Moving as Tom did in military and diplomatic circles, he had acquired an unusual outlook on the European situation. Yet he had not, as yet, been able to forecast the final line-up. Nazism and communism, though similar under the skin, were natural enemies. If British diplomacy, bent on maintaining the old balance of power on the Continent, could involve Russia and Germany, she might win a respite for western Europe. But if Russian diplomacy could bring Moscow into the Rome-Berlin-Tokyo axis, at least temporarily, Hitler would have a free hand with western Europe—where fifth columns had already penetrated—and might dominate British sea power with an air force based on shore and operating from interior lines. Meanwhile our natural friends abroad scorned our products even as our enemies scrambled to buy our technology.
And so the Yankee Peddler who had set out to advance the new art of air transport, and in so doing expand world trade and promote prosperity, suddenly found himself in the cloak-and-dagger business. The war, he knew, would set air transport back at least ten years to say nothing of incalculable damage in every other aspect of life. We were caught in a net spun out of the idea first suggested by General Jiulio Douhet and later endorsed by other fanatics. And all the while the biggest idea in human existence, the doctrine according to Jesus Christ, lay fallow for lack of ardent advocates.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A Chill Sets In
Don Brown, our president, who had been in ill health for some time, was now unable to give personal attention to the multitude of matters, and it fell to me to try to get some coordinated action on industry problems. Any sort of joint action by our Aeronautical Chamber of Commerce had long ago been proved impossible, first because joint action called for unanimous consent and no two of our bully boys in the industry could agree on anything. Of course on rare occasions we reached an agreement, and such an occasion developed one day in the office of the Assistant Secretary of War.
Out of the confusion and extravagance incident to the last war, Congress had passed the Army Reorganization Act of 1921, under which responsibility for production planning and mobilization had been lodged in the Assistant Secretary of War. That office had been collecting an array of card indexes which purported to assign some sort of role for mobilization to each manufacturer. After some twenty years of this, the Assistant Secretary, then Mr. Louis Johnson, having decided to take a look at his handiwork, had summoned the aircraft industry. The conference was called to order by General Westover, then Chief of the Air Corps, who was supported by “Hap” Arnold, Assistant Chief, and by Colonel Burns, from the Office of the Assistant Secretary of War.
General Westover stated the situation: the Army would like to have our estimate of the effectiveness of their war plans effort. If, after looking the situation over, we gave general approval, they would ask us to remain over another day to suggest improvements. They wanted our frank opinion of progress. General Westover then introduced General Arnold, who conducted the inquiry.
Hap Arnold was a favorite with the industry. Forthright, courageous, and decisive, he had supported Billy Mitchell at a time when less able men would have taken the easier course. Along with a handful of similarly able men like Hugh Knerr, a classmate of mine and rifle teammate who had transferred to the Army, Louis Brereton, also a Naval Academy graduate, Frank Andrews, Carl Spaatz, Jimmy Doolittle, and others, Hap had preached the air-force doctrine in fair and foul weather. Now he grinned at us across the table.
“Well,” he inquired, “who wants to drop the opening bomb?” From the back of the room the salty voice of Dutch Kindleberger resounded.
“If you ask me,” he volunteered, “I think you’ve had twenty years of hogwash.” There was a murmur of surprise.
“From time to time,” Dutch went on, “you send your bright young men to ask us the same question: ‘how many airplanes can you manufacture X days after M Day?’ And when I counter that question with another—‘what kind of airplanes?’—your young men don’t have the answer.” As Dutch finished, Glenn Martin put in his oar.