Letterstime - Versuchung - XIV
July 16, 1915
---- Southampton, course changing, speed 22 knots (slowing in turn)
Commander Dedmon watched the smoke puffs, unthreateningly tiny at this distance, on the German cruiser. Ship size was difficult to estimate at this range, something over eight nautical miles. Three stacks, he counted as the profile emerged from the smoke plume. More than two guns were firing, he thought absently. So, it was not just a matter of bow and stern chasers; there were two or three firing from amidships. If the lookouts had the range right, they should still be considerably beyond the range of the Hun 4-inchers.
He wondered if the enemy captain knew that. If so, then this was not the same class as had tormented Birmingham last sortie. Instead of a re-gunned older ship, this would be one of the latest Hun cruisers.
More to the point, was that the enemy was just as fast as they were and those muzzle flashes were all from 150-mm guns that out-ranged their own 6-inchers.
And Commodore Nott had obviously figured all that out the very instant the enemy had changed course!
---- HMS Dublin, 250 yards astern of HMS Southampton
"Sir, Southampton has altered course to starboard."
The Commodore was breaking off the pursuit?
"Conform," ordered LCDR Phonone, as he turned to scan the horizon to the east. Had flag sighted new contacts? Flag ... there had been no flags. Or, had there? He opened his mouth to make such an inquiry.
"Sir! Enemy has opened fire!"
Phonone's head snapped back even faster than his mouth snapped shut but, before he could bring the distant image into focus, his command heeled over in the turn. Hard. His helmsman had ears.
Meanwhile, about 6,000 feet up in the tranquil (NOTE 1), cloud-spotted blue sky, roughly halfway between the British and German cruisers, the first four one hundred pound shells turned over and began their descent. Four more were already on the way up.
---- Birmingham, 250 yards astern of Dublin, and 500 yards astern of Southampton
"Sir, flag is altering to starboard."
"Very well," acknowledged Captain Dalrymple. Like Phonone, he looked towards the east, brows furrowing in modest wonder at this development. He was far, far less tense than he had been when detached on the last sortie. The weight of larger responsibility was absent and the mass of the two cruisers on his bow was present between him and the distant foe.
Southampton had begun her turn just before Pillau had steadied up after hers and opened fire. At 25 knots, it would have taken nominally 14 seconds for Dublin to traverse the 250 yards to Southampton's turn point though, truth be known, her helmsman had turned a couple seconds early. Birmingham would require another 14 seconds to reach Birmingham's own turn point. Another soon-to-be-relevant datum was that the flight time for the German shells at this range was about 24 seconds.
"Sir! Enemy has opened fire!" Birmingham's lookouts had missed the first salvo in the eddies of plumes from the two ships ahead, disturbed by Southampton's abrupt turn. The second salvo eight seconds later had been spotted, but the distant smoke puffs were uncertain enough through the haze ahead to give the lookouts pause. The third salvo nine seconds after the second had confirmed matters, and the word was promptly passed, reaching the bridge five seconds later.
Two seconds before the first salvo arrived.
Wha ...?
Splash-splash-splash-whannnng!
---- The Yards - Lübeck
Korvettenkapitan Borys had no trouble figuring out where the missing Amerikaners were. He had been confident that they would be standing about the exposed turbine and this was confirmed by the sounds of spirited dialogue wafted up the ladderways as he made his way down. Most of it was in Deutsch, but plenty of foreign words that he presumed were English were mixed in, as well.
He paused at the hatch into the compartment.
Greyjim was animatedly engaged with one civilian, and his stocky marriage brother ... Pat ... was just as energetically talking with another. The one with Greyjim, though most of a decade younger, seemed nearly his twin. The one with Pat was taller and very lean, with great limpid eyes and a deeply cynical look about him. The aide to Vice-Admiral Letters was between the two pairs, sweat blooms under both armpits, clearly frantic with exertion as he tried to translate two doubtlessly quite technical exchanges at the same time.
"Ah, Herr Kaptain!" Kapitäleutnant Neumarialand's tone rang with relief. "This is Herr Glocke, Herr Coblentz. They ...."
Borys recognized the names, and nodded. Though he had never met either of them, their names had surfaced over and over again in the beer gardens, the hostelries, the dining halls, and just about everywhere else, as well. These were the two Vulcan engineers who had nursed Salamis all the way across the Atlantic to Amerika, and then nursed Moltke all the way back home despite a 10 meter hole in her hull. He doubted either man had been allowed to buy a brew in Wilhelmshaven since porting.
His first reaction was to be surprised at how normal they looked, even unimpressive in appearance. Somehow, he'd half-expected Thor and Vulcan, hammers in hand.
