For A-Day

(See Cover)

At 5:20 a.m. on Sept. 1, 1939, the fishermen of Puck, Poland, lifted their faces to the grey dawn and saw man's new way of making war. It was the blitzkrieg, paced by the new instrument of air power. It rolled across Puck, rolled across Poland, rolled across Western Europe. Eight months later, in the space of 7 1/2 minutes, it buried 30,000 Hollanders in the rubble of Rotterdam.

In London, it tried, although it failed, to reach its absolute climax. In the cities of the world, people raised their awed faces to the skies while air power thundered over Manila, Singapore, Sevastopol, Cologne, Schweinfurt, Regensburg, Hamburg and Berlin. Over Hiroshima and Nagasaki, air power very nearly did reach its final aim of total annihilation; in those two cities, 125,000 Japanese perished in two clock ticks.

One day this week, 2 1/2 years after Nagasaki, five men walked into the White House and laid before Harry Truman a 50,000-word document. They were members of a commission which he had appointed last July to write an air policy for the U.S. Their document, written in the onrush of world events in the last half of 1947, was the most ambitious report on U.S. air power.

The Threat. The commissioners were not panic-stricken; they were measured and matter-of-fact. But the U.S. was under definite threat, they said. They saw no hope that the United Nations would develop "in time" the authority to prevent another war. The threat, they reported, could be divided into two parts. The first was Phase I, which was the turbulent present, when the world at any moment could blunder into war. If war came in Phase I, it would come by accident, not from design. No potential enemy of the U.S. was yet prepared for war. The commissioners found no evidence that other nations are producing atomic weapons in quantity.

Phase II would come when the enemy was prepared. When would that be? "The conclusions of the Commission ... fix as the target date by which we should have an air arm capable of dealing with a possible atomic attack on this country at Jan. i, 1953. For convenience we will refer to this date as A-day."

Rightly or wrongly, the commissioners assumed that the attack would be directly on democracy's great arsenal, the U.S.; that it would come without warning; that the U.S. would not be able to turn aside its first full violence (which might well be accompanied by sabotage with atomic and biological weapons); that the enemy's objective would be the destruction of U.S. capacity to resist. The only defense was a counteroffense of such speed and power that the enemy would be paralyzed. Security lay in keeping "a force in being in peacetime greater than any self-governing people has ever kept."

The commissioners, being peaceful U.S. citizens brought up to believe that minding one's business was the surest way to peace, reached this conclusion only with the greatest reluctance. But obviously, neither minding one's business nor trying to reach a pacific accord among nations was enough now.

Appearing before them, W. (for William) Stuart Symington, the first Secretary of the first independent Air Force the U.S. has ever had, declared: "I do feel that the maintenance ... of peace in the world depends upon the strength of the United States." The commission agreed with him. The mere existence of a great U.S. force, in fact, might be a deterrent to a world aggressor. Peace might yet be achieved through the very instrument which had become the world's most destructive force: air power.

The Questioners. The commissioners were serious and conscientious men. Their chairman was Thomas K. Finletter, a dry, sharp-eyed Wall Street lawyer (Coudert Bros.), onetime special assistant to Cordell Hull and author of a book, Can Representative Government Do the Job?, which pointed out the inefficiencies of the U.S. Government.*

With infinite patience, for 96 days, the commissioners had listened to more than 100 witnesses--representatives of airlines and aircraft plants, top men from Government departments, railroad men, bankers, scientists, educators and labor leaders--whose testimony filled 4,000 pages. The chief question they had to answer was: What is an adequate force?

The problem was complicated. One of the chief complications was the buttoned-up pride & prejudice of the various armed services. To date, the Joint Chiefs of Staff have been unable to produce an integrated strategy for World War III beyond an agreement "in principle." All hands agree on the primary role of air power. But Air Force and Navy brass continued to fight over their separate notions of how the available aircraft should be divvied up, who should use what kind of planes, and how.

