THE FORESIGHT WAR (10 page)
Authors: Anthony G Williams
‘Thank God we managed to hold back the other tracked vehicles.
It’s bad enough giving the Germans a free view of this lot.’
‘Don’t thank God,’ corrected Dunning, ‘thank the Oversight Committee.’
His last words were drowned out by the roar of aero-engines as formations of warplanes flew low overhead, beneath the cloudbase.
A fleet of Hurricanes, Spitfires, Blenheims, Hampdens and Wellingtons filled the sky.
Don anxiously studied the Hampdens.
The other aircraft would look familiar enough to anyone of his time, but thanks to his advice the Handley Page bomber was significantly different, with its circular-section fuselage, big Hercules engines and power-operated dorsal and ventral gun-turrets.
‘Sorry about the Hampdens,’ shouted Dunning.
‘It was hard enough keeping the RAF from including Reapers, Mosquitoes and Herefords, but we managed to persuade them that it wouldn’t be in the interests of national security.
And of course, the Fleet Air Arm wanted their Beaufighters and Beauforts to join the fun as well.
Had to promise them a separate naval review to pacify them.’
Don grimaced. The Gloster Reaper was an historical design which had been brought forward at his recommendation. A single-seat long-range fighter, its twin Merlin engines gave it a phenomenal performance and the quartet of Hispano cannon under the nose provided firepower to match. The Mosquito was very much as he remembered it, whereas the Hereford was a variant of the Hampden with a solid nose packed with machine guns, powerful anti-tank guns installed in the bomb bay and additional armour protection for the ground-attack role. He wasn’t sure if Bristol had been influenced to name their new carrier planes after historical models, but in any case the Beaufighter and Beaufort were very different. The former was a single-engined, single-seat fighter-bomber based on Bristol’s historical
Type 153 design study for a Hercules-engined fighter.
The Beaufort, a single-engined, multi-role two-seater, was as similar as possible, using the same engine installation and many common parts to ease maintenance in service.
Dunning suddenly rummaged in an inside pocket.
‘By the way, I think we’ve identified your friend.’
He produced an envelope which Don opened under cover of Dunning’s umbrella.
In it was a photograph of a man in civilian clothes standing in a group of men, mostly in German military uniform, except for someone standing close to him who was wearing a leather coat.
‘Part of Hitler’s entourage.
We have several photographs of him, but so far have been unable to find out who he is.
All we know is his name: Professor Herrman.
He holds no official position and we’ve been unable to trace his background.’
Don stared at the photograph with sudden intensity, as if to try to read the man’s mind.
The picture showed a tall, slim, bespectacled figure in his late sixties with light, probably grey, wavy hair.
He seemed preoccupied, somehow depressed.
‘It would fit Hitler’s character to want to keep a chap like this around him.
Probably makes him feel more confident.’
What are you doing?
Don thought.
What is motivating you?
Do you remember the Cold War, the Common Market, German reunification?
What is in your mind?
Herrman was feeling bored.
He studied the photographs again and looked up at Stadler.
‘I can’t tell you much,’ he said hesitantly, ‘but I believe these ships carried few aircraft because of the weight of their armoured decks.
They were never as effective as the Japanese or American carriers.’
He pushed back the photographs of the
Ark Royal
and
Illustrious
.
They had all been taken at flight-deck level so that the angled deck was not obvious.
Herrman was not to know of the efforts the Oversight Committee had put in to ensure that no more revealing pictures emerged.
Neither did he realise that the biplanes carefully parked on the decks bore no resemblance to the fast monoplanes with which the navy pilots were practising away from prying eyes.
Stadler sighed.
‘Very well then, do these jog your memory?
They are the new battleships
King George V
and
Prince of Wales
.’
Herrman shrugged.
‘The names are familiar, but I really can’t tell you much about their strengths and weaknesses.
I seem to remember that they had a lot of trouble with their main armament.
It was a new design, and kept breaking down in action.’
Stadler looked at him in astonishment.
‘But these use old guns and turrets from Great War ships.
That’s why they could build them so quickly.’
Herrman frowned, confused.
Stadler pushed forward some pictures of the Hyde Park Review.
‘What about their mechanised division?’
Herrman studied the photographs and his confusion increased.
‘Six-wheeled armoured cars?
And these tanks have sloped armour!
I’m certain that something is wrong here.’
Stadler looked at him intently,
then
drew some more photographs from his briefcase.
‘These were taken with great difficulty at an army training ground by a sympathiser of Irish origin.
What do you make of them?’
Herrman’s breath hissed out at the sight of the box-shaped parachutes.
He scrabbled quickly through the photographs, stopping at a slightly blurred close-up of the back of a paratrooper.
The Besal rifle slung over his shoulder was clearly visible, the brutal appearance of the bullpup quite unlike any rifle which should be in existence.
Herrman stared at it in growing horror.
‘Oh my God,’ he said slowly.
Himmler was coldly furious.
‘So all of the time you have been telling us that you can give us the key to world domination, the British have had someone doing the same for them?’
The two men did not reply.
Herrman noticed that the SD man’s normal air of ironic insouciance was not in evidence.
Himmler paced in agitation.
‘Does this change our plans?
What threat can the British mount against us?’
Stadler diplomatically let Herrman reply.
