutenant Commander shrugged, “We can’t say for sure yet, sir, but the City was bombed, and from the smoke, probably that oil refinery in ‘Jersey, too.”
“Casualties: what is the casualty report?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“Sir, only a few, scattered reports so far, but it looks like a couple dozen dead, and a hundred or more injured.”
“Well.” Kelly was beginning to get his feet under himself as his mind coped with the disaster. “Get me the direct line to SecNav right away; I’ve got to report this.”
Four Hours Later
“That’s correct, si
r.” Kelly was making his third call of the day to the Secretary of the Navy. “Missouri’s keel was partially broken about mid-ships; we think a direct hit. The ship’s architect is still inspecting her, but thinks she’s repairable. The fire’s out on Ferguson; she took pretty serious damage below decks and we’re waiting on details. I’m sorry to say we may have to write off Grover. Her hull is severely bent and twisted with a lot of sprung hull plates. Her island is un-useable and would have to be cut off and replaced. Worst of all, her engines were knocked off their mounts and are severely damaged. Repairs may cost more than she’s worth at this stage, sir.” Bringing this kind of news to your boss was never good for your career.
“No, sir. Our casualty reports are incomplete. Preliminarily, the numbers are 310 total, with about eighty confirmed deaths.
“Another issue, sir. The Germans dropped incendiaries, and many didn’t go off. They must have timers, because new fires keep breaking out all over the Yard. I’m requesting any ordinance disposal men you can spare, sir.”
Chapter 57
2 October 1943
Aboard Baron One
0943 Hours
Heading For Home
Von Schroeder realized his crew was avoiding him. He’d been irritable and nervous on the long trip to New York even though he’d taken the sleeping pills the doctor had insisted upon. The rest hadn’t eased his nervousness. He nearly panicked during the bomb run, despite his efforts at self- control. To his delight, the new RMB Bombsight worked perfectly on still targets too.
He looked at the formation as they steadily climbed through the light overcast.
Nearly 3,500 meters [~11,500 feet] now, he thought, checking the altimeter. With no oxygen on the planes, he’d have to make sure they stayed low so no one would have a problem with the thin air.
His aircraft had a mirror over the cockpit, like a fighter. The smoke-smudged horizon had dropped out of sight; no vapor trails betrayed them – good. Soon every bomber would shut down its outboard engines to economize on fuel. Through the scattered clouds, the Atlantic had the look of blue-grey wrinkled silk. As far as he could see in every direction, its surface was unmarked by a ship’s wake.
“We did it. I think we actually did it,” he said in disbelief.
He shook himself. “Did we suffer any damage?”
“No, sir, I don’t believe they even shot at us.”
“Excellent! Contact the other aircraft and get any casualty reports. And remind them to watch their altitude.”
At once, the radio operator turned on the low power radio transmitter, and sent the message to the other aircraft. The transmitter had a range of less than three miles; even a ship directly under them wouldn’t be able to intercept the message.
Von Schroeder checked his watch again against the aircraft’s chronometer.
It has been nearly two hours since we struck, and no American airplanes have attacked us. And it’s too late now, we’re too far at sea. Remarkable! he thought.
“What do you hear on the America radio stations?” he asked the radio man when he finished sending the damage report request.
His radio operator grinned. “They’re in shock and confusion, sir! They can’t believe that it was actually German aircraft. One announcer said that we came from aircraft carriers! Can you imagine it?” the young man laughed, relief strong in his voice.
“From what they are saying, sir, we set a lot of fires. The oil refinery on the west side of the river blew up. There’ve been no references to the aircraft factory or shipyard. If I may give my opinion, sir, it sounds like chaos!”
The man listened on his headset for a few moments, “More good news, sir. None of the aircraft suffered damage. One has a rough engine, which may have to be shut down, but not due to enemy action. Rheinwasser Yellow 2 reports that his radio man is ill.”
Von Schroeder digested this for a moment; no one in their wildest dreams could have predicted such success! Surely they would send him again to punish the arrogant Americans, despite what that dwarf Berthold said. His promotion was all but assured!
He took a large, deep breath and let it out, a wide, rare smile on his face. “You will have medals! I promise it! What a magnificent crew!” He felt magnanimous.
“Tell our fellows congratulations on my behalf. They are to strictly follow the flight protocols; we will celebrate on the ground. Oh, yes, we shall celebrate!” The radio man began sending the message.
“Now then,” von Schroeder said with self satisfaction, “it’s about time for me to send a little message.”
The radio operator readied the powerful short wave transmitter. Only von Schroeder’s airplane was so equipped. Von Schroeder savored his next words, a deliberate play on the words the Japanese had sent following their success at Pearl Harbor. He intentionally sent them in the clear, unencrypted: “Climb Mount Rushmore. Climb Mount Rushmore.”
