Letterstime - Ein Geleitzug: Homeward Bound? Part LVII
July 8, 1915
---- Kolberg, course 150, speed 10 knots
"Sir, lookouts report small plume, bearing ...."
Dahm raised his binoculars carefully to his face. He had learned these last weeks that keeping the weight close to his chest reduced the pulling feeling in his ribs. Staring down the reported bearing, there was indeed a small trace there on the horizon.
The young CO lowered his glasses to just below his chin and checked the positions of his half-flotilla. He did so carefully by turning his head instead of pivoting or shifting his stance - another learned coping behavior. They were out on the starboard flank, his few torpedoboats an inadequate screen for a force the size of the one he helped guard and which now sought only to return to port without further incident.
"Signals, for flag, 'plume bearing 210, investigating'. For the flotilla: 'maintain station'."
"Aye, aye, sir."
---- Bremen and S.31, course 135, speed 11 knots
Conda eyed the large plume that remained in the distance off his port bow with mixed feelings, and hoped he had made the correct decision.
It had taken more than a few minutes and signals for Borys to convince Conda that he had hours ago sighted the British forces to the north and west. The torn and tattered TB loudly attested to the first-hand nature of Borys' evidence. Still, just how confident the cruiser CO really was in that conclusion remained unstated. In any case, the battered combined force had soon resumed course for home, with Conda all too keenly aware that he had begun this sortie with six TBs and now had just three, all of them damaged, including his elderly cruiser.
"Sir, new contact!"
"Scheiß!" Conda kept his reaction mostly muted.
The contact was on the same general bearing as the plume. A screen force?
"Warship, cruiser ...." "Scheiß!" Conda repeated.
"Sir, that's ... Kolberg? Yes, Kolberg, sir!"
Conda blinked at the apparently absurdity. Kolberg?! Kolberg had left for the Amerikas two months ago. His mind raced. Here? Had the fleet sortie then been to cover the return of the Hanzik Force? That made some sense, but why would she be out here performing outer screen duties instead of herself being part of the force being escorted?!
Well, he'd learn the answer eventually. For now, though, it appeared he'd made it back to the fleet. Or, wait, maybe he'd encountered Hanzik Force and not the fleet?
Who were these guys?
---- Rostock, course 150, speed 10 knots
Meanwhile, Kommodore von Hoban and Kaptain Westfeldt also had a sighting report. Multiple contacts closing at something like 15 - 20 knots. The smoke was characteristic of a flotilla.
From the east-south east!
The German ports were in that direction, of course, but his concern was that they might turn out to be an element of the British Harwich Force, known to be at sea. The verdammt Britishers could be anywhere!
He stared at the oncoming force wondering just who they were.
---- Ostfriesland, 10 knots, course 150
Things had just turned busy aboard the force's semi-flagship.
"Sir, Rostock reports new contact, contacts, bearing 135."
"Very well," acknowledged Vice-Admiral Rudburg. Ironically, or perhaps tellingly, the admiral's next thought was virtually identical to Westfeldt's on Rostock, that the damn Britishers could be anywhere. Unlike the cruiser CO, however, he was pretty sure he knew who these newcomers would turn out to be.
"Sir, Kolberg reports the contact to the south west is Bremen Force ..."
Ah, the long lost Bremen Force had finally turned up. Hopefully, for their commander's sake, all their transmitters had failed.
" ... best speed 11 knots."
What?! Eleven knots?! Rudburg hid his reaction well, including his brief moment of shame. A best speed of 11 knots suggested a lot more had happened to them than failing transmitters! "Very well," he replied evenly, "pass that on to Moltke." Admiral Hanzik would probably be with Letters and the Moltke's CO might not understand the potential significance. A flag signal from another vice-admiral should ensure that the information got to the Baron.
"Sir, from Rostock, contact is a flotilla."
"Moltke has acknowledged, sir."
"More from Rostock, sir. Flotilla from Fourth Battle Squadron, sir."
"Very well. Kaptain, when they report to flag, learn what you can from them concerning our rendezvous with the rest of Fourth Battle Squadron. After that, assign them to Kommodore von Hoban. Signals, report their arrival to Moltke."
Another thing Letters would want to know.
"Sir, Admiral Necki has reported by wireless to Admiral Letters." The messenger offered the transcribed message. Rudburg took it but had a question before he read it.
"Did Moltke acknowledge?" This shared flag duty situation was becoming increasingly a pain, but Letters had clearly intended for him - Rudburg - to shield him from the routine while he debriefed Ballin and Hanzik. Some things, however, did need to get past the filter and any sort of battle report from Necki would be in that category.
"Ah, yes, sir."
"Gut," Rudburg looked down then and began to read the brief account, including the exact count of dreadnoughts in the British force. Yes, there might well be another cripple out there, and a few hours still remained before dusk and the few hours of what passed as night at this time of year.
---- Imperator, course 150, speed 10 knots
Fox found little solace in the accuracy of his prediction as he worked at controlling his breathing. The Germans were going to seize his stuff! His thoughts threatened to fragment in his helplessness. They could throw him in prison! Or worse. After all, he wasn't in the United States; he was already in their power and they could make him disappear without a trace if he tried to fight them.
"Herr Fox," Ballin's quiet tones brought him back. Passengers had gotten upset many times over the years and he could read the young American like an open book. "Herr Fox, only today's material is affected. Probably not even all of today's."
"I don't understand."
"Your safe," Ballin began. "You've been storing all of your material, including your films, in your safe, yes?"
Omigod, Fox thought, but he nodded his head as he tried to conceal his panic. Just about everything since they'd left the French islands was in there, other than his working notes. All his film. His finished pieces. Some of them he could recreate, but not the films! Dozens of stories, hundreds of photographs!
"My chief steward has confirmed that you have not accessed the vault yet today, yes?"
Fox nodded again, warily. The Germans had his film. He had covered several kidnapping stories over the years and few ended as happily as Bobby Dunbar's. (NOTE 1) What ransom were they demanding?
"I have assigned you a new one, a second one."
"What about the ... other one?"
"I have ordered it sealed.
"Sealed?" Whatthehell?!"
"To protect it; keep it separate from today's. Nothing inside it will be touched. You have my word on it."
"You word?" Ballin had told the reporters before that he could not control the military.
"And the Admiral's. I have discussed this with him and he has agreed."
"I'm sorry, Herr Ballin." Maybe they were not going to take his stuff after all? His pulse slowed some. At least, not all of it. Maybe. "But I still don't quite understand. What about my rolls from today?" Twelve rolls, or had it been fifteen?
The stuff in the safe was good, much of it very good, and some even front page below the fold. Today's battle damage shots, though, were gold if he had really got them and if they developed as he hoped. Front page above the fold, many of them. The stuff of headlines and editorials, photos so good that arguments over their captions could provoke fisticuffs. He and Max had both had photos like that after the battle off New York, but Fox had these all to himself.
Exclusives! Careers were made by Exclusives.
If the Germans didn't take them away from him.
"The Admiral proposes ...."
"Excuse me, Herr Ballin. A moment, bitte. Which admiral?" He had seen the flags of four or five admirals, or maybe commodores. "Admiral Hanzik?" The reporters had met Hanzik a few times and found him hard but fair. And he'd kept his word. Scrupulously.
"Ah, nein, nein. Admiral Letters."
"Why not Admiral Hanzik?" Whointhehell was Admiral Letters?
"Admiral Hanzik reports to Admiral Letters - Vice-Admiral Letters, I should say - Commander of the German Fleet. Equivalent to your Admiral Stennis."
"Oh." He sounded important, but Fox hated the idea of any deal that depended on the word of a man he'd never even seen, let alone never met. "This Letters is here?"
"Yes, I just came from meeting with him aboard Moltke. This officer is one of his aides."
Fox barely glanced at the man. He'd instantly dismissed him, even forgetting his name. He was young. Too young, early 20s. Definitely not a big leaguer.
"I see. Thank you, Herr Ballin. Now, what did you say Admiral ... Letters was proposing?"
---- Room 40
Commanders Sartore and Jan were among those puzzling over the latest.
The Huns had practically moved heaven and earth in mounting the pursuit of the British Fleet, only to break off after a few salvos and head off back from whence they came. The tense moments after Letters had moved to engage had been replaced by an ominous silence in the ether after he'd turned away. Thankfully, Admiral DeRobeck had put paid to any notions of KM mischief by affixing to the Hun hides the intrepid Commodore Nott.
Minutes later, DeRobeck had then shaped for Rosyth and, minutes after that, both Jan and Sartore had fallen instantly asleep in their chairs.
Until this message had dragged them back out of them, heavy-lidded with the taste of ashes in their throats.
"Admiral who?" Jan protested, his voice croaking as he looked around for the water pitcher and a glass. "Not Letters? Who in the bloody hell is Necki? "
"Could be right," Sartore replied, pausing to yawn, his mouth cavernous behind his hand. "One source had him commanding the battlecruisers and DeRobeck reported the mixed force he'd engaged had three of them."
Jan blinked muzzily at the position noted on the intercept, and then up at the wall map. It seemed to match where the pursuit force had been last reported by Commodore Nott.
"If they decoded this right," Jan said at last, "whoever he is, he's off hunting phantasms."
"That bothered me, as well. Can't the Huns count as high as nine?"
---- Imperator, course 150, speed 10 knots
"All of my film from now until we port? You'll develop all of it? Here?"
"Yes, Imperator has ample facilities. This will allow both you and the German authorities to see your latest work before it is published."
"And, no doubt, to prevent anything getting published that they don't like."
"Who in die Hölle," wondered Letters' young aide to himself, "does this Amerikaner think he is?"
"Yes, correct," Ballin agreed, imperturbably. "Unfortunately, Germany is at war and photographs showing the extent of damage to major warships would be of great value to our enemies. Surely you can see that, yes?"
"There was no such issue with the pictures after the battle at New York."
"That damage was very public, of course, and involved only a detached squadron. The ships here are the middle, er, the core of my nation's fleet and the only way the British will learn the details is if they get their hands on your photographs."
"They'll learn eventually anyway," Fox objected.
"Yes," Ballin nodded. "You make a good point. And, indeed, the Admiral has not ordered any of your material destroyed. Perhaps, well, I can not commit the Baron, er, Vice-Admiral Letters, but perhaps the sensitive photographs could be held for a time and released later."
Who would hold them? And for how long? How could he ever get them back? Fox wanted to demand answers, but it was clear that Ballin did not have any. Still, there was something about the way Ballin had said that last part. More than one something, actually.
"You called him a 'baron'?"
"Yes, and kin to Kaiser Wilhelm himself."
"The stuff in the safe is good, really good, but today's ...," Fox licked his lips nervously as he decided to play his hunch, "today's shots will have the front pagers. And those'll be the very ones you're going to be taking away."
"Not I," Ballin protested mildly, "but nonetheless I fear you're quite correct."
Fox waited, pretty sure he was reading the HAPAG owner right and that he had a deal in mind.
"Let us develop your film, tonight," suggested Ballin, after a few moments of tense silence. "And then, in the morning, you can accompany them yourself over to Moltke and plead your case. Perhaps, even to Baron Vice-Admiral Letters, Commander - High Seas Fleet, himself."
"I agree," Fox said. Yes, a personal interview with the Head Hun himself! It wouldn't replace the pix, but it was a hell of a start. And maybe something else would turn up. He would certainly press for more, and press hard. It was what reporters did. Good ones, anyway.
Author's NOTE:
The Bobby Dunbar kidnapping case was a national sensation in the United States for almost two years before the Great War (1912-1914). The blonde-haired four-year old disappeared on a fishing trip in North Carolina and was the subject of a massive search. Bloodhounds, lakes dynamited, alligators cut open, and the net cast wider and wider. Eight months later, the boy was found in Mississippi in the company of an itinerant handyman from North Carolina. The child was proven to be Bobby Dunbar by a foot scar and a neck mole that corresponded to ones on the missing child. The man was convicted but served just two years before being released: his trial was set aside on a technicality and the state declined to suffer the expense to retry. See the link for the remarkable rest of the story:
