England Expects el-1

by Charles S. Jackson

  Over nine consecutive afternoons, ten M-series Bedford trucks had formed into two convoys of five each and began a shuttle service between the West India Docks and Poplar Station, each vehicle loaded with two pallets of gold for a total of ten pallets per trip. At the station, each truck was unloaded in turn and the pallets were carefully transferred to the line of covered freight wagons. Each flatcar could carry thirteen pallets, the weight loading coming in just under the maximum 20 tonnes allowable, and by the time they were finished that night a total of 377 tonnes of crated gold bars would be tied down and concealed beneath army-green tarpaulins. It’d been hard work, and all would be happy when that night’s final shipment was loaded and on its way to Liverpool, none moreso that Brandis himself.

  Rupert Gold had stood beside him the entire time, studiously marking off each crate by serial number as it went onto the flatcars and making sure everything tallied up at the end of each night. Brandis had never seen Rupert wearing anything other than the best Savile Row suits, and he’d never expected his PA to jump in and become involved in any actual physical work — having known him for ten years, the idea alone was ludicrous — however he had to hand it to the young man that he’d taken the revelations of the incredible wealth in his stride and was dealing with it all in the same professional manner he’d always displayed when handling his employer’s affairs. His assistance in looking after the paperwork and the logistic side of things had also been invaluable, and Brandis was completely confident that he wouldn’t let him down in the days, months and years to come.

  “That’s the last one, James,” Rupert advised, clipboard in hand as the pair stood at the very southern end of the platform, watching a forklift deposit the final pallet upon the final flat car. “Two thousand, five hundred and seventy-one pallets: three thousand, seven hundred long tons…” his speech faltered for a moment as he almost added ‘…of gold…’ but immediately thought better of it, instead finishing the sentence with “…in total…”

  “An exceptional job done by all,” Brandis agreed with a slow nod and a wry smile. “Nice save, by the way…” he added, knowing full well what the man had almost said. “Make sure they all get a ten percent bonus in their pay packets tomorrow.” He clapped a friendly hand on his assistant’s shoulder. “You take off now if you like — there may be a club still open that’s got some chilled chardonnay on hand.”

  “Bed for me Old Chap, thank you very much,” Rupert replied with an obviously tired smile. “Not an ounce of energy left within me.”

  “Don’t bother coming in tomorrow morning,” Brandis directed generously. “Have a sleep in and enjoy the day — we’ve got that meeting at Whitehall in the evening, but I shan’t need you before then. See you back at the warehouse at… say… three in the afternoon? We can head off together from there — should be plenty of time to perhaps get a light meal and a quick drink before everyone gets down to business.”

  “Thank you, James… I do appreciate it.” A sincere tone crept into Rupert’s voice for a moment. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me over the years… I truly mean that.”

  “You must be tired, getting all serious on me now!” Brandis smiled kindly, deflecting the honest thanks with humour. “Get out of here and get some sleep!”

  With a single nod and a smile of his own, Rupert Gold turned and walked briskly off toward the northern end of the platform, nimbly threading his way around forklifts and through the clusters of workmen as the rest gathered about in preparation of their own departure in search of home and a warm, comfortable bed. James Brandis watched the man leave and sighed deeply, also feeling dog-tired but knowing there was still work to be done as a shunter moved up to draw out the ten previously loaded flat cars and couple them up to the second ten that had just been completed.

  A small goods car would be attached to the rear of the train that would carry a trio of military police officers armed with submachine guns. Two more were tasked with riding in the cab with the driver and crew, ensuring there were guards at each end of the train for the entire journey. Brandis would get a few hours sleep on the trip across to Liverpool before catching another train back to London in the morning for his meeting with the Prime Minister. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes before rousing himself from his semi-stupor and heading off down the platform himself.

  12. Ultima Ratio Regum

  Royal Marine Siege Regiment

  St Margaret’s-at-Cliffe (near Dover)

  Thursday

  August 15, 1940

  As was the case following the German victories in France and the Netherlands during the Realtime war, England was faced with the unpleasant reality of squaring off at the Straits of Dover against a powerful and determined enemy across thirty-four kilometres of English Channel. One danger that was quick to arise was that of cross-channel guns, and it was only a few months after Dunkirk that Batterie Seigfried became operational at Cap-Gris-Nez, its 38cm guns well within range of Dover and a substantial section of the Kent coast.

  More were to follow in Realtime, with installations being completed right along the nearest sections of the French coast that included Batterie Friedrich August (three 30.5cm guns at Boulogne-sur-Mer), Batterie Todt (four more 38cm guns at Wissant), Batterie Grosser Kurfurst (also at Cap-Gris-Nez with four 28cm guns), and Batterie Prinz Heinrich and Oldenburg (both at Calais with two 21cm guns apiece). These weapons were also complemented by a trio of 28cm K5 railway guns accurate enough to engage shipping in The Channel in addition to land bombardment. In Realtime, these would’ve later been joined by Batterie Lindemann at Cap-Blanc-Nez, armed with three of the huge 406mm ‘Adolf Guns’ left over from Germany’s aborted ‘H-Class’ battleship program.

  Britain’s Realtime answer to the German guns had begun with the commissioning of two 14-inch (356mm) Mk VII guns left over from the development of the King George V battleship class. Nicknamed ‘Winnie’ and ‘Pooh’, these guns were intended as counter-battery weapons that proved to be far too slow and inaccurate to take on enemy shipping, although they were nevertheless adequate in their intended bombardment role. These would be followed into service in the Dover area by a variety of British guns that ranged from six inches (152mm) up to 15 inches (381mm), the latter intended to be used primarily against enemy shipping although able to assist in a counter-battery role if required.

  RAF air superiority throughout the Realtime Battle of Britain meant these gun emplacements were relatively safe from aerial attack (although this wasn’t to say that the Luftwaffe didn’t indeed make some serious efforts to destroy them). This time however, the RAF had been all but eliminated as a fighting force by the end of July 1940, and there was therefore nothing to stop enemy aircraft from bombing any British coastal battery into the history books before anything managed to become operational. Both ‘Winnie’ and ‘Pooh’ had been destroyed in exactly that fashion within days of construction commencing on their emplacements, and most of the remaining gun batteries along the Kent coast (save for some very lucky and very well camouflaged exceptions) had fallen to the same fate.

  Across the water in France, the Realtime ‘Adolf Guns’ would never exist now other than in the memories of a very select few on either side, however the danger of cross-channel bombardment nevertheless remained a very real threat. With no likelihood of any static heavy artillery battery ever lasting long enough to enter service, the British were forced to resort to other means to affect some limited ability for retaliation to the increasing level of bombardment that had begun from France since the beginning of July.

  The War Ministry had instead resorted to the use of heavy railway artillery that could be kept mobile and therefore, theoretically at least, remained less vulnerable to air attack: weapons that had also existed in Realtime. During the First World War, the Royal Artillery Regiments had made use of several types, including some mounted with 14-inch naval guns. The barrels of these were scrapped during the inter-war years, however the rail mountings still remained in reserve, and in 1
939 the decision was made to return them to operational service.

  One of the better weapons used by the Royal Navy during WWI was the 13.5-inch (343mm) Mark V, mounted on numerous battleship classes and found to be far superior to the earlier 12-inch (305mm) designs it superseded. At the beginning of WW2 the RN still carried a number of these weapons in storage, along with plentiful supplies of ammunition and propellant charges. The decision was made to release some of these barrels and fit them to the leftover railway mountings to produce three complete ‘new’ weapon systems. By summer of 1940, the guns had been converted, had satisfactorily completed their operational trials, and had been handed over to the Royal Marine Siege Regiment as three identical railway guns known as Sceneshifter, Piecemaker and Gladiator.

  The weapons had been used sparingly so far and to good effect on occasion, and the photographs Squadron Leader Richardson’s Mustang had returned with the day before had provided sufficient evidence that it was now well worth the risk of bringing the guns into action once more to deal with the new threat developing near Sangatte. Safe from aerial attack or from prying eyes in the sky above, the weapons had spent most of their daylight hours in the last month or so biding their time inside the relative safety of the Guston railway tunnel. Entering the southern mouth of the tunnel, not far from the intersection of Dover and Old Charlton Roads, the twin tracks of the East Kent Light Railway ran underground for almost 1,300 metres heading north-north-east, passing beneath the A2 between Swingate and Whitfield, before running out into the open air once more a few hundred metres south of Guston.

  A branch line specifically constructed for the guns diverted off to the east a thousand metres or so beyond the northern mouth of the tunnel and continued on for several kilometres through Kent farmland before reaching its termination in an open field between Westcliffe and St Margaret’s-at-Cliffe that was perhaps five kilometres north-east of Dover. Within that field, the track terminated in a long, shallow semi-circle, and just before noon on that clear autumn morning, railway gun Piecemaker had been brought out from under cover and shunted halfway around that curve by a small but powerful diesel locomotive, its attendant ammunition wagons in tow.

  Admiralty Pier was part of the Port of Dover and extended out into The Channel as the western breakwater, the Dover lighthouse at its very end standing guard over the port entrance. With its own rail station — Dover Marine — the pier served during peacetime as the embarkation point for several cross-channel train services including the luxurious Golden Arrow London-Paris Pullman service. With connections to the Southern Railway Network (formed out of the amalgamation of the South-Eastern (SER) and London, Chatham & Dover (LCDR) services), the branch line joined the main network outside the port near Archcliffe Road, where trains could either be directed south-west toward Folkestone or instead head through the town centre to the north and continue on toward Canterbury and on to London.

  The pier had once been the site of a residential slum, however this had been cleared out during the 1930s, with most of the residents moving to newly constructed rows of flats on Limekiln Rd, on the western side of the tracks. Limekiln met Archcliffe Rd and the main carriageway out of town to the south, and the imposing Archcliffe Fort stood above the bend in the railway line as it turned toward Folkestone. Looking out to sea from the headland above the harbour, the fort backed onto Archcliffe road and stood on land that in one form or another had been fortified since the construction of a watchtower in 1370AD. The site had undergone significant modification during the reign of Henry VIII, and was again rebuilt and expanded several times during the 1700s as a result of the Napoleonic Wars.

