Letterstime - Ein Geleitzug: Homeward Bound? Part LIX
"In practice, the most effective authentication codes are the ones not recognizable as such."
---- Case Studies in Cryptography, page iii, Donald MacIsaac, op. cit.
July 9, 1915
---- Philadelphia Inquirer
The editor shifted the smoldering cigar from one side of his mouth to the other while he read. He did so quite unconsciously almost every time he turned a page, chewing at it almost as much as smoking it. In fact, the more nervous he was, the more he chewed and the less he smoked. Tonight, he'd thrown three mangled stubs into the can already. He'd taken a chance risking the men and money for this stuff, but he'd had no choice, none whatsoever. He ignored the conversations and the clattering keys, just as he did the noise of the city wafting in the open windows. The newsroom was actually a bit quieter than usual, because he'd set up the stenos and typists in another room with the phones.
The expenses only started with train tickets for Burke. Three others had gone, and there'd been car money besides. Two of the ones going were not even reporters, but had been picked for their voices. The fourth person had some pull with the phone company and was tasked to ensure the phone call did not get hung up in one switchboard or another. As expensive as that call was sure to be, there was no way in hell that the Publisher had been willing to stake everything on the material getting back in time. Even if the transmission ended as scheduled, it would still leave the material somewhere out on Long Island at 7:00 PM, over a hundred miles away from the Inquirer newsroom. Nor did the Inquirer dare let it slip a day, as Maxwell Browning's expected presence meant that one of their arch national-level competitors (The New York Times - Long Island was right on their doorstep) was sure to lead with it big and bold in the morning.
Burke and the others had been handed the tickets and dropped off right at the station. Burke took it as his due, but the plain fact was that none of the editors ever let "Fast Freddie" make his own transportation arrangements on deadline-sensitive stories. Left to his own devices, the under-sized reporter would unfailingly get there late, his talents that way being hardly limited to track picks. Fast Freddie had many times demonstrated a real nose for news, but couldn't sniff out speed if the winning jockey were to stuff his entire horse up either of Freddie's prominent nostrils.
As to why send Burke at all when a steadier man might have served better, the editor was playing a hunch, cued by Fox's earlier score of cryptic words.
---- Imperator, Wilhelmshaven harbor, steerage way
Ancient and historic church bells rang and rang and rang, but faced stiff competition from a plethora of modern steam whistles. Freighters, warships, ferries, and probably even factories shrieked out "welcome home" in a mighty mechanical chorus. Not to be outdone, tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of human throats shouted and cheered.
The cumulative concussion resonated in Fox's chest cavity and he had to force himself to keep taking photographs, so transfixed was he by the spectacle stretching out all around him. The harbor was filled with ships, and gesticulating folk lined the approaches and filled the streets, and nearly all of them were waving something. Hats, bright scarves, and a great many flags flapped and bobbed and twirled. The flags ranged from the huge ones wielded by groups of men up on rooftops all the way down to hand-sized ones by children up on shoulders. Fox identified the German flag easily enough, but there were many others. City flags? Guilds? Whatever they were, they were being waved with as much enthusiasm as though the Germans had just won the World Series, or something.
All in all, it was a spectacle far beyond Fox's own previous personal experience. The only one he could recall that might have been bigger was the unveiling of Miss Liberty, but that had been well before his time. (NOTE 1)
The great liners had come back home, and their navy had beaten the British twice and captured part of France along the way just to make it possible.
Fox looked forward along the railing where many of the passengers gaily returned the waves from the shore. Some of them displayed real excitement; for them, they were being brought to the World's Fair aboard the world's largest limousine. He looked aft. Oh, oh, seven of the American engineers were clustered together in a knot and exchanging quiet comments. Were they shaken by the spectacle? Perhaps having second thoughts about the bond they had accepted back in the States? Or were they simply not stirred by all this?
Fox looked further aft and spotted the unmistakable figure of Hadi dominating the stern section as the not-Sultan nodded regally to the crowd celebrating his return.
"Herr Fox," began one of Ballin's senior stewards suddenly at his elbow. "You remain determined to be present during the transmittal from Nauen? Richtig?"
"Yes, that is correct." He would miss some story opportunities here, but he had to make absolutely sure his stuff got back intact, and to the right folk and only to the right folk.
"Very well. Arrangements will be made to get you there, but you will need to be ready to leave Imperator within thirty minutes of docking. One of the Lord Admiral's aides will accompany you."
It was not yet two hours past noon. The transmittal window was not scheduled until 11:00 PM. Over nine hours from now! What was going on here?
"How far is it to ... Nauen, was it?"
"Yes, Nauen. It is perhaps 400 kilometers." Fox mathed that out to be about 250 miles. Okay, the nine hours might make sense after all, especially since they were not yet docked.
"When can I be back?" There were events, including a reception of some sort, and Fox wanted to get a look at what happened to his American countrymen and their families. The stories would be here, not at ... Nauen.
"I do not know that, Herr Fox. Noon, perhaps? I do not know if arrangements have yet been made, or what the train schedules might be."
Fox grimaced, but it would have to do. He didn't know when he'd get back to the States, when he'd get back to Wilhelmshaven, or where he'd even sleep next. His face relaxed as he accepted it; the most important things were capturing the next hour or so of stories and then getting the first batch off safely from Nauen.
---- Moltke, steerage way
Konteradmiral Hanzik stood out on the wing with Kapitan Stang, just as they had so many times in so many places these last two months. Eight weeks? It seemed like almost that many years!
Hanzik felt lighter, as the crushing burden of responsibility finally began to lift from his shoulders. Detached force, an ocean away from support, escorting the uniquely precious Salamis and priceless liners and charged with returning safely with even more of them. Without antagonizing the Americans. Oh, so sorry to delay you, forcing you to invade France!
His force had taken damage - including a torpedo to his flagship! He'd lost men, and had had to leave others behind. But the Baron had approved everything, and had said that any ill that came of it, even from the Miquelon adventure, was his to deal with, not Hanzik's.
The dock was just yards away now. He found himself willing the gap to close.
---- Von der Tann, nearing pier
Captain Dirk ruefully shook his head.
"We traversed half the globe, fought the British, the French, and damn near the Amerikaners, and they're cheering the liners, not us."
"They're prettier," replied Bavaria, as he nodded in agreement.
Dirk choked, in startled humor, and pivoted in surprise to look at his XO. The Austrian nobleman returned the gaze serenely.
"Formal receptions," said Bavaria. "State dinners."
Dirk chuckled and turned back to watch the line handlers.
---- Derfflinger, at pier, lines being snugged
Admiral Necki nodded to Kaptain Theodor, and looked back at Seydlitz just astern trying to catch the eye of Kaptain Nik, but Nik was not in evidence.
"A good sortie, Kaptain. The force performed well. Very well."
They had bagged a few AMCs, achieved a spotless rendezvous with the Hanzik Force, put down some Brit stragglers, and then ran down and challenged the enemy dreadnought force itself without loss.
"Thank you, sir," replied Flag-Kaptain Theodore.
Left unsaid was the thought that lay heavily in the minds of both: "If only they had been two hours quicker to rejoin the Fleet."
---- Großer Kurfürst, approaching pier
Vice-Admiral Letters had returned to his original sortie flagship as they neared the outer harbor. Now, he eyed the crowds gathering and jockeying for position to greet the liners and Moltke and her consorts. His own force had its own host of greeters, unfortunately, mostly ambulances. Still, Admiral Hanzik and Herr Ballin deserved their day. Oh, how much they deserved this day!
And so it was with a bit of guilt that he looked around and found Augsburg and Kolberg, obediently and anonymously leading half-flotillas within his own force, soon to tie up at piers apart from the rest of Hanzik's Heroes. Some sacrifices must remain secret, he sighed, at least for a bit. He would make it up to them, he vowed, Kaptains Dahm and Speck and their crews.
When he turned back to look at the pier, he was unsurprised to see the uniformed figure striding down to where their gangway would land. A few aides trailed along, the least among them a Fregattenkapitän. Several civilians who had been with the party remained at the base of the pier. The aides, he understood, but not the others.
Großadmiral Tirpitz, once his mentor, then his antagonist, and then his ally. Who knew where Fork-beard stood now? Not I, thought Letters, except that he stands there waiting for me. Like a father on the doorstep, the Father of the Kaiserliche Marine, and I have no mighty victory to lay in propitiation at his feet for what I've done to the Fleet. He tried to fight down the emotions as images roared through his mind. The Britishers materializing in the rain on his beam (how had they done that?), Odalb interposing Stuttgart and a handful of torpoedoboats between the Line and literally a host of Britishers, Ehrhart taking his duty most, most seriously, Posen turning over.
I lost two of his dreadnoughts with precious little more to show for it than a pair of Brits. We can never hope to win this war by even trades.
Letters heard a new pulse of cheering over a few piers. Large cars flying the Imperial flag were approaching the piers over where Moltke and the liners were.
They get the Kaiser, and I get Fork-beard, thought the Baron ruefully, as he turned back to the pier as the slight shock of contact signaled their arrival.
"Kaptain Schnell, if you would excuse me. I'll be on the pier. Kapitäleutnant Neumarialand, you have your instructions. Seek me out when you've made the arrangements. As I just said, I'll be on the pier. Right there." By then he hope to have the necessary authority.
Letters glanced back at Tirpitz, and found that the Großadmiral had moved. Ah, the ambulances were coming down the pier.
Their eyes met, then. And, to the Baron's utter amazement, Großadmiral Tirpitz touched his brow in salute!
---- Imperator, tying up
His captain was telling off the engines and Ballin finally allowed himself a broad smile as he regarded the cheering crowds. Just a few months ago, he had felt despair settling in hard. Despair that he would never see Vaterland again, and maybe never even again the open sea. (NOTE 2)
Now, the Kaiser himself had come to join the celebrations!
Nor had Ballin brought his liners home empty, but with technician passengers and tens of thousands of tons of natural rubber, scarce metals, and other raw materials so desperately needed by the Realm!
And one very, very industrious American reporter.
---- Wilhelmshaven, on pier alongside Großer Kurfürst
Fork-beard stood well apart from his aides.
"Welcome home, My Lord Admiral," began Tirpitz as Letters approached. "Not a dress sword. Now even the Americans and the French know it."
"Sir?" Letters was so startled by the clearly prepared opening remark that he was slow to catch the reference. (NOTE 3)
"The American ambassador requested and was granted an audience yesterday afternoon in Berlin. He said his instructions were to convey President Wilson's best wishes to His Majesty and to reaffirm the resolve of the United States to remain neutral, and that they would continue demonstrate this resolve. Apparently, according to attaches, the appearance of battlecruisers off the American coast made a great impression. The public and crushing victory revealed the British to be blockaders, and may have changed the strategic situation."
"The credit belongs to Admiral Hanzik, sir."
"Aber natürlich," Tirpitz said dryly. "Just as important, perhaps, is what the Amerikaner ambassador did NOT say. The French were outraged - still are! - with their ally that the Royal Navy 'let' Hanzik's raider force run around the Atlantic taking French vessels, and the Miquelon incident has them still apoplectic. But the Amerikaner did not even mention Miquelon!"
Both flag officer went silent as the first of the ambulances headed back down the pier. Several others were being loaded.
"Rheinland and Posen", said Tirpitz.
"Yes. And Stuttgart, Frauenlob, a halb-flotilla, and several others crippled or damaged. We saved most of the crews."
"If I read the wireless right, the British lost two dreadnoughts, and twice our light losses."
