Four gigantic cranes mounted on heavy rail cars arrived and were assigned in twos to each of the newly-constructed pits. One positioned one on either side of their designated emplacement on the outer sets of tracks, leaving the inner sets free, and were locked into position by massive hydraulic jacks that ensured they wouldn’t move under even the heaviest of lifting loads. The cranes themselves were so large that it had taken the better part of an entire day to shunt them into position, braces of powerful locomotives moving with agonizing slowness and spewing sulphurous smoke and sparks from their stacks as a protest to the heavy work they were forced to perform. The obvious weight of those cranes spoke volumes as to what they might be capable of lifting, and the prisoners bandied about more than a few theories during work breaks that were exceedingly rare and exceedingly short.
The most logical theory, which grew to become accepted by the majority of those within Whittaker’s officer group, had originally been formed by Dupont, who prior to capture had commanded a French artillery unit. An older man, he’d served in the Great War of 1914-18 as an NCO (also in the artillery) and had crewed a French 320mm railway gun on the Western Front. There was no doubt in his mind that the Germans were setting up a heavy coastal artillery battery there at the compound, although the one thing that concerned him was the immense scale of it all: the emplacements they were working on were far larger than anything he had ever encountered in his service career.
His theory was confirmed two days later as the first components of the weapons themselves arrived, also by rail. Almost a thousand Waffen SS personnel arrived with the loads and immediately set about the task of assembly: the Wehrmacht had no intention of trusting the construction of the actual guns themselves to the work of unskilled prisoners of war, after all. Whittaker and the others were instead tasked with the continued completion of the fortifications intended to protect the emplacements themselves, and with the general clean up duties that were part and parcel to such a large and complex construction site.
The gun mounts arrived first: huge cast and welded sections of solid steel pieced together to form a circular central pivot upon which the weapon’s breech, barrel and carriage were to be supported. More of the narrow-gauge light rail tracks were laid at the same time, these sections placed to form a semi-circle around the very perimeter of the rear half of the pit. This allowed shells and propellant charges arriving from the underground magazines to be positioned for reloading behind the gun regardless of its angle or traverse, and removed the requirement to return to one fixed position for reloading, something that would otherwise force any gun crew to lose an acquired target every time they wished to fire another shell.
The gun carriages arrived two days after that, so wide that they slightly overhung their flatcars on either side. Major Alois Dupont and the others could only stare and shake their heads in disbelief as they all stood and watched the carriages being lifted from their wagons by the railway cranes and lowered carefully into position. Neither he nor the other officers in the group with artillery experience had ever seen gun components that large before, and that in itself was a significant and sobering fact for the rest of the POWs there. None of them were kept waiting long.
The gun barrels were finally shipped in midway through the eighth week, and as heavy as any of the previous sections might’ve been, all could now clearly see why such powerful lifting equipment had been required. With their breeches already attached at one end and massive, four-baffle muzzle brakes fitted at the other, each gun tube was over 36m long, and none of the POWs could possibly have speculated on the weight, although the figure must’ve been hundreds of tonnes apiece. Not even Dupont or the other experienced gunners had any reaction other than complete bewilderment and, truth be told, more than a little fear into the bargain: not only were these weapons now clearly larger than anything any of them had ever encountered or even heard of in their lives; they were in fact larger by a substantial margin.
It’d taken a full two days to prepare and complete the installation of the guns, and it wasn’t until the end of that first week of August that the cranes had finally been shunted away leaving the weapons to stand alone in their massive pits. The gun crews — obviously already well-practiced and undoubtedly the best in their field — immediately set about running drills and testing the operations of the guns to ensure everything had been assembled and connected correctly. Twice daily — at dawn and just before dusk — klaxons would sound and the crew would go through their usual, hour-long exercise of preparing the weapons and running them through variations in traverse and elevation accompanied by the deafening whine of powerful electric and hydraulic motors. All the while, small electric locomotives ferried shells and charges back and forth from the magazines, responding to hypothetical scenarios and alerts with similar speed and professionalism.
The fly-past by Richardson’s Mustang two days before had obviously been a reconnaissance mission, and the kommandant of SS Special Heavy Battery 672(E) had no illusions as to the stir those photographs would’ve caused in Whitehall. He’d spent several minutes cursing the laziness and negligence of the entire flak regiment tasked with their protection, and had then spent the rest of the day running several extra, unscheduled firing drills while the entire installation remained at battle stations and orders were issued for several of that unit’s higher officers to be court-martialled.
Prior British responses to the appearance of long-range gun emplacements on the French Coast had generally been in the form of retaliatory bombardment from similar guns — something which it had to be admitted had so far been relatively effective. With the RAF all but non-existent now as a fighting force in the skies above the Home Counties, it was also highly unlikely the enemy would be able to muster enough bombers or fighters to instead launch a concerted air assault. As a return to their ‘tried and true’ alternative of counter-battery fire from railway guns seemed the most likely of any option for a British response, a round-the-clock aerial surveillance of the English coast was put into place.
The Abwehr had already identified many of the more the likely firing sites along the railways close to the Kent coastline, and the watch had been set. The height of the Dover cliffs opposing them meant great swathes of land beyond weren’t visible to observation from land, necessitating the aerial alternative. Even as the men of the Royal Marine Siege Regiment were preparing their guns, unseen eyes flying high above the French beaches had quickly spotted and identified Gladiator and reported its exact position to the battery HQ at Sangatte.
Neither Whittaker nor the rest of the work crews had the slightest inkling that anything serious was about to happen. The sounds of alert klaxons and the movement of propellant charges and those monstrous shells to the gun line from their underground magazines seemed the same as any of the drills they’d already seen that morning, although Dupont at least did note that each gun seemed to have a greater number of projectiles stockpiled behind the mount than had been normal in previous exercises.
The first suggestion of imminent danger came as several, Dupont included, noticed that in this particular ‘drill’ the crews were actually going as far as loading a shell into each gun’s massive breech. Even with the assistance of some very advanced Krupp loading equipment — designed in part by Reuter’s technical departments — it took the guns a full five minutes to lift and chamber their four-metre-long shells, each slowly rammed by heavy hydraulics into their cavernous breeches ahead of the huge brass case carrying its propellant charges.
A large concrete command bunker was positioned toward the western perimeter of the complex between the two weapons, set a good distance in front of both. Mostly underground, only a small, domed control room showed above the surface of the newly worked earth, and from its observation slots, Obergruppenführer Paul Strasser looked on expectantly.
The guns emplaced there were classed as ‘strategic’ weapons, and as such Special Heavy Battery 672(E) answered directly to Reichsmarschall Reuters himself, although
technically as a Waffen-SS unit it was ultimately under the command of Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler. Strasser was in contact with Reuters at that moment, speaking to the OdW at his Amiens HQ via secure landline.
“The weapons are loaded and prepared for firing, Herr Reichsmarschall. Our observers estimate we have no more than five or ten minutes at most before the enemy fires upon us. All that’s required is for you to give the word…”
Standing at the desk in the large briefing room, Schiller and Müller beside him, Reuters took a few moments to think long and hard about his decision. Covering the mouthpiece of the phone, he lowered it from his ear and stared around at his colleagues.
“Your thoughts, gentlemen…?”
“You know my mind, Kurt,” Schiller replied instantly with a thin smile. “I’m just sorry I’m not actually there to see the bloody things go off!”
“Joachim?”
“You’ve never wanted those damned things right from the start, Kurt… you fought the Führer tooth-and-nail to divert those resources to something far more useful.” Müller remembered all too well, as did Reuters, the confrontation his opposition to the guns’ construction had produced with Hitler himself.
“Enough steel in each of them to build a U-boat… at least,” Reuters nodded with a rueful smile. “That was one fight I definitely lost to the Führer,” He shrugged. “Nevertheless, the weapons are here now, whether I like it or not, and I suspect it’d be a far greater waste of those vital resources if they’re not utilised at all.”
“If we use them now, we reveal that part of our invasion plan to the British ahead of time,” Schiller observed, thinking quickly, “but that’s about the only disadvantage I can think of to giving the order.” It was his turn to give a matter-of-fact shrug. “On the other hand, there’d be the advantage of allowing us to perform a live-fire trial ahead of time and iron out any bugs or faults that might appear.” An evil smile spread across his face “It’d undoubtedly scare the living Christ out of the local population into he bargain. Any associated mass panic could trigger an exodus that’d further overload their military’s logistic networks throughout the Home Counties, and that can’t be a bad thing.”
“There’s an excellent chance this facility might be considered dangerous enough to bring the aircraft of Hindsight against it,” Müller mused softly.
“I’d considered that also,” Reuters nodded slowly, “and I’m not certain that would be a bad thing either. Even their jets would be hard pressed to get in and out of a low-level strike in one piece with the masses of flak we have there, and this might just be the bait we need to lure them down.” He turned his gaze back to Schiller. “Albert, please have our remaining Flankers on alert and ready for take off: we may need them.”
Lifting the phone back to his ear, Reuters took another moment to take a deep breath before continuing. It was true he’d never wanted the massive guns built in the first place and considered them a terrible waste of resources, but even then, his pragmatic nature had meant that the moment he’d realised the Führer wouldn’t back down on their construction, Reuters was determined to demand modifications that would drastically improved their usefulness on the battlefield.
The most significant change was to the design of the loading equipment the guns used, increasing each weapon’s nominal rate of fire from no more than two rounds per hour to perhaps one ever five minutes: a rate that was still quite low but was nevertheless enough of an improvement to actually make the weapons potentially useful in a tactical as well as strategic sense. Another was the insistence that they be installed in fixed mountings on the coast rather than be left as railway guns as per their original design. They could still be used in that role if necessary, but their fixed positions overlooking The Channel in this case meant a significant increase in accuracy and also assisted the new loading system in achieving its higher rate of fire.
“Herr Obergruppenführer,” Reuters finally spoke after releasing a held breath. “’Gustav’ and ‘Dora’ are ‘weapons free’… you have permission to fire. Eliminate all opposition and conduct further registration bombardments if required.”
“Very good, Herr Reichsmarschall,” the voice at the other end replied instantly with obvious eagerness. “Orders received and understood.”
The massive guns began to elevate with the whine of powerful hydraulics, each weapon moving in unison as their muzzles turned toward England and their gun crews donned ear protection in preparation for firing. No one bothered to warn the POWs — their welfare was unimportant, after all — however it was painfully obvious that action was imminent as new klaxons began howling all over the compound. Whittaker, Dupont and a few of the others began screaming terrified warnings for the rest to seek whatever scant cover they could find as they pressed their hands to their ears as tightly as possible, hoping to muffle as much of whatever was coming.
The next moment seemed to stretch for an age as ‘Gustav’, the northernmost gun, discharged and a huge, visible shockwave rippled away from the massive muzzle brake on either side, knocking many of those nearby off their feet. The ground shook as if an earthquake had struck, and the heat and deafening roar of the shot washed across all of them as it spread around the firing site at the speed of sound. Whittaker feared for a moment or two that he might lose his footing as the hot winds whirled past, tossing up stones and dust from the ground by the shovelful and filling the air with debris that battered many of the prisoners who’d been unable to find cover.
Gustav’s muzzle began to lower once more as his crew prepared to go through their five minute reloading process. The first shell was already well on its way by that time and travelling at three times the speed of sound as it arched high across the English Channel, leaving a thunderous ‘ripping’ sound in its wake as it tore through the air toward the opposite shore. The artillery observers watching from Shakespeare Cliff spotted the unexpected firing across the Channel immediately, and had already radioed a warning by the time the shell had reached the English coast, although it was far too late to take cover in any case.
