WWII US Aviation Industry

This article has been more of a whopper after having had a look at French and British wartime industries (click here for France or Britain). I posted a flowchart of US aircraft manufacturers at the end of this article. I could barely fit everything on an 11x17 sheet, and I’m assuming I’m still missing some minor builders. I did not expand into engine or rocket manufacturers, so there’s no SpaceX and whatnot, except for a few involved at some point with aircraft production (fixed wing and helicopter). I added comments in the flowchart to help understand what happened to some of these companies, in 6-point type (sorry). You’ll have to zoom in to read that stuff.

The Prelude to WWII
      The US aerospace industry differed altogether from its European counterparts. There was no massive nationalization and forced mergers in the 30s and 60s like in France and Britain. Most companies started out as separate businesses in the 20s and 30s. Many were bought out and turned into divisions of large holding corporations, often keeping their brand names alive across multiple ownerships. Some got liquidated outright without a clear successor.
      Driving forces behind the US aerospace manufacturers involved a fast-growing airmail and civilian transport industry. The 1925 Kelly Act enabled the USPS to contract private carriers to fly mail across the country. Early on, the government subsidized the airmail industry, which gave a significant boost to aircraft manufacturing. The Airmail Act of 1934 targeted large holding corporations combining aircraft manufacturing and airline companies, among other services, to obtain better airmail contracts. This anti-trust measure split these corporations into independent companies (while the opposite was happening in Europe).
      The Civil Aeronautics Act of 1938 gave the federal government direct oversight of civil aviation, airfares, routes, and safety (ending with the famous airline deregulation circa 1978). Passenger traffic rose quickly in the 30s, spurring companies like Boeing, Curtiss-Wright, Douglas, and Lockheed. Particularly noteworthy was the 1936-era Douglas DC-3, which initially served as a passenger airliner for American Airlines and later found great use in war as the C-47 Skytrain.

The Onset of WWII
      The US only started gearing up for war in the wake of the Munich Conference in 1938. FDR’s objective was to increase the number of US-built warplanes to 10,000 in a relatively short term. Funds enabled the Army Air Corps to order 6,000 aircraft and boost its personnel to 3,200 officers and 45,000 enlisted. Unlike France and Britain, there was no concern for air bombardment, military invasion, or lack of critical resources interrupting US industrial output. In short, major airplane builders could almost hit the ground running, joined not long afterward by companies like Ford, General Motors, Chrysler, Packard, and Willys. Production shot from just over 2,000 military aircraft of all types in 1939 to more than 6,000 in 1940.

The WWII Expansion
      Government programs became crucial tools to expand industrial capacity. By 1940, they built new aircraft factories and leased them to established manufacturers in order for them to fulfil quickly ballooning contracts. Companies that benefited from these programs were, among others, Curtiss-Wright, Bell, and Douglas. The concept of government-driven industrial expansion parallels the strategy of so-called Shadow Factories in Britain, but executed at an American scale, with comparatively unlimited energy and resources. Civilian car manufacturers picked up the slack. From 1942 onward, they built no cars at all, concentrating on warplanes alone.

The Lend-Lease Act
      From March 1940 onward, aircraft manufacturers were free to sell aircraft to friendly nations, provided foreign sales did not affect US orders. Nonetheless, during the spring of 1940, France and Britain ordered more aircraft than the US government. Something I didn’t know before writing this article was that the U.K. had depleted its cash holdings and gold reserves to pay for US-built materiel, under the “cash and carry” policy required by the United States’ Neutrality Acts of the 1930s. France was in no better situation regarding payments in gold.
     The Lend-Lease Act of 1941 terminated the United States’ neutrality, right in the nick of time, further increasing deliveries outside the US until 1945. Up to 17% of the US’s total war spending, including oil, food, ships, and weapons, went to support allied nations, all free of charge and very much in line with FDR’s foreign policy goals. One of the main benefactors was Britain, which by then could hardly have afforded this support.

An Unexpected Windfall
      Britain’s precarious situation in the fall of 1940 prompted its government to carry out the Tizard Mission. It shared technology in exchange for the ability to produce classified materiel in the US, since industries in Britain were wholly involved in manufacturing urgently needed weapons. This indirectly relates to this article’s primary topic, although the mission did have a direct impact on US aerospace technology. The mission made key knowledge available to the US regarding radars, jet engines, and eventually, the Manhattan Project. Separately from this, the US and Britain shared their knowledge of codebreaking and cipher machines in 1941.

Moving Along
      Reflecting the need to accelerate production, some warplanes had to be modified to fix flaws after significant numbers had been built. Some made it through despite flaws that, in some cases, could be addressed after delivery to the front lines. To help with such challenges, the Army Air Corps (before WWII started) and the USAAF (from 1941 onward) sent officers to act as liaisons between the manufacturers and the military. They focused on coordination, oversight, technical support, resolving production bottleneck issues, feedback, and improvements.
      One notorious example of post-production technical flaws is the SB2C Helldiver, otherwise known as the “Son-of-a-B**** 2nd Class” for its awful handling characteristics. It did, nonetheless, become the main dive and attack bomber of the US Navy, after all modifications were in place. Other even more famous and highly successful warplanes fit in this category for various reasons, such as the B-29 Superfortress, the P-51 Mustang, and the F4U Corsair. The P-38 Lightning could also be counted here. Such is the cost of deploying advanced technology as quickly as possible while at war.
      By 1943, more than a million people were at work manufacturing military aircraft—the largest industry in the US at the time. North American Aviation built a total of  44,000 aircraft, including the P-51 and the B-25. Meanwhile, Boeing upped the ante with 98,000 aircraft of all types. Chrysler built more than half of the 30,000 Wright R-3350 engines for the B-29, mostly out of their plant in Chicago. Throughout the war, General Motors built 75% of all Wildcats and Avengers, or a quarter of all carrier-borne warplanes. Ford’s massive plant in Detroit, Michigan, built more than 5,000 B-24 Liberators in 1944-1945. It produced 46,000 tons’ worth of airframes, more than half what Germany could manufacture and as much as Japan’s entire industry. I don’t know if they built ‘em “Ford Tough,” but they certainly built ‘em “Ford Fast.”

Global Achievements
      WWII led Americans to adopt the doctrine of air power. Designing, manufacturing, deploying, and servicing vast numbers of war machines during a global conflict—while supporting allies—remains an astounding accomplishment. One’s head spins at the thought of all those great machines: the P-40 Warhawk, P-47 Thunderbolt, P-51 Mustang, F6F Hellcat, F4U Corsair, and the B-29 Superfortress, with or without the British Merlin engines.
      None of this would have been possible without the massive participation of women in the industry for the first time. Everyone remembers the poster showing “Rosie the Riveter.” The female workforce in the aerospace industry went from 1% pre-war to 65% during. By 1945, the US could manufacture 96,000 aircraft per year and, in total, did build more than 300,000 warplanes during the entire course of the conflict. More than 150,000 remained in surplus when the smoke cleared. America had become the world leader in both civilian and military aerospace within about 6 calendar years.