‘It’s difficult to say.
We have discussed it, of course, but it is difficult to see how the British could stop us on land.
If they warned the Poles, I can’t see that making much difference.
Our armed forces are far too strong for them.
In any case, the British have refrained from giving any guarantee to Poland and the French are keeping very quiet about their old treaty.
The signs are good that they will not even declare war this time.’
Himmler glared at him.
‘What about us defeating the British?’
‘That will be much more difficult.
They will certainly be better prepared for an invasion.
I still think, though, that our new submarines will be more than a match for them.
We can still starve them to the negotiating table.’
Himmler stared coldly at them.
‘I don’t think you realise how serious this is.
It isn’t just a question of military advantage.
The Führer is convinced that your arrival is a sign of his destiny.’
He made a rapid decision.
‘Tell no-one of this.
I will put some trusted men onto examining the military implications and planning appropriate measures.
In the meantime, no-one – and I mean absolutely no-one – is to be informed.’
Autumn 1939
‘The French are panicking, as expected.’
Dunning had become quite philosophical about the onward march of events during his years of association with Don.
‘Germany’s non-aggression pact with the Soviet Union is causing some real flutters.’
Don grunted.
‘Well it might.
Nine days to go.
Let’s hope to God that someone’s sitting on Chamberlain to make sure that he doesn’t make any last-minute commitments to Poland.’
‘Well in hand,’ murmured Dunning absently.
‘Do you think there’s any chance that France will honour their treaty and declare war on Germany, even without us?’
Don shrugged.
‘We’re in uncharted waters, so anything’s possible.
I very much doubt it, though.
They know they’re in no shape militarily to take on the Germans, so they’ll find any excuse to wriggle out of it.
Their Foreign Minister is still strongly in favour of reaching some sort of deal with Germany even though their Premier is made of sterner stuff.
Makes you wonder how Bonnet and Daladier can live together in the same government.
Still, I gather Diplomat is trying to get them to agree a common sanctions policy.’
He looked at his watch and sighed.
‘The
Schleswig-Holstein
should be on her way to Danzig by now.’
Dunning nodded.
‘She was missing from her Swinemunde moorings this morning, according to a reconnaissance report.
We’re expecting to receive a sighting report from Danzig at any moment.’
Don nodded tensely.
The
Schleswig-Holstein
was an old battleship that Germany had been permitted to keep after the First World War.
Her visit to Danzig was prearranged and ceremonial, but she was a ‘Trojan horse’, with over two hundred marines on board to supplement the hundreds of German troops who had been surreptitiously infiltrated into the supposedly demilitarised ‘Free City’ over recent months.
In addition, regular German Army forces were poised to cross the border from
When the old battleship opened fire on the Polish military transport depot on the Westerplatte, by the docks, it would be a giant starting gun to mark the beginning of the Second World War.
Käpitan zur See Gustav Kleikamp checked his watch.
The time was
Schleswig-Holstein
, the long red brick wall marking the boundary of the Polish base on the Westerplatte was just three hundred metres away.
He turned to the gunnery officer and gave the order.
The ship shook as the four 28 cm guns opened fire, shattering the silence with a massive blast, their 240 kg shells screaming towards the base at over 800 metres per second, the shock wave from the muzzle blast alone flattening buildings en route.
The Westerplatte erupted with flame, smoke and earth as the shells hit home.
In the sudden silence following the first salvo, the battleship’s 5.9 cm secondary guns made themselves heard against the background of the tearing sound of the 2 cm AA guns, all firing at the beseiged base.
The Marine-Sturmkompanie had disembarked from the battleship a couple of hours before and was now a few hundred metres from the Polish base, waiting for the firing to stop so they could advance.
The Leutnant in charge turned from observing the destruction on the Westerplatte to watch the
Schleswig-Holstein
, waiting for the next salvo from the big guns.
He gasped in disbelief as two huge columns of water suddenly rose from the side of the ship, followed a second later by the blast of high explosives.
At first, the old battleship seemed unperturbed, but as the Leutnant watched, the ship gradually tilted towards him and, in what seemed an impossibly short space of time, capsized with majestic dignity.
The Leutnant turned to face his stunned men, and realised that they would lose all heart if he didn’t act immediately.
‘Advance,’ he shouted, and rising to his feet led his men towards the railway gate.
There was a blast as explosives placed by an advanced team flattened the wall by the gate and the marines rushed through, only to tumble to the ground, shot or shaken by the hail of automatic fire from the Polish defences.
The battle for the Westerplatte would be a long one.
As dawn broke on September 1st the Oberleutnant looked down on a misty landscape as his Junkers 88 led the Staffel towards Krakow.
As the bombers neared the city, the small dots which were Polish defensive fighters rose to meet them from Balice.
The obsolete PZL P11 fighters struggled for altitude but the Schnellbombers, the fastest in service in the world, simply increased speed and flashed past them, turning to line up on the airfield.
The Oberleutnant’s orders had been clear; the Polish airforce had to be wiped out.
As he aimed the bomber at the airfield buildings and the few aircraft left on the ground, he heard over the radio the crisp interchanges of the Fw 187 pilots as they dived from high altitude on the Polish fighters.
His air gunners wouldn’t need to expend any ammunition on this sortie.