Five minutes later, Gustav fired again following some minor adjustments in traverse and elevation, and then again after another five minutes and further corrections. Firing ceased after the third shot, and there was a great deal of maintenance activity at the rear of the gun as Dora took up the baton and fired her first shell, followed by the same three-shot pattern of fire and adjustment. The alternating fire would continue in the same manner for most of the morning and use up more than two-dozen shells between the two weapons. The noise and shock of the continued explosions made breathing quite uncomfortable when combined with the smoke and dust that filled the air all around, and the experience placed a good deal of stress on the POWs, although there was some comfort in the fact that none of the guards present thought to order them to continue working.
High above the English coast, a single unarmed S-2F Lion FAC aircraft assigned to Battery 672(E) flew in a pre-planned, circular orbit as the experienced observer in the rear cockpit maintained continuous contact with the gunlayers at Sangatte. The man carried detailed maps of Kent and the Dover coast and would carefully mark down the exact position on those maps and report back as every impact of Gustav’s and Dora’s massive shells shattered and devastated English soil.
The shell strikes were clearly visible from high altitude, although the random, indiscriminate damage the huge projectiles were inflicting on the Kent countryside was less obvious from that distance… damage that in some places was great indeed. None of the shells were seeking specific targets, and many landed some distance inland as Battery 672(E) recorded the details of their pre-bombardment target registrations. Most of the shots landed in open country and, although exploding spectacularly, did little real damage other than in spreading fear throughout the surrounding area. A few however did fall close enough to farms or hamlets to cause loss of life and significant numbers casualties.
At Deal, Dover and Folkestone, single shells fell within heavily built-up areas, and quite close to the centre of town in the case of Dover, still reeling from the collateral damage inflicted by the destruction of Sceneshifter some weeks before. The devastation from those single, massive blasts caused loss of life and injuries rising into the hundreds, demolishing entire city blocks in one stroke, and also created a wave of terror that swept through the populace of the areas involved with a speed that defied belief.
Fires resulting from the explosions would spread through the surrounding neighbourhoods, causing further casualties and adding numbers to a growing steady stream of refugees that began to pour inland in search of safety. The subsequent strain on the military and on local authorities was immense, and many of Kent’s main roads and carriageways were choked as a result, hampering troop movements in the days and nights to follow.
From their prepared defensive positions outside Smeeth, Davids, his crew and the rest of 7RTR and the 1st London Division felt the ground shake as some of the closer shells struck, and a pall of grey smoke hung over the eastern horizon for the rest of the day, although none of the huge rounds actually fell within sight of their defences. The Hythe Road was choked with a torrent of frightened refugees heading westward as a result, some of whom had been witness to the carnage wrought upon Folkestone, and the renewed spread of ‘rumours’ regarding German superguns unsettled the defenders in the aftermath of the distant, earthshaking explosions they’d felt earlier in the day.
At Deal, reports of a Kriegsmarine destroyer flotilla in The Channel were mistakenly identified as a fleet of assault ships, resulting in the spread of far more damaging rumours of the sighting of an invasion force. The alert codeword of ‘Cromwell’ (meaning invasion was imminent) was prematurely broadcast to many local HQs throughout the south-east region, causing further unwanted panic, stress and alarm as units mobilised in response.
None of the chaos resulting from the registration bombardment had been the intention of the battery on the opposite side of The Channel, although it would no doubt have been considered a fine, unexpected bonus had the commanders of Battery 672(E) been made aware of the situation. As it was, little of any note occurred on the French coast during the rest of that day as the guns responsible for the mayhem were rested for the night in comfortable silence, and soldiers and civilians alike generally went about their normal business.
The exercise had been conducted purely for the purpose of marking pre-registered target positions for the maps of the area commanders of the upcoming invasion, and those carefully noted impact points, when matched with the elevation and traverse data recorded at the gun line, would provide the officers hitting the beaches with more than enough detail to provide accurate coordinates for any strongpoints they might come across within range of those huge guns.
Home Fleet Naval Anchorage at HMS Proserpine
Scapa Flow, Orkney Islands
Friday
September 6, 1940
The Officers Mess at HMS Proserpine was large and well-appointed, as would’ve been expected of the facilities of commissioned officers in any large and established military installation. A liberal use of lacquered wood panelling and polished brass fittings complemented large, comfortable leather armchairs and ornate tables, while the bar itself was a long affair of expensive, dark-stained hardwood with ornately carved fittings. Several types of ales were available on tap, and a quite comprehensive selection of spirits and even wines were also kept on hand for the discerning officer.
The Hindsight commanders had quickly selected a large, round table of their own in one dark corner of the mess that evening that was surrounded by armchairs and free-standing ashtrays. The ‘cul-de-sac’ had quickly become their own little retreat in the days following the destruction of Hindsight, and the regular officers at the base were happy to allow them the privacy of their own little clique: many had seen or heard about the strange contraptions these newcomers flew and operated, and many officers regarded them with more than a little suspicion and apprehension.