The Air Force's notion, in brief, is that the most destructive counterblows can be delivered by very heavy, long-range bombers, land-based. This thesis was propounded by Air Force General Carl ("Tooey") Spaatz and vehemently seconded by Stuart Symington, who as a civilian producer of bomber gun turrets had visited London during the blitz and had never forgotten what he had seen there. Ground-force generals agreed with Spaatz.

The Navy's notion is that the retaliatory attack could best be spearheaded by aircraft carrier groups (which the Navy describes as floating airbases), capable of moving anywhere in the world and closing with the enemy. For that mission the Navy set its sights on acquiring four carrier groups and a total air strength of 14,500 planes.

The Cost of Defense. It was scarcely the commissioners' job to settle that kind of technical debate. They had a right to expect that the JCS would have settled the fight among themselves and come up with carefully integrated plans. It was apparent that real unification had not yet taken place in the services. If it had, it would have meant "an enormous opportunity for savings," said the report, which, in a restrained fashion, recommended that Secretary of Defense James Forrestal should knock some heads together.

Congress and the public, confused by statements and counterstatements from on high, also had a right to demand that the JCS get together. The country could not afford to pay the price of their squabbling. In the end the commission appeared to accept the Air Force thesis. They gave the Navy "a large share of responsibility" in seizing and securing advance bases and in keeping sea lanes open to strategic supplies. But in effect, they reduced the Navy to a secondary role.* The Navy should be held to its present strength: two carrier task forces, each with five large carriers, a total aircraft strength of around 11,000.

The Air Force, the commissioners proposed, should have exactly what Spaatz and Symington had asked for: 70 groups totaling 6,869 planes, plus a National Guard force of 27 groups (3,212 planes), plus an Air Reserve of 2,360 planes, mostly trainers. To back up this ever-ready power, an additional 8,100 up-to-date planes should be acquired for storage before Aday.

This was not a force large enough to win a war outright (the U.S. bought 277,279 planes for World War II). A totally effective attacking force would be too prodigious, too much of a drain on the nation's peacetime economy. But the proposed Air Force would be large enough, the commissioners hoped, to counter and contain attack until the nation had time to arm. This program would bring the total cost of the nation's military establishment (now $10.9 billion) to $11.59 billion in 1948 (see The Presidency), $13.20 billion in 1949, and keep it increasing up to an estimated $18 billion in 1952. Said the report: "A second-best air force is almost as bad as none."

One-Punch Outfit. What is the present status of U.S. air strength? The answer involved the entire economy of the U.S.--a U.S. with no air power policy. Said the commission: the nation's great air arm of World War II had degenerated to a point where it "could not carry out the missions assigned to it [in Phase I] ... and [was] even less capable of carrying out the mission which would face it in Phase II." General Henry ("Hap") Arnold, wartime commander of the Air Forces, mourned: "Our Air Force today is a one-punch outfit."

The Air Force was down to 55 groups.* Unless funds were made available immediately it would have to be cut back to approximately 40 groups beginning in mid-1948. Publicity given to new planes has made it appear that the armed services are equipped with all the latest jet planes. Actually, as the aircraft industries pointed out, the Air Force and Navy are operating mostly with obsolete planes such as the 6-29 Superfortresses, Thunderbolts, Mustangs, Hellcats and Avengers--none of which is any longer in production. Such widely heralded planes as the new B50 Superfortresses, the 600-m.p.h.-plus XP-86 fighter, the 600-m.p.h.-plus XF9F fighter, and the B-35 Flying Wing are at best only in limited production. Consolidated Vultee's jet-propelled bomber (XB-46) is experimental (one plane has been ordered by the Air Force). Douglas' jet D-588 Skystreak, the fastest plane in the U.S. (650.6 m.p.h.) until Bell's jet XS-1 broke through the sonic wall, is classified as "research," as is the XS-1. Lack of funds and shortage of trained personnel had inhibited research in many fields, including the field of guided missiles.