Chapter 58
Monday, 3 October 1943
Lieutenant Colonel Joel Knight’s Office
Millville Army Air Field, Millville, New Jersey
0700 Hours
Aftermath
First Sergeant Bill Madsen brought in a stack of newspapers.
“Thanks, Bill. Let’s have a look”
The New York Times headline screamed:
NAZIS HIT CITY, DAMAGE SEVERE
HOW? WHY?
The Philadelphia paper continued in kind:
NYC BOMBED!
“Impossible” Raid Kills Hundreds,
Burns Much of City
Army Stumped How
The Baltimore paper shouted:
SECOND PEARL HARBOR!
CAUGHT UNAWARE AGAIN!
The Millville Daily Republican was no different:
JERRYS BOMB NYC!
Secret “Bat Planes” Reach Across Atlantic,
Cause Much Death and Damage
Wide Fear of More Attacks
The editorial page in the New York Times carried a savage attack on the Roosevelt Administration and the War Department. Joel read it aloud:
For shame! Our government is again guilty of the most egregious dereliction of duty! The first duty of the government in Washington, according to the Constitution, is to Protect the People. FDR and his War Department have again failed to carry out this sacred duty, and for the second time in only twenty-two months, America has suffered severely at the hands of our enemies. There can be no excuses for this! Once again we were unprepared, and this time while actually conducting the war! Correction of this grave fault must be immediate, and the consequences severe, starting with the firing of the heads of the Army and Navy. Courts Martial must be convened at once. Impeachment of the President must be given serious consideration, for it is he who serves as Commander in Chief, and who must bear the ultimate responsibility. Congress, too, shares in this dubious attention, for they have repeatedly refused requests for funding and equipment for our Coastal Protection Services. They must make do with cast off aircraft, overage reservists and too few Navy vessels. We have heard a further outrage, as yet unconfirmed, that not a single shot was fired at the attackers! How can this be? This is truly criminal neglect of duty. Will we discover, as we did after Pearl Harbor, that the ammunition our fighting men needed was under lock and key, as if in peace time? Surely not everyone was caught off guard! Or, were we?
“Wow! Strong message to follow! This is gonna get really ugly before it’s all squared away. I just hope that while they’re busy hanging the guilty, they don’t forget to give us what we need to defend against the next attack, ‘cause you know if they can do it once, they can do it again. God have mercy on us all!” Joel lamented.
Chapter 59
Tuesday, 4 October 1943
Office of the Commander
Millville Army Air Field, Millville, New Jersey
0800 Hours
Washington Bound
Joel and Sergeant Ledbetter sat in Colonel Watkins’ office, describing the attack one more time. The intelligence officers and
Colonel Randolph queried them sharply.
Colonel Watkins’ telephone rang. “Tarleton Watkins here,” he answered. He listened for a moment, nodded, and hung up the instrument. He turned to the men.
“Gentlemen, we have been ‘invited’ to brief General Marshall and the Joint Chiefs tomorrow morning. They want to talk to both of you, as well as the rest of us. Let’s see, there are seven of us. Can we all get in the B-25, Joel?”
“Sir, we could, but it’d a lot more comfortable in the C-47 and we’d get there almost as quickly.”
“Make it so; we’ll leave as soon as you are ready, Colonel.”
An hour later, Joel sat in the big plane’s cabin, while a teenaged Second Lieutenant flew them toward Washington, D.C. Joel shook his head; the kid still has pimples, for crying out loud! But, he seems to know what he’s doing. Joel turned to his fellow officers.
“How did they do it? How did they fly all the way across the Atlantic, bomb New York, and fly back to Germany?” mused Colonel Randolph over the roar of the engines.
“Yeah,” said an Intel guy, “we sure don’t have anything that can fly that far, not even the new B-29. Worse yet, why didn’t we know they were going to do this?”
“And just as bad, why weren’t they seen? Why weren’t they intercepted and shot down?” added Colonel Watkins. He turned to Joel. “Colonel, were there any other aircraft in the vicinity?”
“Only the Navy blimps I mentioned, sir; they were a lot lower, and headed south-east, so they probably wouldn’t have seen the Germans. I’ve flown up there before on a Saturday, sir, and usually the Navy has some F6F Hellcats flying around, but we didn’t see any that day.”
“And you, Sergeant Ledbetter? Did you see any other aircraft?”
“Not a thing, sir. Of course, I was taking photos, but I don’t recall seeing any other airplanes.”
“They flew over Grumman’s plant on Long Island – why didn’t those guys attack them?”