by Jeff Kildow
“Why is that, Captain?”
“Sir, the RADARs on the B-23s are British ASV Mark Is, which are specifically designed to find submarines. They have a useful range of about three and a half miles from 200 feet, when conditions are right.
“Without getting technical, General, B-23 RADARs can’t discriminate well enough to detect aircraft at a distance where they couldn’t already be seen with the Mark I eyeball.
“Sir, they’re designed to see submarines on the surface.” He gestured with his hands, “Their antennas point down. To point them upward, or make them able to point up would require serious engineering work. It might be necessary to change the shape of the antenna cover on the nose as well. One last thing, sir; that airplane is out of production, and all of them are about worn out. We’ve been flying the wings off of them. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, sir.” He didn’t mention that getting any of the sub-hunters away from the squadrons using them would be next to impossible.
Captain William Fillbert raised his hand. The General nodded toward him. “General, after I was told I’d be the CO of the Detection and Patrol squadron, I spent some time investigating B-23s. I can confirm what the Captain said. They fly low and slow, sir, not what we need, I think.”
For a moment, White appeared deflated, then he straightened. “Well, Captains, that does put a different blush on the rose, doesn’t it? What other aircraft are possible candidates?”
After a brief silence, Joel interjected, “General White, sir, there are some ex-Lend-Lease Douglas B-70s we might be able to get. They’re converted from A-20 Havocs. They have AI RADARs.” AI was the designation for Airborne Interception. “They don’t have P-61 performance, of course, but they may be available and could do a reasonable job temporarily.”
The General’s face brightened, “Check into that for me, Colonel, and report back as soon as you know anything.”
Two days later
Joel stood as General White walked out of his office, “Good morning, sir. I have the story on the P-70s, if you have a moment.”
White glanced at his watch, “I have about seven minutes, Colonel; can you brief me quickly?”
“Yes, sir, I believe so.” They moved into White’s office.
“Sir, the short answer is the airplanes aren’t available. As you know, the British sent them back to us. Before the Army could reassign them, State Department got involved.”
“State Department? What did they want with them?”
“Sir, somebody at State got the cock-a-mamie idea that those ships should go to Russia under Lend-Lease. The War Department and the Army are totally against it, of course, but State won’t budge. It may go to the President before it’s all over, but that doesn’t help our problem, I’m afraid.”
“Dear God, those idiots at State would actually give the Russians some of our best RADARs? No wonder the War Department and the Army are against it. Does General Marshall know?”
“Not officially, that I’m aware of, sir. General Arnold has been briefed.”
“Well. Now I guess it’s time for me to light a fire under the Secretary of War for those P-61s you wanted. Hap Arnold has already bought off on the plan, if you’re not aware of that, Colonel.”
“That’s great, sir; always good to have the Chief of the Army Air Forces behind your request.”
“That can smooth out a few bumps along the way,” White said dryly, by way of dismissal.
Chapter 66
20 October 1943
Office of the Commanding General
Millville Army Air Field, Millville, New Jersey
1330 Hours
Analysis
General White sat with his officers and senior NCOs, preparing for yet another Pentagon meeting.
“I want your opinions, gentlemen: why did the Germans attack us and what did they think they’d gain? What possible tactical and strategic reasons are behind the Germans making such a huge expenditure of time, money, and resources for so little obvious gain. If we understand the why of what they did, perhaps we can defend against it better.”
Major Moore cleared his throat, “Sir, I believe it was psychological, to frighten Americans, undermining our sense of security and determination to fight. The propaganda that Goebbels has been putting out sure sounds like that.”
“That may well have been part of it, Major, but it doesn’t seem like reason enough by itself. Anyone else?”
Joel interjected, “Sir, Major Moore may be correct but I believe there may have been a strategic rationale as well. If they attack us, our response would be to defend our coast with more troops, aircraft, and ships. That means fewer troops, aircraft and ships to fight in Europe.”
White was thoughtful for a moment, “To hold us hostage, Colonel, wouldn’t they have to strike us repeatedly? Will they attack us again?”
“Well, sir,” Joel answered carefully, “using the aircraft they hit New York City with, no. Those ships were cobbled together for that mission, I think; the fact they were unarmed says they depended on surprise. If they try that again, we’ll kill ‘em.”
“What do you mean ‘cobbled together’?”
“General, when I flew next to the Germans that day, I saw covers riveted over gun turret openings; it’s in the photos. There were marks on the undersides where something dropped off. They all had an angled pipe coming forward from the left leading edge – that sort of thing hasn’t been seen before. If you look at the photographs, sir, there were a couple of planes that had torn up landing gear doors. One had no wheel in the wheel well. The paint schemes sure weren’t standard Luftwaffe. If I may be so bold, sir, I respectfully submit that those aircraft were not standard production Gotha’s; I think they were specially modified just for this mission.”
White turned to his new G-2 colonel, “What about that, George? Any idea what a standard production Gotha looks like?”
