The Graf Zeppelin: Germany’S Aircraft Carrier

By Paul Cozens

The book is a historical fiction. This means that the characters are fictional as are their exploits, but the story line is based on historical fact.

Most people are unaware that during WWII, Nazi Germany had an operational aircraft carrier, the Graf Zeppelin. Had the Graf Zeppelin sortied with Bismarck, Tirpitz, and Prinz Eugen into the Atlantic in 1939, the entire outcome of the war could have been changed. However, due to an ongoing feud between Hermann Gring and Admiral Erich Raeder, the carrier was not allowed aircraft and she sat out the war as an ineffective white elephant.

Gnther Schmidt is assigned the task of obtaining intelligence on the US Navy, specifically about carrier aviation. He places a young frulein, Karen Berr, in a girls college in Pensacola, Florida, where she meets a naval pilot, LTJG John Parker and falls in love, subsequently marrying him.

Hermann Gring hates the Kriegsmarine with a passion, and Gnther embarrasses him in front of Hitler, thus becoming a personal enemy. Gnther is targeted by Gring for assassination. Gring, who is in charge of aircraft production, makes the decision to prevent the Kriegsmarine from having navalized aircraft. Gnther is tasked with training pilots for the German Navy in landing techniques for carriers. He sets up a clandestine training facility at Greifswald on the Baltic, flying brightly colored aircraft to misdirect Grings goons. Subsequently, Gnther becomes involved in advising German naval designers in the development of an aircraft carrier. Gring tries to have Gnther assassinated but fails, only killing his wife, Gertrude.

Gring hosts a big military bash and brags to Japans ambassador, Baron Hiroshi Oshima, about Germanys plan for world conquest. Oshima sends a report via the oceanic cable to Japan, unaware that the American Navy has broken the diplomatic code and are reading these messages. The transcripts are codenamed Magic.

The Spanish Civil War erupts, giving Gnther and his newly trained pilots on-the-job training. Gnther helps Messerschmitt in developing the Bf 109T naval fighter and a dive bomber, the Ju 87 G. Gring tries again to assassinate Gnther and fails. Gnther, using misdirection, manages to have the naval aircraft manufactured and hidden from Gring.

World War II erupts and Gnther sails into combat on the Graf Zeppelin as her CAG when she sorties with Tirpitz, Bismarck, and Prinz Eugen. German dive bombers from the Graf Zeppelin sink two British cruisers in the Denmark Strait and assist in sinking the Hood and Prince of Wales. The German flotilla is attacked by British torpedo airplanes, which loses all but one due to the intervention of the Bf 109T fighters. Tirpitz is hit by several torpedoes and must retire. The American Coast Guard Cutter, Modoc, is attacked by German dive bombers, thus bringing America into the war.

The German flotilla joins up with Gneisenau and Scharnhrst to begin decimating the convoys. An American flotilla, including Washington and Ranger, intervenes. The resulting battle ends with the destruction of the German flotilla. Gnther is captured by the Americans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532026638

Paul Cozens

Paul Cozens served in both the Navy and Army as an intelligence specialist. The Navy taught him how to fly. He holds a commercial pilot and flight instructors rating with ratings for instrument, multi-engine, conventional (tail dragger) as well as retractable gear. He has a Bachelor’s degree in U.S. Military history and a Master’s degree in Asian History from San Jose State University, 1993. His published Master’s thesis is titled: The Role of Radar in the Pacific Theater During World War II: Development, Acceptance and Effect. 170 pages. He has experience as a computer salesman specializing in source data collection, a head hunter (recruiter) and eventually he ran his own recruitment company. While attending college (with his daughter) he worked full time for a security company contracting to a major micro-chip manufacturing company while simultaneously managing a computer software company (Jagdstaffel Software), and writing the code for an educational software program (Prompter II) and a war game (TSKFRC-58 the battle of the Philippine Sea). Upon graduating from college, he formed and managed a company (Specialty Floor Matting) that specialized in commercial floor mats. He has a passion for writing historical and military fiction, much of which being drawn from personal experience.

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 Paul Cozens.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The book cannot be copied in any form without the express permission of the author

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5320-2664-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-2663-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017909792

iUniverse rev. date: 06/27/2017

Contents

Chapter 1: The Great War Ends

Chapter 2: Let the Game Begin

Chapter 3: Unorthodox Thinking

Chapter 4: The Exchange

Chapter 5: The Proposal

Chapter 6: Shop Talk Intel

Chapter 7: Flight Training, Carrier Concepts

Chapter 8: Misdirection

Chapter 9: Griefswald

Chapter 10: Gathering Intel

Chapter 11: Intel Gathering

Chapter 12: Assassination

Chapter 13: Misdirection

Chapter 14: A Flying Carpet

Chapter 15: On-the-Job-Training

Chapter 16: New Ideas

Chapter 17: Loose Lips

Chapter 18: The Trojan Horse

Chapter 19: Sea Duty

Chapter 20: Fats in the Fire

Chapter 21: Final Plans

Chapter 22: Gurerre-de-Course

Chapter 23: Breakout

Chapter 24: The Modoc

Chapter 25: Wolves in the Flock

Chapter 26: Enter the Cavalry

Chapter 27: The Opening Skirmish

Chapter 28: Sparing for Real

Chapter 29: The Main Event

About the Author

Most people are unaware that during WWII, Nazi Germany had an operational aircraft carrier, the Graf Zeppelin. Had the Graf Zeppelin sortied with Bismarck, Tirpitz and Prinz Eugen into the Atlantic in 1939, the entire outcome of the War could have been changed.

Günther Schmidt is assigned the task of obtaining intelligence on the U.S. Navy, specifically carrier aviation. He places a young fraulein, Karen Berr, in a girl’s college in Pensacola, Florida where she meets a naval pilot, Lt.j.g. John Parker and falls in love, subsequently marrying him.

Herman Göring hates the kriegsmarine with a passion and Günther embarrasses him in front of Hitler, thus becoming a personal enemy. Göring, who is in charge of aircraft production, refuses to allow any navalized aircraft to be produced. Günther is tasked with training pilots for the German Navy in landing techniques for carriers. Subsequently Günther becomes involved in advising German naval designers in the development of the Graf Zeppelin.

The Spanish Civil war erupts, giving Günther and his newly trained pilots on-the-job training. Günther helps Messerschmitt to develop the Bf-109T in secret as well as the Ju-87G dive bomber.

World War II erupts and Günther, sails into combat on the Graf Zeppelin as her CAG. Dive bombers from the Graf Zeppelin sink two British cruisers in the Denmark Straight and assist in sinking the Hood and Prince of Wales. The German flotilla is attacked by British torpedo planes and the Tirpitz, is forced to retire. The American Coast Guard Cutter, Modoc, is attacked by German dive bombers, thus bringing America into the War.

The German flotilla joins up with Gneisenau and Scharnhörst to begin decimating the convoys.

Chapter 1

The Great War Ends

0645 hrs. 8 November 1918

Mouth of the river Elbe, Cuxhavene:

The float equipped fighter, a low-wing, Hansa-Brandenburg monoplane, painted in the prevailing naval service camouflage pattern of dark blue, light blue and pale purple lozenge shapes, seemed to hover over the puffy, white, cumulus clouds which partially obscured the dark North Sea five thousand feet below. The pilot, wearing a leather helmet with goggles and a leather-flying suit, peered over the side of his machine at the whitecaps that frosted the dark water below him. In the open, circular gunners compartment, a gunner scanned the air behind and to each side of the fighter, looking for any threat in the form of a British fighter. Suddenly, Leutnant (Lieutenant) Günther Schmidt reached up and charged his twin Spandau machine guns. With one hand, he reached around and slapped the gunner on the shoulder while pointing to three large silhouettes flying, at an altitude of approximately one thousand feet across the surface of the sea. The gunner nodded and charged his own Parabellum machine gun while checking the ammunition drum canister to ensure that nothing had frozen or jammed. Günther rolled the float fighter inverted and allowed the nose to drop through the horizon. The deadly fighter rushed towards its unsuspecting prey below. As its airspeed increased the wind, passing over the struts attached to the floats and wing, began to hum a sirens death song.