It was a small consolation to the men in command of railway gun Gladiator that the deafening, tearing sound overhead a second later meant Gustav’s first shot had gone long. It hadn’t overshot by enough for the crew to remain calm or collected about the experience however as the five-tonne, 800mm HE projectile impacted with British soil a little less than two kilometres west of their position. The shell punched deep into the earth, not far from Sandling Junction, and the subsequent detonation blasted a huge crater thirty metres wide and the same deep into the Kent countryside, throwing earth and debris hundreds of metres into the air in a billowing cloud of smoke and flame.
The blast wave struck the gun a few seconds later, bringing with it a strong, hot wind stinking of earth and smoke that battered the Royal Marines with more than just its physical effects. They could all see how much power that enormous shell had carried, and how much damage it might’ve caused had it landed on target. The gun commander quickly brought his crew back to the matter at hand as clods of earth, stone and shrapnel began to land around them. The same was happening in all directions, over a huge area, as a rolling cloud of black clawed its way skyward from the point of impact above a boiling pillar of smoke and dust.
Sceneshifter fired its first shell a few seconds later, but with a flight time of more than a minute across a distance of almost forty kilometres, they had some time to wait before the nearby observers could plot the fall of shot and issue any adjustments to aim. All knew without doubt that they were in a gun duel now, and it was a duel against what appeared to be an incredibly powerful enemy. They were three to one, and the match up could perhaps be likened to three hyenas pitted against two lions: they could split the enemies’ attacks, and retaliate in greater numbers, but just one hit from either enemy could ruin any one of them, while they would need all their strength to bring either of their targets down.
The unmistakeable plume of Sceneshifter’s muzzle
blast was the first warning to the Luftwaffe observer high above The Channel that there was a second gun involved, this one firing from within Dover itself, close to the port. Dora, preparing for her first shot, had already adjusted aim and elevation based on the fall of Gustav’s first shell, and as such was ordered to remain on target with Gladiator. Gustav, in the middle of reloading, was accorded this second target, and even as its next shell was being rammed into the breech, powerful hydraulic motors were already rotating the weapon onto a new point of aim.
Dora fired next from the southern side of the complex as Gustav’s crew continued their reloading process, the experience no less terrifying for the extra distance. Again the earth shook and all around were battered by a powerful shock wave, its huge muzzle brake lessening the effect of recoil by diverting the bulk of the massive blast to either side rather than directly ahead. With corrections to aim already made, it was expected that second shell to land on target, but as was the case for their opponents across The Channel, the SS gunlayers were not forced to endure more than a minute of flight time before they’d discover how accurate their amendments had been.
Initial warning of the firing of a British gun was late, but was in any case largely unnecessary as far as Wehrmacht and Waffen-SS personnel were concerned. All of those not involved with the actual firing and control of the gun were already under cover as part of the battery’s alert status, and German casualties, if any, were likely to be minimal as a result. The POWs and forced labourer present weren’t so fortunate, of course, and as that first, half-tonne shells landed among them, 500m short of Gustav’s position, the earth and smoke thrown skyward by the explosion was filled with their broken and shattered bodies.
Gladiator was never given a chance to fire as Dora’s first shell landed. All three British guns were still making adjustments to aim and angle of traverse based on the fall of Sceneshifter’s ranging shot, and its diesel locomotive was edging it carefully along the curved track to a new point of aim as the five-tonne projectile fell directly on the railway line itself, two hundred metres behind, and obliterated everything around it in a blinding flash and upheaval of earth that instantly became another huge crater. A savage blast wave rippled away from the explosion, radiating outward to all points of the compass, and its full force hammered into the rear of the locomotive and railway gun in just a fraction of a second, blistering heat and irresistible winds laced with lumps of earth, stone and shrapnel that shattered the weapon and all but vaporised the gun crew in an instant.
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