The man hedged his answer, “Sir, while I agree with Colonel Knight that the features he mentioned are not what you’d expect to find on ordinary production ships, at this time, I don’t think we can say what is standard and what isn’t. They’ve only been encountered a few times in Europe.”
“Hmm. Next question: why weren’t they armed?”
A young looking Captain spoke, “General, my guess is that they were restricted in the weight they could carry and still get back, so they risked not being armed in the hope they’d surprise us.”
“That’s certainly reasonable, sir,” Joel said. In this case, his engineering background gave him an edge over the other pilots.
“For the size of the aircraft, the bomb loads they carried seemed small – mostly incendiaries, which are pretty light.”
Another man commented and there was conversation about it. Joel sat, deep in thought. When the opportunity arose, he interjected, “General White, sir, could the Germans know where I am stationed?”
“Why do you ask, Colonel?” White said, a puzzled look on his face.
“Not to sound self-centered, sir, but in 1936, von Schroeder vowed to come to America and kill me. He has repeated that threat several times since. I didn’t pay much attention to it until now. Since he commanded the New York raid, it’s reasonable to assume he’d be part of any additional attacks. If he still has those feelings, and he finds out I’m here at Millville, sir – well, that could increase the possibility of an attack on this base.”
The G-2 Colonel cleared his throat, glancing at the major beside him, “General White, it’s likely the Germans know that Colonel Knight is stationed here. Personnel lists for about a dozen bases, including Millville, were recently stolen. The thief contacted a known spy in New York City. The documents have already been passed on, probably through Canada. The FBI is involved as well as Army Intelligence. If you would like, sir, I can check into what the Bureau knows.”
“Yes, George, do that. Let me and Colonel Knight know what you find.” He made some notes.
25 October
1943 Staff Meeting
“General White, regarding the FBI investigation into the thefts of base personnel lists, I spoke with the Special Agent in Charge. He told me the thief rented a boat, and sailed out of New York Harbor a couple of days afterward. The Coast Guard found it adrift; we think he was met by a submarine. The trail of the Canadian spy has also gone cold. My opinion is you should assume the Germans have our personnel list, and that they know about Colonel Knight.”
“Thank you, George. If you hear any news about this, let me know.”
He turned to Joel. “I’m not sure what to do about this, Colonel, beyond staying alert for attacks. It amazes me that this von Schroeder duck was allowed to lay on a bombing mission for personal vindictiveness, but stranger things have happened with the Third Reich.”
Chapter 67
9 November 1943
Colonel Joel Knight’s Office
0810 Hours
Unexpected Confession
“Colonel,” Bill Madsen said, “personal call on line one.”
“Thanks, Bill,” Joel said, picking up the receiver, “this is Lieutenant Colonel Knight.”
“Hello Joel, this is Susan.” The normal lilt in her voice was missing.
“Sorry to bother you at work, so I’ll be quick. Can you meet me tonight at the Second Street diner? I really need to speak to you.”
Slightly taken aback, Joel said, “Well, hi yourself! Can’t you just tell me what’s on your mind right now?”
“No,” she demurred, sounding a little distant, “we need to talk face to face.” They agreed on a time, chatted just a bit, and then said goodbye.
This feels ominous, Joel thought. Has she found somebody else? The question unsettled him. The day seemed to drag from then on.
Just before 6:00 p.m., Joel parked the Packard near the diner, and saw that Susan had borrowed Mildred’s dark blue ’37 Ford sedan. Steeling himself for the worst, he went inside.
Susan saw him from the corner booth, and smiled what she hoped was brightly. She stood, and kissed him on the cheek. Inside, she was clenching her stomach, worried how he would take what she had to say. He kissed her back, a bit distantly, and sat, a worried look on his face.
The poor guy has no idea why I had asked him here, Susan thought.
“Thanks for coming,” she said, screwing up her courage, “I know this isn’t real convenient for you. I really—.” A waitress interrupted her. Joel ordered coffee and a slice of pie.
He’s distracted, she thought, he didn’t notice that I ordered a meal.
They sat mostly silent until her meal was served, while her tension rose. Then, steeling herself, she looked him earnestly in the eye.
“What I must tell you, Joel, is that I haven’t been fully honest with you about myself.” Joel got a worried look on his face and sat very still.
Carefully, she said, “Do you remember wondering how I got in to see you when you were in the hospital after our accident in the plane?”
“Yes,” he said, slowly.
“Well, I got on base and into the hospital because I have an ID card that’s a pass.”
“What? What ID card?” He was frowning, and looked confused.
“This one,” she handed it to him, her heart beating a little faster. On it was an unflattering photograph of her. At the top it said OFFICIAL; on the line below it read:
CIVILIAN EMPLOYEE
WAR DEPARTMENT
Where a military ID card listed rank, it read GS-11. A bottom line said:
CLEARANCE TOP SECRET
Special Access
He looked up at her, his eyes slightly narrowed. “Civilian employee? GS-11? What the Dickens is this all about?”
She took the card, slipped it into her purse, and swallowed.