In the large, leading, twin-engine flying boat, a Felixstowe F.2A assigned to the Royal Naval Air Service, a bow gunner scanned the horizon, the sky above and forward of his aircraft. Behind him, two pilots flew in relative comfort within a semi-enclosed cockpit while a dorsal top gunner momentarily abandoned his post and dropped into the fuselage hull to retrieve a large thermos of hot coffee. The two waist gunners, their attention diverted, stopped scanning the surrounding sky for any enemy threat to watch the dorsal gunner unscrew the cap and uncork the bottle. They never saw the attacking fighter as it flashed by in a firing pass or even felt the projectiles that hit them after ripping through the thin fabric that formed the skin of the large patrol bomber. As the camouflaged fighter rolled upward and flashed by the nose of the F.2A, the rear gunner fired off a short burst directly into the Flexatone’s bow gunner’s position. The bullets that did not hit the gunner smashed into the cockpit and instantly killed the co-pilot while the pilot suddenly discovered that his shattered arms could no longer control the large flying boat. The F.2A nosed downward and began to roll inverted. The roll was never finished as the Felixstowe struck the cold water of the North Sea and disintegrated.

Günther pulled back on his control stick and allowed his nimble fighter to pull extra g’s in a hard turn so that he came head on at the second flying boat. Again, surprise was in his favor as the bow gunner and pilots were engrossed in watching their comrades suddenly crash into the sea. Once more, bullets from the fighter’s twin Spandau’s ripped through thin fabric, shattered struts, longerons and found warm flesh to rend asunder. It didn’t matter that the crewmen were not killed immediately for the bullets also penetrated the petrol tanks and smashed into the right engine. Sparks from the impacting projectiles ignited the fumes from the ruptured fuel tank and the second F.2A flying boat suddenly burst into flames.

In the third patrol bomber, the bow gunner was more alert. His twin mounted Lewis guns spat their own deadly projectiles outward to rip through the thin fabric of the Hansa-Brandenburg fighter. The rear gunner of the German fighter answered the bow gunners fire even as he felt the British bullets smash into his shoulder and chest. He dimly watched his counterpart slump down into the bow compartment as he too lapsed into unconsciousness. Günther rolled the float fighter inverted and pointed the nose of the fighter directly at the British flying boat. Twin Spandau’s fired in short, rapid bursts. Once more the German projectiles found the fuel tanks located behind the engines and ignited the fumes that streamed into the slipstream of the bomber. As the German fighter flashed by the Felixstowe the British gunner in the left waist position fired his twin machine guns. The lethal, British, projectiles smashed through the casing of the float fighter’s engine and black oil spewed rearward. Günther rolled his aeroplane upright and then nosed downward, waiting for the fumes from the oil and gasoline to ignite. Water rushed upward rapidly and Günther pulled back on the control stick to allow the Hansa-Brandenburg, its propeller now wind-milling slowly, to approach a stall. Behind him, his third victim, flames streaming rearward, also settled towards the cold water of the ocean.

The Hansa-Brandenburg struck the top of a wave, bounced upward and then settled onto the surface of the sea. Thick oily smoke billowed upward along with yellow fingers of flame. Günther unbuckled his lap belt, jumped out of the cockpit and dove into the sea as the camouflaged fighter exploded in a ball of fire. Not more than a hundred yards behind Günther the F.2A settled onto the surface of the water. Smoke emanated from the engines of the large flying boat but the deadly flames that had earlier streamed rearward, had been mercifully extinguished. The British crew hastily began to apply makeshift patches onto the bullet holes that were allowing the North Sea to enter the hull. One of the crew waved to Günther and motioned to him to swim over to the crippled flying boat. For Leutnant Günther Schmidt of the Imperial German Navy, the war was over.