But there was a far greater weakness. A nation in the modern world is only as strong as the industry which produces its weapons. If air power was the nation's first line of defense, it was a very weak line indeed, considering the state of the aircraft industry. In 1946, the industry showed an operating loss of $81 million ($11.6 million after tax credits). In 1947, it is estimated, it will show an operating loss of $100 million (a net loss of more than $20 million). In terms of airframe weight (measuring by pounds instead of by numbers of planes), production was down from 103 million pounds at the 1944 wartime peak to 27.8 million pounds at the end of 1946.

The industry, depending on the Government for 80-90% of its orders, was essentially uneconomic in a free economy. As far as physical facilities went, a single company could probably produce all the planes required for peacetime commercial uses. Government orders fluctuated wildly. It was difficult, if not impossible, for plants to keep producing steadily. It was just about impossible to keep well-trained work forces on hand.

A revolutionary postwar technology which involved supersonic speeds, new construction and new propulsion power had intensified the manpower, research and engineering problems.

The commissioners had one concrete remedy, and it was quite simple. To build the planes which they believe the Air Force needs right now, they recommended the spending of $3.9 billion for military planes in the next two years. That shot in the arm alone would revive the industry. At the end of 1949, the report said, the Government should review its program in the light of developing world affairs. But the commissioners saw little possibility that orders would be reduced.

Aside from that, they had many suggestions. A worthy one was a recommendation for long-term contract planning, which would supply the continuity which the industry now lacks. They urged the drawing up of a comprehensive war mobilization industrial plan. But most of their suggestions got lost in the haze of the commission's own dilemma: how to inject Government supervision and planning into private enterprise without flattening out competition. They were moderately shocked at the chaos they reported. They were anxious to fix things up, but they were not too sure how to do it.

Not Strong, Not Healthy. The commission also looked at the airlines--a "potential military auxiliary [which] must be kept strong and healthy." Right now, the airlines are neither. They had optimistically overexpanded after the war. Costs had increased faster than revenues. Strikes and groundings had crippled operations. Air routes were congested, confused.

The public had lost a lot of confidence in air travel, and with reason. The report found the "chances of fatality in terms of passenger miles very slight." But in reliability the airlines got black marks. A count made at La Guardia Field of one airline, in the fair-weather month of June 1947, showed that 89% of arrivals and 41% of departures were late. The airlines had operated in fiscal 1947 at a loss of $22 million. The Finletter Commission cautiously recommended:

P: "Serious consideration" of the proposal to transport parcel post and first-class mail by air, even at the expense of railroads and steamship lines.

P: Nationwide air traffic control.

P: Government appropriations for development of new airports.

P: A new Secretary of Civil Aviation in the Department of Commerce to supervise the CAA, a new Air Safety Board, and an Aircraft Development Corporation which would finance development of new cargo planes, navigational aids, safety devices.

Ex-Playboy. But the one man who would sit in the most important spot, if the President and Congress adopted the Finletter military procurement program, was the Secretary of the Air Force: W. Stuart Symington. His was an administrative job, and he was an administrator. He was not an airman.

He had succeeded Robert Lovett, a World War I flyer, a reserved, close-mouthed man who was a perfect complement to the imaginative, extroversive Hap Arnold, then Air Forces chief. Symington himself was a complement to Tooey Spaatz, the imaginative, introversive man who was now chief of the Air Force and its real boss. On all matters of strategy Symington turned reverently to Spaatz and to Lieut. General Lauris Norstad, the Air Force's brilliant planner and geo-politician. But in matters of management, procurement and costs, "Stu" Symington was the man.

Tall and handsome, a Yaleman and ex-playboy, Symington had come to Washington via the old Surplus Property Board. Before that he was president of the Emerson Electric Co., in St. Louis. Harry Truman, who knew him only slightly but was impressed by his reputation as a hotshot executive, had pried him loose from Emerson to run the SPB. Stu's father-in-law, Congressman Jim Wadsworth of New York, warned him that he was bargaining for trouble in taking on such a headache as SPB. He answered that the Government had been good to him with wartime contracts, and he owed the Government the sacrifice.

