As the lieutenant moved back out of the way, Dill took his turn at staring through the eyepiece. The telescope was quite powerful, and on such a bright and sunny day it was able to bring the distant French coast into clear focus. Taking in a section of countryside between Sangatte and Escalles, it provided an excellent view of the massive construction site that had been created above the beach near Peuplingues. Although still not enough magnification to allow any real detail, it was already clear to a military man of such experience as Dill that what he was staring at was undoubtedly some kind of gun emplacement in the making.
“So this is what’s had the marines and Naval Intelligence so concerned, Major Pruitt?” He asked finally, not lifting his gaze from the eyepiece for a moment.
“Yes, sir,” the major stepped forward slightly as he answered. “They’ve got camouflage netting and makeshift barriers up, preventing us from getting a proper look at what they’re up to, but we’ve known something fairly large was in the offing for a while now. It’s only in the last few weeks that we’ve seen the railway tracks and the turntables go in, and the general layout is a logical pattern for railway artillery, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“Aerial reconnaissance…?” Dill asked, finally backing away from the telescope and instead staring unaided across The Channel and the distant line of the French coast.
“Nothing’s been able to get close enough for any clear images so far,” Pruitt admitted reluctantly, “…at least… nothing’s been able to get close enough and get away again. Everything the RAF has sent across for us so far has been either shot down, or chased off by the Luftwaffe before the could get close enough. Their radar control is excellent, and they’re usually waiting for our boys within minutes of them taking off.” He grimaced. “We estimate they have at least a regiment of Ack-Ack in there…”
“That’s an awful lot of air defence for a run-of-the-mill gun battery,” Dill observed, thinking carefully.
“We were of the same opinion, sir,” Pruitt agreed. “The size of the site and the level of protection potentially suggests something quite out of the ordinary.”
“We’ve been expecting the appearance of coastal batteries from the moment France fell,” Dill mused slowly aloud to no one in particular. “The potential to disrupt allied shipping in The Channel alone would make it a worthwhile exercise for the Germans.” He turned his head and fixed Pruitt with a pointed stare. “But that in itself isn’t enough for you to ask for the opinion of the Commander-in-Chief, Home Forces, is it, major…?”
“No, sir… it’s the size of the installation that concerns us… me… the most. This is far larger than anything we’ve seen before. What exactly is Jerry putting together over there that they feel the need for an entire regiment of air defences? There’s a mass of railway track going in there, and I think there’s a high likelihood this installation is being set up for an invasion. From that position, long range guns could potentially range as far as Dover and some distance inland, and also provide some heavy artillery support for amphibious landings.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you, major,” the general’s mind was now ticking over quickly, “and I think there might well be someone who could give us a definite interpretation, but we must have some detailed photographs first.” He turned his gaze back to the distant coastline, rubbing at his eyes and still thinking. “We need to get a reconnaissance aircraft in there and out again! I’m going to contact the Air Ministry personally as soon as we get back to area HQ — I want a PR flight out there as soon as possible.” He paused for a moment, then added almost as an afterthought, “also, major, I believe the Siege Regiment has some railway guns currently on standby near Guston. They’ll need to be brought to alert status — we may well need them to take care of our little problem here in the not-to-distant future…”
Downing Street, Whitehall
Westminster SW1, London
Wednesday
July 30, 1940
The black Humber Pullman limousine’s 4-litre engine idled smoothly as it waited outside the front door of the Prime Minister’s official residence at Number Ten. Other than being a luxury sedan, it was relatively nondescript and carried no obvious markings or notable features that might attract attention. The driver was separated from the main passenger compartment by a clear glass screen that was quite well soundproofed, although a central sliding section could be draw back to allow communication between front and rear.
The car was empty save for the driver; a man dressed in an inexpensive suit and flat cap that suggested nothing more than perhaps the chauffer for someone of moderate wealth and little public note. Only the thick, black beard with flecks of grey and spectacles with small, round lenses faintly-tinted in orange suggested the man might possibly have been anything out of the ordinary.
In any case, the police officers guarding the intersection at the end of the street found no reason to question his business at 10 Downing Street. Both the car and driver were regular visitors, and the guards there were under standing orders to allow both to pass at any time of the day or night. That was enough for the constables on duty, and they’d thought nothing more of it as the Pullman had approached and been waved through without challenge on that sunny afternoon.
He’d been waiting less than ten minutes as the Prime Minister left the building and made his way down the front steps with cane in hand, wearing a black suit and hat. He was accompanied by a single Special Branch detective in a suit of similar quality to that of the driver’s, and as he watched the pair approach, he knew the man would be carrying a revolver inside his jacket. The thought didn’t faze the man behind the wheel at alclass="underline" a large automatic pistol hidden under his dashboard of the Humber was within easy reach should a need for it ever arise.
Winston Churchill appeared ill at ease as he slipped into the rear of the limousine, followed by his bodyguard. The driver wasted no time in greetings, instead throwing the vehicle into gear immediately and pulling slowly away from the kerb in a smooth motion.
“The increasing frequency of these impromptu assignations are beginning to create problems for my office,” The Prime Minister growled with a sour expression as he reached forward and opened the sliding central glass section separating them from the driver. “You’ve been absent for several years, as has often been your wont, then turn up again completely ‘out of the blue’, as it were, right on the eve of this bloody war! Erratic behaviour, to say the least, and as useful and enlightening as our involvement’s been over these many years, very little of my time is truly my own now I’m Prime Minister. I’ve been waiting to hear from you for two days, and then all if a sudden, the first response I get is that you’ll be waiting at the doorstep in thirty minutes. I’ve made every effort to keep the true nature of your existence clandestine, Mister Brandis, however this is no longer a simple matter now that I hold office.”
“I understand completely, Mister Prime Minister,” Brandis replied instantly, keeping his eyes on the traffic ahead as the Pullman turned right into Whitehall and headed south. “This wouldn’t be my first preference either, sir, however under the circumstances it’s become something of a necessity.” He paused as the car negotiated its way around a large lorry and then a slow moving bus before continuing on. “My time’s also at a premium, particularly in the current climate, and it’s not easy for me to drop everything and walk out at a moment’s notice either, even if it is at the personal request of the First Lord of the Treasury.”