During WWII, the Germans unleashed a colossal behemoth onto the battlefield.
Capable of firing shells the weight of a car, it required a 2,000-person crew to operate and left craters the size of buildings in its wake.
A 🧵 on the Schwerer Gustav, complete with rare footage.
In the annals of military history, few weapons stand out for their sheer audacity and size as the Schwerer Gustav, a massive German railway gun designed during World War II.
While it may seem straight out of a sci-fi movie, it was very much real.
This colossal piece of artillery was not just a weapon but a symbol of Germany’s ambition to wield unmatched firepower.
It was one of the heaviest and most destructive weapons ever built, capable of firing enormous shells over vast distances.
The Schwerer Gustav’s conception was rooted in the strategic thinking of the German military high command, who wanted a weapon capable of breaching the heavily fortified French defenses along the Maginot Line
However, it wasn’t until after the fall of France that the project began in earnest.
The gun was initially envisioned as a way to break through enemy fortifications that ordinary artillery couldn’t handle.
Designed by the German arms manufacturer Krupp, the Schwerer Gustav was a railway gun, meaning it was mounted on a railway carriage and could move along tracks.
The sheer scale of the gun was mind-boggling.
At a length of 47 meters (154 feet), with a caliber of 800mm (31.5 inches), it was the largest artillery piece ever built.
It fired shells that weighed nearly 7 tons and could travel over 47 kilometers (29 miles) to strike targets with devastating force.
The design required more than just a conventional factory: the gun’s sheer size and weight meant that it had to be assembled and operated in a custom-built railway yard.
The infrastructure to support such a weapon was equally colossal.
In fact, the Schwerer Gustav needed a dedicated railway system to move, which was itself a testament to the scope of the project.
The Schwerer Gustav was officially completed in 1941, but it wasn’t until 1942 that it saw combat.
The first major deployment of the gun came during the siege of Sevastopol in the Crimea, where German forces were attempting to break through Soviet defenses.
Once in position, the Schwerer Gustav opened fire. The shells it fired could demolish concrete bunkers, fortifications, and even entire sections of the city itself. But the gun's performance in battle was less than ideal.
The massive recoil often caused the gun’s carriage to shift, making precision difficult.
Additionally, the limited mobility and the time it took to set up the gun meant it couldn’t be used as effectively as hoped.
Despite its tremendous firepower, the Schwerer Gustav was not a game-changer.
While it inflicted significant damage on Sevastopol’s fortifications, it was slow and cumbersome.
In the end, the cost of operating such a weapon—both in terms of resources and manpower—proved to be impractical.
Only a few shells were fired before the gun was rendered inoperable, and the operation was deemed a failure.
The Schwerer Gustav serves as a reminder of the ambition, hubris, and misplaced priorities that often characterize war.
While its size and destructive power were unparalleled, it was a weapon that ultimately failed to deliver results on the battlefield.
Like the Tiger I—a brilliant piece of German engineering—the Schwerer Gustav was a technical marvel, but in practice, it revealed the limits of over-engineered solutions in modern warfare.
Both machines embodied the Nazi obsession with grandeur and technological supremacy, yet both were plagued by excessive maintenance needs, fuel consumption, and logistical nightmares that made them more symbolic than strategically decisive.
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While the rest of Europe still built warships one by one like cathedrals, the Dutch quietly invented the world’s first military-industrial assembly line.
This is the story of how their floating war machines built a global empire.
In the 16th century, the Dutch fought for survival against the Spanish.
They had no king, no vast territory, only wind, water, and a stubborn refusal to disappear.
To survive, Dutch shipbuilders industrialized shipbuilding centuries before the word “industrial” even existed.
Appearing on the front lines in 1942, this juggernaut seemed invincible.
Its armor too thick, its gun too devastating, its hull too impenetrable.
But as the war dragged on, whispers circulated, rumors of rare flaws inspired brave Allied souls to confront the beast.
In 1941, when Germany invaded the Soviet Union during Operation Barbarossa, the Wehrmacht quickly encountered the devastating effectiveness of the Soviet medium T-34 tanks.
The T-34 outclassed many of Germany’s existing tank models, exposing the limitations of the German armor and firepower.
As the war on the Eastern Front intensified, it became clear that Germany needed a more formidable vehicle to counter the growing Soviet threat.
Most men I know dream of honor in one form or another.
Leonidas found it in sacrifice.
At the Hot Gates, he and his Spartans made their famous last stand.
When ordered to surrender their arms, he gave history his immortal reply: “Come and take them.”
This is how it went down.
The year is 480 BC and the Persian Empire returns to Greece.
King Xerxes marches with a colossal army, Herodotus (a Greek historian and friend of the show) claims millions, but modern estimates put it at 100,000–250,000.
Still, it was overwhelming.
Greece was divided. Athens and Sparta agreed to resist, but many cities bowed to Persia.
A small force was sent north to block the invasion at a narrow coastal pass: Thermopylae, the Hot Gates.