His second reaction was even stranger. How in Himmel had they ended up here, on his antiquated little cruiser? With all those damaged battleships, dreadnoughts, and battlecruisers still under repair? It made no sense.
---- Pillau, course 090, speed 22.5 knots (increasing slowly after turn)
CRACK-Crack-Crack! Crack! The starboard forward gun just ahead of the bridge was notably louder than the other pieces, one of which had already begun to lag the others slightly.
"Hit!" Korvettenkapitän Heinz Walzieben could not but exult at the brief fleck of red on the enemy cruiser. This was his first engagement as CO of Pillau and had scored a hit on the opening salvo! An auspicious omen! He easily put aside the fact that their target had been the lead ship and they had hit the third.
Crack! Crack-CRACK! Crack!
Walzieben scowled in frustration as splashes dotted all around the Britishers but there were no additional hits visible. Bremen's stern chaser had had the advantage that the constant courses and speeds of both shooter and target had produced a nearly constant bearing and a very slowly changing range. Their piece had also been the only one shooting. The Britishers' turn and Pillau's own made this a very different and more difficult engagement. The pieces had drifted from salvo into staccato.
The gunners were hard pressed to score hits at eight miles and more. The two broadside crews had continued to fire at what they thought was the original target, Walzieben noted absently, while the fore and aft crews had properly stayed with the assigned target of the leader. He forebore to comment.
"Enemy has opened fire!"
Walzieben cursed under his breath, mostly at himself. He'd become so intent on their gunnery that he'd missed the fact that the range was closing. He was pretty sure the Brits still weren't in range, but he had no intention of waiting for the shells to land for confirmation.
"Helm, come left to 045." Looking at the leader's aspect, that seemed like the enemy's course, though it might be as much as a point either way. (NOTE 2)
---- Southampton, course 045 speed 23 knots increasing)
"Short. Estimated 1,500 yards short, sir."
"Very well," acknowledged Dedmon. He'd judged it worth the try and Nott, had agreed to his request, though his almost hoarse terseness likely indicative of his full awareness of the futility.
"Sir, enemy cruiser is changing course."
Yes, so she was. She seemed to be settling onto a course parallel to theirs.
"Sir, Birmingham's trailing smoke."
What?
Even the Commodore's eyes narrowed at this report.
"Lookouts report that Birmingham was hit once, maybe twice, forward."
The accuracy of the enemy's fire had rapidly dropped off rapidly, however, after the opening salvos.
Splash-splash! They might be regaining the range, though, thought Dedmon, as this latest pair plowed into the waves perhaps three hundred yards short.
"Birmingham's fire's out, sir. No more smoke, that is."
"Very well," said Dedmon, as a shell whistled past somewhere overhead.
"Come to 090," ordered Nott, clearly unwilling to play the Hun's game any longer.
---- HMS Dublin, 250 yards astern of HMS Southampton
"Sir, Southampton is altering course to starboard."
"Conform," Phonone ordered, binoculars on the horizon bump that persisted in staying just beyond their gun range. He'd've been sorely tempted to aim their bows at the Hun and try to close the range. Spread out abreast and let the targeted one jink about to spoil their shooting and they'd see just how fast the Germans really were! Nor, by God, would it be the first time that good Brit cruisers had run down a nominally faster foe! (NOTE 3)
"Sir, my rudder is ...."
On the other hand, there were those five torpedoboats somewhere in the enemy cruiser's lee, Phonone realized. Maddening, it was!
"Very well."
---- Birmingham, 250 yards astern of Dublin, and 500 yards astern of Southampton
"Sir, flag is altering to starboard."
"Very well."
Splash. Splash! Damn these Huns!
"Sir, Seaman Willens has died ...."
Three dead, three injured, including one arm amputated by shell splinters and one leg so torn the mate might have to do the same to it.
"Thank you, Mr. Jones." What else could he say? That as their temporary CO he seemed to have a knack - a curse?! - for getting his temporary crew killed by German 150 mm shells? Despite this time having two British cruisers between him and them?
Splash! Splash.
Dam Huns!
"Sir, flag appears to have steadied up on course 090. Coming right ..."
"Very well."
Splash. Whannng!
The armoured belt amidships warded this hit, but Phonone's curses grew in fervor nonetheless, albeit silently.
---- The Yards - Lübeck
Glocke and Coblentz seemed almost dramatically enthusiastic over whatever it was that the Amerikaners were saying. Hands pointed and gestured, open palms got thumped by counting fingers, and voice tones echoed off the bulkheads. The other Amerikaners largely remained silent, nodding, though occasionally one would offer a comment.