0430 hrs. 11 November 1918

Somewhere on the Western Front:

Unseen from the farm house that stood several miles behind the front, a deadly, yellowish mist kissed the surface of a stagnant pool of water laying within a gaping crater caused by an exploding artillery shell. Rain, that had falling during the night, had turned the barren no-man’s-land between the trenches into a quagmire. Mud covered everything. It covered the remnants of barbwire entanglements, pieces of abandoned equipment and the bodies of those who had fallen during the last attack. Nothing moved on or over the stark landscape. Within the farmhouse, now being used as a temporary headquarters for the squadron, a stocky officer stood and stared through the multiple panels of the structures only remaining window. Cardboard covered the squares of several broken panes but those remaining unbroken allowed him to make out the forms of three, deadly, Fokker DVII fighters as they were being rolled out from their tent hangers onto the hard sod of the makeshift aerodrome. Even now, the ground crews and mechanics were preparing for the dawn patrol that would commence at first light. The officer held a piece of paper in one hand while he reached with the other to touch a dark blue medal hanging from his neck. Major Herman Wilhelm Göring inhaled deeply, slowly exhaled and looked once more at the order he had received only moments before. He muttered under his breath and crumpled the paper document into a ball before turning to his adjutant. Have you noticed, Karl?

"Noticed what, Major?"

The SILENCE! It’s the damn silence… Don’t you see… No flashes… No rumbling… It’s over!

It’s over?

Yes… It’s over. Herman stared at his adjutant in disbelief. The idiots have agreed to a cease fire!

The adjutant shook his head, and them mumbled to himself. Finally, … It’s over.

Assemble the men! Herman turned once more to look out the window, grimacing in an attempt to hold back the tears of rage that were forming in his eyes. His fist pounded the crumpled sheet of paper into the palm of his hand as his adjutant departed to carry out the order.

Outside, men in their flying togs of leather britches and leather great coats, clumsily walked from their makeshift mess, located in what had once been a stable, to form a loose rank in front of the farm house. Several looked about, suddenly realizing that the incessant background rumble from the field artillery had stopped. Herman straightened his husky frame and walked out to greet the men of the Richtofen Flying Circus, wearing his own set of flying leathers. At his throat, the coveted Pour le Merite, awarded to him upon his twentieth victory, dully glittered. Herman looked at the assembled men and quietly spoke to them. What I have in my hand is an official communiqué from headquarters. He paused, his muscular body tensing. I’m instructed to order you to fly your machines to the nearest French aerodrome and surrender them to the enemy. Herman’s’ eyes flashed with hatred. I can’t obey this order. In the rapidly gathering light he could now make out the multi-colored hues of the various fighter aircraft. However, … I’m asking for five volunteers to obey this order. No man stepped forward, but each looked at his comrades to see who might waver. By flying their machines over to the French and crashing them in such a way that they can never be repaired or flown again. One by one, the mechanics surrounding the Fokkers began to push the propellers through several cycles to lubricate the cylinders within the engines. As for the rest of the squadron… We’ll fly to Darmstadt… Well away from any chance of allowing the enemy to capture our planes. In sequential turn, each engine of the deadly fighters coughed and then rumbled into life, thrumming a litany of harnessed power waiting to be unleashed. The squadron ground personnel and staff… They’ll return to Germany by lorry… For them, the war is over! The commander of the world’s most infamous fighter squadron moved his hand to his cheek to wipe away the tear that had formed there. Then he noticed that several of his men had stepped forward, to be followed by several others. The young commander smiled and began to walk with them towards the waiting aircraft.