Letters felt flooded with relief. The word "our" was huge. Despite the losses, Tirpitz was signaling carefully that he remained an ally! "We also have a bit over 600 prisoners aboard, including Admiral Napier," Letters added.
"Rear-Admiral Napier?"
"Yes, sir. Concerning the Americans, Ballin was able to get several hundred naval shipyard workers and engineers to come back with him. German-speaking ones. Several even brought their familes."
"Yes?"
"I'd like to put them to work. And as soon as possible."
There would be resistance. Letters was asking for the Großadmiral's support.
"We do not have enough skilled workers. Give me a written proposal. What else?"
"The American newspapers were the Schwerpunkt. Aboard Imperator is a reporter from one of the largest Amerikaner newspapers. He saw the British losses, and how they ran away." The two traded small smiles. The British did not have to win battles to win this war, just preserve control of the sea lanes.
"That's how he sees it, however, and Admiral Napier refused to speak with him, though I did, of course. The reporter is over there now watching ... all ... this."
"Yes?"
"I want to get him to Nauen tonight. If he gets there, the American papers will carry his stories in the morning, and every morning until he leaves."
Tirpitz nodded, and gestured to his aides, and to the civilians at the base of the pier.
---- Wilhelmshaven outskirts, (at least that's Fox's best guess)
It had not been 30 minutes after docking, but over an hour.
The naval officer aide to the German Lord Vice-Admiral who eventually showed up to collect Fox from Imperator was not the same one as before. The officer's brown eyes and natural tan contrasted sharply with the more common blonde and pale German that Fox had dealt with.
"Herr Fox? Ich heiße Neumarialand, Kapitäleutnant Neumarialand."
This officer was a higher rank than the other. Why the switch?
Neumarialand allowed him a few minutes to take pictures out on the pier, but that was all. Accompanied by another officer and several sailors all wearing armbands, they made their way down the pier and across an access road to where several trucks were offloading large wooden boxes into what seemed to be a warehouse. Twice they passed checkpoints, but the sentries passed them through with salutes. A spirited set of conversations ensued outside the warehouse punctuated with much waving of hands, but Fox ignored it, recognizing the pause as a golden chance to set up for another shot or two. The ships towered over the docks into a dirty mist of steam and coal smoke, a backdrop for the mass of activity around them. The money shot that Fox had spotted was a very long line of vehicles prominently bearing Red Cross insignia, busily being loaded, with more arriving and queuing up every minute.
"Herr Fox!" The naval officer beckoned him over and they climbed into the back of one truck. The officer with the armband got in with the driver, and two of the sailors climbed in with Fox and the aide. Thus began a session of what Fox would later describe as "Teutonic truck torture" as the American reporter got tossed this way and that into every person and object back there. They halted a few times, perhaps at checkpoints, each time pitching Fox into the splintered wood backing to the truck cab.
When the truck finally wheezed to a stop. Fox was unsure if it had expired or they had arrived at their destination. The eager young German aide bounced out like a baseball on its way to a ground rules double, so the reporter figured they it was the latter. He repressed groans as he extricated himself from the grip of the transportation device that Ford would have sneered at. By the time he had managed to uncoil, loud nearby noises had caught his attention.
Aeroplanes! Several of the bi-wing contraptions were in sight, but the aide did not hesitate, gesturing to Fox to follow him over to a long, low building. Fox remained outside the door with the armbanded men while the aide went inside. Those within must have been expecting them, because the side emerged just moments later accompanied by several others, whom he hurriedly introduced to Fox. The reporter nodded and shook hands, though the noise made the introductions essentially pointless.
Something must have been decided, Fox thought, because they now headed over to where a pair of long, sinister-looking aeroplanes stood with several men clustered around them. As they neared the bi-wings, the American belatedly realized what must be going on.
"You really think you're going to get me into one of those?" Fox demanded, losing his Deutsch at the sight and the realization.