Later Acquisitions and Mergers
      US manufacturers started out mostly in the 20s and 30s before conglomerates swallowed most of them in less than a hundred years: Lockheed Martin, Boeing, Textron, Northrop Grumman, General Dynamics, and RTX. I kept the latter out of my flowchart: RTX (known before 2023 as Raytheon Technologies, formerly United Technologies) appears a few times in my tiny-type comments as United Aircraft and Transport Corporation. Here’s its summary according to Wikipedia: “The United Aircraft and Transport Corporation was formed in 1929, when William Boeing of Boeing Airplane & Transport Corporation teamed up with Frederick Rentschler of Pratt & Whitney to form a large (…) firm, uniting business interests in all aspects of aviation—a combination of airframe and aircraft engine manufacturing and airline business, to serve all aviation markets, both civil aviation (cargo, passenger, private, air mail) and military aviation.” Woof!
      It controlled stock in companies like Boeing, Northrop, Vought, Pratt & Whitney, Sikorsky, Stearman, what would later become United Airlines, and a number of others. They got hit with an anti-trust action in the 30s, forcing the company to split up. One part became Boeing, another what would later be branded United Technologies, and United Airlines. This shows the extent of Boeing Aircraft Corporation as early as the 30s. It’s still a tentacular conglomerate that funneled ten companies showing in the flowchart, plus more than a dozen at an average $4.35B cost for each (if my Google-fu fails me not). All this comes with a sprinkle of mixed issues, including war profiteering, unethical conduct, pollution, subsidy disputes, industrial espionage, quality control, safety concerns, etc.
      I did not include Stearman in the flowchart due to a lack of space and relevance. It was created in 1927 and was bought out two years later by United Aircraft and Transport Corporation.
      Another large business in the early days was AVCO (for “Aviation Company”). It also controlled more than 20 businesses, including what would later become American Airlines. It also got pulled apart in the 30s. Eventually, Textron acquired its aerospace assets in 1984 while AVCO’s financial services went to Citigroup in 2000.
      One event on this flowchart connects with British manufacturer Hawker Aircraft, which I couldn’t show due to a lack of space. In 1994, Raytheon merged its Beechcraft division with the Hawker product line it had acquired in 1993 from British Aerospace, forming the Raytheon Aircraft Company. This was a division of the Raytheon parent company, whose roots go back to 1922 as the “American Appliance Company”. It was renamed Raytheon in 1959. As of 2012, it was the fifth-largest military contractor in the world, specializing in guided missiles. It merged with United Technologies to form Raytheon Technologies in 2020. Hawker-Beechcraft was resold in 2006, went into bankruptcy in 2012, and was acquired by Textron a year later. The Hawker brand was discontinued at about this time. It’s interesting to note that Raytheon started out as an appliance supplier while Textron emerged from the textiles industry ("Tex" for "textiles" and "tron" from synthetics such as "Lustron") before expanding into aerospace.

      Have fun exploring the flowchart.

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Click here for British Aviation.

Click Here for French Aviation

WWII British Aviation Industry

Since I recently completed research on France's aviation industry (see here), I couldn't just walk away without doing the same for the U.K. It’s interesting to see what companies built WWII celebrities like the Spitfire, Hurricane, Mosquito, or the Lancaster, to name these few. Curiosity led me to investigate the origins of these manufacturers and their current status. So here we go again, to the best of my ability to make sense of it!   🙂

After WWI

       Like the French aerospace industry of the pre-World War II era, the U.K. lined up more than a dozen builders. The first round of mergers came between the end of WWI and the 1930s. During the Great Depression, two major manufacturers emerged: Vickers and Hawker. This could illustrate some ten years later the rivalry between the Spitfire built by Supermarine (a part of Vickers) and Hawker’s Hurricane as the most effective combat aircraft of the war (quality vs. quantity). So, keep calm and carry on.

Muddling Through

      One interesting story caused me to make several rounds of corrections in my flowchart until I got it right. John Davenport Siddeley, 1st Baron Kenilworth, managed Armstrong-Whitworth in 1927 before merging its heavy engineering business with Vickers to form Vickers-Armstrongs (or just “Vickers"). J. D., however, brought under his personal control Armstrong-Whitworth Aircraft, Armstrong-Whitworth’s automobile and engine maker, Armstrong-Siddeley, as well as Avro’s engine branch.

The Two Amrstrongs

      In 1934, Hawker Aircraft acquired the rest of Avro (as far as I can tell), Gloster, and Armstrong-Whitworth Aircraft to form Hawker-Siddeley. J. D. continued to operate his aircraft manufacturing business as Armstrong-Whitworth, competing with Vickers, with whom he was no longer associated. As a result, two different manufacturers simultaneously used the word “Armstrong” in their business names. Oi, steady on! Armstrong-Siddeley, the engine maker, merged in the 1960s with Bristol Aero Engines to form Bristol-Siddeley, which isn’t shown on the attached flowchart (see at the end). Rolls-Royce later acquired Bristol-Siddeley.

WWII Shadow Factories
      The British government launched a scheme to develop dozens of so-called “shadow factories” in 1935. The intent was to accelerate the production of aircraft, engines, and related equipment, along with the desire to scatter production away from industrial centers in the event of aerial bombing over Britain. It relied on technology transfer to civilian manufacturers in exchange for their factory administration expertise and trained workforce.

      Public funds covered the entire cost of building and equipping all these satellite plants. Participating businesses received government grants and substantial management fees to execute the project. Meanwhile, established manufacturers of military and civilian materials had to expand and modernize their own plants and design offices to meet the expected output once a war was underway. By 1936, the Air Ministry reorganized and focused directly on communicating with manufacturers, addressing supply bottlenecks, and procuring the right aircraft. Relying on a fast-growing network of subcontractors was key to boosting production. RAF officers, referred to as Resident Technical Officers, worked directly with manufacturers to oversee technical issues and facilitate interactions between their assigned businesses, the RAF, and the Air Ministry.

      Shadow factories used available structures such as mills, tanneries, farm barns, weaving sheds, garages, and even country mansions in Britain, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa. Nine new factories were built from scratch. By 1939, 31 plants were at work or being constructed. Some were already producing complete aircraft, while others provided parts. By 1944, 175 firms were directly involved in the shadow factory plan. Jolly, good!

      In 1940, the London Aircraft Production Group originally oversaw the factory management of several companies building and running London buses. They shifted their focus to producing Handley Page Halifaxes, ammo, gun elements, armored vehicles, and spare parts. At its peak, the group involved 41 assembly areas around the London area, 660 subcontractors, and 51,000 workers. Eventually, women formed the majority of its workforce. By 1941, this single group covered 40% of the nation’s heavy bomber output, along with 200 Halifaxes per month. I say, rule Britannia!

      In hindsight, these efforts paid out. In the mid-30s, aircraft production topped out at about 200 per month, versus about 650 in 1939, 1,250 in 1940, and up to 2,500 monthly in 1944. Added to this came the US connection. Under the Lend-Lease Act, the US eventually delivered to the UK more than 2,000 heavy bombers, more than 3,000 medium bombers, more than 8,000 light bombers, and more than 13,000 fighters. Large-scale deliveries from the US started in 1942.

