Friday, October 14, 2016

Genesis for the New Space Age with John Leith - Chpt VII - Allied Development of Round Wing Plane During World War II


 


So far we have a well developed novel around micro events and a back drop of war with decent information.  As far as any of this ever been real, we observe that serious science questions are been simply ignored and this problem gets immediately worse in the next few chapters inasmuch as they are not even acknowledged let alone glossed over with a hand wave.

The attractiveness of a round craft is arguable in terms of aerodynamics and the mere fact so much was done experimentally tells us that this was not misplaced.  The problem is that weight climbs exponentially as the craft gets larger and large is necessary in order to put in the large engines and life support.  Add in duct work for airflow and i simply do not know where this design can go.  And that is before convincing me that it will ever fly.

None of the UFOs ever showed much concern for aerodynamics which informs us that air flow is not ever used to manage thrust.

Thus i simply do not think that these craft can ever be built using airflow technology and we surely have plenty of failed attempts.

So far we are developing an interesting historical novel with interesting names and insights to the times.
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Chapter VII



Allied Development of Round Wing Plane During World War II



Nineteen forty three was World War II's turning point. As the year ended, hostilities in Europe continued with Germany still appearing to be strong. But enemy reverses were occurring. German confidence began to ebb as American entry into the war helped roll back German armies in North Africa, Sicily and Italy. On the Eastern front the Russians with vast amounts of American Lend Lease equipment were starting to counter attack after a long period of German maiding.



In December 1943, a new Commander, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, was appointed to lead the western allies, and the same month three thousand British and American planes bombarded the French coast in a single night and a day, while another fleet of bombers sent Berlin sirens wailing. Seven months later the enemy on the western front would be in retreat, and Paris would surrender.



Control of the sea lanes also proved to be as decisive as the winning of land battles. Thus, 17,000 merchant ships were dispatched by the U.S. to keep the life-line open to England, Europe and Russia, and the conflict's balance of power tipped in favor of the allies despite staggering losses to U-boat action. Britain had held the breach till the American industrial colossus flowed over the Atlantic onto

European shores and turned the tide against Germany's short-gain fortunes.



By late 1943, growing numbers of round wing planes from the Canadian valley had been appearing  over Europe. The round wing pilots were graduate aviators of the Technical Training Flight School located in the B. C. Valley. General Caldwell was also the officer in charge of this manpower training as well as Superintendent of the entire manufacturing complex.



A war-time aircraft crew consisted of six airmen, and on each round wing plane, a combined operational group always included one Britisher and one Canadian along with the American personnel. Scattered among various crews were Australians and New Zealanders as well as a handful of Norwegians.



The new ships now boasted sleek and smooth silhouettes with the flaps and outside surface controls not distinguishable. The new pilot class could execute intricate patterns either singly or in formation that made those sighting the airborne ships gaze in wonder. Day and night over England and Scotland, the great bomber and fighter armadas heading for the continent, often reported the presence of vanishing lights thought to be extra-terrestrial; they would be seen one moment and gone

the next. According to the viewers there was one common denominator in all sightings. The strange and aloof phenomena showed an apparent affinity to watch over and protect the allied planes.



Jonathon Caldwell and his wife loved their children, but each was particularly anxious about their  son who had volunteered as a B29 bomber pilot and done several missions over Germany. A Olive, Caldwell's wife, kept praying their boy would be safe. On one such daytime bombing raid, young Caldwell felt a presence he could not explain. Looking above him, he saw a huge, round wing escort plane sailing along at his same speed, like a mother hen. The round wing craft wobbled in a friendly way. It flew on and then repeated its wobbling which seemed to say hello to the American fixed wing bomber below. Guessing it was a salutary signal, the bomber captained by Caldwell dipped its wings, and young pilot Caldwell smiled and raised his hand in a V for victory sign. Reaching target area over a heavy flak region, the round wing plane on occasion dropped below the bomber and took some

direct hits. But it continued uriflinchingly through the danger zone. When Caldwell got home that night he took his wife aside and assured her, "Everything's all right. I flew escort with our son today!" When the young Caldwell got a furlough, he came home for a visit and told a story. "Dad, I must tell you about the friendly round wing bird that protected us on a raid. At times I pretended it was you our there, dad, but I know you're too old." (Caldwell was 45) The parents smiled.



