With Divisional and Battalion HQs and CO’s staff still back at Hythe, preparing to move forward, Schmidt was the ranking officer on the scene and he reacted immediately, deciding that with no clear targets for direct fire, it’d be necessary to make use of other means to soften up the defending British. Just a few thousand metres to the north-west, the town of Ashford was both strategically and tactically important and was a vital junction for both road and rail. If the Wehrmacht could bring it under control by night fall, it would do much to disrupt British supply lines in the immediate area and also throughout other the rest of Kent and Sussex.
“Fire mission… fire mission…!” The obersturmführer called over the radio, carefully checking his maps and providing the correct grid references. “Enemy armour, guns and infantry… well dug in… request heavy artillery on those coordinates.”
“Mission acknowledged…” the response came after just a moment’s pause. “Coordinates marked… allocating resources now… special assets assigned… recommend you seek cover… heavy incoming fire imminent…” Schmidt flashed a warning to all of the surrounding troops and vehicles to prepare for the coming barrage, dropping back into the turret of his own tank and locking down his hatches as the others sought cover within their own armoured vehicles.
The 3rd Shock Division was one of the Waffen-SS’ premier combat units, and as such had been provided the best equipment and weapons the Wehrmacht could offer. Of course, the quid pro quo was that in return for such favouritism, the unit was also expected to face and defeat the best the enemy could throw at them. Schmidt, Wisch and the rest of the men of the division were all hardened veterans and considered it an honour to be given such responsibility, and their Divisional HQ intended to provide them every possible assistance in the performance of their duties.
Most of the division’s self-propelled artillery had been heavily utilised throughout the day, and many units were either down for minor maintenance or awaiting resupply as cargo ships were being hastily unloaded at Folkestone and Dover. Normally, aircraft would’ve been assigned to provide support in their place; however the exceptionally low cloud cover and poor light made flying dangerous, and also made it difficult for pilots to distinguish between foe and friend below… something that potentially made things very dangerous for ground troops. As the advance on Ashford was considered something of a priority objective, the SS area command instead decided to activate some rather more esoteric and far more deadly assets.
Remaining ready to fire, as they had right through that first day of invasion, the giant guns of Special Battery 672(E) received their fire orders within seconds of Schmidt’s radio call and immediately turned their cavernous muzzles in the appropriate direction as firing coordinates were locked in. Base-bleed, long-range HE rounds were the only projectiles the battery could field possessed of enough range for the task, and at a distance of almost sixty kilometres, they’d still be reaching out to the very limit of their capabilities. As had come to be standard practice, Gustav fired the first ranging shell and their gunlayers waited for news of the fall of shot as the weapon’s crew began their five minute reloading cycle.
The shell landed in the middle of an open field, four hundred metres or so beyond the British lines and to the north of Grosvenor’s position. The conventionally-fused round was set for detonation upon impact and blasted a ten-metre-wide crater in the landscape, spraying tonnes of earth high into the air in all directions. A powerful shockwave spread out from the explosion with enough force to part the low cloud directly above, almost as if clearing a path for the thick pillar of black smoke that followed it into the sky.
“Revised fire coordinates,” Schmidt advised over the radio, his observations patched directly through to the control bunker at Sangatte as he watched the blast through his hatch episcopes. “Right one hundred… down three hundred… fire for effect!” The adjustments were instantly relayed to the gun crews, and appropriate alterations were made to the elevation and traverse of both weapons, Dora fired on those new coordinates a moment later as Gustav continued reloading its next shell.
Thorne, Kransky and Ritter were making their way through a small, wooded area behind the lines as that first shell landed to the north of their position, all three throwing themselves flat against the ground in response to the deafening, ‘tearing’ sound of the shell hurtling past overhead. It was somewhat fortunate they were all close to the ground in the following moments, as a huge blast wave tore through the trees around them, snapping thick branches like twigs and stripping them of foliage. All of them were stung by splintered wood and coated by a rain of earth and debris, and as they regained their feet once more they could clearly see the thick, black mushroom cloud through the trees as it rolled skyward.
“Okay… that’s just fuckin’ uncalled for…!” Thorne howled, fear and uncertainty suddenly showing clearly in his expression and tone as he stared up at the sight, no illusion in his mind as to the weapon tha’d just been used against them.
“We gonna just stand here and wait for the next one?” Kransky snarled angrily, shaking the man by the shoulder and bringing him back to his senses.
“Fuck that!” Thorne responded with a definite shake of his head, his ears still ringing from the blast. “If we don’t put some space between us and the target area right now, we’re going to be completely fucked…!” With that he was off and running again, the others in pursuit as they took off through the shattered wood, seeking safety in distance.
Davids and the crew of Grosvenor had been far enough away to be safe from the blast, but they’d been as terrified by it as the rest of the men in the lines nevertheless. A haze of smoke and dust hung like a grey-brown fog around the entire area and there’d been real concern that their firing pit would collapse and imprison their tank as the earth shook violently and the shockwave literally clanged off the Matilda’s armoured hide. Earth had showered down on them, along with some fairly large shell fragments, and none of the crew wanted to think about what it would’ve been like further along the lines, closer to the point of impact.
They didn’t have to wait long to find out. Dora’s first round landed further north, but this time just fifty metres long, and that was more than close enough to ensure anyone occupying the trenches in that area was killed outright by the blast overpressure, or buried alive as huge mounds of dirt and debris spread from the explosion in huge clouds of solid matter. Branches and tree trunks alike were pulverised and turned into lethal chunks of splintered wood that killed and severely maimed many outside of the immediate blast area, and Davids and his crew could only wait the barrage out in their locked down tank, knowing they were safe from shrapnel and debris inside the Matilda, but also well aware that there’d be nowhere to hide in the case of a direct hit or something similarly close.