The Castle Bromwich Debacle

      As part of the shadow factory scheme, Morris Motors Ltd moved to establish the Castle Bromwich plant in 1936 to build 60 Spitfires by May 1940. Exactly zero were delivered as a result of mismanagement despite millions of Pounds Sterling spent by the government. Bromwich was supposed to be able to procure thousands of Spits eventually. Vickers (Supermarine’s owner) took over the whole thing in June 1940, but still had issues there as late as 1942, such as cracks in the building’s brickwork. The Treasury did not sign off on this project until 1944. Mind the gap! To be fair, the Castle Bromwich plant did indeed build more than 12,000 Spitfires (more than half the total UK production of these fighters) and hundreds of Avro Lancasters by 1945. Morris Motors Ltd eventually merged with the Austin Motor Company in 1952.

Back and Forth

      The owner of Avro, Crossley Motors, had sold Avro to Armstrong-Siddeley back in 1928. The following year, Avro’s founder, A. V. Roe, with S. E. Saunders, formed a new company called Saunders-Roe. It would go on to build hovercrafts as part of Westland. In 1964, Saunders-Roe’s hovercraft business merged with Vickers-Armstrongs (yes, them again) to form the British Hovercraft Corporation. I say, look here, mate! In 1971, Westland took back that business. GKN then bought out Westland and renamed it GKN Aerospace in 1994, later to be sold off to Finmeccanica.

Mergers, British Style

      Sorry, old chap. No time for tea time now. Due to the rapidly growing globalization of the aerospace industry, the British government forced most corporations to merge in the 1960s, forming three major groups: Hawker-Siddeley, BAC, and Westland. The consolidations continued in the 1970s and beyond, leaving nearly all the original 1910s companies to become part of such businesses as British Aerospace Systems, Rolls-Royce, Thomson CSF, Safran, Boeing, and Finmeccanica. I’m sure there are more. See the diagram below. Two did not survive: Handley Page and Miles Aircraft. 

      The next article will focus on the United States aircraft industry. Pip pip, cheerio for now.

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Click here for the previous article on WWI French Air Woes.

Click here for the US Aviation article.

WWII French Air Woes

I've been toying with a what-if scenario about an alternative buildup strategy for the French air force in the 30s. One of the biggest problems with the Armée de l'Air was that much of its fighter force included MS-406 and MB-151. The first was substandard on a number of issues against the ME-109e; the latter was even worse. This resulted from France changing governments almost every year for several years, which messed up its strategy, not to mention industrial inefficiencies and interservice frictions between the army and the air force.

France ordered Curtiss H-75 Hawk fighters from the US, but production wasn't fast enough to cover the Armée de l'Air's needs. Orders also required hard currency, which was a problem given the awful state of France's economy at the time. The H-75, as a stopgap solution, was definitely better than the Morane-Saulnier and the Bloch 151. The P-40 and the Wildcat did not enter service until 1940. Those weren't an option, and we can pass on the hapless Brewster Buffaloes.
     So... Alternatives?
     Buying Hurricanes and Spitfires would have been awesome, but those weren't available, given that the RAF required their whole production. Russian fighters were not an option either for a number of reasons. So, who's left? Fokker, for one!
     The D. XXI, though obsolescent, was still better than the MS-406 and MB-151. It did surprisingly well in the hands of Dutch, Danish, and Finnish pilots who flew it in combat. Indications were that the Fokker G1 would have done well in its category. Most of the Fokker aircraft destroyed during the Netherlands' defense were those caught on the ground.
     The Dutch aircraft industry was altogether anemic and would not have been able to provide France with enough of either type. Buying those outright would have required cash, which was an issue for France. Therefore, building them under license in France might have worked better in this respect, and also because these were relatively easy to build. It would have required massive retooling of several builders, but this could have been accomplished in 1937 or 1938, leaving a very narrow window to deliver the hundreds of aircraft France needed to replace its less-performing fighters.

Arsenal VG33

I believe assembling British fighters and their Rolls-Royce engines all under license, especially the Hurricane, which was easier to build than the Spitfire, would have been another valid short-term approach until acceptable French-designed fighters became available in sufficient numbers (such as the promising Arsenal VG 33 or even an updated Dewoitine 520). Fokker might have been more willing to accept such an agreement, more so than Hawker or Supermarine. (This is entirely debatable since I don't know how the respective governments of the UK and the Netherlands might look at this.) I’m guessing that this strategy would have been hard to sell in the politically charged environment of France's government and industrial circles. It certainly would have been a painful blow to Gallic national pride as well. On the other hand, it could have kick-started several French manufacturers with firm orders for large numbers, which had been lacking throughout the 1920s and 1930s. As a result of this, French manufacturers didn’t have the financial strength to tackle major retooling and the fast-paced industrial output that the Armée de l’Air desperately needed on the blitzkrieg’s eve.
     Building foreign aircraft under license would have required a strong political will and the means to discipline French industrials who weren't always as cooperative as they could have been. There was indeed resistance to the 1936-1937 mergers that the Air Ministry imposed upon France's manufacturers, specifically to address production issues (see related article here). Production suffered from the 40-hour work week (no overtime as far as I know) and politically motivated strikes. Meanwhile, German workers toiled away 50+ hours per week. We do know that a Hurricane required about 10,000 work hours to build, vs. 12,000 for a Spitfire (correct me if I'm wrong). The Me-109e took a bit less time than this (although I haven't found confirming data). The MS-406 took at least as many, and the MB-151 even more, close to 18,000-20,000 work hours. You can see how badly the situation could develop with such numbers.
     Another aspect of the troubles that the Armée de l'Air faced was the slow pace at which France industries emerged from the global Depression (compared with the UK and Germany). A significant part of France’s industries had been lost during WWI, so all that had to be rebuilt before and during the Great Depression. The population (potential workforce) discrepancy between France and Germany + Austria + the Sudetenland gave the Axis an advantage of almost 2 to 1. Competition was a tall order seen from any angle.
     A number of other issues plagued the French military buildup of the 30s. The lack of consistency with design and production strategies from the French government (I do repeat it) was one of the leading problems. France’s Air Ministry issued some really bad design directives in the mid-30s, mostly as cost-saving measures. This resulted in a carnival of notoriously ugly and instantly obsolete machines (especially for bombers and recon aircraft), as well as a lot of wasted time and money. The lack of coordination among the aviation industry saw hundreds of aircraft getting built, but missing key components, like their armament, radios, and other cockpit equipment. French engine manufacturers could hardly keep up with the accelerated production of airframes in 1939-1940. Poor planning also led front-line units to use their own pilots to fly their older aircraft back to factories and exchange them for newer types. Why not use the thousands of available Polish pilots eager to be involved? They could have easily handled these deliveries at the very least. Most of them eventually ended up in the UK. 

Incidentally, I found information I didn't know. Under France's Third Republic (1870-1940), the head of state (President of the Republic) wasn't elected by universal suffrage but by the parliament (Senate and Chamber). The president appointed a prime minister to head the government. Technically, the prime minister wielded more power than the president. However, the Chamber could force the prime minister to resign with a vote of no confidence. With a heavily divided parliament (sounds familiar?), such as France's before WWII, this resulted in prime ministers lasting about six months, thus the political instability of the country. A profound rivalry between socialists and conservatives (sounds familiar?) was rooted in the Depression's economic problems (1929-1939) that had provoked widespread poverty and unemployment in France, especially during the second half of the 1930s. Added to this, French demography suffered from about half of its population between the ages of 20-25 being missing due to the 1.4 million KIAs in WWI and about six million casualties overall, a disaster for France's demography 20 years later. I'd call this a perfect storm...

