General Sir William Edmund Ironside CGB, CMG, CBD DSO was a tall and solid man of sixty-one years, with greying hair and a similarly-coloured moustache. Dark eyes filled with knowledge and surrounded by the lines of ageing were complemented by a serious and intelligent expression. Ironside had served the army for over forty years, and had seen action in the Second Boer War, the First World War and the North Russia Campaign prior to the outbreak of World War Two. Thorne instantly recalled the man upon mention of his name: it was Ironside who’d been succeeded by Sir John Dill as CIGS earlier in the year, and had gone on to successfully fill the post of Commander-in-Chief, Home Forces.
“A pleasure to meet you both, gentlemen,” Thorne stepped forward, coming to brief attention to salute Ironside before shaking both men’s hands in turn. “We’ve never met, General, but I do know of you by excellent reputation and your fine work with the Home Forces. Is General Dill unwell this evening that you’re sitting in for him?”
“General Sir John Dill is unfortunately no longer with us,” Ironside informed with all the solemnity that would’ve been expected, the news leaving both Thorne and Donelson utterly astounded. “He was killed in action near Folkestone this afternoon while observing an exchange between cross-channel guns.”
“The incident is something we were hoping you might be able to cast some light upon this evening,” Churchill continued, taking one of the folders from the table top and sliding it across to Thorne as he and Donelson took seats close to the others.
As Thorne opened the cover, he found copies of the aerial photographs taken of the battery at Sangatte two days before. A magnifying glass lay inside on top of the pictures, and Thorne lifted it with the first of the images, studying if carefully after passing the rest across to Eileen: with her eidetic memory and far greater technical knowledge, she was the best person to look at the bulk of the information. There were a few seconds of tense silence as they poured over the pictures, in the process throwing each other a concerned glance or two as they in the end came to a similar, unpleasant conclusion.
“Gustav and Dora,” Thorne said finally, not really explaining anything and leaving Eileen to clarify as Churchill and the rest stared on quizzically.
“We believe these are what were in Realtime two of the largest guns ever put into production anywhere in the world,” she began slowly, choosing her words carefully as she recalled the information from her memory. “The Wehrmacht originally designed and built them to combat the defences of the Maginot Line, but in Realtime it took longer than expected to finish production and they were instead eventually put into action against hardened targets in Russia after 1941.” She paused for a moment, still staring at one of the images. “Assuming they’re the same here as the Realtime examples, they have a calibre of eight hundred millimetres — thirty-one-point-five inches — and can fire a high explosive shell of four-point-eight tonnes to a range of twenty-nine miles, or a concrete-penetrating projectile of seven tonnes to twenty-three miles or more.” She paused again, then realised: “These weapons are on the coast! These weapons were involved in the cross-channel bombardment earlier today?”
“South of Calais, near a place called Sangatte,” Ironside answered, grimacing and shaking his head in terrible recognition of the capabilities she’d given on the guns.
“What’s The Channel… twenty miles across at that point? Maybe less…?” Thorne noted, thinking quickly as always. “Makes sense… vitally important area for heavy guns in the event of an invasion.” He jabbed an index finger down hard on one of the closer, oblique shots. “These weapons can hit probably ten or twenty miles of English coastline from where they are, with Dover pretty much smack-bang in the middle. They’ll also probably be able to throw HE maybe another eight or ten miles inland at least, which could make life bloody difficult for defenders to muster for counter-attack if an force does hit the beach in that area.” He paused for a moment, looking at Eileen for agreement, to which she nodded faintly. “These appear to be static emplacements too, rather than the railway mounts the Realtime units were fitted to… I’d imagine that’d give them a significant increase in accuracy and rate of fire.” He paused for a deep breath as Eileen took up the conversation.
“Gentlemen, the appearance of these weapons on the French coast is incontrovertible evidence that Hitler is serious about an invasion — particularly when factored into the information we already have: that a massive increase in combat air patrols over every major ports from The Hague to Le Havre is making it impossible to get any kind of aerial reconnaissance.
“In Realtime, neither the RAF nor the Luftwaffe held air superiority over The Channel. As such, Britain was able to keep far better track of what was going on in French ports and monitor the build up of any invasion force. As it stands at the moment, the appearance of these new Focke-Wulf fighters in the last month or so means even if one of our PR aircraft gets in to take pictures, they’ve so far not been able to get out. These fighters are faster than anything the RAF can field, save for the new Mustangs that are barely becoming operational, and they’re able to overhaul anything else we have in the air before they get to safety.”
“All this points rather unpleasantly toward a serious invasion build-up, as you both indeed warned,” Churchill noted with more than a little disappointment at the thought. “…And very possibly sometime in the next month, as you also predicted.”
Thorne nodded in agreement. “The tides will be a factor, and the moon as well if they wait as long as the last week of September. I’d expect the Kriegsmarine has been provided with better assault and landing vessels than they fielded in Realtime, and with what’s now become total air superiority over The Channel and Southern England, I’d be very concerned Reuters’ may indeed have locked in ‘S-Day’ for sometime around mid-to-late September.” He fixed Ironside with a solemn stare. “Would I be correct, Sir Edmund, in the assumption that this cross-channel bombardment duel didn’t end well for us?”
There was a long pause as the general took a deep breath, rubbed at his eyes and ran a hand back through his grey hair.
“As you’re no doubt aware, it’s not been possible to complete any lasting fixed gun emplacements of any size along The Channel Coast due to constant aerial attack. Three railway guns of the Royal Marine Siege Regiment were brought up last night to prepared firing positions at Sandgate, Dover and St. Margaret-at-Cliffe. Due to the appearance of this new site being relatively recent, we originally believed it was not yet operational…”
“Christ on a crutch…!” Thorne whispered, lowering his eyes and raising a hand to his forehead as he stared at the photographs once more. Both he and Eileen saw what was coming next as Brooke paused and took a breath.
“Quite to the contrary, we discovered the weapons you speak of were both indeed operational. These two ‘Gustav’ and ‘Dora’ guns — as you call them — engaged our 13.5-inch weapons: they displayed remarkable accuracy and — we believe — were aided by observation aircraft and radio direction.