Christopher Cartwright
The Heisenberg Legacy
Prologue
Oberstleutnant Wilhelm Gutwein watched as the Borgward B 3000 military truck backed up to the tail end of his aircraft. Once the green canvas covering the tray was removed, he received his first glimpse of the strange metallic device, which had been hurriedly transferred in secret from a laboratory in Haigerloch. The instrument looked to him like an oversized, charcoal-painted American football, with four large steel dorsal fins protruding from its back. The body of it appeared swollen, more like that of an elongated sphere than the cylindrical shape of a traditional bomb. Its weight, being instantly apparent on the flatbed as the truck’s suspension settled down hard on its axle.
Gutwein stared at the hideous creation.
Its mere presence made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and ice-cold fear freeze his spine. It looked malevolent and pervasive, a monster capable of extinguishing all life within an entire city. The thought was abhorrent to him, yes, but a necessary evil. He’d seen what enemy firebombing had done to Hamburg two years ago. A devastating incendiary device like this was the only solution left to his country. He didn’t precisely hate the rest of the world. In fact, he felt mostly indifferent. The simple fact remained that they were at war. No matter how abhorrent the outcome, he’d rather have his adversary’s cities destroyed than his own.
A hydraulic hoist whirred and groaned, lifting the device into the underbelly of his aircraft. Gutwein listened to the distinctive sounds, as a mechanic ratcheted the bomb onto its purpose-built cradle. After flying the aircraft for the past two years, he felt an intrinsic connection and relationship with the grand metal bird. As he watched, he imagined he could feel his aircraft respond to this new force for destruction by shuddering under its new burden.
He read through the sheaf of papers, a detailed technical report. At a length of a hundred and forty inches, with a width of eighty, it weighed nine thousand, two hundred and thirty pounds. In real terms, the payload was two thousand pounds greater than his aircraft was designed to carry.
He’d commanded some of the best pilots and most honorable men he’d ever known in the Luftwaffe, but his last mission would require only one plane. Gutwein turned to admire the lines of the aircraft he’d had the privilege to fly over the past two years.
The sight brought a thin-lipped smile to his face. This was her swansong. Never again would his craft look so beautiful, as it was impossible for her to escape this raid in one piece. He felt a rise of bile in his throat, as he realized with dreaded certainty, that it was just as unlikely that he himself would get out alive.
Ignoring the probable and most likely inevitable outcome, as in the hands of fate, he studied his aircraft.
The Deutsche Lufthansa Focke-Wulf 200S Condor was never meant to be a bomber. The designation Condor was chosen because, like the bird, the FW-200 had a very long wingspan — 107 feet wingtip to wingtip — to facilitate high-altitude flight. Until two weeks ago, it had been used for the sole purpose of reconnaissance over the Atlantic. It was identical to the original commercial long-range airliner that once flew non-stop from Berlin to New York in 1938. To demonstrate German technical capability, it was fitted with extra fuel tanks and used to perform long-range flights. The machine was re-designated FW-200S with the letter S representing the term, “Specialized.”
It was a four-engine monoplane, originally powered by four American 875 horsepower Pratt & Whitney Hornet radial engines and intended to carry 26 passengers in two cabins for up to 1,860 miles. Of course, since the war had started, much of the aircraft had been stripped and replaced in order to produce a military production version.
The American Pratt and Whitney Hornet engines were replaced with the native German Bramo 323 R-2 radial engines, featuring water-menthol power boost of 895 kW for take-off. The fuselage was fitted with a full-length Bola ventral gondola, which added a narrow bomb bay to the airframe, increased defensive armament, and provisions for a total war load of 11,902 pounds spread out over each engine nacelle.
Even after two years of flying her, Gutwein still thought she was stunning. An elegant machine of all-metal, light alloy, flush rivet construction, except for fabric-covered flight-control surfaces and the wing covered with fabric aft of the main spar. All flight control surfaces were manually actuated, though the split flaps were hydraulically actuated. It had taildragger landing gear, all with single wheels. These retracted rearward, allowing the gear to fall open if the power system failed. The aircraft was not pressurized, limiting cruise altitude to 9,800 feet.
To adapt it for wartime service, hardpoints were added to the wings for bombs, and the fuselage was strengthened and extended to create more space. Forward and aft dorsal gun positions were added, in addition to an extended-length version of the Bola ventral gondola typical of World War II German bomber aircraft. To complete its militarization, his aircraft incorporated a bomb bay as well as heavily glazed forward and aft flexible defensive machine gun emplacements.
The entire aircraft had undergone a third and even more striking transformation within the past two weeks. Additional long-range fuel tanks were added. The Bola ventral gondola previously fitted on most bombers was removed, and in its place a custom-built cradle for the device was mounted.
To compensate for the additional weight of the bomb and fuel, all non-essential items were stripped from the Condor. The forward dorsal 19-inch turret with a 7.9mm MG 15 machinegun, 13mm MG 131 machinegun in aft dorsal position, two MG 131 guns in beam positions, one 20mm MG 151/20 cannon in front of the ventral gondola, and one MG 15 in the aft section of the gondola were all removed.
His seven-man crew would be reduced to just three — himself, a copilot and a navigator. He would have liked to bring his bombardier along, too. But the weight restrictions meant that he couldn’t risk the additional crew. Too much weight, and they would never reach the American coastline and Germany’s last hope, would disappear into the Atlantic. No, he had to lose his bombardier. Either he or his co-pilot could make the final drop. From what he’d been told, there would be little targeting required. The device was so powerful, he merely needed to drop it near the city, and the bomb would do the rest.
Once airborne, if they were spotted by anyone, they would be utterly defenseless. But why would they need it? Where they were headed, no one would be expecting them…
Frowning, the pilot finished reading the report, began re-reading it.
A military adviser of smaller stature, yet superior rank strode through the aircraft hangar, stopping in front of him. “Heil Hitler!" He said, saluting by extending his right arm to neck height, then straightening his hand so that it was parallel to his arm.
Gutwein, returned the salute as a show of loyalty and as compelled by law. Originally, the Wehrmacht refused to adopt the Hitler salute, preferring to maintain its own customs. Only after the 1944 plot against Hitler were the military forces of the Third Reich ordered to replace the standard military salute with the “Heil Hitler” salutation.
“Oberstleutnant Gutwein. You are confident of the route?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And do you believe it is possible to make the delivery?”
“It is possible.” Gutwein stared up at the clouds, as though making a private concession to his God. “But it won’t be up to me whether I succeed or not.”
“Are you shunning your responsibility?” The Officer’s voice hardened. “Perhaps I should have someone with more confidence fulfil this obligation.”