     Despite France's mountain of challenges and failures, the Armée de l'Air and the RAF (respectively 600 serviceable fighter aircraft out of 2,900, and 360 for the RAF deployed in France vs. 850 Me-109e) were involved in inflicting on the Luftwaffe nearly 1,500 aircraft losses plus 488 damaged, about 28% of its front-line strength or 36% overall. French fighters accounted for 600-1,000 of the Luftwaffe's losses. I could not find stats on German losses attributed to the Hurricanes or the number of Me-109s shot down. The RAF had deployed about 260 Hurricanes to France and lost 119 of those during the invasion. Spitfires were not sent to France. It is a tribute to the valor of the Allied combat crews, given that they lacked any combat experience at the onset. This affected the Luftwaffe's chances of prevailing during the ensuing Battle of Britain.
     All of the issues described in this article led France to falter catastrophically after emerging from WWI as a world leader in aerospace. France could have done better. Bad governance in the face of a crisis dooms nations. Folks facing the same today, with glaring incompetence and criminal hubris to boot, ought to heed this tale. Anyway... This was a pie-in-the-sky idea. Let the Flak do its worst.

Click here for the previous article on WWII Mergers

Click here for the next article on British Aviation in WWII.

Happy Gary Gygax Day

 Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!

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WWII French Aviation

French aviation of the 30s always puzzled me as regards its industrial basis and organization. I decided to look this up. Here's what I found. This is a departure from my usual D&D-related focus. Wargamers amongst you may find this interesting.

Mergers & Nationalizations

Reading about post-WWII French aircraft manufacturing can be confusing because of the acronyms used in the late 40s and 50s. After some frustration, I seized the bull by the horns and drafted a diagram showing the most important manufacturers after WWI. Those wargamers among you will recognize many in the diagram’s top row. These manufacturers did not possess the industrial capacity to provide modern aircraft as quickly as the French Armée de l’Air needed them to face the growing Nazi threat in the mid-30s. Many were financially strapped due to the global economic depression at that time. In desperation, the French government nationalized almost all of these manufacturers. The plan was to reorganize the entire industry to increase production output and relocate as many manufacturing centers away from Paris, which was deemed too vulnerable to an invasion. The government also saw an urgent need to improve coordination between its military and thus-far-private corporations.

        There wasn’t a good way to cobble together fifteen or more disparate companies with workshops spread all over the country, not to mention handling disgruntled workers' unions. The reorganization was more or less based (as far as I can tell) on the location of factories, resulting in six industrial groups positioned geographically: Center (Paris), North (roughly northwest of Paris), West (Atlantic coast), Southwest (Bordeaux), Meridional (Toulouse), and Southeast (Marseille). This approximated the original intent. The acronyms roughly translate as National Air Works of (…region). In truth, those areas overlap. Most of these companies had their HQs in one Parisian suburb or another. This was hardly avoidable since the capital city is the nation’s nerve center. Several companies’ assets ended up being split among different industrial groups. For example: Potez (Southeast & North), Lioré & Olivier (Southwest & Southeast), and Breguet (Southeast, North, plus one part that escaped nationalization and kept operating independently under its brand name). One company isn’t shown on the diagram: Avions Voisin. They converted their business to build automobiles after government orders for combat aircraft dried up at the end of WWI.

        After WWII, France’s aerospace industry was in tatters, since most of its assets had been taken away by German occupiers or wiped out during Allied bombing raids. Over the following sixty years, much of all this was rebuilt and eventually combined to form Aérospatiale (the folks working with the Brits to build the Concorde). Finally, Aérospatiale became the foremost part of establishing the multinational corporation called Airbus, now competing directly with Boeing. Much of the latter’s assembly work is completed in Toulouse.

        The exact status of these nationalized businesses isn’t all that clear (to me). Some managed to continue operating under their brand names after WWII (such as Potez). Most were swallowed entirely and ceased to exist as separate business entities. Marcel Bloch was the primary owner and administrator of Bloch Aircraft. The government bought him out but put him in charge of SNCASE (Southeast Aviation). He left in 1941 after disagreements with the Vichy government. He had been sent to a concentration camp during WWII, survived, and resumed control of his company after the war under his new name: Marcel Dassault. His new business lived on to produce the famous French Mirage fighters. One final corporation escaped nationalization altogether: Latécoère. It was best known for its transatlantic seaplanes. It still operates to this day, a world-spanning business specializing in airplane parts (fuselage sections, doors, electrical equipment, and so forth).

Engine Manufacturers

        Oddly, these companies weren’t nationalized in the 30s, despite a dire need for modern aircraft engines at that time. Salmson (Société des Moteurs Salmson, SMS) exited the aerospace business after WWI and began building automobiles. It ceased operations in 1962; its brand name ended then, and the remaining assets were bought out by other businesses. Renault was another source until 1936, when it spun off its Caudron subsidiary and other aircraft engine divisions to focus on its core automotive business. Lorraine-Dietrich provided engines until 1935, when financial failure enabled Amiot and Bloch to acquire its aircraft engines business. Gnome et Rhône bought out the remainder of Lorraine-Dietrich in 1941. Another small engine manufacturer of WWI, Société Clerget-Blin et Cie., was eventually acquired by SNECMA in 1947 and ceased to operate under its brand name.

        Hispano-Suiza was an important source of aircraft engines in WWI. France’s branch, known as Société Française Hispano-Suiza, was established in 1923 and cut ties with its Spanish parent company at the French government’s behest. It designed aircraft engines and cannons up until WWII, especially for the MS-406, Dewoitine 520, and Arsenal VG33. It later built foreign manufacturers’ engines under license. SNECMA bought the French division in 1970 and renamed it Safran Transmission Systems in 2016. The division continued since then to build aircraft engines, thrust reversers, and other equipment. The original Spanish company, still under its Hispano-Suiza brand, survives to this day, specializing among other things in gnarly-looking concept and sports cars.

        Gnome et Rhône built aircraft engines, especially during WWI. Much of its business fell victim to WWII. They built engines for M4 Sherman tanks for a short period, but to salvage what was left of the company, it was nationalized in 1945 and rebranded as Société Nationale d'Etude et de Construction de Moteurs d'Aviation, otherwise known as SNECMA. The latter went on to build the Atar jet engine powering Dassault Mirages, and the Concorde’s Olympus 593. In 1974, the company established a joint venture with General Electric called CFM International to build the highly successful CFM-56 engines used on Boeing and Airbus aircraft. It changed its brand name to Safran in 2016 and now operates as a world supplier of commercial and military jet and turboprop engines, as well as the propulsion system for the space-bound Ariane 5 Vulcain rocket.

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Click here for the article on how and why
French aviation underperformed in 1940.

Calidar: Dwarven Ironclad Main Turret

Dwarves of Kragdûr fly large, armored, steampunk-style gunboats, mostly in Calidar’s outer space. My plan is to draft a whole ship in detail and make it available in digital format on DTRPG, both labeled and unmarked for gameplay. Specs are intended to be: 300 dpi, 1" squares, 1 sq. = 5 ft. The file could be printed as a large poster at your local printer's, or used digitally for any D&D-like game. This article shows my present draft of the main gun assembly. 

Overall. Since it is a space-faring vessel, the Iron Queen is wholly pressurized and somewhat heated or cooled. Thanks to gnomish slaves, permanent deck enchantments provide artificial gravity. Dwarven ships do not enjoy the benefit of electrical power. No live fire, be it open or enclosed inside a lantern, is permitted anywhere in the turret assembly. Some things aboard occasionally suffer a je ne sais quoi of “ish-ness,” adding adventurousness to life on board. The crew strives to address mishaps with all the celerity and ad hoc means determined dwarves can muster.

Work Space: Armor above deck runs about 12” forward of the turret, 8” on the sides and on the top, and 6.4” astern. Decks lie 7.5 ft. above one another, minus several inches to a foot for vents, steam pipes, and various mechanisms the turret requires. Anyone taller than 6 ft. needs to watch their heads. Doorframes offer a maximum clearance of 5½ ft. Hatches are about 2½ ft. wide and airtight if locked, although connecting conduits (air ventilation, steam ducts, and voicepipes) can be manually shut in an emergency (with uneven results).

Operating Conditions: Sallow, flickering light radiates from glowing quartz rods fastened near the tops of the bulkheads. The smells of metal, oil, grease, burned powder, stale damp air, and dwarven sweat suffuse the turret’s oppressive atmosphere. Diffuse vibrations and the muted sound of the ship’s Fetzgrim engines thrum unrelentingly through the turret’s thick bulkheads. The crew’s rocky bellows, the gritty ratchets and rumbles of machines, sporadic jets of steam, and the strident whistles of brass voicepipes commanding attention yield to the main guns’ overwhelming roar. Amid the warship's din, like an incongruous punctuation, a bell rings. The Iron Queen’s metal structures are known to groan, creak, and bang under the strain of sudden maneuvers defying a nearby world’s gravity.

Crew Demeanor: Gray coveralls, suitably smudged and stained, are in order. A shoulder patch representing a flaming cannonball is sewn on the right. Tightly braided and sleeked with fire-retardant grease, hair and beard are tied neatly to prevent them from getting caught in machinery. A black beret with a silver badge bearing the Iron Queen’s arms is worn or usually tucked under a shoulder strap while at work. Most carry short-term breathing devices on their belts in the event of a catastrophic decompression. Outsiders often recoil at the thought of being assigned to one of the most dangerous spots on the ship. On the other hand, turret crews take pride in it. Woe be to anyone else crossing this edgy, close-knit bunch. When not engaged in combat, the turret crew undergoes training, performs maintenance and repairs, and handles nuisances.

Nuisances: Typical issues in dwarven ironclads spending months in outer space apply to their turrets’ steamy confines. These include space-born slimes, oozes, and fungi that can damage ship components. Internal rust remains a concern as well. For these reasons, some critical, hard-to-reach parts may be plated with gold. Various small pests inadvertently picked up on Kragdûr hide in crawlspaces, discreet nooks, and rusted containers, hunting for food or possibly infesting the crew. They are the bane of a ship’s hold, and Kragdûras cats commonly dwell there. Ship sanitation generally deserves an “ish” label, especially inside a turret, as heads may not lie conveniently nearby.

1. Gun House

This part of the turret lies above deck and can rotate a bit more than 90 degrees to port and starboard. It houses two 9” cannons, the crew needed to load, aim, and fire them, and two escape pods in the back.

1A. Turret Commander Station. It sits on a platform raised about 3 ft. above the gun house’s deck. The seat is fitted with pedals to rotate the turret, a retractable periscope to sight targets and estimate their ranges, a crank controlling gun elevation, and two levers to trigger the main weapons. Chains running below deck connect the pedals and the crank to the steam-powered apparatus that rotates the turret and runs its internal components. Two voicepipes enable communication with the ordnance and the powder flats on the decks below.

The commander, called an “Ishkhân” (First Master), enjoys a great deal of leeway during battle. Communication between the bridge and the turret’s crew is limited to voicepipes. The rotating turret prevents a direct link with its commander. If need be, the bridge can reach the powder master in the powder flat, two decks below, who can relay orders to the turret commander. Meanwhile, the latter assumes what targets the bridge intends to attack based on the ship’s maneuvers. Once the order to open fire is given, the commander is at liberty to select one of several possible targets, usually the most threatening or valuable. These experienced combat officers are always in demand and paid well. The turret’s command station is the most exposed at the front and top. Escaping past surrounding equipment is difficult, leaving the ladderwell behind the hapless commander to climb down in a hurry and evacuate the turret structure through the powder flat.

1B. Gunnery Stations. Each gun includes three crew members, collectively known as gunners. The primer, a senior crew, handles the breach and primes the weapon. The loader operates the powder hoist and ensures that the charge is properly positioned. The rammer maneuvers the ramming device that secures the cannonball and its powder charge in the gun’s breach.

The powder packed in a bag is called Klutnul, otherwise known as Kragdûr’s darkpowder, which can ignite and burn in the vacuum of space. Before firing, the gun’s muzzle plug must be in the open position. Any leftover smoldering debris ejects into the void when a shot is fired. The primer then closes the plug, allowing air to fill the barrel before opening the breach. When ready, the primer shouts in the dwarven vernacular, “Rosh’kea fohr,” or “Give her Iron!” through the opening in the deck beneath the gun. The ordnance flat’s crew on the deck below responds “Fohr klogal,” or “Iron Coming,” at which time their loading arm (2C) swiftly inserts a cannonball directly into the open breach.

The loader standing near the powder hoist activates his apparatus after the cannonball is in place. Pulling the lever down opens the hoist compartment and drops the powder charge onto the loading gondola just under the turret’s overhead. Pushing up the lever closes the hoist’s compartment and sends its empty tray back to the powder flat.

The gondola and its ramming apparatus are then lowered behind the gun’s breach. The air-compressed ram pushes the charge behind the cannonball with a loud “ah-CHOO” sound, to which the gun crew bawls a heartfelt “Ahrog’kloss” or “Strong Blood!”, meaning “Gesundheit.” The primer closes the breach, cutting the air intake, arms the mechanical firing pin, opens the muzzle plug, and hollers “Ulzh’alt soth,” translated as “Live on Portside!” (or “Ulzh’alt purf” for the starboard gun). The warning alerts the turret commander sitting less than 15’ away that the gun is ready to be fired. Since the guns recoil noticeably, everyone steps back, waiting for the Ishkhân to pull the trigger. And yes, they’re supposed to act and sound like Star Trek Klingons.

1C. Gunnery Master Station. Known as the “Rothkhân” (Master of the Flame, Second Master, or more affectionately Gunny), this officer stands astern of the two guns, overseeing their crews. The gunny may step forth should any crew become incapacitated, including the turret commander. Gunnies generally study to earn their Ishkhân promotion. Next to the gunny stands a firefighter, a junior crew strapped with a fire extinguisher fitted with a lever and a hose to put out any flames. Common jokes go around behind the gunny’s back that the firefighter might put out the Master of the Flame. The fire extinguisher can reach about 50 ft. and has the capacity to coat two 10’x10’ areas. For a bit of fun, its tank is sometimes filled with ale.

1D. Spacesuits Stowage. Should the crew need them, ten spacesuits hang is a locker abaft the guns. Large trunks lie on the port and starboard sides of the turret with miscellaneous tools and equipment, including thick, tar-coated, 3’x3’ sealing patches rolled up together, and two hand-held, 10”-long quartz rods radiating a stark, glaring white light within a 15’ radius.

1E. Escape Pods. Airlocks, shown with gray decking on the floor plan, allow the crew to access two escape pods. Each one houses four seats fitted with straps, and two containers with food, ale, handheld weapons, 1½ ft. large sealing patches, red smoke dispensers, blankets, and first aid kits. Inflatable waterskins tucked under the seats can serve as individual flotation devices. A hatch on top of the escape pods enables an emergency exit when landing in water. A set of wooden paddles is attached to the bulkhead near the overhead. Seating is cramped at best, so it is fortunate that most barrel-chested dwarves are slightly squishy. After locking shut the entry hatch, a single lever triggers explosive bolts, ejecting the pod from the turret. If not rescued within an hour of separation, pods typically drift toward the nearest world. Pods contain alchemical rebreather devices good for two days with four occupants. Parachutes and retrorockets enable a safe crash landing… ish. Airlocks hold a secondary exit abaft the turret, directly into outer space’s vacuum (hence the spacesuits nearby in 1D). Airlocks can only remain pressurized while their pods are still attached.

2. Ordnance Flat

Located below deck, this level of the turret rotates with the gun house above. It houses the mechanisms controlling gun elevation, the cannonballs, the devices loading the guns, and the crew to operate them. Personnel on this deck are collectively referred to as artillerists. The crew includes a “Fohrkhân” (Iron Master, or Third Master) standing by the voicepipe near the center bulkhead. He oversees two lock mates and two arming mates operating the deck’s equipment.

The turret’s armored barbette surrounds this level. The gun house and its barbette are vertically secured to the main shaft (in other words, the turret does not fall off under negative gravity conditions). A large bearing assembly and rollers enabling the turret to rotate lie in a crawlspace beneath the deck. Access to the crawlspace is through either of the turret’s two ladderwells. Clearance there is no more than 3 ft. Various pests nest there as much of it is unlit. The turret’s static ring is rendered in black and green on the floor plan. The rotation machinery links with the pedals at the Ishkhân’s station up in the gun house. The steam-powered plant driving the main gear lies beneath the powder flat’s deck.

2A. Gun Elevation Station. Two powerful machines control large screw-like shafts that push up or pull down the rear section of the gun cradles located just above, in the gun house. These machines connect with the Ishkhân’s station. The guns need to return to a level position for reloading. Their rear sections pivot down through deck apertures in the gun house when the barrels point upward. No crew operates here unless repairs are needed. A container at the fore contains a hand-held, 10”-long, glowing quartz rod fitted with a metal hook, rags, an oil dispenser, a can of grease, as well as tools to open the machinery’s casings and perform routine maintenance. A ladderwell close to the turret’s center leads to the gun house and to the powder flat.

2B. Ordnance Switchboard. Cannonballs are stored in individual slots at the turret’s perimeter. When the “Rosh’kea fohr,” command comes from the gun house or if ordered by the Ishkhân through the voicepipe, a lock mate selects with the right-hand dial which round to release. The lever on the left of the console either opens or closes the selected compartment. When released, a cannonball drops onto a bowling-alley-like gutter (rendered in blue on the floor plan). A slight incline drives the ordnance down along the gutter and into a loading arm’s cup (2C in the illustration below). The trunk between the two lock mate consoles holds miscellaneous tools, two hand-held, 10”-long, glowing quartz rods, five individual rebreather masks, a dozen wooden wedges, a portable prayer set dedicated to Arnmîr Tinkerbones (a demigod of healers, CC1, pg. 45), and two sets of tie-down chains to secure the loading arms on the deck when not in operation.

2C. Loading Arms. After a cannonball drops into position, the arming mate hollers to everyone within earshot the expected “Fohr klogal” warning before triggering the loading arm. Akin to a trebuchet, the loading arm abruptly swings up through the gun house’s deck aperture and delivers its ordnance directly into the gun’s open breach. To accomplish this feat, a gobsmacking one for anyone but dwarves, the arming mate yanks the green lever down on the nearby console. A spring returns it to its upward position immediately afterward. The red lever activates steam-powered machinery that cranks the loading arm back down. When done, the lever returns to its upright position on the console. The crew knows full well to keep their arms and heads clear of the loading device during operation, as it is strong enough to inflict serious wounds when triggered. It may catapult severed body parts into the gun house above and possibly obstruct the breach, deflecting the cannonball, which then bounces off the back of the gun or the bulkheads, inflicting further injuries or death to crew members in its way. Another hazard lies in the loading arm’s counterweight that swings down through a deck aperture into the powder flat below when the device is triggered.

A prayer set includes a round mat, a brass
cup, and a potion of extra healing.

Resupply Operation. When the ship resupplies, munitions and Klutnul charges are carted aboard from loading hatches to the powder flat. Projectiles are lifted from there to the deck above while drums containing pre-packed charges are stored in the turret’s Klutnul magazine. Arming mates operate the davits near their stations. These small cranes haul cannonballs from the deck below and rotate to deposit them on the gutter. A wedge can prevent ordnance from rolling back. The iron shots are then manually pushed along the gutter and into open compartments. The lock mate operating the closest console then closes these slots. This turret holds three circular rows of cannonballs, one atop the other. When a row is depleted, the next one comes down to the level of the gutter. When reloading is done, pressing down hard on the dial resets a row.

3. Powder Flat

The turret assembly’s lowest level, this deck does not rotate with the gun house, save for the central area shaded in red on the floor plan. This rounded section is part of the turret assembly, separate from the magazine chamber that protects the darkpowder reserve. This deck's purpose is to distribute powder charges when requested. The two aft hatches lead toward the ship’s engine room. Ladderwells straddling the deck’s center bulkhead lead up to the ordnance flat and the gun house.

Personnel on this deck are collectively referred to as powder handlers, under a “Klutkhân’s” supervision (Powder Master, or Fourth Master). This deck officer usually stands by the voicepipe on the center bulkhead to receive commands from the gun house. Quickly heading to the other voicepipe next to the starboard hatch may be needed to relay commands from the bridge. Two keepers work in the segregated magazine while two bearers carry charges to the powder hoists when ordered.

3A. Powder Hoists' Deck. The two powder bearers initially stand next to their assigned scuttles, on either side of the magazine hatch. When the deck’s master orders it, the bearers knock on the scuttles’ lids, allowing powder bags to slide out. They carry them on small carts to their assigned hoists, avoiding the spots where the loading arms’ counterweights drop through the overhead’s apertures. Forgetting this hazard may result in mild to severe cases of sudden death when a descending counterweight crushes a distracted handler. Pulling down on a hoist’s lever opens its compartment. Pushing it back up closes the compartment and sends the tray and its powder charge up to the gun house (1B). When closed, the powder hoist is hermetically sealed. Bearers never keep Klutnul bags in the open for very long. A bell sounds when the tray reaches either end.