Korvettenkapitan Borys advanced on the group and they fell silent as they leaned over a large drawing or blueprint stretched out on the deckplates, corners pinned down by three wrenches and one large hammer. Borys paused again, this time at then sudden spectacle of four dungareed backsides. Was this some engineer insult?
"Ja," said Glocke, and Coblentz murmured something in agreement as they stood back up.
"Yes!" The Amerikaner bystanders were louder, but it didn't seem to bother the German engineers. Greyjim gestured towards Borys, and Glock nodded in agreement.
"Herr Kaptain, we have a proposal," began Glocke. "It should work and your engine would be functional in about ... four?" Glocke made it a question, but towards Greyjim. At the Amerikaner's nod, he continued. "Yes, four weeks."
What?
"Kaptain," interrupted the other Vulcanite, Coblentz. "6,000 shaft horsepower, is that acceptable?"
"6,000 ...?"
"It might be more. 6,200, perhaps."
"Uh." Borys felt like they were kicking his head back and forth between them.
"We do not want to over-promise," Glocke quickly inserted, before Borys could find a second syllable to utter.
"Richtig. Ja, ja," Coblentz nodded in chastened agreement. "Richtig. But 6,000 should be certain, as long as the alignment is good and the seals function."
"But ...," Borys began. Four weeks? Was this possible?!
"Ja," this was Greyjim. "The temporary wheel need not bear load for that."
Borys held his temper. Between hunger and being ignored in his own engineroom, he would normally have exploded but Glocke had said words of magic.
"Herren! Four weeks? 6,000 what?"
They stilled at that and looked at Glocke.
"Herr Kaptain. This engine," Glocke patted the edge of th e open casing, "produced 7,000 shaft horsepower. To repair and replace would take several months, depending on priorities. The Amerikaners have proposed repairs that can be done in four weeks, but then this engine will yield just 6,000 - or some few hundreds more."
"I am just the ship Kaptain," Borys replied. "Not the fleet commander." This was hardly his decision!
"Herr Kaptain," began Kapitäleutnant Neumarialand, who had stayed silent until now. "If you agree, I have every confidence that Vice-Admiral Letters will support it."
"Explain, if you would, sir." Senior aide or not, he was not the Admiral!
"I will confirm it, of course, sir. But Admiral Letters has made it most clear that a ship at 90% in six weeks is far to be preferred over one at 100% in six months. His exact words."
Borys blinked at the implications of that one statement, uttered so easily. Six weeks. Plus two to four for work up and training. Letters expected something in October, or late September! Something he was willing to embrace desperate measures to support.
And these Vulcans had Letter's absolute confidence, and they were here, aboard his little antique cruiser.
"Kapitäleutnant, I would far, far rather be at sea in six weeks with 13,000 shaft horsepower than in the yards," watching his crew being stolen by other Kaptains, "for six months or more waiting for that last 1,000." He had already done the math in his head. Lübeck had reached 23 knots with 14,000 shaft horsepower, so he had every confidence she could manage 22 and a fraction with 1,000 less.
"But how will you achieve this miracle?" This was to the Glocke, who grinned back and, shortly, so did all the others.
"Herr Kaptain," it was Greyjim, to Borys surprise who began, speaking slowly and picking his wrods. "We will remove the entire wheel with the damaged blades and not replace it. Not exactly. (NOTE 4) But is time and past time for noon meal. The light will be better on the pier, where our food awaits. We would be honored if you would join us. I could bring the drawings and we could explain as we eat."
Borys deemed this decision even easier than the other!
---- Pillau, course 090, speed 24 knots (slowly increasing)
They'd lost the range when the Britishers had turned away. Walzieben had turned to parallel, but decided to wait and not try to edge in immediately. He wanted to rest the gun crews a few minutes, shift some men over from the port side, and let them restock the ready ammunition. Accuracy had suffered there at the end, despite the second and possibly third hits. He also wanted to let the engineroom to have a few minutes to tend their fires and grates, or at least the best they could at full speed.
This was learned caution. The big Brit cruisers had turned and struck at him like a snake, with greater acceleration coming out of a turn than he'd expected. And probably more than Pillau could have managed.
"Sir! Plume bearing 020!"
Had the Britishers been leading him into a trap after all?! He glanced to the south, but the thre enemy cruisers showed no sign of any reaction. Surely, if the newcomer were British, they'd have sent a wireless by now, alerting them to spring shut the trap.
No, this was probably Frankfurt, he told himself, though his pulse continued to throb in his neck.
---- Room 40
Commanders Jan and Sartore sat sipping more tea. There was little else they could do. The Huns appeared to be blocking Commodore Nott's way north. But why?
