Letterstime - Ein Geleitzug: Homeward Bound? Part L
July 8, 1915
---- Warspite, course 270, speed 8 knots
DeRobeck stared into the plot, considering various courses of action. He had seven dreadnoughts, though Marlborough added essentially no combat power past
about 10,000 yards. If Letters overhauled him with six dreadnoughts capable of 18 knots and a solid screen, the German might well decide the chance of a
decisive victory would never be better than today. DeRobeck decided that, under those conditions, he would probably agree with that assessment himself.
Inconstant's relayed reports had, however, specified just five capital ships, and three of them battlecruisers and not dreadnoughts. An unusual and
laudable level of specificity from the acting-CO of a badly damaged light cruiser under fire and facing destruction, and in the finest traditions of the
Service. If those reports were correct, he did not think that the Germans had sufficient force to warrant the risks of forcing an engagement, though his
inscrutable German opposite number - of course - might feel differently.
The British admiral massaged the back of his neck in thought. What screen force could the Germans have? They would have been forced to leave a strong force
to ward their cripples. Or - wait! - could Letters have scuttled the lame? All of them? Or just accepted all risks? And then just launched a general
pursuit with everything that could do 18 knots? There certainly seemed to have been a considerable number of German warships unaccounted in that blundering
brawl last night. How many? Which ones?
Well, he said to himself, straightening up, those questions and others would soon be answered, for he had precisely the right person out in his distant
screen on that vector.
---- Southampton, course 330, speed 16 knots
"Sir! Lookouts report contact ... multiple contacts, bearing 095. Range 15,000 yards. Light ships, sir. Destroyers or torpedoboats."
"Very well," replied Commodore Nott urbanely, as he swung his binoculars onto the bearing. This was a favorable aspect, should the newcomers be
German, so he gave no orders. Instead, he glanced astern.
---- Dublin, course 330, speed 16 knots
LCDR Cyrus Phonone could easily spot the Commodore's look in his direction, as the bow of his command knifed through the waves just 250 yards in
Southampton's wake. After all, Nott had been doing the same thing ever since dawn had followed the very short night. Phonone suspected (quite rightly)
that his superior officer might have been doing it all night long, but that he had simply not been able to detect it.
Phonone did not resent the scrutiny. After all, he had been a lieutenant until just a few weeks ago, and a lieutenant who'd lost his ship at that,
having swum away from Tiger at the disaster off Dogger Bank in January. Before the decapitation of Dublin's XO, who had himself been acting-CO in
Captain Kelly's absence, Phonone had commanded nothing larger than an away party, much less a cruiser in battle. (NOTE 1) No, the Commodore was quite
correct to keep his eye on Dublin.
"Sir, lookouts report destroyers - five or more - bearing 090, range 15,000 yards."
Snapping out of his mini-reverie, Phonone looked east.
"Sir, they're ours."
Signal lights blinked on two of the leaders. The destroyers were coming on at speed mostly into the wind, so any flags they might send up would be tough to
read until they got much closer. Phonone had just enough time to focus his binoculars on the lamps and wonder what messages they were sending when it became
obvious.
"Sir! Plume, bearing 095. Multiple sources."
---- Moltke, stopped
Admirals Hanzik and Letters were discussing matters in low tones out on the starboard wingbridge.
"Sir, Helgoland reports ready for 8 knots."
"Very well," Letters acknowledged. "Signals Officer, hoist 'Conclude rescue operations, report readiness to get underway'."
Some of the small boats had been winched back onto the parent vessels, but most had not. Several had ranged further afield in the direction from whence the
torpedo attack had come after the bow of RN destroyer had been spotted poking out of the waves. Within two minutes, nearly all of the boats were clearly on
their way back. The two exceptions were ones still actively fishing men out of the water. It was another, however, upon which Letters focused.
"Has the boat with my aide cast off from Imperator yet?"
"No, sir."
Letters frowned. There had been ample time.
---- Derfflinger, course 310, speed 21 knots
"Sir, lookouts report new contact, bearing 270. Two contacts, sir."
Those on the bridge turned their attention to that bearing.
"Cruisers, sir. Town class. Range 23,000 yards. They were on a northerly course, but have gone about onto a westerly one." Their sudden turn
had produced clear profiles.
Commodore Nott had not waited for the destroyers' signals to be read, or even finished. The appearance of the plume in apparent pursuit had produced an
immediate and damnably familiar physiological response.
