‘Turning to other issues,’ Don continued, ‘there are some basic questions of changes in military organisation and equipment which will be needed to enhance war-fighting capability; above all, the closer integration of the three armed forces in developing combined arms tactics, with a particular emphasis on amphibious warfare. Put briefly, you will need to develop the capability of transporting armoured divisions overseas and putting them ashore on an unprepared coast, closely supported by aircraft sufficient to overwhelm local defences and attack enemy troop concentrations and strongpoints.’ Don recalled the chaos which had affected the Norwegian and Dieppe landings and added: ‘It will also be prudent to acquire during peacetime detailed maps, photographs and other information about areas in which you may need to fight, with particular emphasis on coastlines.’
Varying degrees of interest, scepticism and dismay were evident from around the table.
‘What about the Empire?’ Asked Ruddy Face, returning to his theme of the previous week.
‘Actual defence will mainly be provided by aircraft, ships and troops which can be put in place shortly before war is due to start. However, it will be important to prepare the ground to support the defences. This means, for example, building substantial bombproof storage for fuel and ammunition, storing plenty of food, providing sufficient airfields complete with shelter for the aircraft, providing submarine pens where appropriate, and so on. As much military equipment as possible should be pre-positioned ready for troops to use when called up.’
‘Some of that has been done,’ observed Chairman, ‘but the cost is considerable.’
‘But probably not as much,’ interposed Diplomat, ‘as losing the colonies.’
‘There is another alternative,’ Don said hesitantly. Chairman looked wary.
‘I have already indicated to you that, from the late 1940s onwards, Britain starts giving independence to its colonies. It could be argued that there isn’t much point in fighting for them now, if we’re going to give them up soon afterwards.’
Ruddy Face appeared close to apoplexy. Even Diplomat seemed ruffled. ‘Quite out of the question, dear chap. There is tremendous popular, and therefore political, support for the Empire. Just last week the government’s modest inclination toward giving India more home rule was roundly condemned by the Conservative Conference.’
‘Besides,’ added Chairman, ‘we could hardly simply cut the colonies free and abandon them to German, Italian or Japanese invaders. We would be honour-bound to offer them support against a common enemy.’
Don gave up. Shortly afterwards, the meeting broke up and Dunning accompanied Don back to his rooms.
‘I feel boxed in, Charles. Every attempt I make to reduce the scope of the next war seems to be blocked.’
‘But for very good reasons, I’m sure you realise. It raises interesting questions about the extent to which knowledge of forthcoming events enables us to alter them. In detail, yes, but the broad sweep of historical events seems to have a momentum of its own.’
Dunning changed the subject. ‘With the basic policies decided, it’s time to get down to details. It’s unlikely that you’ll be meeting that particular group again. Instead, we aim to get our specialists to extract all the information you can provide; painlessly, of course! To help with that, a change of scene has been arranged. You’re off to the countryside.’
The house was large and sited somewhere in the Berkshire countryside. Don wasn’t sure exactly where, as the car journey had been at night. The absence of the large, reflective road-signs – that he was used to taking for granted – disorientated him, and he was able to recognise few landmarks on the way. The grounds were spacious, surrounded by a high fence topped with barbed wire. No other buildings were visible from the grounds. The only break in the fence was at the main driveway, guarded by a small gatehouse, occupied continuously by men who were evidently soldiers despite their civilian clothes. It did not take Don long to realise that he was effectively a prisoner.
A few days after arriving, he returned from a pre-lunch stroll around the grounds to be met at the entrance by Dunning. With him was Mary Baker, an attractive, dark-haired woman whom Dunning had introduced as ‘your secretary, assistant and general factotum’. Don had not been aware that he needed a secretary and suspected that she was yet another pair of eyes to watch him. It was noticeable that at least one of them was always around. He sometimes wondered if he was becoming paranoid.
‘Some people to meet you, Don,’ Dunning announced. ‘I’ve put them in the lounge and I’ll introduce you in a moment, but I thought I’d better explain who they are first. They represent the intelligence branches of the three Services and will be solely responsible for interviewing you about developments in their areas. For obvious reasons, we want to keep contact with you to as small a group as possible. They will all have rooms here, and will be alternating between staying here to talk to you and going off to use your information where it matters.’
They had reached the door of the oak-panelled lounge and Dunning shepherded Don inside. He was immediately the focus of intense scrutiny from three pairs of eyes.
‘May I introduce Peter Morgan, RAF; David Helmsford, RN; and Geoffrey Taylor, from the Army. Needless to say, neither their ranks nor their uniforms will be evident here.’
Formalities over, Don settled down over tea to study the new arrivals. They all appeared to be in their late thirties or early forties, unremarkable at first sight except for the air of sharp intelligence common to all three. They had clearly been fully briefed on his background and were consumed with curiosity.
Morgan, slim and fair-haired with an air of boyish enthusiasm, was first to speak. ‘We’ve been trying to work out which service you’re least popular with,’ he said with a grin. ‘The Navy, for insulting their beloved battleships by insisting on the importance of aircraft carriers; the Army, for dismissing their equally beloved horses in favour of clanking machinery; or my lot, for shooting down the bombers and, to add insult to injury, advocating the transfer of the Fleet Air Arm to the Navy.’
Don smiled. ‘Well, gentlemen, who’s going to be the first to give me a going-over?’
They all grinned in response. ‘David tried to argue that the Senior Service should take precedence, but Peter and I sat on him until he agreed to draw straws,’ drawled Taylor, ‘as a result of which you have the pleasure of starting with me.’
‘Seriously, you needn’t worry about offending me,’ Taylor said after a long lunch filled with speculation, debate and above all, questioning of Don. ‘I’m an engineer and have little time for the prejudices of the well-bred cavalry. Anyone with any sense can see that machine guns and artillery have done away with horses in the front line; they just make big targets and can’t dive for the nearest shell-hole when they come under fire. Unfortunately many of the senior staff grew up worshipping horses and have tried to pretend that the Great War was an aberration.’
‘It’s not just the tanks,’ interposed Don, ‘everything else needs to be able to accompany them at the same speed and with armour protection; artillery, anti-aircraft guns, infantry, supplies and even engineers.’
Taylor laughed. ‘I know. Fuller has been arguing that for years and we have been holding annual exercises with mechanised formations. Hobart introduced a real novelty in this year’s exercise by making extensive use of radio communications between tanks. The main problem we have is in deciding the right proportions of the kinds of tanks we will be making; slow heavily-armoured ones to accompany the infantry and fast lightly-armoured cavalry vehicles.’
‘Neither. If the tanks are too specialised you’ll never be able to depend on having the right types available when you need them. In one respect, the tank enthusiasts are right to draw parallels with naval practice; like battleships, tanks need a good balance of characteristics – fire-power, armour, speed - so they can cope with whatever comes up.’
Taylor grunted and filled his pipe. His brown hair and neat moustache were unre
markable, but his powerful build and air of calm competence were impressive. ‘I’m putting together some detailed information about our current plans for you to comment on. However, to turn for the moment to infantry equipment, I’m afraid your pleas for adopting a small-calibre automatic rifle have not been well received by the Master General of the Ordnance. He is adamant that we have too much invested in the three-oh-three calibre to be able to afford to change, and that designing a new automatic rifle and a new cartridge would take too long anyway.’
‘I was afraid of that, but I have some alternative ideas...’.
The next morning was the Navy’s turn. ‘The first problem is our relationship with Germany,’ said Helmsford. He was tall and dark with a habitually sardonic expression, and inclined to choose his words with care. ‘We’ve been considering a naval treaty with them to try to limit their plans for expansion.’
‘I advise you to forget it. It will only bring criticism on Britain for recognising formally Germany’s breach of the Versailles Treaty, and we know that Hitler will build anything he wants to anyway.’
‘What about wider international agreements? As you must know, we are deep in preparation for the second London Naval Conference due to be held next year, and one of the main issues is the size and gun calibre of new battleship construction. And I have to add that your scepticism about the value of battleships won’t get a favourable hearing – the Admiralty will never agree to stop building them while everyone else is carrying on. However, the cost of these ships is so high that we are pressing for the smallest ships we can – ideally around twenty-five thousand tons and with twelve-inch guns – but the Americans are pushing for much larger ships. ‘
‘I’m afraid they’ll win. On the other hand, that can be turned to our advantage. If we manage to win agreement to thirty-five thousand tons and fifteen-inch guns – which should be quite feasible – we could save a huge amount of time and money by reusing fifteen-inch turrets from existing, obsolete ships, and incidentally save ourselves the trouble of maintaining and manning them. We can use the resources saved to concentrate on aircraft carriers.’ Don warmed to his theme; ‘The Navy did actually accept the reuse of the old fifteen-inch turrets from the Courageous and Glorious to arm their last battleship – the Vanguard – so all I’m suggesting is to incorporate those into the new design, and scrap the five old ‘R’ Class battleships so their turrets can be reused as well; really, they contributed – will contribute – next to nothing to the war. And frankly, the old fifteen-inch will be much more reliable than the new fourteen-inch you’re planning.’
Helmsford considered. ‘That might just be acceptable. But as for your other comments about the importance of anti-aircraft over surface fire, you had better be warned that I’m a gunnery officer by training!’
Don grinned. ‘Sorry, but the evidence is clear. Aircraft are a much bigger threat than surface ships to warships, so it’s essential that all ships have good AA armament – and that includes directors as well as guns. In any case, even against surface targets, the hit probability of a destroyer’s guns is so low that they would do better with eight four-inch dual-purpose guns rather than four, low-angle four-point-sevens – the rate of fire is so much higher.’
Helmsford grimaced doubtfully. ‘People will need a lot of convincing. And you say that the capital ships should have nothing bigger than four-point-sevens as secondary armament?’
‘Yes, definitely. Give them modern, heavier shells by all means, but a well-designed twin turret in that calibre will be much faster-firing and more effective than those dual-purpose five-point-two-fives, as well as being lighter.’
Helmsford sighed. ‘All right, I’ll do my best, but I never thought you would present me with such a headache!’
Morgan was his usual ebullient self. ‘You’re quite right about the direction of aircraft design, of course. I’ve been to see the aeroplanes just about to set off from Mildenhall on the England-Australia race. Those sleek de Havilland Comet monoplanes are beautiful!’
‘And they’ll win!’ Don grinned. ‘But aircraft are only a part of the story. The key to success is to choose the right engines and concentrate on developing them by specifying them for future front-line aircraft. Another important issue is armament. Next comes the priority given to different aircraft types, and I’m afraid the RAF won’t like them.’ Morgan raised an enquiring eye. ‘Fighters come first, which means that for once the politicians’ preference is correct, albeit for the wrong reasons – they only like them because they’re cheap and quick to build so they can meet their promises to build up the number of RAF squadrons more easily. But maritime patrol planes come next, and then some modern carrier-borne fighters and bombers. They all have a higher priority than the RAF’s beloved bombers.’ They were soon deep in conversation.
Spring 1935
Days became weeks which rolled into months. Winter came and went. The bare trees allowed a wider view of the countryside, but still no other buildings could be seen. Don was occasionally taken out by his minders, as he thought of them, to visit a nearby pub or cinema, but was never let out alone. He sometimes joked about the degree of custodial care, but Dunning was too serious about it to be amused.
‘You must realise that your safety is of vital importance – you’re probably the most valuable person in the country.’ Furthermore, Don added silently, no-one else must know of my existence.
Newspapers were his other contact with the world outside. He found the old-fashioned sentiments and phrasing, the innocent adverts rather touching, but was amused to note unexpected portents of things to come. He had not been aware that Scotland Yard had been experimenting with an autogyro for observing ‘traffic-congested areas’ and possibly tracking ‘car bandits’. A report of a German aeroplane powered by a 2,500 horsepower ‘steam turbine’ and capable of travelling at 230–260 mph for sixty or seventy hours appeared more optimistic, although Don was again surprised to read a report that an American steam-powered craft had flown three times already. He wondered if newspaper reporters in the 1930s were more or less gullible than those in the 2000s, or more willing to make things up. It also occurred to him that Dunning need not worry about his spilling the beans to any reporters. They would probably write up his story, but with zero impact on the public.
In the spring and early summer of 1935, Don began to notice a sharpening of interest and concern on the part of his team of interviewers. The reasons were evident enough in the newspapers. He had already been proved right in his prediction about the Saarland, which in January voted to return to Germany by 90.36%. On March 15th Hitler announced military conscription and an increase in the size of the German Army to thirty-six divisions; ‘The Times’ military correspondent stated that, with nearly 400 machine-guns, the German army was well-equipped defensively ‘but it is hardly to be expected that an army... long restricted in developing heavy artillery and tanks, should have anything like an equivalent power of taking the offensive.’ Don groaned. The complacency was almost comical.
Clearly, however, someone in the government was becoming worried. On the twenty-eighth of the month, Anthony Eden travelled to Moscow to discuss the European situation with M. Litvinoff (Soviet Commissar for foreign affairs) and spoke to Stalin. He established that there was ‘no conflict of interest’ between the governments. More accurate than they realise, Don thought; at least in the short term.
On April 7th, elections were held in Danzig – a predominantly German enclave within Poland and next to East Prussia – which had been detached from Germany and given Free City status after the Great War. The Nazis increased their vote by eight percent but despite intense propaganda, including visits by Hess and Goebbels, they failed to gain the two-thirds majority necessary to change the constitution in favour of Germany.
The Foreign Office stepped up its activities; between 11th and 14th April Britain, Italy and France met at Stresa for a conference on the European situation, which led to an expression of ‘complete agreement’
.
‘All this diplomatic posturing will get them nowhere,’ grumbled Don, reading the morning papers in bed.
‘What do you expect?’ asked Mary. ‘They are politicians and diplomats. Even if they know that their efforts are likely to prove fruitless – and I doubt they’ve been told – they’ll still try. It’s what they’re there for.’
Don was never quite sure on whose initiative his relationship with Mary had begun. In darker moments he suspected that she had been chosen for her good looks and her willingness to lie back and think of England. At other times he was merely thankful that she was there. Usually serious, quiet and attentive, with a core of sadness which was never far from the surface, her occasional smiles sparked a glow of warmth in him and their partnership gave a structure and dimension to his life that had been missing for a long time. In fact, as time went by it was his past life which took on the aspect of a dream, something less real than his fantastic present. He now felt at home in the 1930s, and he tried not to think too much about how he had arrived there. Whenever his thoughts drifted in that direction, he felt he was teetering on the edge of an abyss.
Mary’s voice wrenched him back to the present. ‘I wonder if Churchill’s been told about you,’ she mused, studying another paper. ‘He’s warning that if German air strength continues growing at its present rate it will overtake Britain’s within three or four years.’
‘True enough,’ said Don, ‘but I suspect that he’s not been included in the “inner circle” yet; he had a reputation for sounding off about the Nazi threat for years before the war. Our lords and masters are anxious to avoid prejudicing the natural development of events – except in a few specific areas – so that my predictions remain valid for as long as possible. I expect they’ll wait until he becomes Prime Minister before letting him in on the secret.’
THE FORESIGHT WAR Page 3