0600 hrs. 11 November 1918

Imperial Naval Headquarters, Berlin:

Within the opulent office, Wilhelm Canaris, wearing the full-dress uniform of an Admiral in the Imperial German Navy, looked at his friend and shook his head in disgust. It’s over for us, Eric… At least for the moment.

It’s never over, Wilhelm. Adm. Eric Raeder sat in a soft leather chair and inhaled the sweet smoke from a Cuban cigar before continuing. Germany will become a major world power again… Of course, there’ll be setbacks… But we’ll survive.

Yes… We’ll survive… The German navy will survive… And it’s up to us to ensure that it does survive… No matter what comes? Wilhelm paced in front of the windows of his large, ornate, office.

The allies are sure to demand repatriations.

Wilhelm nodded as Eric mused aloud. And they’ll demand a drastic reduction in our military strength.

Then we’ll have to plan for the future now… Set the plan in motion before they cripple us… Eric leaned over and tapped his cigar so that the gray ash dropped into a convenient receptacle. It’s imperative that we don’t allow ourselves to fall behind the other nations in the race for technological development. The younger admiral leaned forward as he looked at his friend and mentor.

Your suggesting an intelligence network, Eric?

Exactly! Eric smiled at the senior admiral. We should pick our men carefully, to work in secret, gathering the intelligence from which we can rebuild a more powerful German navy.

Not all of them can remain in the navy.

True, not all… But we can arrange employment in various companies… The merchant marine… Shipyards… Buyers of foreign goods… Salesmen. Eric watched his friend pick up a pad of paper and begin to jot down notes.

As Eric talked, Wilhelm picked up on Eric’s line of thought. "Men like Kommander Ernst Lindermann… Kapitan Günther Lütjens… They’d be excellent candidates for our little enterprise… Others could be employed in key positions that would allow them an excuse to gather information… A journalist for example. The senior admiral smiled at Eric. That would give our man a plausible cause to travel and to visit various naval installations around the world."

"Don’t forget Kapitan Karl Dornitz! Eric eagerly broke into Wilhelm’s monologue. He’d be an excellent man for gathering intelligence on submarines and… He paused to exhale a cloud of bluish cigar smoke into the atmosphere of the large office. We mustn’t omit the roll of the aeroplane in naval warfare… Linienshiffsleutnan Göttfried Banfield… He commands the naval air station at Trieste… Of course, he’s Austrian and as such might not be approachable… Then there’s Friedrich Christiansen, the commander of the naval air station at Zeebruggee."

"How about that young naval ace… Leutnant Günther Schmidt… He’d be an excellent candidate… Wilhelm looked up from making notes on the pad of paper. We’ve obviously got our work cut out for us, Eric… Shall we both make up a list of potential candidates and then get together in say… three hours… We can compare notes before making a final selection."

0600 hrs. 11 November 1918

Imperial Army Headquarters, Berlin:

General Hans von Seeckt, tall, elegant, almost patrician like with a monocle placed over his left eye, stared at his adjutant, Major Helmut Wilberg and smiled. They’ve agreed to a cease fire… The terms will be forthcoming and they’ll be harsh. A frown appeared on the aging general’s forehead. It’s the damn French who’ll be the most unforgiving… They’re pushing to completely disband the military… The Army… The Navy… and the Air Service… But we’ll survive… We must! He tweaked the graying mustache that sprouted over his protruding lips and continued. Helmut, I want a list of trusted junior officers who are fiercely loyal to Germany and who have the potential of becoming members of a General Staff.

"But General… The General Staff will be one of the first organizations the French will want to dismantle."

Of course! But, Helmut… If it doesn’t exist officially, then how can they dismantle it? The old officer chuckled aloud. The same goes for the Air Service… We’ll build it as a separate organization… Apart from the army but available to assist the army as needed… We’ll hold our staff meetings in secret… Until the day, Germany is once more allowed to become a major world power. Hans looked intently at his adjutant. Helmut… I want you to organize and head up this secret Air Service.

Sir? The major looked startled. There are officers who are far more superior in rank and experience than I…

"They’ll be watching the senior officers, Helmut… Always suspecting us of trying to reorganize a general staff with senior officers… You, on the other hand… A mere Major… You are the ideal man for the job… Intelligent, experienced and yet, low enough in rank so as to not attract attention."

0600 hrs. 11 November 1919

Junkers Aircraft Manufacturing Company:

The short, wiry man sat in a stark, wooden executive chair located in an office loft overlooking the main manufacturing floor. His head was covered with thick white hair and his blue eyes stared intently at the assembled staff of aeronautical engineers and draftsmen who stood around his desk. Although years older than most of the men in the room, Professor Hugo Junkers still retained the vigor and life of a far younger man. It’s over gentlemen. Hugo leaned forward, his hands resting on the desk. The desk was illuminated by a single light bulb, attached to a reflective shade that hung directly over the desk from a long cord reaching upward to the high ceiling. The madness has ended… The real destiny of aviation has always been the application of aeroplane technology to civilian pursuits.

But professor… His chief accountant raised his hand, holding a thin pencil. Without military contracts, we won’t have enough funding to continue.

Hugo nodded his head to acknowledge his employee and spoke softly. I propose to convert the technology of warfare into producing aeroplanes to carry civilian passengers… We’ll modify the CL.1 design… Enlarge the entire fuselage and add more area to the wing.

A young aeronautical engineer eagerly interjected his own comments to the conversation. The corrugated skin has already proven itself immensely strong and by channeling the airflow over the wings…

We’ve gotten far more lift that previously expected. Professor Hugo smiled at his protégée and nodded his head.

I’ve got the plans here… A draftsman jumped up and dropped a set of blueprints onto the desk and quickly unrolled and weighted the plans down at each corner. The staff crowded around the desk.

Four passengers?

No! We can design for six… Easy… Put some windows here… And here…

That new engine you were working on for the bomber version of the CL.1.

Perfect! Plenty of horsepower there. The foremost designer of German’s aviation industry smiled, his dream having truly started.

1030 hrs. 11 November 1918

Saint Martin’s Hospital, Wilhelmshaven:

The young woman lay on what had once been a pristine mattress. The sheet covering it was a dull grayish color caused by the changes from daily washing to a once a week schedule. The single sheet that covered her body was no longer white but now displayed faded yellow and rust colored blotches, attesting to other uses in other times. Her eyes were open and red rimmed, contrasting with the paleness of her face. The sun bleached blond hair, once proudly worn in fancy braids, now lay about her shoulders in disarray.

A doctor, who wore a white hospital coat, opened the curtains that shielded her from the other patients within the ward and spoke softly. "Frau Schmidt? Beside him a nurse stood while holding a small bundle of off colored receiving blankets in her arms. The doctor whispered the woman’s name again. Frau Schmidt? Gertrüde."

The woman turned her head slowly and tried to focus her eyes on the source of the voice. She smiled weakly upon recognizing the doctor and then lifted her hand to motion to the nurse to approach as her red-rimmed eyes looked at the doctor and asked the obvious question.

"It’s a fine boy, Frau Schmidt… A boy Leutnant Schmidt can be proud of. The doctor smiled at his patient and moved aside to allow the nurse to place the bundled child into the mother’s waiting arms. She accepted her son and began to cradle him against her thin body, smiling as the child instinctively attempted to nurse. Have you a name for him?"

I would have liked for Günther to name him… But he’s missing… The cable stated that he was looking for British flying boats over the North Sea… He was to have gotten leave from his post at Zeebrugee. Gertrüde noticed the doctor’s expression change from a smile into a broad grin. Is there something you haven’t told me?

Your husband was picked up by the British, unharmed… The doctor looked at the young woman, who with proper makeup would have been quite striking and beautiful.