Life in the main had been good to Stu Symington. Born in 1901 at Amherst, Mass., the son of a lawyer, he had worked for a wealthy uncle, had married Jim Wadsworth's handsome daughter Eve, formed a clay products company and, at 31, had become president of Rustless Iron & Steel. When they lived in Manhattan Eve had made a reputation for herself as a singer at such elegant nightspots as the St. Regis, the Waldorf, etc. They have two sons, now both at Yale. Symington lived for fun and golf and tennis. In 1938, with the help and advice of friends who thought he might be overdoing things as a playboy, he moved to St. Louis to become president of Emerson.

The plant was crippled with labor troubles, inspired by an out-&-out Communist leader, William Sentner, boss of all the United Electrical Workers' Midwest locals. Instead of fighting his workers, Symington recognized the union and gave the workers a profit-sharing scheme. Under his energetic leadership and with the help of Government contracts for bomber gun turrets, there were finally profits to share.

As director of SPB, he streamlined the sales organization, resigned in January 1946. Immediately Harry Truman made him Assistant Secretary of War for Air, which became Secretary of the Air Force after the armed services' merger.

The Executive. Washington at first was inclined to look at Symington askance. Now Washington is ready to give him full marks for energy and forcefulness. He is a formidable-looking figure, sprawling in his red leather chair, a spectacular executive when transacting business over the telephone. He is abrasive with foot-dragging underlings. Last summer he was operated on for high blood pressure. He incessantly chomps gum.

He began to surround himself with businessmen. One of them, Arthur Barrows, ex-boss of Sears, Roebuck, was a man after his own heart. When a contractor complained that he had heard rumors that the Air Force did not like him, Barrows snapped: "We haven't said anything bad about you. We've just let it be known that we think you are a bunch of cheap, chiseling thieves."

Symington is determined to clean up the outdated, wasteful business methods of the military establishment. He has made a fetish of cost control. This attitude is certain to gain and hold the confidence of Congressmen.

The Cost of Living. But his other, immediate job will be more complicated than that. As Secretary of the Air Force, he will be called upon to help sell the Finletter proposals to Congress and the nation. The Navy and its friends on Capitol Hill will have to be appeased.

The questions raised by the report, however, transcend personalities. They have to do with the general welfare. One of the grave questions was how large a Government program could be imposed on the nation without weakening U.S. democratic principles. Could the U.S. insure itself against war without turning into an authoritarian state?

How willingly would American citizens shoulder the financial obligations of such proposals? The cost of peacetime security in a modern world has become a Sinbad's burden, exhausting and unshakable. The commission's proposals would mean a national outlay amounting to $82.46 per person in fiscal 1949, as much as $122.45 in 1953. In 1801, when the infant U.S. was surrounded by enemies, the levy per person which was considered sufficient for defense amounted to 72-c- (in days-of-Jefferson values).

The cost of keeping alive, like the cost of living, had gone up since 1801. It had gone up even since that day, 100 months ago, when the dawn broke over Puck.

*The others: John McCone, president of the West Coast's old and famous Joshua Hendy Iron Works; George P. Baker, professor of transportation at Harvard Business School, director in 1945 of the State Department's Office of Transport and Communications Policy and chief spokesman for the postwar Air Coordinating Committee; Arthur Whiteside, president of Dun & Bradstreet and frequent adviser to Government agencies; Palmer ("Ep") Hoyt, energetic publisher of the Denver Post, onetime head of the domestic branch of OWI.

*A week before the report, Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz, retired, let out an anticipatory roar: "The Navy of the future will be capable of launching missiles from surface vessels and submarines and of delivering atomic bombs from carrier-based planes."

*A heavy-bomber group: 30 planes, 886 men; a fighter group: 75 planes, 439 men. A group is commanded by a colonel.

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