THE FORESIGHT WAR

by Anthony G Williams

  ‘This is the report that really bothers me,’ Peter said, pushing forward a summary of the sighting reports from the crews of several bombers on the last raid. Large rockets had been seen streaking up towards the formations. The ECM planes had apparently had some success in disrupting the control system, but three bombers had been brought down by rockets exploding nearby.

  ‘They only appear to be radio command guided at present,’ commented Don, ‘but they’re bound to be working on radar guidance, probably with a choice of frequencies to get around the jamming. Once they perfect that, we’re in real trouble, not just in clear weather but at night and in bad weather, too.’

  The gloom was palpable. Don walked slowly over to the huge map of Europe and central Asia on the wall. The vast area occupied by the Germans was marked out in tape, the only defiance on land being shown by the Russians, pushed far to the east, with the support of British and Canadian troops in the north.

  ‘It seems to be stalemate everywhere,’ he said. ‘The Germans can’t beat the Russians into submission, but are holding them. We can’t beat the U-boats, but we’re holding them. Germany is suffering from the bombing raids, but not enough. We are preparing for an invasion but worried sick about the risk; Germany is still so strong in armour and aircraft. It can’t go on like this. Sooner or later, something’s got to give. We can’t delay the invasion for much longer.’

  Charles watched them leaving the room, mulling over the information he had acquired just before the meeting and relieved that he had decided not to pass it onto the others, especially Don and Mary. The codebreakers had managed to crack the German naval codes in use a few months ago and were catching up with the backlog of decrypts. One of the messages had been brought to his attention. It seemed that someone had arranged for the xB-Dienst to know the course of the ill-fated ship carrying the American nurses, but had given them completely wrong information about what the ship was carrying. Charles was torn by a mixture of disgust at the cold-blooded slaughter of the young women, and professional admiration of the effectiveness of the intelligence trap which had brought the USA into the European war. He nodded thoughtfully. That particular decrypt would be destroyed.

  CHAPTER 9 - SLEDGEHAMMER

  Spring 1943

  The night was moonless, the sea heard more than seen, gentle waves surging lazily up the beach before withdrawing with a faint hiss. A different pattern of splashes disturbed the rhythm; starlight gleamed from shiny black rubber. The frogman crouched in the water, scanning the shore with eyes and ears at full alert. A lick of wind cooled the exposed parts of his skin, brought with it the smell of tobacco, a quick laugh. He focused, spotted the red glow. The men were stationary, talking quietly.

  He waited for a few minutes until the glow suddenly curved its ballistic arc towards the beach and the voices receded. He moved forward, paused to scrape up some samples of sand, carefully sealed them away along with the notes he had already made about the beach obstacles and mines lying in wait for any invasion force.

  The frogman came to where the men had stood among the dunes, followed their faint trail as much by touch as sight until a horizontal oblong of light flared briefly ahead, illuminated from behind by light spilling from an opened internal door. He stopped, reviewing the image of the oblong imprinted on his mind. It had been interrupted by a metallic gleam, humped at the back, straight at the front but with a regular pattern, which he recognised as ventilation holes in a barrel casing. An MG 42 machine gun, commanding the beach from its pill-box.

  The frogman retreated silently, making no attempt to disguise his footprints leading back into the sea. With any luck they would be found in the morning, along with many others at different places along the coast of north-west Europe, all part of the scheme to keep the Germans off-balance, guessing where the blow would fall. He swam smoothly out to the kayak where his comrade waited to take him back to the small Norwegian submarine, lying in wait off the coast of Denmark.

  The tent city at Kew Gardens seemed an incongruous place to house the headquarters of SHAEF, the Supreme Headquarters of the Allied Expeditionary Force charged with invading Europe. The choice was due to fall on Bushey Park near Hampton Court, but Don had hastily advised against this, in case his opposite number remembered the significance of that location. The Oversight Committee had been allocated a large house backing onto the Gardens, with room for them all to stay while they performed a suitably disguised role as a ‘hush-hush’ intelligence evaluation unit. On a pleasantly warm and sunny spring afternoon, Don, Mary and Charles relaxed in deckchairs and savoured their cups of Earl Grey while Hope gurgled happily in a playpen.