Gertrüde sniffled, wiped at her nose with the back of her hand and then allowed several tears to flow down her cheek. Günther… I’ll call him Günther Leopold Schmidt… After his father. The child found her nipple and began to suckle lustily, making her smile as she looked at the doctor.

Chapter 2

Let the Game Begin

1600 hrs. 7 May 1919

Versailles:

General Hans von Seeckt stood in the small anteroom, his face ashen, as he looked the assembled staff officers surrounding him. As he spoke he began to tremble with inner rage and his voice quavered. This isn’t an honorable peace… It’s a travesty… A miscarriage of justice.

Sir? The major looked at his idol and mentor. Surely they can’t mean what it says here… Article 198… That Germany will not be allowed to have any military or naval forces?

They mean it Helmut! Total disbandment of our army and Navy… And look at Article 201. The lean general flipped through the loosely bound copy of the document so recently presented to the German diplomats. Article 201… Germany is prohibited from manufacturing or importing any aircraft, parts of aircraft, engines for aircraft… Or even parts for engines which could be used in aircraft.

It even states that Germany must surrender all material of an aeronautical nature, for both services. The general’s adjutant pointed to the specific line with his finger.

It’s not a peace treaty, Helmut… It’s a rape! Hans nodded to his protégée and smiled as he motioned to him to remain as the senior staff officers departed from the room. When they had gone, Hans, a career military man for his entire life, quietly closed the doors to the anteroom and turned to face the major. The disbanding of our Air Service will placate the Inter-Allied-Control-Commission… A bunch of watch dogs who will keep us in line. Hey, Helmut?

"It will prove to be an interesting game, Herr General."

Is your secret staff in place Helmut?

"Yes, Herr General! We’ve already held several meetings to discuss the future of Germany’s new Air Force."

And how will you train our fledgling aviators and circumvent the Commission at the same time?

"They overlooked gliders, Herr General! Helmut grinned at his mentor. Germany’s new Air Force will train its fledglings to fly in gliders… Openly… Using the Deutschen Luftsport Verbond (German Sport Aviation Association) … It was founded before the war… It poses no military threat… And little harm could be seen in our youth wanting to fly in gliders."

It will have to be the youth… Any men over the age of eighteen would be suspect.

Not only will we encourage our young men to join the association… We’ll also encourage our girls to learn to fly too.

Hans raised an eyebrow and looked at his aide. You don’t propose to enlist women into the new Air Force once it becomes a reality, do you?

Helmut laughed softly and continued to grin at his mentor. "No, Herr General! By letting women learn to fly we lend credence to the club as a peaceful endeavor… Of course, … The idea of letting women become combat pilots… His eyes took on a mischievous glint. That does have some interesting ramifications…"

Have you selected a man to lead the glider project?

"Herman Steiner, Herr General. He flew Gotha bombers on a number of raids over England… Now he writes stories about aviation under the pseudonym, Kapitan Herman. Helmut chuckled and looked at the aging general. There are others… Former fliers from the war who still have the desire to fly… They’ll be the instructors for our fledglings in the art."

We’ll speak more about this at a later time… Now I’ve a distasteful job to perform, the dismantlement of Germany’s military. Hans waved his hand in the air as a gesture of dismissal.

0600 hrs. 4 June 1920

Travaenmünde:

John Bishop stood in the center of the office located in a loft above the main plant floor. He quietly took measure of a small, very obese, man who sat behind a Spartan desk located in the corner. Beside John, his companion, Larry Winthrope III, stood holding their hats and raincoats. What had made matters worse was that the legendary Ernst Heinkel, hadn’t even offered them the courtesy of asking them to sit down.

What do you want, gentlemen? The balding designer of some of the world’s most famous fighters looked at the two visitors from behind a pair of small spectacles. I’ve things to do.

Perhaps we should properly introduce ourselves?

