“… until he was conscripted by Nazis to do military research. Very little had been heard from him since then until he emerged as technical director of what my people and Section Six believe to be an effort to build long-range ballistic missiles. Acting on reports that the Germans were apparently conducting rocket research near Peenemünde, on an island off the Baltic coast, MI-6 recruited two French resistance operatives, code-named Silver and Gold, to penetrate the facility and search for information.” A glance at Fleming. “Commander, please continue.”
Fleming picked up the thread. “Until recently, Silver and Gold had given us little to believe that the Nazis were making much headway. According to them, their rockets tended either to blow up, sometimes even before they left the ground, or veer wildly off course and crash in the Baltic. So there wasn’t much to worry about, really. However, beginning late last year, it appeared that the Nazis had taken a new tack and were apparently shifting their focus to develop something other than missiles. It wasn’t until we received this report and translated it”—he tapped a finger against the top page—“that we knew what this was.”
“And that is…?” Harry Stimson asked.
Fleming hesitated, but Donovan didn’t. “Mr. Secretary, the Germans intend to build a manned rocket vehicle capable of attacking the United States.”
No one said anything for a moment. The room was so quiet, Fleming heard an automobile horn blare on Pennsylvania Avenue. “Pardon me?” President Roosevelt said at last. “They mean to build a what?”
“Preposterous,” Cordell Hull muttered, his Tennessee accent drawing out each syllable as an indictment of its own.
“I know it seems far-fetched,” Donovan said, “but my science lads have studied the report, and they assure me that it isn’t as absurd as it sounds.” Sliding the report away from Fleming, he turned a couple of pages to a brief preface and pointed to an initial “S” that had been signed to it. “They think this stands for Eugen Sanger, an Austrian physicist who is believed to be working for the Luftwaffe. If that’s so, then this alone gives the report credibility. About ten years ago, Sanger conducted research at the University of Vienna and made major advances in rocket-fuel mixtures. He also published a monograph on space travel in which he proposed a rocket plane much like the one described here. If he’s working for the Nazis, then they have an expert capable of producing a weapon that could pose a major threat to us… and by that, I mean the United States itself.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Roosevelt was openly skeptical. “America’s distance from Europe is a sufficient deterrent against attack, I would think.”
“Mr. President,” Fleming replied, “with all due respect, that distance is an illusion.”
The president’s eyes widened at the young British commander’s audacity. Cordell Hull scowled, and from the corner of his eye, Fleming could see Donovan regarding him with irritation. But Fleming had noticed the antiaircraft guns on the roof of the White House and knew how pitiful they would be against the weapon described in the Black Umbrella report.
“Sir, your country has been in this war for only six weeks,” Fleming said. “My country has been under attack from Germany for the last eighteen months. We once thought the Channel would protect us, but it doesn’t anymore. If the Nazis can assault us on a daily basis from the air, then you may rest assured that, if they can find a way to conquer the Atlantic, they will. And if they do, last month’s attack on your naval base in Hawaii will seem like only a preamble.”
While Fleming was speaking, Vannevar Bush quietly pulled the Black Umbrella report over to his side of the table. Hunched over the report, he closely studied it, absorbing details as fast as he could turn the pages. “Commander Fleming is correct, Mr. President,” Donovan said. “I would not be wasting your time if I thought this was anything that shouldn’t be considered with the utmost gravity.”
Roosevelt was quiet for a moment. The skepticism had disappeared from his eyes, replaced with guarded interest. “Very well, then, General. Tell me why you’re so concerned about this… rocket plane.”
Donovan knit his hands together on the table. “In brief, what Sanger has proposed… and what the Nazis appear to have undertaken… is a rocket-propelled vehicle, nearly the size of our largest bombers, that would be launched from somewhere in Germany and ascend to an altitude well above Earth’s atmosphere. It would then proceed to circle the planet in a series of shallow dives, descending and ascending again and again, so that it would skip across the top of the atmosphere like a flat stone tossed across the top of a millpond. It would continue this way, traveling eastward across Europe, Asia, and the Pacific Ocean, until it reached the North American continent. It would then make a terminal dive that would bring it within range of the East Coast, whereupon it would release its weapons…”
“Three incendiary bombs, each one weighing a little more than one ton,” Fleming said. “The target will be Manhattan Island, in the heart of…”
“I know where New York is located,” the president said coldly. “I was once the state governor. How do you know this is the target?”
“A targeting diagram is on the last page.” Donovan pointed to the report, and Bush flipped to the end. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the complete study. Apparently, our operatives were unable to photograph the entire thing. But they got enough to let us know the trajectory it would take and the means by which they can accomplish it.”
Bush turned the report around to let Roosevelt see a map of the greater New York City area, with a series of concentric circles radiating outward from Midtown. “And this is the vehicle, Mr. President,” he added before flipping back a couple of pages to reveal a cutaway diagram of a futuristic vehicle: stub-winged, flat-hulled, with two vertical stabilizers but lacking the familiar propellers of a conventional airplane. “Looks rather like a torpedo.”
“A torpedo, yes, but much larger… and piloted.” Donovan indicated the small figure seated inside a cockpit within the craft’s sharp prow. “Putting a man aboard means that they wouldn’t have to rely on an automatic guidance system. What we’re talking about, really, is a long-range bomber, just one that uses rockets instead of propellers.” He glanced at the Secretary of State. “Not all that improbable, once you really think about it.”
Hull didn’t respond, but his expression told Fleming that he was still unconvinced. “Perhaps not,” Stimson said, “but I don’t understand why they’d choose to fly all the way around the world to reach New York. Why not simply fly straight across the Atlantic?”
“My scientists have analyzed this,” Donovan said, “and they believe that, if the craft… they call it Silbervogel, or ‘Silver Bird’… is launched from west to east, it can take advantage of Earth’s rotation to give it an additional boost during the ascent phase, thereby reducing the fuel necessary to reach outer space and increasing the payload capacity. As explained in the report itself, skipping Silver Bird along the top of the atmosphere would also allow it to achieve the necessary velocity to reach its target while further conserving fuel.”
“The takeoff itself would be done on an elevated horizontal track…” Fleming began.
“The vehicle would be mounted on a mobile sled with another rocket engine at its rear,” Bush said. Fleming was impressed; in just a few minutes of quick study, the science advisor had already gleaned the report’s important details. “The rocket sled will accelerate to five hundred meters per second, and at the end of the track, the craft will be catapulted into the sky. The rest of the ascent phase will be under its own power.”