  ‘So far so good,’ Don murmured.

  Charles picked up the undertone of anxiety and raised an eyebrow. ‘What particular item is troubling you this time?’

  A sigh. ‘Nothing specific. It’s just that so much can go wrong.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Charles responded lazily, ‘in this kind of business all you can do is prepare as well as possible until it has passed beyond your ability to influence. An enterprise as great as this slowly gathers its own momentum. First the big decisions – when and where – become set in stone, then all the smaller ones – how and who – are worked out, each one being set in its place. The closer we get to D-day, the harder it becomes to make any changes at all, other than adjusting the landing time by a few hours.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Mary chipped in, ‘there really is little or nothing any of us can do now to make any difference. We have to trust to the military to carry it out; all we can do is pray.’

  ‘I know, I know. The trouble is that there are so many different factors, there’s always something that I might not have said, or communicated clearly enough, which might make a difference; save a few lives, avoid a problem. Getting the equipment right is the simple part; the biggest uncertainty is with the things I can’t see. Did I really impress on them sufficiently strongly the need for naval gunfire support officers in the first wave ashore to direct the shooting, or the communication systems between the army and the tactical fighters in support? Not to mention a sufficient quantity of wireless sets with the airborne troops – the lack of those caused some real problems. These kind of things make a huge difference, but I can’t know if they’ll happen properly until, well, until they happen!’

  The other two grinned a shade wearily. ‘You’ve been bothering everyone you can get your hands on about everything you can think of for months.’ Mary said gently. She brightened up. ‘Just run through what has gone right. You won over Churchill, against the wishes of Sir Alan Brooke,’ – ‘and nearly all of the Imperial General Staff,’ interjected Charles drily – ‘to agree with the Americans, forget about the Mediterranean and launch a direct attack on northern Europe, otherwise it would have been 1944 before we could put together enough landing ships, men and equipment to invade France.’

  ‘Well, I only hope that was the right decision. The opposition had some powerful arguments. The Americans are untried in battle, the German army unbroken, the Luftwaffe damaged but not yet crippled by the fighting over Germany. It’s a terrible risk.’

  ‘But nearly all of the German Army is far to the east in Russia, too far to be brought back to France in anything less than weeks if not months. And our forces are much better equipped than they were in your time. Thanks to you, we know what has to be done and we know how to do it.’

  ‘You forget, the Germans know how we did it, too. And they still have the best army in the world. Did I mention that they consistently inflicted casualties at a rate fifty percent higher than they sustained them?’ (Patient nods.) ‘We will need better equipment and tactics just to survive.’

  Mary was undeterred. ‘Then you managed to get Churchill to dissuade Roosevelt from making his ‘unconditional surrender’ statement, in order to leave the German opposition to the Nazis some hope. You said how much harder they fought because they had nothing to lose.’

  Charles grinned. ‘Yes, I rather enjoyed t
hat saying of theirs you remembered; “we might as well enjoy the war, because the peace will be terrible!”’

  Mary continued firmly, ‘you were quite right to argue against the invasion of Italy. It’s no threat to us and a liability to the Germans. We would just have lost tens of thousands of men in a long war there, to achieve nothing. We must focus our resources where it matters.’

  ‘Schwerpunkt!’ Charles nodded approvingly.

  ‘And don’t forget the benefits the invasion will bring, in neutralising those U-boat bases and airfields in France. That will make a huge difference to the Battle of the Atlantic. Then there were the casualties. All those hundreds of thousands of European civilians who will die if the war goes on for another year, among them, over half a million Jews.’

  ‘Well, the major decisions are taken now,’ Charles pointed out reassuringly. ‘Eisenhower is in charge, with Alexander leading the armies and Montgomery in charge of planning. The best team, I think you said? You’ve even managed to get Churchill to insist on including the Fighting French in the invasion force.’