"I already know who you are, Herr Bishop! What I want to know is what you want of me?"

We want you to design an airplane for us.

Design an aeroplane for you? Ernst looked up and laughed softly. You both know that’s impossible. The terms of the treaty specifically forbids Germany from manufacturing aircraft for at least two years, perhaps indefinitely.

"But it doesn’t prohibit you from designing aircraft, Herr Heinkel! John moved and stood over the desk, staring at the little legend of aeronautical design. What you design, we can build."

What kind of an aeroplane, gentlemen? Ernst leaned forward in his chair, cocking his head to one side with his eyes suddenly reflecting renewed interest in his visitors.

You designed a number of military aeroplanes during the war.

So did a lot of other men.

But it was you who designed the Hansa-Brandenburg, W-19, float fighter.

Gentlemen! The fat little designer pursed lips, clasped his hands together and placed his fingers so that they touched. You obviously don’t represent any commercial business interest… Since you’re both American and since you’ve expressed interest in my design for the Brandenburg float fighter, I can only surmise that you represent the American Navy.

John Bishop’s complexion paled momentarily. He gulped silently and then spoke. "Herr Heinkel. I’m Lieutenant Commander John Bishop. John turned to his companion. This gentleman is Lieutenant Larry Winthrope the third… We’re here at the bequest of the United States Navy to ask if you’d be interested in designing a float reconnaissance aeroplane capable of being transported aboard a submarine."

Ernst grinned broadly. My services would be quite expensive, gentlemen.

"Our government is willing to pay handsomely for your services, Herr Heinkel."

Range?

A combat radius of at least two hundred miles… More if you can achieve it.

Armament?

Minimal… The role will be that of reconnaissance… A crew of two… Capable of carrying radio equipment and aerial cameras.

You ask a lot, gentlemen.

"Can you do it Herr Heinkel?"

The little man lowered his head and once more pursed his lips, in thought. Then he slowly nodded his head in assent and smiled at the naval officers. I assume that this project is to be secret… No one is to know who the design is for?

"Correct, Herr Heinkel! John reached into an inner pocket of his suit jacket and removed a thick, sealed, envelope. Absolute secrecy will be necessary… We’ve been authorized by the Navy to give you an advance payment of twenty-five-thousand dollars."

The final price will be one-hundred-thousand dollars, gentlemen… In addition to this advance payment… Agreed? Ernst stared directly into John’s eyes, his lips compressed.

"Agreed, Herr Heinkel!" John placed the envelope onto Ernst’s desk and extended his hand.

Ernst reached out and clasped John’s extended hand firmly, while pulling the envelope across his desk to deposit it into an open drawer. He called out loudly. Günther! A tall man of no more than twenty-two, without jacket, stepped into the room and immediately looked at the two visitors.

"Herr Heinkel?"

"Herr Bishop, Herr Winthrope… Günther Schmidt… He’ll be my liaison between your government and myself… Günther… These two gentlemen are to give you their full co-operation and support."

"Yes, Herr Heinkel!" The young man, his hair still cut short in the Prussian manner, came to attention and smartly snapped his heels together with a loud click.

Ernst chuckled and looked from John to Larry. You must forgive Günther… It wasn’t so long ago that he was shooting your British friends down in flames.

John glanced at Larry and raised one eyebrow. "An ace, Herr Heinkel?"

In his own right, gentlemen… Günther flew one of my fighter designs… More specifically, the W.19, a two seater… Günther survived to claim a total of nineteen confirmed kills… Not a bad score for a naval aviator flying float fighters… It will be from the W.19 design that I’ll begin my work on your reconnaissance aeroplane. Ernst sat back in his chair and continued to speak. "Günther will meet with you at your hotel tomorrow morning… You will arrange for him to travel to America where he’ll meet with your submarine designers and talk to the aeroplane company you select to build my design… Naturally, I’ll expect your government to compensate Günther for any and all