“Expert?” Edland had replied, surprised at McNamar’s proposal. “Sir, what I told you is what little I know. There’s a lot more that I don’t know.”
“That’s the definition of an expert, isn’t it?” McNamar said, unmoved. “Someone who knows just a little more than the next guy?”
Edland stood at the podium on the raised platform, wishing that he had a few slides at least, or something to help him illustrate what he was about to reveal.
“The Germans have apparently developed a new type of E-boat. A hydrofoil craft that is capable of extreme speeds.”
“Extreme?” a British vice-admiral asked.
“Upwards of sixty knots to eighty knots. Perhaps much faster than that,” Edland confirmed. “We have determined that the unofficial designation for these E-boats is Sea Eagles, and they are operating out of Cherbourg, although it is equally possible that there are others based at Le Havre and Boulogne.”
“How did you come by this intelligence, young man?”
Edland found the source of the question in the darkness. It was Churchill.
“From an enemy seaman, sir,” Edland said, wishing that the prime minister had stayed at Downing Street. Churchill had a habit of biting into a subject and of not letting go until the thing bled to death, or someone was able to convince him to move on. “And from an encounter between the E-boats and a Channel convoy.”
“Sea Eagles, you say?” Churchill said.
Edland saw McNamar wince out of the corner of his eye. Dramatic phrases and extreme rhetoric often led Churchill on flights of fancy. Sometimes to disastrous results. The Allies were virtually bogged down in the ‘soft underbelly of Europe,’ facing stiff German resistance in the mountains of Italy.
“Yes, sir. We don’t know their true designation but there is at least one flotilla. Allow me to give you some background,” Edland said quickly, before Churchill was off again. “The Germans began experimenting with hydrofoils in the 1930s. By the late thirties there were at least six boats, small vessels of no more than five tons, that were built at the Sachsenberg Yards. Top speed, no more than forty knots. Sometime between 1940 and the present, development of these craft was accelerated, although we don’t know the particulars. We suspect, or at least the gentleman that I cabled for information, Dr. C. T. McGill of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, suggests that conventional E-boats were somehow fitted out as hydrofoils.”
“What exactly is a hydrofoil?” McNamar prompted Edland.
“Well, sir,” Edland said. “For lack of a better explanation it is a wing, or set of wings, that extends from a boat’s hull, designed to lift the boat nearly out of the water at a certain speed.”
“Good lord, man,” someone said. “You’re not talking about flying boats, are you?”
The image of the frightened German sailor, shivering on the PT boat deck, flashed before Edland’s eyes.
“No, sir,” he said. “The stern and certainly the rudder and screws remain in the water. Most of the hull, suspended on these wings, is out of the water. Less resistance, more stability. All in all an extremely fast boat.”
“Very interesting,” Admiral Ramsey said. “What does it mean?”
Edland paused and looked at McNamar for guidance. The admiral shrugged.
“We don’t know, sir,” Edland said. He saw some of the men exchange glances and comments. He felt that they thought this was a waste of time. A few experimental boats dashing about the Channel. Too little, too late. “There is something else,” Edland said, and the buzz in the room stopped. “These E-boats, or perhaps some of those that accompany them, carry very powerful guns. Something equal in power to a six- or eight-inch naval cannon.” The room grew silent. “The captain of a destroyer escort involved in the Channel convoy fight reported as such, as well as the fact that the rounds seemed to burn their way into his ship’s hull.”
“Has anyone actually seen these fantastic boats?” a British captain asked. Edland recognized him as an officer who forever found fault with every report submitted. “This destroyer escort, chap, for instance? Do we have anything but your observations and, forgive me for saying so, your guess?”
“No, sir,” Edland said. “It was a night engagement. No one saw anything of consequence. At least nothing they could describe.”
“Commander Edland,” Churchill rumbled. “I thank you for the report. I know the others and I find this information most enlightening and it certainly bears looking into. But you must remember that Bomber Command is raiding those very E-boat facilities that you mentioned, and the latest news is quite good indeed. We have a great many things to consider in our remarkable endeavor, and I should not want you to think that your information is being discounted. It is, indeed, not. At this very moment the highest priority must be given to our own craft. What are they again, Admiral McNamar?”
“LSTs,” McNamar said. “Landing Ship Tanks.”
“Yes,” Churchill said. “Thank you, Admiral. These are the very craft that will nestle up to the beaches and disgorge men and materials. I am sure that your E-boats are worthy of attention, but I am equally sure that Bomber Command will dispose of those particular vipers and their nests in short order. We must concentrate on our own needs — these LSTs being foremost.”
“Yes, sir,” Edland said. He swept the room looking for interested faces. There were none. His words had been absorbed, stored, and would soon be forgotten. “Thank you, gentlemen.” He stepped off the platform and took a seat next to McNamar. He and his information had been dismissed. McNamar turned to him.
“Mike, don’t be discouraged. These fellows have bigger fish to fry. Churchill, Ike, and the others have a genuine concern. The key to the invasion is the LST. The entire invasion force has a reserve of exactly five LSTs. The only way to get substantial quantities of men and materials on the beach rapidly enough to support the first waves are the LSTs. For the past month that’s been the number-one problem. I told Ramsey and the others more times than I care to count that E-boats are the only viable German naval threat left. They believe more escorts and more bombing raids will take care of them. Frankly, I think they’re right. If you want to get their attention, you’re going to have to give them more than what somebody at MIT thinks about what’s happening three thousand miles away.”
“It’s all I’ve got, sir.”
McNamar sat back in his chair. “Get more, Mike. Nobody’s convinced, including me. We don’t have any time to waste on improbabilities.”
Edland watched as an RAF officer adjusted the microphone at the podium. Improbabilities. He felt himself becoming angry. Why couldn’t McNamar come right out and say it? The focus was on the invasion. No one thought that these boats constituted a threat. And besides, anything moving in the English Channel that wasn’t Allied was going to be destroyed. Anything on land determined to be a viable target, including E-boat pens, would be hammered into dust. The Allied might would crush the enemy. Finis.
Edland didn’t know why but he felt a profound sense of loss. Maybe it was the E-boats that he hadn’t seen and would almost certainly not have a chance to capture. He didn’t know. All he had seen was death and destruction, and the waste horrified him. Couldn’t he claim one positive thing out of this mess? Even if it was a boat that flew on wings. One thing, just one idea, or piece of machinery, or one concept that he could claim as saved for some purpose after the war. Even if it was a boat that flew on wings.