  Don grimaced in recollection. ‘Yes, the Americans really don’t like de Gaulle.’

  ‘Anyway, with the continuing delays being reported in perfecting an atom bomb, we really don’t have much choice. Just as well that we can see no signs of German progress in that direction either.’ Charles rose and stretched in the sunshine. ‘Come on, we have another briefing meeting this evening. Let’s catch up with the latest.’

  The Arado 234B-1 reconnaissance jet streaked over the coast of southern England at seven hundred kilometres per hour and eleven thousand metres altitude, cameras whirring steadily. The pilot had been given explicit instructions following several similar runs. There were some areas along the Hampshire coast which the Luftwaffe wanted a closer look at; some interesting shapes barely visible under camouflage netting, possibly a large formation of armoured vehicles being prepared for the expected invasion. The dockyards were also of interest. So far, there was no sign of the giant concrete structures the pilot had been briefed to expect – just lots of shipping. For some reason these structures, which according to Intelligence were apparently known by the curious name of ‘Mulberries’, were important in answering the key question: how ready were the Allies? Would the invasion be this year or next?

  The pilot kept his eyes on the ground – he had been warned that the British had introduced a similar anti-aircraft missile to the type operated by the Luftwaffe. Not surprisingly, they seemed to be concentrated around the ports where they had taken a heavy toll in the recent bomber raids.

  The pilot reached the end of the run, then turned and began a smooth descent to gain a closer view of the camouflaged area. The speed slowly built up to eight hundred kilometres per hour then eased back as the little jet steadied at six thousand metres. The ground unrolled beneath him rapidly. He checked the plane’s course then set the cameras rolling again. A brief flash of light in the mirror caught the pilot’s eye; for moment he stared in disbelief and dismay at the sight of a plane – closing on him! Then the nose of the chasing plane flickered with fire and the Arado began a frantic evasion routine, the pilot concentrating too hard on getting away to use his fixed, rearward-firing cannon.

  The Major watched the gradual fall of the remains of the plane, one wing tumbling by itself, the black cross clearly visible at it approached the ground. He turned away from the funeral pyre to look at the camouflage netting stretched behind him. Underneath, carefully just visible, were the plywood models of tanks. Hardly a proper war, he thought, but at least this secret would be kept a little longer.

  The Flight-Lieutenant climbed out of the Hawker Typhoon, gave a thumbs-up to his ground crew. ‘One down – I got the jet!’ He called out, to be greeted by cheers and applause. He looked back at the little plane, still officially on the secret list. It still looked strange to his eyes, sitting straight on its tricycle undercarriage, the slim, pointed nose, now streaked with gunsmoke, naked of any propeller, the side intakes above the swept-back wing, the jet exhaust under the tail. Had he known it, the Hawker bore a remarkable resemblance to a certain RAF advanced jet trainer from Don’s previous life (‘we know you can’t help us with the technical details,’ Peter had said, ‘but even an idea of what sort of layouts worked well would help. We’re really in the dark over how to begin!’).

  ‘How were the guns?’ the armourer wanted to know.

  ‘Faultless!’ The new Molins Hispanos were capable of a thousand rounds per minute, and four of them nestled under the nose of the plane. ‘The poor chap never knew what hit him!’

  The underground command post was brutally functional like all of its kind. I could be almost anywhere, Herrman thought wearily. It was odd to think that, for the first time in his life, he was in France. What on earth was the typically overdramatic name they gave to this one? Oh yes, FHQ Wolfsschlucht 2, located at Margival, near Soissons. At least Hitler’s generals had the sense to pick more congenial accommodation: von Rundstedt, the C-in-C Army Group West, was installed in a castle at Saint-Germaine, while Rommel’s Army Group B HQ was at La Roche-Guyon, the chateau of the Ducs de la Roche.

