Chapter 22 – “Send this immediately.”
December 22nd. 0930. Mariehamn, Åland Island.
Life in Mariehamn was quiet, unexciting, and constant.
Gustav Lindfors sat peacefully on the wooden bench in front of his bootmaker shop, as was his habit most mornings.
Watching the small city of Mariehamn wake up every morning gave him pleasure and a good insight into the lives of his fellows. He’d sold more than one pair of boots to someone walking by with the slightest of limps, a clunking heel, or the unique scuffing sound of a timeworn sole.
The passing of yesterday’s storm had left the air over the town clear and cold, but thankfully dry; the feathery-light dusting of snow would soon disappear and there should be three or four days of good weather ahead. Gustav could open the shutters while he worked.
Tomas Överström came out of his tailor shop next door and sat down next to Gustav, as he did on most mornings.
“Godmorgen Tomas.” (Note 1)
Tomas was in a quiet mood this morning; else he’d have already launched into a story of some kind.
“Godmorgen Gustav.”
They sat silently, both content to watch the world come alive again.
A deep rumbling sound interrupted Gustav’s idle thoughts. The heads of those in the street whipped around to the southeast. Gustav looked at Tomas, receiving a quizzical look in return.
“It seems the storm has not left us yet,” Gustav guessed.
Tomas grunted in reply.
The rumbling came and went, as thunder is wont to do. Then a few minutes later more rumbling…from the west. And then yet more from the northwest, and the southeast again.
“Odd. The skies are clear, but that sure sounds like thunder. And all around us at the same time,” Gustav said, giving voice to his confusion.
“Ja, det. Never heard that before,” Tomas said. “Strange times, eh?”
Strange times…in Mariehamn?
December 22nd. 1000. 74th Infantry Brigade. Hapsal, Esthland
“Jawohl Herr Generalleutnant! Instantly!”
The Hauptmann saluted and practically ran out of the room. Von Blumenthal smiled at the display of manly vigor.
If only more of my officers were so active. Too many must be told how to scheißt.
One of the Operations messengers saluted and handed him a message slip.
“Herr Generalleutnant, a report from the 4th Radfahrer. They continue to press along the railroad on foot and have taken the village of Pänul. The enemy continues to fall back in front of them, contesting the ground.”
Von Blumenthal looked at the map. They had advanced about 12 kilometers. Too slow.
“On foot? Why are they not mounted?”
“They report heavy rifle fire from the forests, Herr Generalleutnant. They are unable to mount.”
“Very well,” von Blumenthal grumped.
I should not be surprised. Real warriors do not ride cycles into combat. Afoot or on horseback has always been good enough since the days of the Römer.
“Herr Generalleutnant?”
The Hauptmann kommanding his pionier kompany was striving to get his attention.
“You have a report?” Von Blumenthal said, his eyes still on the map, looking for a way to outflank or smash the Russers that were bedeviling his scouts.
“Ja, Herr Generalleutnant. I’ve just come from the train maintenance yard. Though there were no engines at the station, there is one there. I have a man who is familiar with the type, and he believes it was there for minor repairs and likely can be operated.
Von Blumenthal’s head snapped up.
“How many wagons?”
“Just the one, Herr Generalleutnant. Like the engine it probably has something deficient in need of repair.”
“Get me Oberstleutnant Kühn,” von Blumenthal shouted to his staff. “On the double!
“Hauptmann, here is what I want…”
December 22nd. 1045 SMS Kaiser. 8nm SSW of Mariehamn. Heading 125 at 6 knots.
Konteradmiral Hermann Nordmann looked up from the chart as a funkenpuster messenger came to attention and saluted.
“Herr Konteradmiral, a wireless signal from Prinzregent Luitpold.”
The Sixth Battleship Division kommander quickly reviewed the short message from the dreadnaught operating off the western Åland coast.
“MSN ORANGE COMP”
Unless the Russers had more coastal defense batteries of which he was unaware, that would be the last of the Åland Island defenses he need worry about, his other three ships having silenced a battery on the tip of the Herrö Peninsula, and another larger one west of the main town at Mariehamn.