"New wireless intercepts! Per callsigns, German cruiser Frankfurt reported contact to the South-southwest and German cruiser Pillau reported contact to the North-northwest. The Germans have just confirmed that they have effected a rendezvous."
"That's two half-flotillas, then," Jan murmured to Sartore, who nodded back.
"Just what are the bloody Huns up to?"
---- The Yards - Lübeck
Borys had grasped the basics of the repair plan, and decided that was enough for the moment. His Engineer would be back on the morrow and he would have him look it over, but Borys was satisfied. He had other questions, though.
"Kapitäleutnant Neumarialand, I must admit that I was - and am - surprised at your presence, and that of these men. I would have thought that ...."
"Sir." Neumarialand's voice was muffled, his mouth full. "Sir," he repeated after a swallow, "I relayed Greyjim's request to consult with yard engineers. And ...."
"We have been aboard Moltke this week," Glocke took up. "Today, I believe that it is better that we are not there."
"It is my doing," Coblentz spoke up, to Borys' surprise, then realized that Glocke had shot the other a sly look of some sort.
"Uniforms can be so unreasonable," the sallow complexioned engineer continued, sighing. "They do not hear what is said to them."
Borys did not react to that, despite being in a uniform himself. Partly that was because he agreed, and partly it was because he had his mouth full. He gestured with a buttered roll for the other to continue.
"The uniform demanded we provide them the hatches that the crew had reported damaged in battle, warped beyond water-tight closured. For refurbishment. I told them that we could not ...."
"Armored hatches," Glocke added quietly. "Expensive. Very expensive. Impossible to repair shipboard when badly warped. As these were."
"But the yard could," added Greyjim, who had obviously already heard the story.
"The uniform demanded again, and then there were more uniforms. So I told them that the hatches would all be on the pier this morning."
"And he stacked them there! Waiting for them!" Greyjim chortled, his marriage brother just shook his head. But at what?
"So?" Borys had a good quart of some sort of nicely-spiced beef stew in his stomach, and a ship that he might get to sea soon, so he was practically mellow.
"Off the Amerikaner city called New York, I cut all of them into struts no wider than your wrist." (NOTE 5)
"Oh. OH!"
"Herr Kaptain?" Coblentz apparently had a question of his own for Borys. His voice was odd. It sounded, well, wistful.
"Ja?"
"Is it true what they say? That you really burned down a police station?"
Author's NOTEs:
1) Height based on the following admittedly simplistic empirical calculation. Using the field data of 17,280 yards at 22 degrees elevation and muzzle velocity of 2,740 fps suggest a flight time of between 20 and 21 seconds. Applying a minor wind resistance fudge factor produces a flight time of about 24 seconds, or so. The ballistics coefficient and lift effects would be important for any more precise values for maximum height, etc., and the author is happy to leave any such exercises to the reader. However, neglecting lift et al., 12 seconds up at an initial vertical speed of just over 1000 fps means an average up speed of 500 fps for those 12 seconds, or 6,000 feet at peak.
2) Sailors in 1915 still thought as much in "points" as in degrees. That is, the 360 degrees of the compass divided into 32 "points", with each point being 11.5 degrees. For example, North (0.00), North by East (11.25), North-northeast (22.50), etc. By way of analogy, think analog versus digital.
3) Phonone was recalling the Falklands battle, particularly the pursuit of the German light cruisers, and especially that of SMS Nürnberg by HMS Kent. Of course, the German light cruisers had been armed with 105 mm guns. HMS Cornwall, for example, suffered 18 hits during the pursuit, but no casualties. It was just such results that led to the upgunning of the German cruisers already in service. It is doubtful that HMS Cornwall would have fared as well after even half as many 150 mm hits.
4) The US nuclear power plant D C Cook suffered turbine blade failures on September 20, 2008 much as Lützow did historically and, in Letterstime, did Lübeck. See:
http://www.aep.com/newsroom/newsreleases/?id=1514
See also:
http://timesonline.com/articles/2008/04/27/news/doc480959037893c378522689.txt
and
http://www.nucleartourist.com/operation/tb-mtce1.htm
The Cook unit capacity is larger than that of Beaver Valley 2 (1075 MWe versus 920 Mwe, so the Cook rotor could be a bit heavier than 63 tons. Both spin at 1800 rpm, compared to thevastly smaller Lübeck rotor at about one tenth the same speed. The three Cook rotors had to be straightened, but the Letterstime assumption is that Lübeck's much smaller one did not. However, the rest of the temporary fix for Cook is almost the identical to the one proposed here for Lübeck!
5) See:
http://www.thequickbluefox.com/EinG-jun18-decisions-8.html
