The TAO grinned again. “I think they’ll forgive us, ma’am.”
“I hope you’re right about that,” Captain Bowie said. “I hope you’re right.”
CHAPTER 26
With the V-1 rocket, the Luftwaffe’s flying bomb effort made a complete break from the propeller-driven airframes and remote control systems of previous designs. The new German weapon was a self-controlling robot, utilizing automatic onboard guidance mechanisms in place of a remote human operator. The new design eliminated propeller-driven engines, in favor of a rudimentary (but effective) pulse jet engine that was little more than a tube-shaped fuel combustion chamber.
The weapon was formally designated as the Fiesler Fi-103, but the Nazi propaganda corps began referring to it as the Vergeltungswaffe Einz (Vengeance Weapon 1), a title that was quickly shortened to V-1 in common usage.
Unlike prior generations of drones and aerial torpedoes, the V-1 did not resemble conventional aircraft of the day. Its sheet-steel fuselage was streamlined and severely tapered, giving it a profile similar to a throwing dart. The weapon’s abrupt cruciform wings were skinned with plywood, to reduce weight and minimize cost, and the narrow stovepipe engine at its tail was like nothing before seen outside of the fictional stories of Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon.
Indeed, the entire look of the V-1 was more like something out of a space opera adventure story than real life. But the V-1 was not a figment of creative fantasy. It was very real, and it was lethal.
Until that point, three decades of effort and expense had yielded only a few hundred unmanned flying weapons. Not one of those programs had met with more than marginal success under actual wartime conditions. By contrast, the Nazis manufactured nearly 30,000 V-1 rockets, thousands of which were used in combat, with brutal effectiveness.
With an operational range of about 155 miles, the V-1 could not fly directly from Germany to England. The Luftwaffe compensated for this shortcoming by building 96 launch sites in occupied Northern France, well within range of London.
The first V-1 attack was launched on June 13, 1944, one week after the Allied D-Day invasion of Europe. The rocket reached the end of its flight path, and dropped out of the sky near a railway bridge in the East End of London. Eight civilians were killed in the blast.
A handful of additional V-1 attacks were launched over the next day and a half, before the first serious barrage began. Between the afternoon of June 15th and midnight of June 16th, the German Flakregiment 155 launched 244 V-1s toward London. Approximately 90 of these failed to cross into British territory, due to problems during (or shortly after) launch. Roughly 50 impacted in uninhabited areas south of the target city, and another 22 were shot down by British antiaircraft fire. The remaining 73 weapons struck targets in London, causing significant structural damage and killing hundreds of people, most of whom were civilians.
The strange throbbing cadence of the V-1’s pulse jet engine reminded many witnesses of the buzzing of an insect. This characteristic droning sound led to diminutive nicknames like doodlebug, and buzz bomb. But — odd noises and funny nicknames aside — there was nothing comical about the V-1 weapon itself. The people of England would soon come to associate the insectoid buzzing sound with destruction, and death.
Controlled by a gyro-magnetic autopilot, a vane anemometer to calculate elapsed distance, and a weighted pendulum mechanism for attitude adjustment, the V-1 guidance system lacked the precision to strike small targets. Its simple guidance system was accurate enough to strike a city-sized target, and that was good enough to satisfy the tactical employment needs of the Luftwaffe.
According to a report written by American General Clayton Bissell, Germany launched an estimated 8,025 V-1s at targets in England during a single nine-week period in 1944. More than a million houses and other buildings were damaged or destroyed, and tens of thousands of people were killed.
Although England was the primary target of the program, the Belgian city of Antwerp was hammered by nearly 2,500 V-1 attacks.
In March of 1945, the last V-1 launch sites in France were overrun by the advancing Allied armies, just five and a half weeks before the collapse and surrender of the Nazi Third Reich. Hitler’s infamous Vengeance Weapon #1 would no longer darken the skies over England or Belgium. The deadly reign of the buzz-bomb was over, but its legacy was only beginning.
Captured German V-1 sites, including hundreds of unfired weapons, fell into the hands of the United States, France, and the Soviet Union. All three countries began reverse-engineering the V-1 design, and producing their own versions of the robotic flying weapon.
Many military historians now consider the German V-1 rocket to be the first true cruise missile. There are points of argument to support this assertion, and (perhaps) an equal number which challenge it. Regardless of the accuracy of the label, it’s obvious that the V-1 program became a catalyst for the future development of cruise missile technology.
The concept had been proven with brutal effectiveness. An unmanned aerial weapon could locate and strike a distant city, with no human intervention whatsoever. In the years following the Second World War, research and development teams all over the planet rushed to duplicate — and then exceed — the Nazis’ success with the V-1.
The age of the cruise missile had arrived. The future of warfare would be changed forever.
CHAPTER 27
President Wainright shook the Indian Ambassador’s hand, and gestured for her to take a seat in one of the nine wingback chairs that formed the meeting area of the Oval Office. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Madam Ambassador. I apologize for the late hour.”
Ambassador Shankar took the offered seat and smiled pleasantly. “Please do not trouble yourself, Mr. President. It is my duty and my pleasure to answer your summons, whenever it may come.”
The president took his traditional position at the head of the circle of chairs, his back to the famous presidential desk — crafted from the timbers of the nineteenth-century British sailing barque, HMS Resolute.
The ambassador’s chair was to his right, and the chair to his left was taken by National Security Advisor Gregory Brenthoven.
“I appreciate your indulgence,” the president said. He made a loop in the air with one finger to encompass the nearly empty circle of chairs. “As you can see, we are dispensing with the usual trappings of protocol, in the interests of both speed and privacy.”
The customary staff of diplomats and advisors was missing. Ordinarily, a direct meeting between the president and a foreign ambassador would include his chief of staff, the Secretary of State, the Assistant Secretary of State for Southeast Asian Affairs, the National Security Advisor, and a scribe from the National Security Council. Except for the National Security Advisor, everyone on that list was now absent.
“I understand,” the ambassador said. If she was uncomfortable with the departure from established White House protocol, she didn’t show it. And this was a departure. Apart from the lack of the usual participants, it was rare for the president to meet directly with an ambassador, and even more unusual for such a meeting to occur in the Oval Office.