There was also the issue of the people themselves. Prejudice being what it was, compounded by a healthy does of ‘British Officer’ snobbery, few of the established mess-goers were pleased with Americans, Jews or women being allowed into their world of private relaxation, and many also considered the fact that the commander of the strange unit was a colonial as damning enough in itself. Possibly because of those mentioned facts, the Hindsight group tended to drink a little more than might’ve seemed appropriate, and were also often a little too loud, although no one else would ever have been uncouth enough to mention it to them — a situation the team played on with pleasure.
The recent inclusion of the German was almost the last straw, and regardless of constant reassurances from the base commander and placatory remarks to the mess duty officer from the Australian air vice marshal in charge, it was nevertheless a lot to bear. The man dressed in nondescript khakis, and wore the British rank insignia of a lieutenant-colonel, but his accented English and the tendency of he and the Australian to occasionally lapse into German for minutes on end while in conversation was considered quite offensive by many present.
That Friday night was a more subdued affair however for the Hindsight officers, although most still drank heartily and argued as much as ever. Major Michael Kowalski had arrived back on base that day, with the rest of his marines expected back within the next forty-eight hours, and all were happy to welcome his return with a few drinks. All the officers had gathered there — including Ritter — although the mood wasn’t as high as it might’ve been: there were serious matters weighing on all their minds… issues that weren’t easily overcome.
“I still don’t see why it has to be you flying the damned mission!” Davies growled over his whiskey, as much out of professional pride as concern for his friend. He felt personally slighted that it wasn’t his task to take on such an important ground attack flight, and also honestly believed his experience in the aircraft to be greater. Thorne, who’d been coaxed along despite a great deal of protest, and forced to take a drink despite even great
er protest, allowed a long pause before replying to that statement.
“I know all that shit about ‘we can’t afford to lose you’… and ‘you’re too valuable’… and all that!” He began with an irritable dismissal, ignoring the fact those arguments were exactly the same ones he’d used to prevent Eileen from travelling south with Markowicz to tour British armaments factories. “I also know that I don’t intend to force anyone else to take responsibility for what we’re about to do! I’m not happy about carrying out an attack that’s potentially going to kill several hundred thousand people… maybe as many as a million… but I’m sure as hell not going to expect someone else to shoulder that burden either.” He took a short drag at his glass of rum, eyes alight. “Maybe I should be asking someone else to do it… but I’m not going to, and that is ‘end of story’.”
“On that subject,” Kowalski ventured uneasily, newly-arrived and only recently briefed on what they were planning. “Is it completely necessary to set such a high yield? We’re looking at wiping out a significant segment of the French countryside, and the population along with it.” Kowalski was as surprised as any of them by the idea that he’d somehow become the ‘pacifist’ of the group, but it’d certainly turned out to be the case. “Have we looked for other alternatives to a nuke?” He turned to Davies. “Jack, of all people, you know how effective conventional strikes were in Desert Storm and other conflicts…”
“Sure they were,” Davies shrugged, showing less unease than he really felt regarding the ramifications of what they were about to do, “and if you know where we can get hold of some Aardvarks with Pave Tack and bunker busters, do fill us in. You know knocking out their command staff is only half the issue — it’s equally important to let Adolf know what we can do if the asshole presses on with an invasion.”
“It doesn’t worry anyone that we’re thinking of deterring attack from a regime that killed six million Jews by killing a million Frenchmen ourselves…?”
“Of course it worries everyone!” Eileen snapped back, a little more harshly than she really intended. “I don’t want Max risking himself on this mission any more than you do… probably more so… we’ve know each other for ten bloody years, and I don’t want to lose him at all… but if you can think of some other way to stop a nutter like Hitler without a display of unadulterated, brute force, then we’re open to the suggestion.” She spoke quite animatedly, her hands moving in orchestration and almost splashing about the scotch in her own glass.
“Normally, I would agree with you, major,” Hal Markowicz entered into the discussion over his small glass of red wine, having listened to the proceedings with much interest. “However, we’re not talking about a rational enemy.” As he spoke, he scratched unconsciously at the sleeve of his left forearm, beneath which lay a faded set of digits tattooed directly into his skin. “I know first hand how little sympathy or consideration the Nazis have for anything or anyone other than themselves and their beloved Führer. As the war came to a close, this madman wasn’t turned from his ‘vision’ by either the might of the United States or the unstoppable Soviets… even as the world collapsed around him. Nothing short of the threat of total destruction will suffice to give us even a chance of preventing this invasion.
“The death of millions is never something to take lightly,” he conceded with a thin smile. “Of all people, a Jew perhaps understands this best… but if this is the first step in preventing the deaths of ten times that many? Well… sometimes people in positions of power have to make unpleasant decisions… painful decisions. The men who ordered the attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki accepted that responsibility, and we must do the same now. If successful, this attack will decapitate the Wehrmacht and New Eagles, and that alone will mean any invasion must almost certainly be at least postponed. There’s only perhaps a month left at the most before worsening weather will make an assault across The Channel very difficult to execute and maintain, and if they postpone now, we may get another six or eight months to prepare.. In that time we can do enough to perhaps halt an invasion altogether, and if that isn’t worth a sacrifice of this nature, then I don’t know what is.”