"Patrol? Or outer screen, Admiral?" Kaptain Theodor's tone had him betting on the latter.
"My guess, as well," Necki nodded. "Could always be random pickets, I suppose, but I don't think so. Our Commander's emissary,"
the admiral flicked a glance at Kapitäleutnant Neumarialand by the chart table, "reported that at least one of the enemy column leaders had been very
hard hit last night. She either sank or is managing eight knots or better." Any slower and they would have sighted her by now. "If she's
under ten knots, I estimate that we should be within forty or fifty thousand yards of her."
As a column leader, the ship in question would have been either Iron Duke of Queen Elizabeth class, Theodor thought. Either would be quarry enough to
justify pursuit.
"Alter course to follow, sir?"
"I doubt they'd be considerate enough to point the way. No, if the British really are nursing a cripple, they're still north as well as west of
us."
---- Moltke, stopped
"Sir, small boat casting off from Imperator at this time."
"Very well. Is my aide aboard?"
"There is an officer aboard, sir. There's also a civilian. Possibly Herr Ballin, sir."
"Very well," said Letters, then turned back to the other flag officer. "That ... formation ... saved HOW much fuel?"
Hanzik hid a grin as he stated the estimates. He had yet to share the fact that his men had named the formation after one of his cruiser captains. Letters
blinked at him in disbelief. There was only one way he could imagine such numbers might be even remotely possible.
Hanzik waited for it.
"And exactly how close were your ships to each other?" Letters finally asked.
"Guter Gott!" Exclaimed Letters at that particular answer. "It's a wonder your helmsmen and bridge crews did not go mad!"
The HSF Commander closed his eyes thinking just how glad he was not to have known of this. He'd had trouble enough sleeping these last weeks without
adding nightmares of mid-Atlantic collisions of exceedingly irreplaceable ships.
"They seemed to get used to it, Admiral. In fact, the bosuns soon sported in sending messages ship to ship by rolling them into pieces of capped pipe
and then casting them onto adjacent hulls." (NOTE 2)
"Mein Gott!"
Hanzik was smiling broadly now, completely unrepentant. The Sieg had improved fuel consumption enough to boost their transit speed by over a full knot,
maybe even two, and Letters now knew it. They had pulled off a miracle for the Baron and dispensations would be without limit.
"And, sir, the Americans on the Vaterland and Imperator ...." Hanzik paused.
"Ja?" Letters tone remained wary in light of the other's smirk.
"They had a snowball fight." Hanzik paused again. "Hours long."
Letters just looked at him, knowing there had to be more.
"Between the liners." (NOTE 3)
---- Warspite, course 270, speed 8 knots
"Sir, Commodore Nott.reports that Inconstant's destroyers have joined him, and that the Germans are in sight. Four to six capital ships. Multiple
flotillas. Leader is Derfflinger class battlecruiser."
DeRobeck lowered his glasses and looked at the plot, as the position was given. The enemy was about 40,000 yards to the southeast.
"The Germans are on course 300, speed 20 knots. The Commodore reports on course 270."
Captain Swafford nodded at that. Nott was trying to draw the Huns off the scent. It probably wouldn't work, but it was worth the attempt.
---- Moltke, stopped
All official business had come to a complete halt. Kaptain Stang was frozen in place, mouth agape. It was just as well that the battlecruiser was at All
Stop, because all the others on the bridge - including the helmsman - were pretty much in the same state. The Entente Combined Fleet could have steamed past
and they might not have noticed it.
The Hanzik Force had been gone for weeks and the Fleet had just fought a desperate battle to allow their return. The wrecks of many ships and the smoke
trails from many others gave ample testament to the seriousness of their situation. Yet, outside on the wingbridge of the current flagship of the
Kaiserliche Marine High Seas Fleet, its Commander was clutching hard at one rail, laughing so hard he could barely stand. Admiral Hanzik's condition was
little better, propped up as he was by the other rail, clasping his sides as though he feared they would split without support.
"Eine Schneeballschlacht?!"
Author's NOTEs:
1) For background, see:
2) The bosuns quickly named the message system, as well. See NOTE 7 here:
3) There had indeed been some snowball horseplay the previous day aboard both liners, but the liner-to-liner exchanges had actually involved wet and knotted white towels. Hanzik had had the earlier hijinks reported to him and so, when he witnessed the "missileage" himself, jumped to the obvious conclusion. See:
By the way, no one had yet developed the nerve to report to their Admiral their suspicions on what else might have passed in the night:
