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.”
“All right then.” Stimson shrugged. “So we wait until we see the damn thing coming toward us, then we send interceptors to shoot it down.”
“I think not, Mr. Secretary.” Donovan shook his head. “By the time it reaches New York, its altitude will be seventy kilometers . . . that’s about 43.5 miles, far above the range of our planes.” Again, he nodded to the report. “That’s the whole purpose of this operation . . . to provide the Germans with a weapon that can’t be defeated.”
“Not by conventional means, at any rate,” Fleming added.
Bush glanced up from the document. “You have something in mind, Commander?”
He’d only been thinking out loud, yet Fleming suddenly discovered that every eye had turned toward him. President Roosevelt was looking straight across the table at him; both Stimson and Hull were waiting for whatever he had to say, and he didn’t have to look around to know that Donovan had locked onto him as well. Perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, but it was too late.
“I’ve just been thinking”—he coughed in his hand to clear his throat—“pardon me, I’ve just been thinking that, if the Germans are developing an intercontinental rocket as an offensive weapon, perhaps the proper response should be to develop one of our own as a deterrent.”
Hull made an unpleasant sputtering sound with his lips. “The proper response should be to bomb the hell out of Peenemünde.”
“Unfortunately, sir, the Germans still have air superiority over most of Europe.” Fleming shook his head. “Their radar is more effective than we believed, and they’re capable of putting interceptors in the air whenever we launch an air raid. Only lately have we been able to send our Mosquitoes over the German borders, and even then they haven’t been very effective. We’ve suffered major losses when we’ve tried daytime raids, and high-altitude bombing runs at nighttime have missed the target more often than not. The RAF fully intends to bomb Peenemünde . . . but not until we’re confident it won’t be a suicide mission.”
“I’m afraid he’s right, Mr. President,” Stimson said. “We’re a
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.”
“All right then.” Stimson shrugged. “So we wait until we see the damn thing coming toward us, then we send interceptors to shoot it down.”
“I think not, Mr. Secretary.” Donovan shook his head. “By the time it reaches New York, its altitude will be seventy kilometers . . . that’s about 43.5 miles, far above the range of our planes.” Again, he nodded to the report. “That’s the whole purpose of this operation . . . to provide the Germans with a weapon that can’t be defeated.”
“Not by conventional means, at any rate,” Fleming added.
Bush glanced up from the document. “You have something in mind, Commander?”
He’d only been thinking out loud, yet Fleming suddenly discovered that every eye had turned toward him. President Roosevelt was looking straight across the table at him; both Stimson and Hull were waiting for whatever he had to say, and he didn’t have to look around to know that Donovan had locked onto him as well. Perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, but it was too late.
“I’ve just been thinking”—he coughed in his hand to clear his throat—“pardon me, I’ve just been thinking that, if the Germans are developing an intercontinental rocket as an offensive weapon, perhaps the proper response should be to develop one of our own as a deterrent.”
Hull made an unpleasant sputtering sound with his lips. “The proper response should be to bomb the hell out of Peenemünde.”
“Unfortunately, sir, the Germans still have air superiority over most of Europe.” Fleming shook his head. “Their radar is more effective than we believed, and they’re capable of putting interceptors in the air whenever we launch an air raid. Only lately have we been able to send our Mosquitoes over the German borders, and even then they haven’t been very effective. We’ve suffered major losses when we’ve tried daytime raids, and high-altitude bombing runs at nighttime have missed the target more often than not. The RAF fully intends to bomb Peenemünde . . . but not until we’re confident it won’t be a suicide mission.”
“I’m afraid he’s right, Mr. President,” Stimson said. “We’re a
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