Letterstime - Ein Geleitzug: Homeward Bound? Part LVI
July 8, 1915
---- Queen Elizabeth, course 300, speed 10 knots
The Huns had turned away and out run the stalking water spouts.
Commander Boy exhaled, his larynx resonating in a creditable growl at the great rush of air from deep in his chest. The sound only accentuated his resemblance to a great but tethered predator discovering that a choice bit had fled just beyond reach.
The only other noise in the compartment was the click-click-click from the hilt of the frustrated Boy's claymore tapping against the top of the scabbard as he drew it out a few inches than slammed it back in again.
---- Großer Kurfürst, course 030, speed 15 knots
The British were slipping below the horizon and the flotillas had been ordered out wide.
Very wide.
"Sir, from flag, 'Course 150'."
"Very well," acknowledged Kaptain Schnell, as he.reviewed the damage report summary with a mixture of grief and relief. He had lost men and might lose more, but his command's propulsion and main gun combat power remained unimpaired. His command was still ready and able to do whatever Admiral Necki had in mind.
Whatever it was.
---- Warspite, course 300, speed 10 knots
Swafford was listening to his XO report on damage and casualties as he kept one eye on Admiral DeRobeck on the other side of the bridge. The Germans continued to open the range and, after their brisk reception, showed no eagerness to try them again. The admiral turned away from the thinning plume and looked towards Marlborough and Neptune, a few thousand yards to the south-southwest. After a few seconds, he glanced back at the hull-down Germans and turned to face the other officers.
"Signals," began DeRobeck, having obviously reached a decision, "course 220."
As the flags went up the hoists, DeRobeck instructed his staff on screen dispositions and his intention to return to eight knots once they had rejoined Marlborough and Neptune. Not all of his force elements would be falling in together, however. The Huns were not to be trusted. As little as six months ago, no one in His Majesty's Royal Navy would have given serious consideration to the prospect that their German counterparts would pursue a numerically superior RN force, let alone engage it, break off, and then try something else like, perhaps, an end around.
A lot had happened in the last six months, however. So much had changed that DeRobeck made provisions to forestall any such Hun adventure without even a second thought.
Fortunately, he had readily at hand the precise tool for the task.
---- Derfflinger, course 030, speed 15 knots
"Execute," Necki ordered.
The British had been challenged, but they remained in good order, under close command control, and battle ready. The confirmed number of dreadnoughts and cripples remained a dissonant total, however. The admiral rubbed at his short gray hair as he revisited that datum.
The Baron had fought nine and one had been confirmed destroyed. That left eight afloat, or should have. Of those eight, one had been reported as badly damaged and two more as lightly or moderately damaged. By forcing a meeting engagement, he had compelled the British admiral to reveal the condition of his ships. He had thus confirmed that two dreadnoughts were indeed crippled, so much so that the enemy admiral had kept them out of the battle even though their addition would have provided him superior numbers. The fact that one of the dreadnoughts the admiral did commit to battle had a disabled turret only further testified to the likely damage state of the two he had withheld.
The British force had thus been confirmed to include three damaged dreadnoughts that fairly matched the descriptions provided by the Baron's senior aide. If anything, the original battle damage estimates had been proved to be low, which ran counter to most experience but was not entirely without precedent.
No, the part that had Necki pawing at his pate was that he had faced just seven dreadnoughts, not eight.
An RN dreadnought remained unaccounted for!
The most likely explanation appeared to be that another British dreadnought had been damaged in the dark and confused Regenschlacht. Perhaps it had gone down.
But perhaps it had not.
A sorely lamed dreadnought would have posed a terrible dilemma to the British commanding admiral, especially now, with the fleets so nearly equal in strength that a single dreadnought could well be the difference between victory and defeat. Yet, risking the entire force would have been irresponsible. A calculated compromise might well have been to take the rest of the fleet and its heavy smoke plumes ostentatiously away, leaving her captain to quietly make his way back as best he could, along with enough escorts to fend off light craft and u-boats, or simply to take off her crew should she finally succumb.
For that matter, the tally of RN light at this last engagement had also been a bit lower than he had expected, assuming that the full Harwich Force had competently effected rendezvous. A flotilla escorting a cripple would account for the absent light.
As unlikely as it might have seemed, Necki had concluded that he could not rule out that a crippled enemy dreadnought might well be back there in his former wake.
If not, then what the hell had happened to it?!
---- Moltke, course 150, speed 10 knots
Vice-Admiral Letters had listened as Admiral Hanzik related the events off New York, Philadelphia, and Boston, focusing on the conduct of the US Navy. Four very different Amerikaner admirals had he dealt with, culminating in a tense face off outside Boston with no fewer than seven dreadnoughts. (NOTE 1)
An amazing story, thought Letters, and his mouth quirked as he reached for the now cool tea. He had just wondered at the expression on the face of that proud Amerikaner fleet commander when he figured out that all during his highly orchestrated confrontation the rest of Hanzik's force had been en route to invade North America.
"Seven dreadnoughts, eh? You seemed to have breathed a bit of life into them," Letters noted. "I hope you don't feel slighted, but there was a report that three days later the Americans sortied nine dreadnoughts to meet the Britishers sent to deal with you." (NOTE 2)
They chuckled at the image. They of the Kaiserliche Marine had always had to face superior numbers in battle. The British proclaimed that their navy would always be as strong as the next two together. Things had changed this year, but the British admiral finding himself facing nine dreadnoughts with just a pair of his own was well worth a smile.
The other side of that coin, however, and Letters' smile ebbed at the thought, was that any German mistake or Britisher plea or ploy could result in the KM having to face those same nine dreadnoughts. He took a swallow; it went down hard.
Like it or not, he was going to have to find some way to mollify that Amerikaner reporter.
---- Imperator, course 150, speed 10 knots
Fox did not know why Ballin asked him to the Owner's Suite. He also did not recognize the young man with him. He was a complete stranger.
They shook hands as Ballin made the introductions. The German seemed uncomfortable doing it, as though it was not a normal custom. Or maybe it was something else.
The man was not in HAPAG uniform but a military one. A sailor? No, a naval officer, he corrected himself. The name didn't register as his thoughts raced. He had not been aboard - that's why he hadn't seen him before. He must have come back with Ballin from the German flagship. He had a feeling that - whatever this meeting was about - he wasn't going to like it.
---- Southampton, course 000, speed 15 knots
Commodore Nott might have turned to trail the Germans when they turned away but two things had stopped him.
First, the Hun short flotilla had been directly athwart the bearing he would have chosen. Turning into a formation of torpedo craft without orders to do so would never rank high among his likely choices.
Second, he had not been ordered to pursue or follow the Germans. Yes, yes, he was allowed some initiative out here at the edge repeater-extended of flag range, but he was reluctant to test those waters when the flag hoists belonged to the Commander - Grand Fleet. Turning away when the Huns had tried to catch him napping could hardly be faulted. Turning to follow them beyond sight of the flagship was quite another.
Now, however, both of those things had been settled. The Germans had - somewhat tardily - gone to join the others of their kind.
And Admiral DeRobeck had just detached him with orders to remain in contact with them.
---- Bremen, course 135, speed 11 knots
Unbeknownst to Necki, half of his answers had deliberately evaded him.
Conda had gone back to a southeasterly heading once the mysterious smoke plumes had vanished from the northern horizon. That had been several hours ago. Whatever the source had been, it or they had gone from east to west at something like 15 or 20 knots. RN dreadnought and AC formations both met that description so curiosity on the identity of the plume source had been easily suppressed aboard his 11 knot command.
He looked around. For the CO of a cripple, an empty horizon was a good horizon.
"Sir, plume bearing 095."
Damn, thought Conda. Well, maybe the contact could be avoided.
"Come to course 180."
He'd give it a try. His chances might be better if he turned west, but that would take him away from safety, and he really did not want to do that.
Now, if only these guys would be on some northerly or westerly heading.
---- S.31, course 080, speed 13.5 knots
The rest of Necki's answers and, in fact, several of Letters', had also spotted a large plume. The difference between Borys and Conda, though, was that Borys had been hoping for a sighting. So when they'd had one, he'd turned to attempt a rendezvous.
He had full confidence that any contact to the east would be German. After all, he'd seen a large British force pass uncomfortably close by to the west on a northerly heading, their high speed indicating that they were clearly heading somewhere - almost certainly to join their fleet.
Thus, the enemy would be to the west, and that had been many hours ago. Even at 13 knots, that put the enemy quite some distance astern.
Anyway, damn he was hungry!
"Sir, contact, bearing 010!"
"Scheiß!"
Borys nearly fell over, so hard did he pivot.
"Range ... 8,000 yards!"
He had no torpedoes left. Practically no guns. He wasn't going to be able to outrun any warship. And it was a warship, though not a large one. Another Brit cruiser? Was there no end to the damn things?!
"Torpedoboats, at least two ...!"
"Sir! She's German. Heavily damaged, but Hans thinks she's Bremen."
Hans turned out to be right. Borys forgot about the plume as he wondered if he dared ask for some food.
Author's NOTEs:
1) See:
http://www.thequickbluefox.com/EinG-jun18-decisions-37.html
2) See:
