They were stopped numerous times by both military and police checkpoints and roadblocks, although their papers and authorisations allowing them instant passage, and on three separate occasions, Luftwaffe bombings on industrial targets had forced wide detours as ARP wardens waved them on and behind them, fire-fighters fought desperately to contain several major fires. The scenes they witnessed, so much like the old black-and-white footage they’d seen of The Blitz countless times growing up, were now right there before them in living, deadly colour. It was an incredible, eerie sight that left them on edge throughout the trip.
On arrival they were met by an army staff captain who escorted them directly to the Cabinet Room. Already seated at the long, polished table was the Prime Minister ,accompanied by two other men, one of whom – wearing a general’s rank and staff officer’s uniform – Thorne found vaguely familiar, while the other – a young man dressed in an expensive suit – he’d never seen before in his life. Several folders lay on the table before the men, whose identities were soon revealed as all three stood upon Thorne and Donelson’s arrival.
“Mister Thorne… Commander Donelson,” Churchill began with a familiarity that seemed a little forced “…so glad to have you both here with us this evening. May I introduce a young fellow I doubt you’ll know… Rupert Isaiah Gold. Mister Gold is here acting as proxy for a businessman who’s long been a supporter of mine, even before I became prime minister, and who’s also a steadfast opponent of Nazis. His employer has already provided unmeasurable support to England, and has some further assistance to lend to the Hindsight Unit, but more on that later in the evening…” He paused for a moment before continuing. “I would also like you to meet General Sir Edmund Ironside… he’s sitting in as Chief of the Imperial General Staff tonight.”
General Sir William Edmund Ironside CGB, CMG, CBD DSO was a tall and solid man of sixty-one years, with greying hair and a similarly-coloured moustache. Dark eyes filled with knowledge and surrounded by the lines of ageing were complemented by a serious and intelligent expression. Ironside had served the army for over forty years, and had seen action in the Second Boer War, the First World War and the North Russia Campaign prior to the outbreak of World War Two. Thorne instantly recalled the man upon mention of his name: it was Ironside who’d been succeeded by Sir John Dill as CIGS earlier in the year, and had gone on to successfully fill the post of Commander-in-Chief, Home Forces.
“A pleasure to meet you both, gentlemen,” Thorne stepped forward, coming to brief attention to salute Ironside before shaking both men’s hands in turn. “We’ve never met, General, but I do know of you by excellent reputation and your fine work with the Home Forces. Is General Dill unwell this evening that you’re sitting in for him?”
“General Sir John Dill is unfortunately no longer with us,” Ironside informed with all the solemnity that would’ve been expected, the news leaving both Thorne and Donelson utterly astounded. “He was killed in action near Folkestone this afternoon while observing an exchange between cross-channel guns.”
“The incident is something we were hoping you might be able to cast some light upon this evening,” Churchill continued, taking one of the folders from the table top and sliding it across to Thorne as he and Donelson took seats close to the others.
As Thorne opened the cover, he found copies of the aerial photographs taken of the battery at Sangatte two days before. A magnifying glass lay inside on top of the pictures, and Thorne lifted it with the first of the images, studying if carefully after passing the rest across to Eileen: with her eidetic memory and far greater technical knowledge, she was the best person to look at the bulk of the information. There were a few seconds of tense silence as they poured over the pictures, in the process throwing each other a concerned glance or two as they in the end came to a similar, unpleasant conclusion.
“Gustav and Dora,” Thorne said finally, not really explaining anything and leaving Eileen to clarify as Churchill and the rest stared on quizzically.
“We believe these are what were in Realtime two of the largest guns ever put into production anywhere in the world,” she began slowly, choosing her words carefully as she recalled the information from her memory. “The Wehrmacht originally designed and built them to combat the defences of the Maginot Line, but in Realtime it took longer than expected to finish production and they were instead eventually put into action against hardened targets in Russia after 1941.” She paused for a moment, still staring at one of the images. “Assuming they’re the same here as the Realtime examples, they have a calibre of eight hundred millimetres – thirty-one-point-five inches – and can fire a high explosive shell of four-point-eight tonnes to a range of twenty-nine miles, or a concrete-penetrating projectile of seven tonnes to twenty-three miles or more.” She paused again, then realised: “These weapons are on the coast! These weapons were involved in the cross-channel bombardment earlier today?”
“South of Calais, near a place called Sangatte,” Ironside answered, grimacing and shaking his head in terrible recognition of the capabilities she’d given on the guns.
“What’s The Channel… twenty miles across at that point? Maybe less…?” Thorne noted, thinking quickly as always. “Makes sense… vitally important area for heavy guns in the event of an invasion.” He jabbed an index finger down hard on one of the closer, oblique shots. “These weapons can hit probably ten or twenty miles of English coastline from where they are, with Dover pretty much smack-bang in the middle. They’ll also probably be able to throw HE maybe another eight or ten miles inland at least, which could make life bloody difficult for defenders to muster for counter-attack if an force does hit the beach in that area.” He paused for a moment, looking at Eileen for agreement, to which she nodded faintly. “These appear to be static emplacements too, rather than the railway mounts the Realtime units were fitted to… I’d imagine that’d give them a significant increase in accuracy and rate of fire.” He paused for a deep breath as Eileen took up the conversation.
“Gentlemen, the appearance of these weapons on the French coast is incontrovertible evidence that Hitler is serious about an invasion – particularly when factored into the information we already have: that a massive increase in combat air patrols over every major ports from The Hague to Le Havre is making it impossible to get any kind of aerial reconnaissance.
“In Realtime, neither the RAF nor the Luftwaffe held air superiority over The Channel. As such, Britain was able to keep far better track of what was going on in French ports and monitor the build up of any invasion force. As it stands at the moment, the appearance of these new Focke-Wulf fighters in the last month or so means even if one of our PR aircraft gets in to take pictures, they’ve so far not been able to get out. These fighters are faster than anything the RAF can field, save for the new Mustangs that are barely becoming operational, and they’re able to overhaul anything else we have in the air before they get to safety.”
“All this points rather unpleasantly toward a serious invasion build-up, as you both indeed warned,” Churchill noted with more than a little disappointment at the thought. “...And very possibly sometime in the next month, as you also predicted.”
Thorne nodded in agreement. “The tides will be a factor, and the moon as well if they wait as long as the last week of September. I’d expect the Kriegsmarine has been provided with better assault and landing vessels than they fielded in Realtime, and with what’s now become total air superiority over The Channel and Southern England, I’d be very concerned Reuters’ may indeed have locked in ‘S-Day’ for sometime around mid-to-late September.” He fixed Ironside with a solemn stare. “Would I be correct, Sir Edmund, in the assumption that this cross-channel bombardment duel didn’t end well for us?”
There was a long pause as the general took a deep breath, rubbed at his eyes and ran a hand back through his grey hair.
“As you’re no doubt aware, it’s not been possible to complete any lasting fixed gun emplacements of any size along The Ch
annel Coast due to constant aerial attack. Three railway guns of the Royal Marine Siege Regiment were brought up last night to prepared firing positions at Sandgate, Dover and St. Margaret-at-Cliffe. Due to the appearance of this new site being relatively recent, we originally believed it was not yet operational…”
“Christ on a crutch…!” Thorne whispered, lowering his eyes and raising a hand to his forehead as he stared at the photographs once more. Both he and Eileen saw what was coming next as Brooke paused and took a breath.
“Quite to the contrary, we discovered the weapons you speak of were both indeed operational. These two ‘Gustav’ and ‘Dora’ guns – as you call them – engaged our 13.5-inch weapons: they displayed remarkable accuracy and – we believe – were aided by observation aircraft and radio direction.