  Sceneshifter had come down from Guston Tunnel and the East Kent Light Railway that morning in the opposite direction to that of Piecemaker, joining the eastern (Dover) line near Buckland. The gun, its attendant wagons and locomotive were now motionless on a bend in the main line, positioned in the lee of the fort above and at exactly the right point around the curved track to bring its muzzle to bear on its designated target on the other side of The Channel. Civilian trains were scarce during daylight hours due to the threat of air attack and bombardment from France, and the War Department had in any case made sure that all rail services in the Dover and Folkestone areas had been suspended for the morning while the guns were brought into position.

  As the name suggested, the Hythe and Sandgate branch line connected these two towns to the SER network at Sandling Junction. Opened in 1874, the patronage was never high due to the stations being positioned somewhat further than was normal from the actual centres of population they were intended to serve. During its early years, a horse-drawn tramline was instituted in an attempt to stimulate usage of the services, however there was insufficient long-term improvement to prevent Sandgate Station from being closed in 1931, the dual tracks reduced to a single line as a result, and in Realtime the entire line would close just twenty years later.

  Upon leaving Guston Tunnel, Gladiator had undertaken the longest trip of the three guns that morning. Running in convoy with Sceneshifter as far as Dover, the last of the trio had continued on along the SER line alone, passing through the Shakespeare Cliff and Abbotts Cliffe tunnels respectively (with the Shakespeare Cliff Halt railway siding in between) and on through Folkestone and beyond. It was shunted at Sandling Junction before making its way almost to the end of the Hythe-Sandgate branch line, where a shallow curve in the tracks again presented a perfect angle of ‘traverse’ for firing on France.

  The gun crews would normally have been directed remotely by spotter aircraft high above the waves of The Channel, however only the most suicidal RAF pilot or crew would even consider spending any length of time in the sky near the French coast nowadays, and as such they were instead in direct radio communication with forward observers watching the intended target through rangefinding equipment from the cover of the observation post atop Shakespeare Cliff. The increased distance meant there’d be an appreciable loss in accurate spotting, but as it was the only viable alternative, there was nothing else to be done.

  All the crews were well-trained and prepared for the task at hand, and there was sufficient ammunition and charges in the wagons behind each gun to in theory ensure the destruction of any target. Sceneshifter would fire a single ranging shot initially, and would be followed by concentrated fire from all three weapons once the fall of shot on target was observed at Shakespeare Cliff and appropriate adjustments to elevation and traverse had been made. The guns fired a special 567kg ‘light’ shell, along with a ‘super’ propellant charge that had both been designed specifically for railway use and enabled the weapons to reach an extended range of over almost forty-five kilometres. They could fire those shells at a rate of around two per minute, and ideally it was intended that only a short bombardment from all three weapons would be all that was required to take care of the new enemy threat across The Channel once and for all.

  SS Special Heavy Battery 672(E)

  Near Sangatte, Pas-de-Calais

  A makeshift railway siding had been set up inside the main gates of the compound, linked to a branch line running back up the low hillside toward Fréthun and its connection to the French rail network, and during the past two months that siding had been a continuous hive of activity. As earthmoving equipment and sheer brute force of manual labour cleared and excavated the hillside running down to the coastline, trains began to roll in with a mind-boggling array and variety of construction materials and equipment.

  Less than two kilometres from the beach, the slope had disappeared completely within the perimeter of the construction site, replaced instead by several square kilometres of perfectly level ground that cut halfway down into the hillside and used the removed landfill to bring the lower sections up to the same level. Hundreds of huge, prefabricated slabs of reinforced concrete were brought in by rail and positioned to create a massive gravity retaining wall several metres high that ran 1,500 metres north-north-east along the installation’s western perimeter.
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br />   The initial excavation and landfill work had already been well underway by the time Whittaker and the others first arrived, and they’d been put to work laying more railway tracks, erecting camouflage screens and netting. There were now also a pair of huge, circular gunpits standing 500 metres apart, each accompanied by thick, flat-faced blast walls of earth and concrete that stood five metres high and provided protection from enemy fire around the entire 180° frontal arc facing out toward The Channel and the White Cliffs beyond. The pits themselves were several metres deep, lined with thick layers of reinforced concrete, and to the rear of each lay a tunnel/trench system that carried light rail tracks several dozen metres underground to a remote bunker system that formed each pit’s main storage magazine.

  Twin sets of railway tracks had been laid on either side of each pit, all of them joined to the one original branch line at the rear of the installation after entering through the main gates. Those tracks had seen heavy use over the last eight weeks, initially to bring in continuous supplies of building materials and prefabricated sections of reinforced concrete on what seemed sometimes to be an endless supply of rail cars. As the construction had continued around them, the gunpits had begun to take shape, and by the end of the sixth week, the type of cargo coming in had begun to change.