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 . . .
“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 . . .
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