“So this is what’s had the marines and Naval Intelligence so concerned, Major Pruitt?” He asked finally, not lifting his gaze from the eyepiece for a moment.
“Yes, sir,” the major stepped forward slightly as he answered. “They’ve got camouflage netting and makeshift barriers up, preventing us from getting a proper look at what they’re up to, but we’ve known something fairly large was in the offing for a while now. It’s only in the last few weeks that we’ve seen the railway tracks and the turntables go in, and the general layout is a logical pattern for railway artillery, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“Aerial reconnaissance…?” Dill asked, finally backing away from the telescope and instead staring unaided across The Channel and the distant line of the French coast.
“Nothing’s been able to get close enough for any clear images so far,” Pruitt admitted reluctantly, “…at least… nothing’s been able to get close enough and get away again. Everything the RAF has sent across for us so far has been either shot down, or chased off by the Luftwaffe before the could get close enough. Their radar control is excellent, and they’re usually waiting for our boys within minutes of them taking off.” He grimaced. “We estimate they have at least a regiment of Ack-Ack in there…”
“That’s an awful lot of air defence for a run-of-the-mill gun battery,” Dill observed, thinking carefully.
“We were of the same opinion, sir,” Pruitt agreed. “The size of the site and the level of protection potentially suggests something quite out of the ordinary.”
“We’ve been expecting the appearance of coastal batteries from the moment France fell,” Dill mused slowly aloud to no one in particular. “The potential to disrupt allied shipping in The Channel alone would make it a worthwhile exercise for the Germans.” He turned his head and fixed Pruitt with a pointed stare. “But that in itself isn’t enough for you to ask for the opinion of the Commander-in-Chief, Home Forces, is it, major…?”
“No, sir… it’s the size of the installation that concerns us… me… the most. This is far larger than anything we’ve seen before. What exactly is Jerry putting together over there that they feel the need for an entire regiment of air defences? There’s a mass of railway track going in there, and I think there’s a high likelihood this installation is being set up for an invasion. From that position, long range guns could potentially range as far as Dover and some distance inland, and also provide some heavy artillery support for amphibious landings.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you, major,” the general’s mind was now ticking over quickly, “and I think there might well be someone who could give us a definite interpretation, but we must have some detailed photographs first.” He turned his gaze back to the distant coastline, rubbing at his eyes and still thinking. “We need to get a reconnaissance aircraft in there and out again! I’m going to contact the Air Ministry personally as soon as we get back to area HQ — I want a PR flight out there as soon as possible.” He paused for a moment, then added almost as an afterthought, “also, major, I believe the Siege Regiment has some railway guns currently on standby near Guston. They’ll need to be brought to alert status — we may well need them to take care of our little problem here in the not-to-distant future…”
Downing Street, Whitehall
Westminster SW1, London
Wednesday
July 30, 1940
The black Humber Pullman limousine’s 4-litre engine idled smoothly as it waited outside the front door of the Prime Minister’s official residence at Number Ten. Other than being a luxury sedan, it was relatively nondescript and carried no obvious markings or notable features that might attract attention. The driver was separated from the main passenger compartment by a clear glass screen that was quite well soundproofed, although a central sliding section could be draw back to allow communication between front and rear.
The car was empty save for the driver; a man dressed in an inexpensive suit and flat cap that suggested nothing more than perhaps the chauffer for someone of moderate wealth and little public note. Only the thick, black beard with flecks of grey and spectacles with small, round lenses faintly-tinted in orange suggested the man might possibly have been anything out of the ordinary.
In any case, the police officers guarding the intersection at the end of the street found no reason to question his business at 10 Downing Street. Both the car and driver were regular visitors, and the guards there were under standing orders to allow both to pass at any time of the day or night. That was enough for the constables on duty, and they’d thought nothing more of it as the Pullman had approached and been waved through without challenge on that sunny afternoon.
He’d been waiting less than ten minutes as the Prime Minister left the building and made his way down the front steps with cane in hand, wearing a black suit and hat. He was accompanied by a single Special Branch detective in a suit of similar quality to that of the driver’s, and as he watched the pair approach, he knew the man would be carrying a revolver inside his jacket. The thought didn’t faze the man behind the wheel at all: a large automatic pistol hidden under his dashboard of the Humber was within easy reach should a need for it ever arise.
Winston Churchill appeared ill at ease as he slipped into the rear of the limousine, followed by his bodyguard. The driver wasted no time in greetings, instead throwing the vehicle into gear immediately and pulling slowly away from the kerb in a smooth motion.
“The increasing frequency of these impromptu assignations are beginning to create problems for my office,” The Prime Minister growled with a sour expression as he reached forward and opened the sliding central glass section separating them from the driver. “You’ve been absent for several years, as has often been your wont, then turn up again completely ‘out of the blue’, as it were, right on the eve of this bloody war! Erratic behaviour, to say the least, and as useful and enlightening as our involvement’s been over these many years, very little of my time is truly my own now I’m Prime Minister. I’ve been waiting to hear from you for two days, and then all if a sudden, the first response I get is that you’ll be waiting at the doorstep in thirty minutes. I’ve made every effort to keep the true nature of your existence clandestine, Mister Brandis, however this is no longer a simple matter now that I hold office.”
“I understand completely, Mister Prime Minister,” Brandis replied instantly, keeping his eyes on the traffic ahead as the Pullman turned right into Whitehall and headed south. “This wouldn’t be my first preference either, sir, however under the circumstances it’s become something of a necessity.” He paused as the car negotiated its way around a large lorry and then a slow moving bus before continuing on. “My time’s also at a premium, particularly in the current climate, and it’s not easy for me to drop everything and walk out at a moment’s notice either, even if it is at the personal request of the First Lord of the Treasury.”
“You’d contend the matters you deal with on a daily basis are as pressing as those of a wartime Prime Minister?” Churchill was more intrigued than offended by Brandis’ remarks: in the twenty years they’d known each other, he’d managed to learn almost nothing as to the true nature of the man’s business or intentions.
“I’ll grant you the fate of a nation doesn’t rest on the decisions I make, Prime Minister… not directly in any case,” Brandis conceded with a wry grin as the limousine cruised comfortably down Whitehall and onto St Margaret St, “but they’re nevertheless decisions that potentially affect many lives other than that of my own, and as such they’re no less important to me.” He almost chuckled, although the men in the rear of the car could neither see nor hear the reaction. “But I digress, sir… what is it you wanted to talk about?”
“It’s been brought to the attention of General Dill that some rather excessively large and quite worrying constructions are going on at the moment on the French coast south of Calais. It’s the general’s opinion — and I tend to agree with him — that the area is going to be used…”
“For a gun emplacement?” Brandis completed the sentence for him.
“There was a time when it might’ve astounded me that you already knew that,” Churchill remarked dryly, not surprised at all. “After knowing you so long as I have, I should think I’d have been more surprised to have caught you unawares.”
“Believe me, sir, there’s an awful lot I don’t know,” he smiled faintly, “but I help out where I can. Unless I’m greatly mistaken, the gun emplacement you’re talking about in the Pas de Calais near Sangatte is being constructed to deploy a pair of incredibly destructive railway guns. Do we have any useful recon as yet?”
“We haven’t any decent images of the area,” Churchill shook his head in faint dismay. “They’ve erected camouflage screens and netting to prevent us seeing what they’re up to from the ground, and nothing we have in the air is fast enough to get in and out again without being intercepted or shot down.” Brandis turned the Pullman off St Margaret and took the sedan into the clockwise stream of traffic edging its way slowly around Parliament Square.
“And the new fighters from North American Aviation…?” Brandis queried with a grin, knowing how his knowledge of that information would be received. “Could one of them not be adapted to a photo recon mission relatively quickly?”
“The first shipment of aircraft has been received, however they’re still finalising their assembly and initial testing. We would hope to have one or two cleared by the end of the week, and I’m sure the RAF could have one converted to a PR aircraft with relative ease.” Churchill worked hard to conceal a dry smile, and didn’t even bother asking how the man could possibly have known about such top secret transactions: after years of such revelations, he was no longer surprised.
“Then I’d recommend you get one of them in there as soon as you can to get a decent look at what they have there and what needs to be targeted. I wish I had information of my own as to how far the site is from completion, but this is one area I have to admit I’m deficient in at the moment. Either way, it needs to be dealt with as soon as possible: once it does become operational, the Germans will have very heavy guns that’ll be able to reach a substantial distance inland from Folkestone to Dover in support of any invasion.” Brandis did his best to hide the fear he inwardly felt at that moment. The situation was on a knife edge at that point regarding the installation at Sangatte, and a day’s delay here or there could well make the difference between outright victory or a crushing defeat with terrible loss of life for the British.
“You’d class this as a target of the highest priority then?” The concern on the Prime Minister’s face showed clearly, and Brandis suspected he knew the main source of the concern.
“If you have any assets in the area that have a chance of hitting this site, you should definitely risk them in my opinion, sir.”
“I shall advise General Dill to do exactly that,” Churchill nodded sagely, accepting the man’s advice without question. There’d been the rare occasion that Brandis had been wrong in his dealings with him, and there’d been the even rarer occasions when the Prime Minister had ignored advice that had proven to be correct… and had paid dearly for it. The odds were stacked well and truly in James Brandis’ favour, and Churchill knew better than to risk making foolhardy decisions.
“Was there anything else I can help you with this afternoon, Prime Minister?” Brandis asked as he turned the Humber onto Great George St and the last leg of Parliament Square, heading back toward Whitehall.
“That was the only pressing matter to hand, thank you, James.”
“Then I’ll drop you back at Number Ten if that’s agreeable, sir… there’s a matter I need to attend to that can’t wait until tomorrow morning. I’d like to catch up with you again after your War Cabinet meeting on the fifteenth though, sir, if that’s suitable. You’ll probably be meeting with the officers of the Hindsight group that evening also, but I desperately need you to fit me in before that, and I’d also like to listen in on the Hindsight meeting, if you’ll indulge me.”