He’d even sent Elbing and Pillau in to skirt close to the hundreds of tiny islands surrounding southern and western Åland in the hope of provoking any hidden batteries to open fire. With no response to that provocation, he was quite certain that the enemy had been rendered defenseless.
Nordmann handed his prearranged message to the messenger, “Send this immediately.”
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Carl Rudburg was looking over the chart when admiral Nordmann’s message came in.
Gut. Now the dance begins.
He pulled out his prearranged message.
“Messenger, send this immediately.”
--------------------
Prinz-Großadmiral Heinrich smiled as he read the message from Rudburg. The man was punctual, and certainly effective.
“Messenger, send this immediately.”
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Vizeadmiral Gustav Bachmann, Chief of the Admiralstab and no fan of this venture, huffed.
“Messenger, send this immediately to the Foreign Office. And a copy to the State Secretary to the Imperial Naval Office.” (Note 2)
--------------------
Gottleib von Jagow, State Secretary of the German Foreign Office shook his head. He’d never believed that the Navy would be able to arrange this. Unlikely or not, anything that would pull the Swedes closer was to be encouraged.
He turned to the waiting messenger
“Take this to the Swedish Embassy, for the Ambassador’s eyes only.”
--------------------
Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to the German Empire Arvid Taube opened the letter with shaking hands. Reading the letter from von Jagow he realized that his long quest for closer Swedish-German relations was now within reach. If the Germans didn’t overplay their hands, a real alliance against the Russians might be possible.
The excitement was almost too much; Taube clutched at the pain in his chest (Note 3). He took a deep breath, waited for the pain to subside, then penned a short message to Foreign Minister Ehrensvärd, and one to the Naval Staff. Taking a deep breath he called in his secretary.
“Take these to the wireless room and have them sent immediately.”
--------------------
Admiral Henning von Krusenstierna, Commander of the First Coastal Defense Division, read the wireless message from the Chief of the Naval Staff with equal measures of surprise and calculation. He could only imagine the torturous path the information had taken, up through the German military, across diplomatic channels, and then down through his own chain of command. It must have taken all day to reach him.
Many fathoms in this chain.
He looked out into the darkness of Karlskrona beyond his window and wondered if his view was a metaphor for Sweden’s future in the shadow of a triumphant German Empire.
Better the Germans than the Russians.
“Kapten Sjöberg!”
The door opened promptly – his aide must have been waiting there. Good man.
“The operation is authorized for immediate execution. Notify Thor, Niord, Runeberg, and Storskär: be prepared to sail with tomorrow afternoon’s tide. Then contact the expeditionary brigade to ensure they have received orders to board the steamers. Questions?”
“Injen Admiral.”
“Off you go.”
December 22nd. 1150. 62nd Infantry Brigade. Dorpat, Livland
This is the schieße.
The city elders hate the Reds. The landowners hate the Reds and the merchants. The merchants hate the Reds and the landowners. The peasants hate the landowners and the elders. The Reds hate everybody, and everybody hates the Russers.
Generalmajor Bernhard von Hülsen let the arguments and hostility of the others wash over him. He’d called this meeting to try to get ahead of the simmering unrest in Dorpat. The two Landwehr brigades were still two days march to the south, and he had no intention of leaving them a city in flames.
He would prefer to deal with only the city elders, as they had been exercising unofficial authority before the Russers left. Unfortunately, too many of the others saw them as creatures of the Russers. Leaving them in charge, he might turn his back and find them swinging among the elms in the churchyard. The same held for the landowners, many of whom had – for generations – exchanged service with the Tsar for the security of their vast holdings. They might be German by blood, but they were Russian in all other ways that mattered.
“Who among the rioters can we work with?”
His question stilled the others around the large table, his emphasis not lost on them.
“What about this Stučka, the leader of the Reds,” Suggested his deputy.
“Never!” replied the vice mayor. “Stučka hates the landowners and you Germans more than he hates the Russians.”
“How about Frieherr von Pilchau?” von Hülsen asked. “He seems a trustworthy sort and one of the few landowners not in Russer service.”
“Put him in charge and the city will explode!’ rumbled one of the elders. “Those of the Awakening (Note 4) hate him for being of the nobility and others because he is from Pernau. You need someone from here!”
“Who then?” von Hülsen asked into the quiet.
Silence.
“I have an idea,” the head of the Dorpat police said just above a whisper.
“Explain.”
The lawman looked up and down the table before settling on von Hülsen. “Oberst Goppers, whom many of us know well, is a local man, distinguished in the service of the Tsar. Until recently he was engaged in recruiting local boys to raise a Lativan Rifle Battalion. The Russers stopped him when Riga fell and set him aside on half-pay. He did not take that well and has been vocal in his criticism of the Imperials.
“He is his own man, and respected by all sides,” he continued, “even the Reds, though they’ll turn on him if he doesn’t do their bidding.”
“You others, you agree?”
Heads nodded along the table.
“I’d like to meet with this Goppers as soon as possible,” von Hülsen said to the police chief, “if he is willing.”
I’m not pleased with putting a former Russian Empire officer in charge, but if he can hold the violence in check, it will be up to the Landwehr to decide if he stays.
December 22nd. 1210. 1st Battalion, 493rd Klin Infantry Regiment. East of Hapsal
“Fall back half a verst, then take up ambush positions on the right flank.”
Kapitan Evgeni Artymov was certain that another attempt at ambushing the advancing Germans would fail, as it had thrice now. The first time he’d spung an ambush on the bicycle men it had caught them by surprise while they were mounted. Half a dozen men killed convinced them to work their way along the railroad with more care. Since then, they’d bested his men with counter-ambushes and flanking maneuvers. Once they’d nearly surrounded him. Very good soldiers, unfortunately.
At least I’ve delayed them and forced them to stay dismounted.
“Kapitan, we have but a half dozen rounds per man.”
“Then shoot twice and fall back again. We’ll pull back through you and then cover your withdrawal.”
The platoon podporuchik, now leading the remnants of a company, saluted and ran off.
He knew he’d be lucky to delay them to nightfall. After this next ambush he would send a few squads much further back, in the hope that a few sniping rounds would keep them off their bicycles. Slowing them might be the best he could do; without more ammunition and a defensible position, he certainly couldn’t hope to stop the bastards.
Where are the damn reinforcements from 73rd Division in Reval?
His messengers should have reached the telegraph station at Risti yesterday afternoon, and if reinforcements were dispatched by rail they’d already be here. If they were sent on foot, it would take five days to a week.
“Kapitan?”
Something in the man’s voice surprised Artymov. He was a veteran and not given to unreasoning fear.
He looked where the man was pointing, back along the tracks toward Hapsal.
Smoke?
“Back back back! Everyone fall back, farther into the woods!”
-------------------------
Generalleutnant von Blumenthal congratulated himself on his brilliant tactical thinking and execution.
Was there ever an officer so gifted?
The train engine and single wagon had not needed extensive repairs; his pioniers had suggested they were simply worn out. Leaking steam in many places and with squealing axles they couldn’t go fast and might not last. He really didn’t care so long as they moved fast enough and lasted long enough.
With a korporalschaft and two maschinengewehr (Note 5) in the wagon put before the engine, they had run right through the stubborn Russers, and his men were now advancing at a steady walking pace. Every few hundred meters the Russers tried to snipe at his infantry or the train itself. A belt or two from the MG 08s drove them away, followed by a few rounds from his artillery which was doing its best to try to keep up.
He intended to continue his advance until reaching Risti, a crossroads town that linked up with Werder to the south. It would give the korps a second supply line.
Thoughts of the korps tempered his pleasure. Ships had begun to fill the port at Hapsal and there were at least three regiments already ashore. It wouldn’t be long before von François himself arrived. Von Blumenthal intended to gift his senior the important crossroads and a two day start on the march to Reval.
It will be much harder for me to shine once he gets here.
December 22nd. 1220. 50th Division. Southwest of Taps, Esthland (Note 6)
“Marsch! Marsch!”
