There was a tearing squeal of tires and brakes then a dull thump that seemed to echo even through the heavy windows of the regency. Sir Martyn ran across and looked down. “Oh my God, Ghandi's been hit by a car.”
“From the Japanese Embassy no less.” said the Ambassador from the other side of the room. She walked across the room to the window and looked down. The Viceroy and most of the crowd were looking at the crumpled dirty little figure on the ground. The rest were dragging an obviously seriously drunken Japanese from the driving seat of an official Japanese Embassy limousine. Only the Ambassador saw a figure slip out of the passenger seat and lose himself in the crowd. There was a dreadful wailing and moaning from the crowd, picking up volume as grief at the news spread.
“I think he's dead.” Said Sir Martyn with an air of the deepest regret.
“Indeed so.” replied the Ambassador.
“A tragic loss.”
“Indeed so.”
“A great figure had been taken from us.”
“indeed so.”
“Much missed.” reflected Sir Martyn
“Not today.” said the Ambassador
“Madam Ambassador, the sun is over the Yardarm, would you like to join me in a drink? To mourn the loss of a great spirit?
CHAPTER THREE WAR IS KILLING
Cockpit, Goodyear F2G-4 “The Terminator” on USS Gettysburg, CVB-43. Bay of Biscay
Lieutenant Evans would be glad to see the back of the Super-Corsair. This was the last carrier raid before Gettysburg went home for a badly-needed refit. Her replacement, the Chancellorville, was already on Murderer's Row but Gettysburg had been held back so her air group would add some more veteran pilots to the wave of strikes. Chancellorsville was the latest CVB off the line and had the latest aircraft but her pilots were green and showed it. They weren't racking up the results the way the veterans did. They would, given time. By then, Evans would have converted to jets and would be flying the F2H-2 Banshee. Mentally, Evans shook his head. The Banshee was no great shakes to look at and a mediocre performer. It compared badly with the German jets, there was no doubt about it. The Germans built them pretty and there was an old engineering saying, if it looks right, it'll fly right. The German jets looked sleek and elegant but even their piston-engined birds seemed to have a grace the American aircraft lacked. And the German designers weren't afraid of new ideas.
The Banshee was a great example, the Navy was very proud of it but it was nothing special. It was tough certainly and could carry a good weapons load, but its design was pedestrian to say the least. Years behind the Germans. Even the older Me-262 looked more modern than the McDonnell jet and the Gotha flying wing looked like something out of one of the pulp science fiction magazines. Evans liked science fiction, he kept a look-out for stories by a guy called Robert Heinlein. Evans much preferred his work to that of another author Astounding used, Anson Macdonald. Perhaps Grumman and Lockheed ought to buy the pulps, it was time US aircraft companies woke up and smelt the coffee.
The F2G-4 was a great example of what was going wrong. When Vought had designed the original Corsair, they'd taken the biggest available engine, and packaged it with the specified firepower and fuel into the smallest possible fuselage. The Corsair had appeared to be a superb fighting machine, but Vought had over-engineered it and made it hard to maintain. At the start of a typical day's ops, only about half of Gettysburg's full complement was safe to fly. By dusk, half of those could be expected to be down. One way or another. The engine also tended to throw oil and rapidly coated the windshield . For an aircraft that already had seriously limited forward visibility, this was not good. Corsair pilots quickly became expert at locating rain showers to wash away the oil.
Then, Goodyear had stuffed an even bigger engine in. A four-row monstrosity called the R-4360 that put out more than 3,500 horsepower. The torque was so bad the aircraft had to have an extra rudder that angled to the right only. And if the older Corsair was hard to maintain, the new one was worse. That was made worse by the spares situation. Spare parts were in short supply and spare engines virtually unobtainable. The situation was so bad that the older F4U-7 had been kept in production. Early on, that hadn't made much difference; for all its extra power, the F2G had hardly performed any better than the older version with the R-2800. Then, Pratt and Whitney engineers had arrived with a series of engine and airframe modifications. Now, with a sea-level speed of almost 450 mph, the F2G could easily outrun its half-sister. The same power made take-offs with a full warload much easier. And fully loaded The Terminator was. Three five-inch rockets and a five hundred pound bomb under each wing, two napalm tanks under the belly.
Yet, for all the F2Gs power and low-altitude speed, the new jets just walked past it. Four Flivvers from Gettysburg flashed past while Evans waited for his wingman to form up with him. He and Lieutenant Brim had been flying together for all of this cruise. Now, they'd be splitting, Evans to convert to the Banshee, Brim to the new F9F Panther.
The coast was coming up, this was the tricky part. The US Navy owned the sea; over the horizon the carriers and their aircraft were safe. Once over land, the F2Gs would keep right down on the deck, making use of every terrain fold . But crossing the coast, the German flak gunners could see them coming. Unlike gunners defending fixed targets, they had the option of moving their guns around. The Navy pilots couldn't see them until they opened fire. So it was a game of chicken. The aircraft raced in, the gunners waited. If they waited long enough, the aircraft would be too close to see where the shots came from or return fire. If the gunners panicked and opened up too early, they gave their positions away and got their faces filled with rockets and napalm. Evans favorite anti-flak weapon was napalm, the jellied gasoline was superb for taking out flak. As the other members of his squadron were tired of hearing, he loved the smell of napalm in the morning.
The gunners didn't panic. The crews of the quad-twenties and twin-thirties held their fire until the fighters were almost on top of them. Evans saw the brilliant white balls floating towards him and flashing past, There was a dull thumm noise from the airframe, something had hit him but The Terminator didn't show it. Somebody else wasn't so lucky though. Evans saw an F2G, he didn't know whose, rearing up in a half barrel roll with flames streaming from its belly before it crashed into the beach in a black, oily explosion. Another F2G was heading back out to sea, trailing black smoke and losing height fast. Get out to sea, that was the rule. As far and as fast as you can. Air-Sea Rescue will do the rest. Brim and his Dominatrix were still in position and looked unharmed, they were both over the shoreline now. Feet Dry.
Target for today was Autun. One of the complex of airfields around Dijon. The map on Evans' knee showed that he and Brim had crossed the French coast just south of La Rochelle. Now, they had a 250 mile cross-country run to their target. This was pushing the F2G to the limits of its range and left little margin for problems. It would have been easier if they could drop the speed down to max cruise but every reduction in speed added to the risk from the anti-aircraft guns. They could be anywhere, in woods, behind hedges, on or in buildings. The Germans had them mounted on armored vehicles. If they saw you, they'd chew you up. So you had to keep low and keep fast.. That way they'd see you late and you'd be gone before they could open up. If it went right.