“I don’t have any meetings scheduled with Hindsight,” Churchill replied with a quizzical expression, “and considering there are only a handful of men in the entire world that know about that unit, I should be inclined in this instance to demand how you know about them, save for the fact that I also know you never divulge your sources.”
“You know me too well, sir,” Brandis admitted with a smile, “and rest assured that you mightn’t have a meeting scheduled yet, but you will by the fifteenth. Please fit me in… I promise you it’ll be worthwhile for all of us, particularly Hindsight.” He took a plain manila folder from beside him on the front seat and passed it back through the opening in the glass without taking his eyes from the road for a moment. “At some stage during the night, sir, Max Thorne may ask your help in securing finances from the British Government in order to fund the development and manufacturing of armaments in Australia, the United States and Canada,” he continued as Churchill accepted the folder and opened it, his eyes widening slightly as he took in what was printed on the papers inside. “Even if he doesn’t ask, I’m prepared to make the financial assets listed there available to him without any reservation, qualification or expectation of repayment whatsoever. I’d suggest that you seriously discuss with Cabinet the possibility of adding to that figure whatever The Crown can spare. I’m not ready to concede defeat yet, but in the event that Britain does fall, funds of this magnitude will be vital to ensure Hindsight is able to provide the remaining allies with the tools to effectively stop Nazi Germany in its tracks.”
“Cabinet must vote on any proposal of this kind, James,” the Prime Minister swallowed nervously as he considered the contents of the folder, “but I’ll see what I can arrange — you’ll hear from me through the usual channels.”
“Very good, sir… I’ll drop you off now…”
The Prime Minister and bodyguard stood together on the steps of 10 Downing St and looked on as the Humber pulled away, executing a three-point-turn a few metres further along before powering past again in the opposite direction, heading back toward Whitehall once more with Brandis as the only occupant.
“An intriguing man, sir,” the Special Branch detective observed solemnly as they watched the vehicle turn left at the end of the street and disappear.
“Intriguing indeed, Hodges,” Churchill muttered as he considered what Brandis had advised.
“Unusual accent he has, isn’t it sir?”
“Very…” the Prime Minister agreed in a thoughtful tone, nodding slowly. In the two decades years that the newly-appointed Prime Minister had known the enigmatic James Brandis, the man’s unusual and quite unidentifiable accent had been a constant source of curiosity. There was a definite suggestion of time spent at Eton, yet there was also a distinct trace of Boer and the hint of something more exotic that was possibly Eastern European.
The accent also varied dependent on Brandis’ mood, and on occasion there’d be certain words that would stand out as being uttered in a different accent, in stark opposition to the rest of his speech at the time. In all his years of worldly experience, Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill had never before encountered anyone like the man, and that in itself made James Brandis an extremely intriguing individual.
After becoming prime minister, he’d commissioned an extensive investigation by MI5 which had completely failed to produce any useful information on Brandis’ true identity, and despite continued requested from British Security Services to take the man into custody for a thorough interrogation, Churchill had steadfastly refused. Brandis had proven in their infrequent meetings to be a quite reliable source of extremely useful intelligence for the man who would one day become prime minister, and as such he was reluctant to damage the relationship they’d developed. James Brandis was a man far more useful at large than he could ever be under lock and key.
“Come on, Hodges,” Churchill roused himself from his thoughts and consulted his pocket watch. “We’ve still
time for a spot of tea before I’ve the pleasure of entertaining the US Ambassador this afternoon.” One of the constables standing at the steps of Number Ten opened the door for them as the Prime Minister turned and made his way inside with Detective Hodges in tow.
West India Docks, Isle of Dogs
Tower Hamlets E14, London
The West India Docks, built between 1800 and 1802, were the brainchild of wealthy merchant Robert Milligan and the West India Merchants of London, and were a direct reaction to the increase of theft and delays at London’s existing wharves. Part of the Isle of Dogs, one of the largest meanders of the Thames, they were originally constructed as two separate import and export wharves, connected at each end so as to allow ships arriving from the West Indies to unload quickly at the first dock, then immediately sail directly around to the second and load up again for the return journey. Covering twelve hectares in area, the entire perimeter was surrounded by a six metre high wall with entry and exit strictly controlled to deter any would-be thieves.
Brandis had driven the Humber Pullman down West India Dock Road, over the Blackwall Railway crossing, and through the main gates into the dock area itself, the high walls towering on either side. No one at the gates moved to stop or even slow him — the guards all knew him and knew better than to get in his way. Once inside, he turned left and drove eastward, heading parallel to a line of warehouses to his right. Designed by architect George Gwilt and son (also George), the five storey, red-brick structures formed a continuous line along the northern and eastern side of the Import Dock and allowed merchants and dock owners to more effectively receive and process the masses of imported goods received every day from the West Indies and other far-flung parts of the British Empire.
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