Rate of Fire.  Up to three powder charges can be loaded on a hoist’s tray at the turret commander’s request (the loader and rammer in the gun house would have to push the bags into the gun’s breach separately). Combat in space’s airless void rarely requires so much power, but the option exists. A hoist can move its tray all the way up or down in 1 round, so requesting a maximum six bags would take at best 11 BECMI game rounds (under 2mn in real time, about two combat rounds for the AD&D game) to complete, from the moment the turret commander gives the order to the time the last bag is rammed into a gun’s breach. With only one charge, the normal rate of fire drops to 50 seconds (a real-world warship takes about 30 seconds). Powder bags are made of Kragdûras spider silk dyed bright yellow that leaves little or no residue after ignition. Klutnûl is mixed with alchemical agents reducing flash and smoke. Each charge weighs about 40 Lbs.

Two trunks contain assortments of spare parts and six rebreather masks. The main gear driving the barbette’s static ring (located in the crawlspace between the powder and ordnance flats) is rendered as a shadow on this floor plan. Its axle (in black on the floor plan) extends down to machinery below the powder flat's deck. The static ring is rendered as a gray shadow as well.

3B. Klutnul Magazine. Darkpowder is stored here, six bags per iron drum. The drums are stacked four rows high on three sides. The bulkhead facing the powder hoists' deck features two scuttles and a hatch. This hatch is never opened during combat. The two keepers assigned to the magazine only open the scuttles when a bearer comes knocking, and quickly push out a powder bag before closing the scuttles once more. This prevents the powder reserve from exploding in the event of a flash or a fire in the gun house. The keepers are responsible for checking the powder bags for any rips exposing contents. They store damaged charges in empty containers for later disposal.

The annotated, full-resolution image is posted in the Facebook chat group.
Check the previous article about the Iron Queen’s Fetzgrim engines here. Cheers!

Calidar: Fetzgrim Engines

A few words about the dwarven Fetzgrim engine. I posted a note in the Calidar chat group on Facebook on this matter. I’m picking up here where I left off there.

Those of you with CAL1 In Stranger Skies might remember this (see page 122). The Fetzgrim engine involves spinning cylinders filled with force stones that exert telekinetic fields, which provide dwarven ships with thrust. The faster they spin, the more thrust. Steam engines mechanically rotate the cylinders. The devil is in the details, though. How does this actually work?

I updated the diagram showing the power plants' positions in the Iron Queen’s engine room. There are eight spinning cylinders—four on the port side and the others starboard. Likewise, of these eight, four lie forward of the engine room and the others aft. Cylinders are grouped in pairs, one spinning horizontally, and the other vertically.

Each cylinder is fitted with a parallel copper rod. It can be rotated alongside the cylinder to control its telekinetic field’s direction. So, if the rod lies forward of a horizontal cylinder, the exerted force will be forward of the engine room. A rod positioned above or under its (horizontal) cylinder controls vertical movement. A rod on the right or left of its (vertical) cylinder vectors thrust portside or starboard. All horizontal and vertical cylinders in the diagram are shown in the forward thrust position.

Combinations between port and starboard powerplants or forward and aft powerplants control pitch, roll, and yaw. For example, if the forward cylinders pull to port and the aft thrust pushes starboard, the ship rotates counter-clockwise. If the portside cylinders thrust upward and the starboard ones thrust downward, the ship rolls clockwise, etc. All these maneuvers can be combined with forward motion.

The force the cylinders generate affects nearby deck surfaces made of an Araldium alloy, as indicated by the green-shaded spaces on the diagram. These deck plates are solidly affixed to the ship’s structure. Araldium is a quasi-magical metal from Kragdûr, the dwarves’ ancestral moon (somewhat like Adamantite or Mithril in other worlds). The cylinders’ forces are akin to magnetic fields, except that they only affect nearby deck plates. Fortunately, the engines aren’t affected by the forces at work other than the cylinders’ mass, only the deck plates, since the torque and proportional loads required to move the entire ship would overwhelm or wear out the powerplants.

The ship’s bridge communicates commands verbally via voice pipes and with a mechanical device called an engine order throttle. This device controls engine speed: all stop and ahead (or reverse) full, half, quarter, or dead slow). The engine room officer then manipulates levers and cranks controlling the cylinders’ copper rods to execute orders from the bridge. Meanwhile, the remainder of the engine room crew stokes the two furnaces with dwarven kragnul or releases steam pressure to obtain the correct amount of thrust. Kragnul is a type of coal from Kragdûr that burns very hot and for a long time, thus reducing fuel stores. Exhausts include a system of flaps to expel fumes and steam into the space void outside the ship.

The full resolution image is posted in the Facebook chat group. Hope this helps.

From Facebook: By the way, I have a side project aimed at redrafting the Iron Maiden (the dwarven ironclad from CAL1), eventually. This will be upgraded and renamed the Iron Queen. The ship's larger and drafted at 300 dpi, 1" per square (1 sq. = 5ft). Two poster-sized files (digital only) may be needed to include all the decks and needed views. It's going to be a while before I can finish that one.

At least I got the powerplants done.

(...which prompted this article).

D&D Castles: Operating Costs

A Mighty Citadel by J. Humphries on Deviantart

I say D&D, although I mean specifically BECMI/RC. The mechanics on building castles are pretty straightforward in the Rules Cyclopedia. See pages 135-139. They cover the gold needed and the approximate time to build free-standing structures, as well as dungeons. They go into some detail about finishing touches and staffing. Rules do cover the cost of troops and retainers in line with the absurd price ranges prevailing in fantasy D&D games. After all, there is no hard limit on the number of times PCs can ransack fabulous dragon hoards to afford all this, other than the Dungeon Masters’ agencies. This article is not about reinventing the wheel. It focuses instead on the cost of upkeep.

Starting Point: I read an article about Henry Algernon Percy’s budget for Alnwick Castle in Northumberland (Medieval World magazine, Issue #14). It lists noteworthy expenses, somewhat incompletely. Things to consider include food, beverages (local or imported), fuel (wood, coal, charcoal, and perhaps oil, peat, or cow dung), cooking ingredients, condiments, and spices, tools and goods, linen, clothing, and other cloth items (and how they are cleaned), regular facilities maintenance, staffing, etc. I won't delve into a lengthy list of individual costs. The RC’s minutia on building castles already involves quite a bit of bookkeeping, so I’ll skip all that and focus on what matters: a quantifiable average cost.

Unequal Values: I have conflicting data at hand: real-world values in Pound Sterling and other currencies (which vary with century and location) vs. the inflated D&D price structure. There’s no perfect way to reconcile reliably five centuries of economic reality with a single fantasy world. This is my disclaimer that what follows is not meant to be scientific or historical, but rather a simple set of mechanics that work with established D&D rules.

Location: The RC addresses three different regional aspects: Wilderness, Borderland, and Settled. This will affect operating costs in different ways.