“The subsequent artillery duel lasted no more than twenty minutes… possibly a good deal less… and by the time it was over, all of our guns were destroyed with great loss of life. Our longest surviving gun – Piecemaker – was buried inside Guston railway tunnel after it was collapsed by what appears to be some kind of delayed-action or ground-penetrating shell. Substantial damage and casualties were also inflicted upon Dover’s civilian population, and General Dill was killed by a landslide at Shakespeare Cliff after two shells from these weapons sent a huge section of the cliff below their OP crumbling into the sea. No observable damage was inflicted on the German guns: both continued to fire after all of our assets were wiped out.” He took another breath and released a soft sigh of frustration and sadness. “Knowledge of the incident has been impossible to contain…”
“Rumours are spreading already, Mister Thorne: lots of them!” The Prime Minister took over as Brooke’s voice faltered. “Morale that was worse than terrible to begin with has fallen even further as a result.” Churchill’s voice quavered slightly, more out of indignance and anger than fear or despair, as he slapped his palm down hard on the surface of the table in irate punctuation. “The RAF is on its knees. The army has been decimated at Dunkirk, and we cannot get enough ships across the Atlantic in either direction to properly resupply it. Our navy – on paper the greatest sea power in the world – huddles in defended anchorages, unable to sally forth lest they incur the wrath of U-boats we cannot find, and aircraft we cannot stop that find us!” The man was in a mood that showed the desperation of the times… there was still the defiance, but the Prime Minister was clearly aware of the magnitude of the danger they now faced across The Channel.
“I commend Hindsight’s intentions in coming to our aid as you have, and the information you’ve already provided has made a difference, I cannot deny…” He shook his head with finality. “…But this ‘difference’ is not enough! For the last year we’ve discussed at great length with Brigadier Alpert the whys and wherefores of your United Nations’ decision to send Hindsight back to June of 1940 rather than earlier, and I understand on a level of rationality why this was done… but this is not a rational time!” The last part of the sentence was not a shout, but the intensity of the words didn’t suffer for lack of volume. “In your making this vain attempt to influence history as little as possible, the result has been only to leave us hamstrung! We now know that the Germans will come… we know they will bring with them vastly superior technology… but we have no time to do anything about it!” His hand swept back off the table in a frustrated and dismissive manner.
“I do not pile this anger at your door alone, Mister Thorne… nor yours, Commander… but you both must see the bittersweet irony of this. All your unit has ultimately been able to accomplish is take away our hope… there’s no time for anything else. We’re sending everything we have into harm’s way… and it’s not enough! One of the reasons I was grateful of the opportunity to meet with you both tonight is so that I might ask you for help, now, in dealing with this menace… help that will make a difference and have some greater effect that merely showing us in stark clarity the doom that awaits us. I will not demand… I do not believe that is necessary… but I ask Hindsight for help right now. There’s a chance this may mean the sacrifice of one, or both of your aircraft, and I understand the severity of this, but I ask all the same. When the enemy comes to This Island, and I say ‘when’ because we all know now that he will, then every man in uniform will be asked no less – and many more planes and many more lives will be sacrificed in our defence. I ask nothing more of Hindsight than I ask of them… or of myself, should the time come when I must also take up arms and put my own meagre capabilities to the test.”
And as his last sentence came to an end, his proud and piercing stare burned Thorne’s eyes and spirit with the force of it. Already pushed to the limit of his physical and mental endurance last few days by the stress of command and problems with alcohol – mostly alcohol – he was forced to lower his eyes and stare silently at the tabletop. He felt almost on the verge of tears, such was the power of that impassioned and defiant plea, and although the other men in the room couldn’t see it, Eileen Donelson certainly could. He felt her hand reach gently across beneath the table where it couldn’t be seen gave his hand a squeeze. He was grateful for the gesture, although he really felt like a drink… followed by a good many more.
After a very long moment, during which the Prime Minister – an astute judge of character at any time – allowed the man time to collect his thoughts, Thorne raised his eyes once more and met the man’s gaze head on. His expression was almost fathomless, save for the faint whiff of a mirthless smile at the corners of his mouth. He released a breath that was half sigh and half snort and was obviously and deliberately a signal of decision.