  Herrman dragged his attention back to General Jodl, the Chief of Staff to the head of the OKW, the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht, or joint defence staff. As usual, the capable Jodl was doing the briefing while his ineffectual superior, Keitel, sat and listened.

  ‘We still have no clear idea about Allied intentions, but the build-up of forces in southern England and Norway is obvious. Unfortunately there has also been much activity in North Africa and an invasion of Sicily, or even Italy or southern France, cannot be entirely ruled out. We have been warned about the British predilection for ‘disinformation’ in constructing decoy aircraft, tanks and even landing vessels, and in generating false radio traffic, and while no definite information has been gathered from England or Norway, we have intelligence reports from Africa which suggest that much of the activity there might be false. Furthermore, to use Norway as a jumping-off point for a major invasion would be very risky for them: so close to Germany, the advantage would be with us. After careful consideration, we have concluded that an invasion of northern France is the most likely eventuality, and it might come very soon. This causes us certain obvious problems. As we know, OB West has sixty divisions available, among them twelve Panzer divisions. However, they are of very variable quality. The Seventh Army, responsible for the Cotentin peninsula and the Channel coast, has fifteen infantry divisions but ten of them are bodenständige.’

  Herrman searched his memory for a moment before recalling that these comprised very young, very old or unfit soldiers and were essentially static, with no vehicles.

  ‘The Fifteenth Army which holds the Kanalkueste to the east is stronger as this is felt to be the most vulnerable area. Reinforcing these from the Eastern Front will not be easy. Our current front line is deep inside Russia and, although we have been improving and extending the railway system, it would still take a considerable period of time to move any significant armoured forces back to France. However, our practice of delivering new armoured vehicles to northern France, and manning them with experienced divisions rotated out of line for rest and retraining, means that we have a core of highly capable and mobile units to buttress the armies. The problem we have is in identifying the landing place or places and the best means of deploying our defences to counter them. I will now hand over to General Rommel, who has been touring the north coast and checking the defences.’

  Herrman began to pay more attention. He liked Rommel, a tough, no-nonsense but fair-minded professional, and had urged Hitler to appoint him to this post. His energetic, hands-on style of leadership was a useful complement to von Rundstedt’s cool, intellectual approach. Rommel had not, this time, had the opportunity to make his mark in North Africa, but instead he had distinguished himself in Greece, which still, so far, represented Germany’s only defeat of a British army.

  Rommel swept his gaze around the room,
over the impassive Hitler and the core of the general staff. ‘The fixed defences are in place, although we badly need some more radar sets to cover the Channel. All feasible landing beaches are mined and protected by obstacles to destroy, or at least greatly hinder, landing barges. They are also covered by protected machine-gun posts. Every mile of the coast is covered by artillery positions, either well camouflaged or heavily protected against counter-battery fire. However, this will not be enough to prevent an invasion. When the Allies come, they will come in great force, with massive air and naval support. Despite their intensive counter-intelligence activities, we have received reports of special vehicles they have developed to deal with our defences.’

  Herrman smiled inwardly. He doubted that Rommel would be aware of the source of those reports.

  ‘They have the huge advantage of being able to choose the time and place of their attack. We do not know if they will take the shortest route to Pas-de-Calais, or will land further west on the coast of Normandy. We know that the best time to defeat a landing is immediately, before a beachhead has been established, but we do not have enough forces to ensure that all of these possibilities are adequately covered. We will need four things in place if we are to defeat them: fighter aircraft to prevent their bombers from disrupting our defences, bombers to attack their landing ships by day, U-boote and S-boote to attack them by night. And, above all, strong Panzer forces to smash their initial landings before they can establish themselves.’

  Von Rundstedt stirred and Rommel paused to look at his superior officer, knowing what was coming.

  ‘The question is how best to deploy the Panzers. In my opinion they should be held back in reserve, ready to move forward in great force as soon as we can identify the actual landing place. If we keep them forwards, close to the beaches, they must necessarily be spread thinly and it will be much more difficult to pull them into large formations at the landing place.’