“It means that I work for the War Department on a contract basis. Mostly with Army G-2. Not many people have the education I have, Joel, and they hired me some time ago. What I told you about teaching and getting a masters degree is what they call a ‘cover story.’ In fact, I already have my doctorate.”
His look was blank, uncomprehending.
She took a breath, and pressed on.
“For the Army, I have been looking at reports on certain high ranking officials and serving officers, to determine whether they are trustworthy, or whether they could be at risk for emotional breakdown under the extreme pressures of combat.”
“Have you been investigating me?” he said, a shocked look on his face.
“Oh, no! No, not at all!”
She hadn’t anticipated the question. She put her hand reassuringly on his.
“Not you. I just wasn’t allowed to tell you until now. I hate that I had to lie to you; please forgive me? With your promotion and new responsibilities, they decided I should fill you in about my work, in case you need my help sometime. That, and then I wouldn’t have to make up excuses for why I’m always going to Washington. They may ask me to come to Washington full-time soon.”
Joel sat back and blew out a breath she didn’t know he’d been holding.
“That’s a relief; I thought—I was afraid you were going to say goodbye.”
It was Susan’s turn to be surprised, as a pain leapt up inside her.
“I don’t want to say goodbye to you, Joel,” she said softly, “is that what you want?” Her voice sounded somehow small to her.
His blue eyes were intense. “Susan, I love you; that’s the last thing I want. And of course I forgive you.” He held both of her hands, and she relaxed. “So, tell me, what do they have you doing?”
She noted that he didn’t ask for names. “The public doesn’t know—,” she looked around to see how near the other diners were, and continued quietly.
“The public doesn’t know there have been several cases where men in combat ‘snapped’ – I hate that term, it doesn’t explain it at all – with some pretty serious consequences. For example, a Marine Captain on Guadalcanal, who’d never been in combat before suddenly went wild and began shouting senseless orders; several of his men died. His Lieutenant relieved him, but the man has never been the same, and should never have been put in that position. That’s just one example; in another situation, a man just froze, and did nothing. There are others in Europe, including a very high ranking officer who was relieved for reasons I can’t go into. And, they’ve had me analyzing the behavior of several senior Nazis, to see if we can predict what their reactions to certain situations might be. I’ve had some success at it, but not as much as I want or that we need. They’re asking me to concentrate on the Nazis.”
She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Joel, I’ve been ordered to interview you about von Schroeder. They want me to work up some ideas on him, and you are one of the very few who have ever spent any time with him. Your experience is unique.”
She cleared her throat and spoke more firmly than before.
“You are to clear your calendar next Thursday, and spend the day with me discussing this man, on the record. Your office is acceptable if we can arrange to not be disturbed; otherwise, it will have to be away from the Headquarters building somewhere.” Her chin was stuck out resolutely. “I’m sorry to say it this way, but those are orders from the Air Corps General Staff.”
Chapter 68
11 November 1943
Building 21, Military Police Headquarters
Millville Army Air Field
1000 Hours
Interview
Joel decided against his office; they would be constantly interrupted. He explained to Chappy he’d be unavailable except for emergencies, and left him in charge.
He drove through crunchy snow to the Military Police building and parked. He still had mixed feelings about what she’d told him. He was a little miffed on one hand that she hadn’t told him, and proud of her on the other for doing such an important job. And he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate; she had a way of very pleasantly distracting him. That thought made him smile.
All day, together!
&nb
sp; He found the office, and walked in to discover Susan speaking to a short, spare looking WAC [Women’s Army Corps] Technical Sergeant. The contrast between the two women could not have been starker. Susan was wonderfully female in a way that even the plainest clothing couldn’t hide; the other woman was slender to the point of being skinny, with all the shape of a flag pole. Her face was drawn up in a tight scowl, accentuated by heavy, wireless glasses. Her dark hair was straight and cut severely.
“Good morning, sir. Are you Colonel Knight?” her voice was thin and reed-like, her gray eyes probing.
“Yes,” Joel replied, “good morning, Sergeant. And good morning to you, Susan.”
“We’ll be a bit more formal today, Colonel Knight,” Susan said, emphasizing his rank. “This is Technical Sergeant Lucile Morgan. She’s a psychologist, and will be assisting me today as we learn what you know about Oberst Freiherr Gerhard von und zu Schroeder.”
His visions of being alone with Susan all day vanished as he followed the women into a second room. It contained a large wooden table, on one side of which was a single chair. On the other side there were two chairs. A reel to reel tape recorder sat on the table. A microphone sat in front of the single chair. Against the wall was a smaller table holding a coffee service and three cups.
This must be where they conduct interrogations, he thought grimly. “Ve have ways of making you talk.” No torture instruments visible, at least.
“Help yourself to coffee, Colonel, if you’d like, and we’ll begin,” Susan said, sounding very businesslike. Joel filled a cup, and sat.
“State for the record, please, your name, rank, and serial number.”
“I am Lieutenant Colonel Joel T. Knight, United States Army Air Forces, serial number O-1772330.”
“Thank you, Colonel. You don’t have to lean toward the microphone. It will record you where you sit,” Sergeant Morgan said primly.