“This is to be a mission for just one aircraft?” Ritter ventured, speaking for the first time since the current discussion had started.
“Yes… just me,” Thorne agreed after a short silence, as some pointed glances were passed around. Even some of the Hindsight members weren’t completely at ease with the concept of discussing matters of that nature in front of a German, regardless of how much Thorne trusted him.
“Yet you talk of the deaths of a million people? This sounds more as if it were a raid of a thousand aircraft…” After another pause, he added: “No… not even a thousand bombers could create such devastation. I do not understand…”
“Should we really be discussing this in this kind of ‘environment’?” Kowalski cut in nervously, not happy with providing the man with an answer.
“Its okay, Mike,” Thorne reassured, raising a hand to halt the marine’s speech. He addressed his next words to Ritter. “Carl, we have a device with us that has a destructive power equal to more than one million tons of high explosive.”
Ritter’s returned expression was sceptical at best. “Although this has been a time of some patience for me in accepting the unbelievable, this is still hard to believe.”
“Well, it exists nevertheless, and we intend to use this weapon on a collected meeting of the OKW in France in a few days, with the intention of in one stroke disabling the Wehrmacht and establishing the fact that we have such a weapon. We’re hoping this revelation of what could next be done to a city such as Berlin or Munich will be enough to dissuade Hitler from carrying out the invasion of Great Britain, which must be very close now.”
Ritter nodded. “It is definitely close: although no dates had been provided before I was stranded here, rumours were strong and plentiful, and the planning for the invasion of England has been going ahead for some time now.” Another thought occurred to him. “If the OKW is destroyed — and Reichsmarschall Reuters along with it, I presume — how will this affect the task you have set for me?”
“It’d probably be more difficult,” Thorne answered honestly, “but the mission should still be possible. You’d also in any case be able to provide us with essential information on many other matters in the interim.”
“And will this work… this threat to exact devastation on Germany if an invasion is launched?” That was a much harder question, and in the silence that followed, Eileen eventually provided the best answer anyone could’ve given.
“We don’t know, Carl… in all truth, we just don’t know. In our time, nuclear weapons forced the two superpowers of our world — the United States and the Soviet Union — to maintain an uneasy peace for the better part of fifty years. The strategy was rather ironically called ‘MAD’ — Mutually Assured Destruction — and each side knew the other could wipe them out many times over, therefore leaving neither confident enough to launch an attack. With anyone other than Adolf Hitler, I’d almost guarantee success… but with the German Chancellor involved, we can only hope it works. Either way, this is really the only option we have at all — nothing else will have a chance of stopping anything now.”
Ritter shook his head sadly after a long moment of consideration. “Wars should not be fought this way,” he observed with a soft, resigned voice. “Waging war on the innocent and defenceless is unjust… is this what the future holds… what the Führer has given us all?”
“If there’d been a few more like you in the Wehrmacht Officer Corps a little earlier,” Markowicz began kindly beside Ritter, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder, “perhaps a few more of my people might’ve survived.”
“Yeah, well that’s what we’re hoping to accomplish in the end, unpleasant as the options are,” Thorne pointed out with little humour.
“Thin edge of the wedge, mate,” Bob Green shrugged sadly. “Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”
/> As his sentence ended, Eileen unexpectedly broke into a into a short burst of coughing: the mess was filled with cigar and cigarette smoke, with a cloud hanging as a visible layer above the many men present that night. That cloud was also hanging over and around the Hindsight table, although only Green and Ritter were actually smoking in their group.
“Bit rough, isn’t it…!” Green agreed with a wry grin, trying to lighten the mood a little. “I’m a bloody smoker and I’m not used to this kind of atmosphere!” He took a drag on the cigarette he held, then held it up as an example before them. “These filterless bastards are savage! I used to smoke ‘fours’ back in Realtime… these buggers taste like they’re bloody twenty-eights or something.”
“What do you expect, smokin’ friggin’ Camels?” Thorne shot back, smiling for the first time as a few of the others gave a chuckle or two. “Why don’t you try a bloody cigarette holder to ease the strength back a bit or something?”
“I looked into that,” Green admitted, leaning back in his chair and holding up his cigarette as if it were the holder instead, pinkie finger extended with melodramatic daintiness. “Apparently, cigarette holders are only for women and poofs!” In truth, that statement had a lot more to do with his personal take on the subject than any current trend of opinion.
“Hardly very politically correct there, Captain Green,” Eileen observed with a wry smile and a mock-lecturing tone.
“And thank Christ for that…!” Thorne burst out with a laugh. “How refreshing it is to be once more in an era where a man can call a mate a ‘poof’ with impunity…!”
“Call me a ‘poof’, and it won’t be with impunity… mate…!” Green shot back with a wry smile and pointing a warning finger.
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