It was awkward construction, and the aide could not work it out.
"Yes, we go now."
"You expect me to ... FLY ... to Nauen?"
"No, no!"
Fox blinked, but did not dare to relax. They were here for SOME reason.
"To Hamburg."
"FLY?"
"Ja, ja!" Thank heavens, thought the aide. He'd feared that American didn't understand, though how the foreigner could mistake the situation while standing in the middle of an active aerodome, the German had no clue. Amerikaners. He diplomatically managed not to shake his head. "Achtzehn kilometers. Dann durch Eisenbahn. Um, railroad."
Fox muttered several pungent and prurient Anglo Saxon phrases and asked himself just how determined was he really to be there at Nauen tonight. He looked at the planes. Both were two-seaters. A couple of the men were pulling at the propellers, while others made signals from the cockpits to still others doing something at the back of the craft. He had no idea what they were doing and frankly was too terrified to care. He was heavily bruised by just a few miles in a German truck, now a German aeroplane?
"Albatross!" (NOTE 4)
"What?!"
"Ist gooood kite," said one of the other Germans as he strode up.. The speaker sported a massive red walrus mustache and now wore a leather hat and was handing another one to Fox.
"You with Stevo," shouted the aide, over the engine noises. Who? Fox wondered. "He speak English. I go this one." With that, Neumarialand turned and headed for the more distant craft.
Omigodno, thought Fox as the Huns chivvied him up to the loud and evil-looking collection of wires, wood, and fabric. Damn if the thing wasn't vibrating in its eagerness to get him in its clutches. Damn-damn-damn!
"Good sky for fly," leered the pilot, proud of his English and his plane as he gestured up at the lightly sirrus-streaked blue canopy overhead. "Was to study this eve. Better to fly!"
Fox was helped up into the rear seat. The whole thing was unreal, and he tried to distance himself from what was happening. He had only moderate success as his pulse hammered in his chest harder than the church bells had. The pilot looked him over, twirling his red mustache with indecent enthusiasm, and then faced forward again.
Then they were rolling. Fox would have recited prayers, if he could've remembered any, not that he couldn've have gotten them out from between his painfully clenched teeth anyway.
---- Sayville, New York, 4:54 PM
The lead operator turned to Maxwell Browning and the Inquirer group.
"Nauen's up early."
"Are they transmitting?"
"Well, yes, but they stopped."
"What!?"
"Transmission stopped after three words."
"What words?" Browning asked.
" 'Win what show?' "
"Oh!" Burke exclaimed. "Are they waiting for a reply?"
"Uh, maybe. We've never seen anything like this before."
"Answer 'place'," said Burke.
"What place?
"No," replied Burke. "P-L-A-C-E."
"Nauen's acknowledged! Transmission resuming!"
Author's NOTEs:
1) It would have been, as a million people were there at the unveiling of Miss Liberty on October 28, 1886. See NOTE 2, here:
http://www.thequickbluefox.com/EinG-jun18-decisions-19.html
Per one source, Wall Street was the only businesses working on the declared public holiday of the dedication and, as the parade passed below 20,000 strong, the offices boys above unrolled ticker tape and threw it out the windows, creating the first "ticker tape parade".
http://www.ohranger.com/statue-liberty/history-statue-liberty
2) Sadly, historically, Ballin never did.
3) Letters' previous post-battle pier-side meeting with Großadmiral Tirpitz. See:
http://www.thequickbluefox.com/7days-june3.html
4) The Albatross series was already in service in significant numbers. A few other designs, like the AGO, might have been able to fly non-stop, but they were few and less likely to be instantly on hand. In any case, low light flying and landing in the dark might have been necessary to go the entire way by air. Hamburg, on the other hand, was as major rail hub. See:
http://www.theaerodrome.com/aircraft/germany/albatros_ci.php
5) Another stealth NOTE. Absence of aquatic competence documentation is not necessarily protective.
