Because he had been forced to listen, day and night, to the screaming of those being abused in the other cells or torture chambers of this Gestapo headquarters and prison, Wilson would certainly have lost a good deal of sleep had he been the kind to need a lot of it. As he was not, and as the fate of others did not concern him, he’d had a relatively comfortable time. Nevertheless, hoping to find out more about the situation outside the prison, he said, ‘Yes, I lost some sleep, particularly during that day and night two weeks ago, when this whole place turned into a madhouse of bawling and shooting.’
‘You mean June 30?’
‘Correct.’
The lieutenant’s facade nearly crumbled, revealing revulsion mixed
with shame, but he quickly regained his composure and smiled again, bleakly. ‘Ah, yes, the Night of the Long Knives. That’s what they call it now.’
‘Is it true that the SS murdered over a hundred, maybe two hundred, SA officers and others in that one bloody purge?’ ‘No, it’s not true,’ the lieutenant replied with self-defensive anger. ‘Those men weren’t murdered. They were executed because they were traitors.’
‘Executed without trial,’ Wilson corrected him.
‘You’re impertinent, Herr Wilson. Count your blessings that you’re American. Count them also because that purge, about which you are so sarcastic, has ensured that the SS, and not the SA, are now virtually ruling the Third Reich. The SS will therefore be in control of any research establishment in which you’re likely to find yourself.’
‘My request, then, is being seriously considered.’
‘That’s why I’m here.’
Realizing that after weeks of interrogation in this prison cell, he was close to getting what he wanted, Wilson allowed himself the luxury of a feeling of triumph. When Lieutenant Ernst Stoll of SS Technical Intelligence lowered his head to study the papers spread out on his knees, Wilson recognized his original drawings and notes, cunningly unfinished, for the kind of aircraft that the Nazi’s Projekt Saucer was trying, unsuccessfully, to create. It was also what he was trying to create, and with their help he would do it.
Lieutenant Stoll looked up from his notes to say: ‘While I’m very impressed, I find it hard to believe that during the period you worked in secret – between 1895 and 1930 – you could have made the extraordinary technical advances indicated in these notes and drawings.’
‘Having already tested my intellect and knowledge, you know that both are remarkable, so why doubt my achievements?’
‘We can’t check your actual engineering or scientific achievements until we get you into a research centre; however, according to what we can gauge from these remarkable notes and drawings, your achievements were completely divorced from the general scientific achievements of the time. Those were very early days, so your achievements seem too advanced to have sprung from that period.’
‘It’s a widely held misconception that those were early days,’ Wilson replied, ‘but they were in fact the most productive days in the history of science. As you’ve studied aeronautical engineering and rocketry, I needn’t tell you about the extraordinary advances made in those fields during that period. However, I should remind you that by 1895 Rontgen had discovered X rays, Marconi had invented wireless telegraphy, Auguste and Louis Lumiere had invented the Cinematographe, the first main railway was electrified, and Ramsay had detected, by spectroscope, helium from a terrestrial source. By 1896 we had Rutherford’s magnetic detection of electrical waves, the construction of an electrical submarine in France, and the first successful flights of S. P. Langley’s flying machines. By 1897 numerous patents for flying machines had been registered, and J. J. Thomson’s work on cathode rays had led to the evaluation of the electron. The rest I’m sure I don’t have to tell you: From the successful test flights of Langley’s flying machines in 1897 to the first crosschannel flight took only one decade – and in that decade Robert H. Goddard had already begun his experiments in rocketry. So, Lieutenant, I was not too advanced for my own time – and indeed my work did spring from it and was nurtured by its achievements.’
Stoll smiled frostily, glanced down at Wilson’s notes, then looked up again. ‘Your work has been studied by our Projekt Saucer scientists and engineers at the German Rocket Research Institute at Kummersdorf, just outside Berlin. While it’s agreed that your designs are remarkable, they remain incomplete and would not lead to a workable saucer-shaped aircraft. You claim that with our help you’d be able to complete this project, but why, since our own scientists have failed repeatedly to do so, should we place our faith in your undoubted talents?’
‘You know I can’t answer that,’ Wilson said carefully, ‘but can only show you what I can do when I’m actually working.’
‘I understand that, Herr Wilson, but perhaps you can at least give me some indication of the direction you’d be heading in. For instance, what would separate your work from that which is already being done by our scientists at Kummersdorf? We agree that an aircraft shaped like a saucer would fly better than any other, but that shape also has its own problems, which so far we haven’t solved. How, then, would you approach this problem that has so far foiled us?’
Wilson had no intentions of telling them everything he had discovered, but he knew that he had to give them enough to whet their appetites and encourage them to let him work for them. He therefore leaned forward on the bed and chose his words carefully.
‘Your scientists have been researching along conventional lines,’ he said, ‘but a saucer-shaped aircraft wouldn’t respond to conventional laws of aerodynamics, so we have to look elsewhere.’
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ Stoll replied, though his gaze was steady and thoughtful.
‘When I was working with the wind tunnel at Zeppelin in Friedrichshafen,’ Wilson said, ‘I helped test many of the experimental prototypes coming from Kummersdorf – and it soon became clear to me that the Kummersdorf scientists were trying to construct some kind of saucer-shaped aircraft.’
‘You’ve already told us you knew that,’ Stoll said impatiently.
‘I remind you of it,’ Wilson replied, unperturbed, ‘because I also ascertained that most of the Kummersdorf designs were based on the tailless or all-wing aircraft, the Horten 1, which was designed and constructed by the Horten brothers, Walter and Riemer, for the German Air Ministry, at their factory in Bonn, from 1931 to 1932. That socalled all-wing aircraft, which in prototype was a glider, had a span of forty point seven feet, a wing area of two hundred and twenty-six square feet, and a wing-loading of two pounds per square foot. It had a flying weight of four hundred and forty pounds, a gliding angle of twenty-one degrees, and a flying life of approximately seven hours.’
‘Your intelligence gathering is commendable,’ Stoll said sarcastically, ‘but what is the point of this?’
‘The Horten brothers were convinced that the most important form of aircraft would be the all-wing type, which is why there were no vertical stabilizing or control surfaces on their flying wing, the Horton I, why it was virtually flat and crescent-shaped, like a boomerang, and why the pilot was placed in a prone position – to reduce cockpit size.’
‘Yes, Herr Wilson, I know this, but – ’
‘That so-called flying wing certainly flew for seven hours, but it could never have been the basis of a flying saucer for one very good reason.’
‘Yes?’
‘It was still faced with the problem that’s repeatedly foiled your scientists: the limitations imposed by the boundary layer.’ He could see that he had Stoll’s interest, though the German was trying to disguise it by showing little emotion. Amused, Wilson said, ‘Have you heard of the boundary layer, Oberleutnant?’
Stoll just smiled at the sarcasm. ‘Why don' t you remind me, Herr Wilson? You talk so well about these things.’
‘While being four or five thousand times less viscous than oil, air is still viscous,’ Wilson said, enjoying himself. ‘Because of this, the air sweeping in on the sol
id body of an aircraft forms imperceptible stratifications of resistance and consequently decreases the speed of the body in flight. These layers of air are therefore known as the boundary layer – and the boundary layer increases its resistance in direct proportion to the increasing speed of the flying object, thus imposing severe limitations on its speed and manoeuvrability.’
‘And in layman’s terms?’ Stoll asked, clearly amused by Wilson’s enthusiasm for lecturing.
‘In layman’s terms,’ Wilson continued, drawing Stoll into his web, ‘the major problem regarding supersonic flight is to somehow move this negative air as far to the rear of the aircraft as possible, thus minimizing the expenditure of energy required to propel it through the sky. Moreover, it’s possible that a revolutionary type of aircraft could, by not only completely removing the boundary layer but by somehow rerouting it and utilizing it as an added propulsive force, fly through the skies using little other than the expelled air itself. Should this be accomplished, we would have an aircraft capable of remarkable speeds while using only the bare minimum of conventional fuel.’
‘So you plan to devote all your energies to solving the problem of the boundary layer.’
‘Yes,’ Wilson said, playing his trump card, ‘and Germany is the place for doing that.’
‘I’m flattered – but why Germany?’
‘As I explained to your Reichsführer, the boundary layer was introduced to the world of aerodynamics by the German professor, Ludwig Prandtl, at Gottingen in 1904. Throughout the following years, many other German scientists, including professors Betz, Flettner, and Junkers, experimented with specially equipped aircraft in attempts to reduce the boundary layer. Most of the experiments were based on the suction method, in which the negative air is sucked into the wing itself, through tiny holes or slots, then expelled by means of a pump located in the fuselage. While this was a step in the right direction, the resulting aircraft still required heavy, obstructive engines – also the main problem with the flying wing jet fighter that the Horten brothers envisaged – but it’s my belief that in order to get rid of the boundary layer completely – and in order to make use of the dead air not only for acceleration, but for manoeuvring as well – what we need is an aircraft devoid of all obstructing protuberances, such as wings, rudders, and even normal air intakes, and one not requiring a large, heavy engine. In other words, this revolutionary new aircraft should be the perfect flying wing that offers the least possible resistance, sucks in the dead air of the boundary layer, and then uses that same air, expelling it at great force, to increase its own momentum.’
‘And how do you propose creating such a machine?’
‘By building the perfect flying wing – a circular wing that is, in a sense, wrapped around its suction pump, with the pump being part and parcel of the engine – a machine shaped like a saucer – and by constructing it from a porous metal that will act like a sponge and remove the need for air intakes altogether. This would result in frictionless air flow during flight: in an aircraft that slips through the air in the same way as a piece of wet soap slips through the fingers. Its speed and manoeuvring capabilities would be literally limitless.’
Wilson felt excited merely thinking about it, and could see, in the sheltered gleam of Stoll’s dark gaze that he was feeling the same way. Nevertheless, the young oberleutnant was being careful about showing his true feelings.
‘This sounds wonderful in theory,’ he said, ‘but practice is something else again. I’m not sure that your so-called porous metal is a realistic proposition.’
‘In fact, it’s being worked on right now,’ Wilson said, ‘and right here in Germany. Among the many other experiments I helped run in the Zeppelin wind tunnel were those concerning different porous metals being created by the scientists of Gottingen and Volkenroda: a compound of magnesium and aluminium. The scientists are calling it Luftschwamm, or aerosponge... and I think it will work.’
The instant he saw Lieutenant Stoll fold up his papers and slip them back into his briefcase, Wilson knew he had won. ‘It’s interesting,’ the lieutenant said, pushing his chair back and standing up, ‘that even the great Russian, Tsiolokovsky, evinced a strong interest in circular, hyperbolic, and spherical airframes.’
‘I can see that you know more about this subject than you pretend, Oberleutnant,’ Wilson replied, thus making the sombre SS officer smile. ‘And knowing that, you clearly also know that the extensive research into all-wing aircraft and rocketry that’s been carried out in Germany during the past decade is directly due to German admiration for Tsiolokovsky’s theories.’
‘And due to admiration for the American, Robert H. Goddard, for whom you worked for six months.’
‘I have to admit that although he’s my junior, I learned a lot from Goddard about the problems of stabilization and gyroscopic controls. That’s why I wanted to work with him. It was my only weak area.’
Smiling genuinely for the first time, the lieutenant said, ‘Come, Herr Wilson, we are leaving. We are going to put you to work. We do not have much time, so don’t bother with your possessions. This cell will be cleaned out as soon as we leave, and your possessions here, as well as those being kept by the Gestapo, will be forwarded to you this afternoon. So please, follow me right now.’
Quietly exultant, Wilson was led out of the cell and up the stairs to the lobby near the front door of the building. There, while he adjusted to his sudden sense of space and movement (after weeks in his tiny cell, this lobby appeared to be immense and far too crowded), he was given an army greatcoat. Then he was led out to the police car waiting for him in the Prinz Albrechtstrasse.
Seated in the rear beside the notably more relaxed Lieutenant Ernst Stoll, Wilson gazed out the window as the car pulled away from the curb and proceeded through Berlin. In the early afternoon’s pearly light, the city looked solid, busy, and perfectly normal, except for a notable increase in military personnel and vehicles, which seemed to be everywhere.
‘This is a city preparing for war,’ Wilson said.
‘Yes,’ Stoll replied. ‘You’re very observant.’
Intrigued by the handsome young lieutenant's oddly haunted look and reticence, Wilson said, taking a chance, ‘Am I allowed to ask if you’re involved with scientific work as distinct from intelligence?’
Lieutenant Stoll sighed. ‘You may ask, but the answer is no. I’m no longer involved in scientific research per se, but instead am forced to use my scientific knowledge for the gathering and analyzing of technical intelligence material.’
‘Which is why you were sent to interview me, right?’
Stoll sighed again, as if deeply depressed. ‘Yes, Herr Wilson, that is the case. And now I will take you to Kummersdorf West, where you’ll work with men less talented than I was. Such is life, I suppose.’
‘You can’t protest?’
‘To be a member of the SS is to obey. I obey and take my pride from that.’
Wilson doubted that Ernst Stoll was gaining any pride from his work and filed the knowledge away in his head for future reference.
The journey to Kummersdorf did not take long – it was only fifteen miles from Berlin – and the car soon slowed down at barbed-wire fences and a guarded gate. It was inspected by a particularly careful SS sergeant and eventually waved through, then stopped in front of an enormous hangar in a broad stretch of bare ground that ran out to more barbed wire and signs announcing that an army firing range lay beyond.
Puzzled to find only this enormous hangar and bare ground where he had expected to find a hive of activity, Wilson glanced questioningly at Stoll. As if reading his mind, the lieutenant smiled understandingly and said, ‘Projekt Saucer has been separated from the Rocket Research Institute proper by that army firing range. Beyond the firing range are Wernher von Braun’s more impressive research works, which is what you were, I assume, hoping to find.’
‘Frankly, yes,’ Wilson said, hearing the moaning of the wind and seeing only swaying, untended grass around
that single, enormous hangar, under the leaden gray sky.
‘Try not to be too disappointed,’ Stoll said, as he led Wilson across the windblown grass, toward the already rusted, corrugated-iron hangar. ‘You’ll be visiting the Research Institute on a regular basis, contributing your knowledge to their rocket projects, but most of your time will be spent here, in conditions of strict secrecy, where you will work more specifically on Projekt Saucer. Even those who work at the other side of the firing range don’t know what we’re doing here.’
The main hangar doors were closed. The smaller side door was guarded by armed SS troops who gave the Nazi salute when Stoll approached. After returning the salute in a desultory manner, the lieutenant motioned Wilson into the hangar. Stepping inside, Wilson was temporarily blinded by the bright light. He adjusted to it as Stoll came in behind him to stand beside him. Then he saw an enormous open floor, surrounded by glassed-in offices, filled with machines and a few men in oily coveralls.
Raised about six feet off the concrete floor on a hydraulic platform was the skeletal prototype of a saucer-shaped craft, about forty feet in diameter and rising up to a central dome. Its discus-shaped ribcage of steel covered what looked like two Hirth 80 hp engines.
‘It’ ll never fly,’ Wilson said.
Lieutenant Stoll smiled. ‘No, it won’t.' Obviously pleased by Wilson’s perception, he led him across the hangar floor to one of the larger offices. Stepping inside, he suddenly stiffened, gave the Nazi salute and said, ‘Heil Hitler!’ He then stepped aside to introduce Wilson to a man who, even wearing his Reichsführer's uniform, did not look like a soldier.
‘So, Herr Wilson,’ Heinrich Himmler said, ‘we meet again, yes?’
‘Yes, Reichsführer – I’m glad to say.’
INCEPTION (Projekt Saucer, Book 1) Page 10
