Lost Nazi Superplane: The Henschel P.87 – Hitler’s Bizarre Canard-Design Fighter-Bomber with Massive Firepower That Never Left the Drawing Board—Why Was This Terrifying War Machine Abandoned Before It Ever Flew?

The closing years of World War II saw Germany’s Luftwaffe desperately searching for technical miracles that could counter the overwhelming Allied air power. Nazi engineers and designers, fuelled by the regime’s willingness to gamble on untested innovations, conceived some of the most radical aircraft ever imagined. Among these was the Henschel P.87—a bold, unconventional proposal that promised a new era of speed, agility, and devastating firepower. Yet, for all its promise, this “superplane” never passed beyond the drawing board. The story of the Henschel P.87 is one of ambition, technological frontiers, and the harsh realities of war.

The Roots of the P.87: Desperation Breeds Innovation

By 1943, the tide of war had turned decisively against Germany. The Allies’ relentless bombing campaigns and growing air superiority placed immense pressure on Nazi aircraft manufacturers. In response, the Reichsluftfahrtministerium (RLM, or German Air Ministry) issued frequent requests for next-generation fighter-bombers capable of high speed, flexibility, and unprecedented firepower.

Henschel Flugzeugwerke, known for their rugged ground-attack aircraft such as the Hs 129, responded with the P.87 concept—a daring leap beyond typical fighter designs. Unlike anything previously envisioned, the P.87 adopted a “canard” layout, positioning its horizontal stabilizers near the nose and main wings towards the rear. Such a configuration, extremely rare for the era, was intended to allow for extraordinary control at both high and low speeds, potentially giving pilots a lethal edge in dogfights and ground attack runs.

A Plane That Looked Like No Other

The canard arrangement immediately set the Henschel P.87 apart. Most World War II aircraft followed the classic “tail-dragger” formula: propeller at the nose, straight wings set centrally, and horizontal stabilizers at the tail. The P.87’s plans inverted these expectations. Its sharply pointed nose housed small forewings (canards) to provide added lift and balance, while its main wings sat well aft, supporting an enormous bomb load or a blistering array of guns.

The proposed powerplant was equally ambitious. Conceived around two powerful Daimler-Benz DB 603 engines mounted in a pusher configuration (propellers behind the wings), the P.87 aimed to reach speeds and operational altitudes that would outclass most Allied interceptors. The design called for laminar-flow wings (reducing drag), tricycle landing gear (improving stability on the ground), and a streamlined, bubble canopy for unmatched pilot visibility.

Perhaps most alarming for Allied planners were the projected armaments: not only did the P.87 promise to carry a heavy bombload for use against hardened targets, but it was also sketched with a formidable set of forward-firing cannons—potentially including the fearsome 30mm MK 108 that had already made the Messerschmitt Me 262 such a threat to Allied bombers.

Why Was the P.87 Never Built?

With such cutting-edge features and immense firepower, why did the Henschel P.87 never make it off the blueprint? The answers lie in a blend of technical challenges, shifting priorities, and the chaos engulfing Nazi Germany by late 1944.

1. Unproven and Overly Ambitious Design

   The canard configuration, now known to offer aerodynamic advantages, was virtually untested in the 1940s. Engineers lacked critical data on how nose-mounted control surfaces would behave at the speeds and loads envisaged. German fighter pilots, accustomed to conventional layouts, would have needed significant retraining. There was deep skepticism—among both Luftwaffe brass and front-line flyers—that a radical design could be risked at such a critical stage of the conflict.

2. Technical and Production Obstacles

   The P.87’s heavy dependence on advanced materials, high-grade alloys, and powerful engines placed it in direct competition with extant aircraft already favored by the RLM, such as the Focke-Wulf Fw 190 and Messerschmitt Bf 109. Key resources were scarce as Allied bombing targeted German factories. Building an entirely new prototype—let alone retooling for mass production—was increasingly unrealistic.

3. Overlapping Project Proliferation

   As the war dragged on, the German aircraft industry suffered from lack of direction and an overabundance of competing “superplanes.” The RLM simultaneously commissioned other exotic projects—jets, rocket-planes, flying wings—such as the Me 262, the Arado Ar 234, and the Horton Ho 229. Each promised breakout performance, but the dilution of focus led to delays, resource shortages, and a tangled mess of half-completed prototypes.

4. The Collapse of the Nazi War Machine

   By 1945, Germany was simply running out of time. The Red Army pressed in from the East, the Western Allies from the West, and strategic bombing campaigns savaged what remained of German industry. Pragmatism took precedence over dreams. Henschel’s design teams, already battered by conscription, material shortages, and supply chain collapse, could not continue development. When Hitler’s regime fell, so too did the P.87—leaving only drawings and technical notes behind.

Legacy: A Glimpse Into What Might Have Been

Although the Henschel P.87 never flew, its conceptual DNA would not be lost forever. Its canard configuration foreshadowed postwar experiments in both East and West—the French Dassault Rafale and Swedish Saab Viggen would later prove the value of the canard-planform. The P.87 also markets a stage in German aeronautical engineering history where radical thinking, however impractical, was openly encouraged—sometimes to a fault.

A surviving cache of blueprints and artist’s renderings provides tantalizing evidence of Nazi ambitions, and the P.87 has since become a favorite among aircraft historians and modelers. It offers a “what-if” vision: how a warplane, bizarre yet brimming with potential, might have influenced the air battles of 1946—if only history had permitted.

A Final Word

The Henschel P.87’s fate ultimately reveals much about the Nazi war effort—how desperation inspired brilliance, but also waste and confusion. Brilliant engineers swung for the fences, unmoored by the cautious incrementalism of peacetime, yet harsh wartime realities condemned many realities before they left the drawing board.

Today, the P.87 endures as a stark symbol: of what happens when forbidden dreams of might, terror, and innovation collide with the hard wall of reality. The terrifying superplane that never flew remains locked in the pages of history—part warning, part wonder, and an indelible chapter in the story of aerial warfare.