Unknown to the allied airmen, these lights seen weaving among the formations on each mission were operated perhaps by friends they knew back home in Kansas City, Halifax or Manchester.



The illusive sky visitors which resembled luminous balls of fire at high speeds were nicknamed Foofighters. These round wing planes were not out just for practice or pageantry or to confuse regular aircraft pilots and observers. They had a purpose. They acted as a guardian system to a target, often relaying information back to London, allowing allied planes to take evasive action.



They also took composite pictures of targets before and after raids. When not busy, the planes occasionally buzzed German formations, and- in a more serious vein, they also observed the flight directions and numbers in enemy formations headed for Britain. But of course they were not available during the heroic Battle of Britain that broke the back of Goering's Luftwaffe.



A brisk Atlantic traffic of diplomatic and scientific personnel was also transported via the planes, and

the round wing Technical Air Command provided President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill

with a plane should occasion demand.



But an unforeseen misfortune, quite apart from technology or enemy threat, was to fall upon the  valley complex. The problem was Caldwell himself. His innovations and leadership abilities became drained because of his wife, Olive. She was on the brink of death. In fact, her doctor finally told Cadlwell recovery was hopeless; Olive was terminally ill. At best, she had a week to live. 


Caldwell's spirit flagged, as had his supervision for some time. Others took the matter into their own hands when Caldwell (a Protestant) demanded that a priest be sent to say the last rites for his dying wife (a Catholic).



The U.S. Air Force liaison chief sent the urgent request to his Washington headquarters. Because the matter of security was so touchy, the U.S. Air Force requested help from the O.S.S. The O.S.S. moved immediately. One of its top European agents, a graduate of West Point and a confirmed priest, who had been recalled to America for a new assignment, was contacted. He was known only by his code name of Father John, a devout but tough Christian as well as a soldier.



Father John was flown to Seattle where he boarded another military plane. He alighted at the B.C. valley in the uniform of a Brigadier General, carrying a black, flat brief case initialed Father John, S.J., inside of which there was a bible, a note book, and two gold crosses. A nervous Caldwell met him.



On seeing a military man, Caldwell exploded, "I asked for a priest not a soldier." Quietly Father John sat down his brief case. "I am a Christian first, a priest second, and a Catholic third. I serve a living Saviour." Caldwell calmed down under the charisma and confidence of the big 6' 1" priest.



When they reached the bedroom where Olive lay dying, the post's medical officer stood by. He confirmed that she had but a few hours of life or a day or two at the most; she was in a coma.



Father John unfolded from his bag the smaller of the two gold crosses and hung it at the head of the brass bed. The doctor and Caldwell stood at one side of the room. The silence was deep as Father John gave the ritual of the last rites, annointing Olive's forehead with a mixture of blessed olive oil and salt. Tears filled Caldwell's eyes. His wife had been part of the round wing dream since he had been a young man. She had sacrificed everything to stay by his side when he had spent all his abilities on the plan's reality in later years. Now the one person who understood him and whom he needed most was dying.



The soft spoken words of Father John could again be heard: "Father God, I have done my priestly duty to this soul who is speeding on to her eternal rest. But Father God, I beseech You in the Name of

Christ, to delay the return of this soul to Thee." Father John's voice grew louder.



The priest then took the larger cross and placed it before her eyes. "Evil spirit! In the name of Jesus the Christ, I command you be gone from this child of God!" Suddenly the woman in coma jerked her head from the pillow and threw an arm over her eyes to resist the gold cross. In a moment her body trembled violently and she sat up. The evil spirit had fled. Father John helped her to sit on the side of the bed, and in a moment she put her feet to the floor.



Beads of perspiration showed on Father John's forehead and his eyes turned upwards. "We praise and thank Thee for thy faithfulness, Oh Christ," he repeated.



No one moved as Father John stood erect and waited. Suddenly, for all to see, there stood at the foot  of the bed, a fullsize, three dimensional figure. All knew instinctively He was Christ. Seconds went by as a soft light brighter than day bathed the room. Then Olive Caldwell looked around and exclaimed,

"What are we doing here?" The Christ figure faded but around Olive there remained a glow. The spirit of a living and healing Christ had filled her.



They all went into the living room where Olive served coffee and cakes to Father John and the doctor.



She beamed all over. "Please stay with us tonight," she begged Father John. But the big American priest of Scottish descent excused himself and affectionately said his farewells.



As he left, he cautioned the Caldwells, "Don't make that room or this house a shrine. We serve a living Christ; He is not confined to a room - He is everywhere."



(The record of that visit is among the O.S.S. papers of Father John, located in the National Archives.

See Epilogue about Olive Caldwell's recovery and retirement years.)



The valley complex was back to normal and Caldwell's vigour returned. The glowing success surrounding the performance of the new round wing air arm caused people in high places to respond. Towards the end of the war, the allied round wing complex had two memorable occasions that came close to being called holidays. The first of these events occurred in late December of 1943, when President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill visited the aerospace complex along with their host Prime Minister Mackenzie King.



The three personages had arrived in the private railway car of President Roosevelt after crossing into

Canada at Winnipeg, Manitoba and proceeding west into the British Columbia Valley. An American band met the train and played the National Anthem and Hail to the Chief. A British band, the Royal Fusiliers, played God Save the King and ended up along with the American band in playing the anthem, O Canada.



The leaders stayed a day. On addressing the airmen, President Roosevelt touched each of their nerve centers when he told them they were not the forgotten men of the war about which they had been grousing. The President dropped a secret: "You men are being trained for what is intended to be the most secret and decisive project of the war. Stand -ready," he said, "for that moment when we shall call you to deliver the greatest rebuke to the Nazis on behalf of your countries. For on that day when you are called be ready to climb into your new round wing armada and cross the top of the world to destroy the enemy in an hour's time!"



When the cheering response quieted down, Churchill rose and with a few apt phrases said he agreed on behalf of his nation, that the men of the valley had not been forgotten but were actually being trained "for one quick knockout blow of the iniquitous Nazi scourge that has taken over Germany."



The idea to destroy Germany in a single round wing strike is attributed to the planning of Roosevelt  and Churchill.



Later, in speaking to one of the station's top executives, Churchill is said to have remarked, "Into this valley with its awesome power of round planes, we English speaking people have placed all our hope for shortening the war - in case everything else should fail."



President Roosevelt had caught that vision of the military relevance of the round wing plane back in 1936. He shared it with the British and Canadian heads of state. Later, it was that cooperation  between the three nations that enabled Jonathon E. Caldwell and his staff to make President Roosevelt's dream become reality.



On September 18, 1944, Station Commander General Caldwell ordered a full review of his 3,000 airmen at eight a.m. The unsuspecting airmen assembled, waiting for a routine inspection. 


Suddenly out of the sky one of their own 98 foot craft appeared and the attention of all the airmen was riveted on the descending machine. As it touched down close to the formation right on a prescribed circle, a thousand voices murmured in unison: "Peaceful landing."



Then out from beneath the round wing plane the assembled airmen saw emerge the figure of a tall, smiling, immaculately dressed soldier covered with ribbons. As he left the shadow of the craft, a cheer went up from the ranks of men. The flight officer yelled "Attention!" As General Eisenhower shook hands with Station Commander Caldwell and other officers, the entourage moved to the assembled troops. Three thousand allied airmen saluted their chief in honor. An airman boasted later the cheers could be heard in Vancouver. Before "Ike" had reached the troops, he was joined by a second figure in a black beret who because of his victories in North Africa had recently been made a Viscount. He was Bernard L. Montgomery and he came forward to join the Commander-in-Chief of all the allied military scattered throughout Europe. The British airmen took up the cheer again, and quickly the Canadians and Commonwealth buddies added voice as the Americans in final crescendo raised the roof of the valley. Montgomery addressed the airmen in an overlong dialogue. Eisenhower summed up his own thoughts in less than half an hour. He told the assembled airmen, "the moment for which you have been trained, the time when you will be called to strike the enemy - is not far off."



The allied war leaders later toured the giant aerospace facilities. As General Eisenhower talked informally with Caldwell, a young genius in his mid-forties, General Eisenhower praised him: "There is no way we can adequately express our thanks for what you have done for the allied cause and for freedom."



The allied leaders had left a station in Britain before daylight Pacific coast time. By way of Iceland, Greenland, Baffin Island and Hudson Bay they had flown non-stop watching the sun rise over Port Churchill, Manitoba and racing ten times faster than the speed of sound to their destination, they sat down with friends for a Canadian 'breakfast of ham and eggs, over seven thousand miles away from the shores from which they had departed.



Upon leaving again, they would be back in London, England, on a leisurely trip of about two hour's time.



Another momentous occasion arose at the end of 1944, almost a year after the visits of the allied political leaders. The valley's air station had been on constant alert in late December. Something was

imminent.



On the last week of the year, the huge 500 fleet of round wing planes took off early one morning for Germany. The preplanned targets were "strategic German cities. Roosevelt had vetoed an earlier attempt that month by Allied and German Generals including Eisenhower, Patton. and Von Runstedt to end the fighting in the west. Now the round wing air arm was on its way to execute the end of hostilities in Roosevelt's own way. The terrible lasers had not yet been installed in the new round wing planes but in their holds several of the planes carried the new atomic bombs while the others carried bomb bays full of block buster explosives.



As the planes appeared over German skies in mass, a long cigar-shaped craft was seen by several squadron leaders as it watched from high above. The first targets were reached and orders given to prepare bombs and finally "bombs away."



But not one plane could release its cargo of destruction. All electrical circuits connected with the bomb delivery were dead. Radios too were silent. Finally, in consternation, the fleet followed the lead ships and turned back to Canada. They landed without incident, and maintenance men examined the planes. Then, as if on cue, the entire fleet became electrically functional again.



High above, a cigar-shaped craft of giant proportions moved off into the unknown.



Allied intelligence sources say the Germans under Hitler lost earlier technological blessings from the aliens when the Nazis embarked on a plan to use their five round wing planes to bomb major American cities including New York and Washington. The enemy intended dropping new instruments of mass destruction called atom bombs which the Germans had produced at about the same time as the allies. 



The first Hiroshima was to have been New York. Hitler himself is said to have ordered the raid. The planes left Germany. But what happened thereafter is unknown.



Did the extra terrestrials prevent the planned deaths of so many countless humans and the mass destruction of cities? It seems most likely. Here is why:



The alien who visited Roosevelt in 1943 had told him the extra-terrestrials were totally aware of the new round wing plane then being developed by Caldwell and group. The alien reminded  Roosevelt it could be used as a blessing or an evil. He warned the President not to use it for evil purposes. Reminded of that warning while authorizing the German strike, President Roosevelt replied, "Let's forget the aliens! We now have the round wing planes — we intend to use them."



Just as important as the words of the exra-terrestrial who visited Roosevelt in 1943 is the warning of the alien scientist sent down to earth's aerospace valley in British Columbia. When he departed in 1943, he reminded Jonathon Caldwell and company, "Don't try to use the new round wing planes to destroy your present enemy, the Germans! It will turn out that your ultimate enemy has not yet been revealed. For the present, the round wing planes are for your protection only."



On May 6, 1945, World War II ended in Europe as Germany, in the absence of Hitler, surrendered unconditionally. Even as the allied generals accepted surrender at Eisenhower's Heims School Headquarters, at 2:41 A.M. French time, May 7, a fleet of 500 round wing planes dropped down from

60,000 feet and plummeted to a 3,000 foot elevation over beleaguered Berlin. There, in mile long letters executed by the round wing planes, German civilians and Russian troops below stared up at the huge lighted sign which spelled out in English the word SURRENDER. The Germans had capitulated after five years, eight months and six days of the bloodiest conflict in history.



Neither side had been able to use their round wing planes for destruction of each other - neither the

allies 500 planes or the Germans' five.



Earlier on the evening of May 5, when the surrender was first announced over the BBC radio, allied soldiers and Englishmen and women had jammed downtown London. Trafalgar Square teemed with masses of singing people, the lights came back on, and in front of Whitehall huge crowds shouted impromptu for Prime Minister Churchill. As the Prime Minister appeared on the balcony, he stuck his

cigar trademark in his mouth and raised his hand in a V for victory symbol. Then the cheering crowd

stopped as all heads turned upwards. The entire London sky as in Berlin was filled with strange speeding lights. Unquestionably they spelled out one word -VICTOR Y. In his first public  admission of the aerial phenomena, the British Prime Minister tried to explain that the formations above were one of the secret weapons the allies had chosen not to use in winning the war. As the heavenly lights disappeared across the English countryside, they left in their wake a mystery - which no one on the allied side spoke of again.



Across all Britain the airborne formation flew in slow parade. As the round wing plane assemblage moved on in silent tribute, the huge word VICTORY blazened over the home towns of many young Scottish, English, Welsh and Irish pilots and crewmen.



From the countryside below, jubilant Britains occasionally saw packets attached to small parachutes flutter down from the strange birds. Retrieved, the finders noted the packets contained dozens of letters on RAF stationery with British stamps affixed to the envelopes. Each packet was wrapped in a special binder which said: "Finder, please take to nearest Postmaster!"



The next few days, across the British Isles, the letters from the sky were being delivered to cottages and flats by the score. On opening one such letter a lonely Englishwoman, worrying about her son, might have read: Dear Mom. . . Sorry I've been away so long. But soon I'm coming home. . . Love, your son.



During the next week the jubilant British sang, danced, paraded, and worshipped as each in his or her own way threw off the shackles of years of war-time regimentation. But, quietly, the British War Office had planned another surprise that to this day has never been told except to those in the know.



In the early morning blackness of May 15, several giant round wing planes dropped out of the overcast and hovered above a field on an island off the Scottish coast. Bright lights shone down on the turf as the machines sat quietly down, each on its tripod legs. And from the stairs below each craft, young Britishers stepped down with their few belongings and moved silently away into the darkness.



Shortly thereafter, twelve assembled fishing boats took aboard over 480 young men and headed for the mainland. The fishing boats normally hauled "goods vans" southward to major coastal cities. But the skippers had been called by the Ministry of Fisheries for a special task that morning. Sworn to  silence, only the skippers knew they had been asked to pick up nearly 500 war heroes. As the young men huddled on the cold deck of one of the ships, an old Scottish fisherman, obviously trying to goad the young passengers into revealing their point of origin, remarked slyly, "Aye, mon! I've seen everything now. All you lads spending your days on that forlorn island while the rest of the world was busy fighting a war."



Above the boats, over 20 strange craft blinked their lights in farewell as the young airmen looked up and smiled with nostalgia for their air training home in far away Canada.



In the morning, as dawn broke over Scotland's most northerly village served by rail, a long Royal Scot steam train stood slowly puffing and waiting. The town's industry, a nearby cannery, had not yet opened. Meanwhile the young warriors who had manned the world's greatest World War II inventions, assembled at the station. The wail of the bag pipes was heard, and this music to Scottish ears came in a medley of homecoming tunes played by the Bank of the Scots Guard from Edinburg castle. The band had come up on the train. As the last "all aboard" was sounded, the engineer called to the fireman, "It's a three hour run to Edinburgh. We'll have an hour's stop while these passengers stretch their legs and get the biggest and best breakfast the city of Edinburgh can dish up. All other trains take second place, even if we meet up with King George himself!"