“Put up or shut up, eh, Mister Prime Minister?” He observed, resolve forming in his features as Sir Winston gave a single, faint nod of accord and recognition. “When we get back to Scapa Flow, I’ll have our best people start drawing up some possible alternatives for some kind of meaningful, strategic strike. At this point, I can’t give you any details – I don’t have any to give – but I will say it’ll be unlikely that any attack will be directed at that gun emplacement. Reuters will know Hindsight may be the only way to destroy those guns, and he’ll have preparations in place as a result.” He paused for a moment, and Eileen knew he was arguing with himself as to how much to tell the Prime Minister and Ironside. “There may be other, alternative targets that would be far more effective in dissuading the Wehrmacht from mounting an invasion… Either way, Mister Prime Minister, I make this guarantee that we will make use of the force we have at Hindsight, and that we’ll have an outline of the use of that force to you by the end of the week… Fair enough, sir?” This time, Thorne’s eyes defied the other man to find fault or flaw.
“More than ‘fair enough’, Mister Thorne… and thank you… I make no apologies for these desperate times, but I acknowledge this must be doubly difficult for people such as you, who have come from a time of freedom and peace.” He took a breath, and there was another pause as the tone in the room lightened decidedly. “Now, dear people… on to other matters… what was it that you wished to ask of us?”
“Mister Prime Minister,” Thorne began, nodding his acceptance of the change of subject. “You’ve no doubt been informed of the enemy’s probing air attack this morning. The most pressing of our problems is the ongoing issue of fighter support. I recognise the RAF has little to spare, but if we’re to have any hope of survival at Scapa Flow, or anywhere else for that matter, we must have enough fighters to provide a constant barrier air patrol during daylight hours and, that being done, enough reserve aircraft to mount some kind of credible defence should a threat materialise. If that attack had been a massed assault, there’s every chance I’d not be here with you at all.
“If one thing has come out of today’s debacle,” he continued, “it’s that Reuters knows our current weaknesses, and he’ll want to exploit those quickly before we have a chance to bolster our defences. Next time they come, they’re certain to come in force. I’ve seen the reports of raids against supply c
entres and railheads by medium and heavy bombers over the last month… they’re testing their new toys, and they know that they work. Everything else we need, we can take care of through normal channels, but give us those fighters and I guarantee you we’ll do everything we can to stop the German War Machine dead in its tracks.”
“In anticipation of just this request, I’ve been in direct communication with Air Chief Marshal Dowding this afternoon,” Churchill began slowly, a smile barely playing across his lips. “The Air Vice Marshal sends his regards by the way, and his regrets that pressing matters kept him away tonight. We have, I believe, found a workable compromise that is acceptable to all parties. Ironically, this has only become possible due to information that your own Nick Alpert provided us soon after his arrival: plans that have resulted in the creation of that quite superlative Mustang fighter. You’re aware, no doubt, of the arrival of the first shipments of these Mustangs last month, and we now have two squadrons finishing their conversion training. These squadrons will be posted to your facility within two days: the planning for it has been in the making for several weeks now, but wasn’t finalised until today – both Air Chief Marshal Dowding and Chief of Air Staff Newall extend their apologies for not keeping you informed of our progress in this area.”
Thorne nodded instantly in acceptance of the situation, the axiom of looking at Gift Horses the wrong way telling his instincts to ignore the likelihood that the explanation of why he’d been kept out of the loop probably being no more than an excuse. Considering they were finally getting what they wanted, he was willing to cut a good deal of slack.
“One thing we’ll also need, sir, regarding planning for what direct action Hindsight may take against the Wehrmacht, would be access to any information the SIS has regarding the expected movements of all the enemy’s high-level figures: from Hitler and Reuters through to the commanders of the various army groups… particularly in the Western Theatre. Also, the most current data we have on major German production centres – where the industries are and what density. All of that may be important, depending on what options we ultimately come up with.”
England Expects (Empires Lost) Page 53