• Wilderness: The problem here lies in what goods and services are available locally. Odds are, common supplies and services other than what the garrison can provide have to be brought in overland, by sea and/or river, or on skyships if available at all, since there are no villages or farms to honor feudal dues. Therefore, most of these services and goods have to be paid for in cash.
• Borderland: Feudal dues collected from villagers and farmers living nearby cover part of the cost of goods and services. This reduces the need for hard cash. Some finer goods and materials will still have to be purchased and transported from large towns and cities, some good distance away in settled regions. For example: glassware, window panes, fine woods, condiments, spices, finer beverages, affluent clothing, tapestries, incense, ink, scrolls, books, healing medications, perfumes, etc. Along the way, storms at sea, piracy, road banditry, graft, and other shenanigans will have to be contended with.
• Settled: Most common goods and services come as feudal dues from abundant local sources. Nearby urban centers, ports, and seasonal fairs permit easier access to sophisticated goods and more readily attract a skilled workforce. In other words, the need for hard cash to operate identical fortifications should be lowest in settled areas vs. total wilderness.

Function: Another factor is the castle’s status. Is it a military outpost (rough and basic, if not downright crude)? A provincial stronghold (the appanage of a knight, a baron, a high-ranking ecclesiastic, or a magic-user)? The fortified dwelling of a wealthy and influential aristocrat, if not a royal castle, frequently sponsoring festivals, holding jousts, hosting costly banquets, and housing notable guests? Evidently, the latter won’t exist in a wilderness.

Social Standing: Based on usage, a simple military stronghold will be inherently cheaper to operate compared to the fortified dwelling of a wealthy aristocrat involving much more sophisticated goods and services. Garrisons are not included here since game rules directly establish the cost of troops, specialists, and higher-ranking retainers. On the other hand, the operating costs listed below do include common staff possibly residing on site, such as pages, cooks, bakers, butchers, a stable master, grooms, clerks, a chaplain and low-ranking members of the clergy, nursemaids, chambermaids, carpenters, masons, blacksmiths, falconers, musicians, jesters, gardeners, cleaners, porters (breathe here and hold your breath), stinky gong farmers (if you know, you know), etc. An outpost would have very few of these people, if any at all, while a wealthy estate could count many. Repairing regular wear and tear is also included here as opposed to damage resulting from battles, monster attacks, and natural disasters.

Figuring Numbers: I think the simplest approach is to base general upkeep on percentages of the original cost of building the structure. Total Maintenance Cost includes the value of feudal dues (local goods and services) provided by local inhabitants and gold payments for what isn’t locally available. The Cost in Gold is the part of the Total Maintenance Cost that the castle’s owner must pay in cash over a calendar year. The latter does not include any interest on loans, royal levies, tithes, or scutage fees the castle’s owner must pay to a liege. The cost of feeding garrisons should be covered in the RC’s rules, and therefore does not figure in the chart below.

Basis for Comparison: I picked 300,000 gp as a basis for a structure comprising a square keep, four towers, connecting walls, a barbican, a gatehouse, a few stone buildings, and perhaps a small dungeon (see RC page 137). This enables a fair comparison of the same structure across the board.

Size Considerations: A provincial stronghold’s estate should be more elaborate than a simpler military outpost, easily costing twice as much to build. A Google search (with unconfirmed results) priced the upkeep of a 15th-century Scottish lord’s castle at £800 per year, a substantial sum in those times. I’m assuming that’s the Total Maintenance Cost, including the relative value of feudal services. To reverse engineer this amount, I’m using the following conversion rate: £1 = 80 real-world silver pennies. As a result of D&D cost inflation, however, I’d rather set the conversion rate at £1 = 240 D&D silver pieces instead of 80 (a 3 to 1 ratio). Thus, £800 x 24 D&D gold pieces adds up to a Total Maintenance Cost of 19,200 gp yearly, of which 800 gp per month are paid in cash. This matches the Total Maintenance Cost for a borderland provincial hold about twice the size of the one suggested in the upkeep table above. Original building costs would have been 300,000 x 19,200 / 9,000 = 610,000 gp. This would include additional towers and walls surrounding the local town, an expanded great hall, family living quarters, a temple, a substantial granary, some paving, arts and decorations, etc.

Cutting Costs: A very basic wilderness outpost with a simple stone keep and a few adjoining buildings could cost about 100,000 gp to build rather than 300,000 gp. Its upkeep (without the cost of troops) would be 4,000 gp yearly, of which 250 gp must be paid in cash each month. The same keep in settled lands would require about 40 gp cash per month since more people live nearby who can honor feudal dues—essentially free goods and services to their lord. It makes a great deal of sense for a lord to clear the surrounding land and attract inhabitants to improve its status from wilderness to borderland, and eventually to a settled area. Nearby hamlets and villages are a boon. According to a Google search, the upkeep for a 15th-century knight’s household forces could run about £30-£60 per year. This would amount to 60-120 D&D gold pieces per month for food, equipment, lodging, and armed services. Rank-and-file soldiery in the real world was paid quite a lot less than typical D&D retainers.

The Rich and Fabulous: Naturally, a fortified estate housing a wealthy and influential aristocrat, or a fantasy world’s royal fortress, may include sprawling facilities costing a great deal more than 300,000 gp to build, probably more like ten times as much. The upkeep for such extravagant property in a settled region could reach 3,750 gp paid in cash per month, aside from feudal goods and services. If I use the conversion rate listed earlier, this would amount to about 156 real-world pounds sterling per month. For reference, a medieval monarch’s personal income in 12th-century England historically ran £10,000-£20,000 per year, or somewhere around £800-£1,600 per month (uncorroborated Google search).

The Real World vs. Fantasy: Another quote I found was for constructing Conwy Castle in the 13th Century. Records (unconfirmed) show a cost of £15,000 or 360,000 fictitious D&D gold pieces. D&D-wise, this seems a bit cheap given Conwy’s footprint (see image). This includes very roughly a main keep, several extra buildings, 2 barbicans, 8 towers instead if 4, etc. Here’s the whole list: 1. Site of Drawbridge, 2. West Barbican, 3. South-West Tower, 4. Prison Tower, 5. Bakehouse Tower, 6. King's Tower, 7. Chapel Tower, 8. Stockhouse Tower, 9. Kitchen Tower, 10. North-West Tower 11. East Barbican, 12. Lesser Hall, 13. Great Hall, 14. Chapel, 15. Site of Kitchen & Stables, 16. Site of Granary. Using the RC’s construction guidelines, this would probably cost more than 400,000 gp, not including the 14th-century outer walls protecting the town of Conwy.

I’m not sure if 13th-century Wales should be considered a borderland or a settled area. After all, there was a Cistercian monastery on site, which was rebuilt upriver. As far as I know, the village of Conwy was built soon after the castle’s construction to attract English settlers. That’s definitely in line with the game’s suggested strategy. Although it is officially deemed a royal castle, it is primarily a military fortress rather than a permanent dwelling for a king and his retinue, like the way Windsor Castle looks today, for example. This may qualify more as a large provincial stronghold, as defined in this article. There is some leeway as far as status goes.

Here is the full layout of Conwy Castle with its 14th-century outer walls and defensive ditch protecting the town. Click here to read the castle’s complete history.

I hope you enjoyed my voodoo math. With luck, I might have bamboozled a few readers. If you want to find out more about D&D BECMI, click here to visit our chat group. Cheers!