But London was waiting for the special train. Prime Minister Churchill was on hand. And so was King George VI, accompanied by His Majesty's Coldstream Guards. As each man disembarked from the train, they lined up and received a handshake and a medal from the King. On the medal were inscribed the words: FOR VALOUR BEYOND THE CALL OF DUTY.



The demob officer had already spoken to the young heroes. "For the remainder of your lives, you men

must be content to know of the courage with which you served the cause. But remember! You can never share the secret of the round wing plane with anyone, as difficult as this order may seem to be. But someday, in the wisdom of the top brass, perhaps somebody will be allowed to tell. I hope we are still alive by then." The Britishers melted into the crowd and headed for their homes. Each carried a paper giving him a choice of honorable discharge or revolunteering for the Roundwing Plane Service. In Canada, the airmen were discharged at Ottawa; the Americans were taken to Tacoma, Washington. Today the identities of those pioneer airmen are not known, but on the wall of the Canadian Air Minister is a plaque referred to as the Silver List. Engraved there are the names of approximately five hundred Canucks.



The Regiment of Royal Fuseliers who had been employed mainly as security forces in the B.C. Valley during the war years, got home to Britain in 1947. Some of them had left Scotland by round wing plane but all were returned by train to New York and then by ship to England.



The United States emerged from World War II as the world's undisputed superpower. Before the war ended she had become the world's leading shipbuilder. She had supplied the allies with more shipping

tonnage than both Britain and the U.S. possessed in 1939.



Her expansion of conventional air power enabled the allies to dominate the European skies. And once engaged on the battlefields, the United States had trained and equipped twelve million armed men deployed with over 50 allies on various fronts, while still providing the Russians with massive ship loads of Lend Lease armament. And when the war was over and rebuilding of the continent began, it was the American Marshall Plan that got the Europeans, including the former enemy, back on their industrial feet.



From 1941 to 1945, the U.S. War Council had managed to divert scientists and technicians to the Manhattan bomb project while still carrying on with the manufacture and delivery of conventional armament, not to mention the added brain power required to research and produce the (Jefferson) round wing plane project that eventually housed a small city of workers. The costs were shared between the three allied powers based on population ratio.



The audacious total American war-time achievements had been burdensome in taxes. The national debt rose from 50 billion in 1940 to over 250 billion dollars in 1945, nearly nine tenths of this amount expended on winning the conflict to liberate Europe and the Pacific.



Quite apart from the manufacture of conventional war apparatus, the industrial miracle of the allies, shared mainly by the U.S.A., was that a revolutionary air arm of round wing planes, and their trained crews had been developed in secret, without disrupting the effort of the country's six million men and women military labor force. Unevitably, the secret was not perfectly kept, but leaks in every case were

plugged before serious breaches of security could occur.)



Although the war ended in victory for the allies, the Americans were always acutely aware that, if need be, the scales of Justice would have been tipped in their favor, had they introduced the advanced, round wing plane and its awesome laser power. Yet in spite of the disastrous war that bled America (and the world) of so much of its valuable resources, she still managed to carry herself and the globe into a new age of free flight that before the century ends may become the prime mover of people and commerce.



Said Canad's beloved scientist and World War II General A.G.L. MacNaughton: "Isn't it ironic that it took a war to bring about such scientific achievements?"



Winston Churchill called it the "unnecessary war." President Eisenhower agreed.



And to the young English boy who asked his grieving mother, "who won the war in which daddy was killed?! she replied, "No one — everybody lost."



Sixteen million fathers and sons never came home. And nearly ten million innocent civilians who died in the flames of war would have agreed, had their voices been able to cry out.





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