The order by Oberst Osman to advance from a quick march to a run caught no one by surprise. The 158th Regiment had been advancing steadily along the road from Weissenstein toward the key objective of Taps, and for the last quarter hour the sound of intermittent artillery fire had sounded to the east. Now rifle fire could be heard and that could only mean one of the other divisions of the 21st Korps – the 31st or the 42nd – had also reached Taps from the south and were engaging the defenders.
Pleased that his regiment appeared to have reached the battle in time, Osman knew seizing Taps would probably be the key battle of the western Baltic operation. With control of Taps, where the north-south railroad from Dorpat joined the great east west railroad that ran between Reval and St. Petersburg, the korps would cut off Reval from resupply by rail as well as gain axes of advance directly on the Russer and Esthland capitals. All while securing their own resupply to the south.
“Herr Oberst, the radfahrer scouts report the railroad is in sight one kilometer to the north. They also report seeing steeples above the trees to the east.”
Do I head north to take the train junction, or continue east to take the Russer defenders in the rear?
With Solomonic sangfroid Osman turned to his Operations chief. “First Bataillon, swing north to join the radfahrers in taking the rail junction – scouts then to move five kilometers east and west along the railroad to delay Russer reinforcements. The rest of the regiment will continue east to support our engaged comrades.
“Messenger. Report to the division kommander: Reached outskirts Taps. Two Bns taking RR junction, remainder of rgmt coming to aid of korps engaged with Russer defenders SE.”
December 22nd. 1520. Armee-Abteilung Hutier. Southeast of Taps, Esthland
“Nein. Complete the envelopment before we hammer them again with artillery.”
“Jawohl, Herr General.”
General der Infanterie Oskar von Hutier was exceedingly pleased with the day. His 42nd Division had reached Taps and immediately engaged the Russer defenders there, estimated to be a brigade. With superb timing the 50th had attacked the enemy rear and put them completely on the defensive.
While the 42nd and the 50th were strong enough to reduce the defending Russers, he also needed to advance east and west along the railroad to prevent Russer reinforcements from joining the battle.
He considered having the 31st Division expedite bringing up the 7th Ulanen so that he could send them east toward Wesenberg to defend against reinforcements from Narva and St Petersburg (Note 7).
He held back, certain that trying to reorder the march would invariably snarl the whole movement. The 31st, minus those still in Dorpat, would get here fastest by staying in the order they were already in.
December 22nd. 1755. 40 O.B. London, UK
“Commander Hope?”
“Come in Chief Andrews.”
“Sir. I’ve been going over the morning intercepts, and I think I’ve found something a bit…dodgy. May I?” Andrews asked, nodding toward the desk.
Seeing the large number of sheets in Andrews’ hand, Hope pushed aside several piles of folders to make room on the overburdened desk. “Show me.”
“Each of these is an intercept from this morning, sir, starting at just before 1000,” Andrews began, laying out the single sheets one after another. “The stations annotated that these were all weak signals, and therefore possibly originating outside the North Sea. As you can see, sir, they are in the new Navy November A code, so we have no confirmed decryption yet.”
“So I see. Transmitting station information?”
“Sir. Almost certainly these first originated within the High Seas or Baltic Fleets. The third signal is from what we think is the fleet flagship. And this is an acknowledgement from what we think is their Admiralty HQ.”
“Any chance this has anything to do with the recent sortie?”
Hope had spent several exceedingly uncomfortable hours being interrogated by both Fleet and Admiralty flags over the failure to predict or track the recent German battlecruiser sortie. In no uncertain terms he had been directed to prevent a recurrence.
A quick re-coaling and back out, perhaps.
“Who can say for certain, sir? The receiving stations did not peg these as coming from the Wilhelmshaven anchorage, and that base has been deucedly quiet since we spotted the shift of ships to the Baltic. My guess? Not the battlecruisers. This has all the signs of being something to do with the Baltic.”
“Very well. And the dodgy bit?
“Actually, three things, or mayhap four. First, they are all marked with the same senders priority code. We suspect that this here,” Andrews said, pointing to a single character at the beginning of each of the slips, “translates to ‘D’ for ‘Dringend’, or Urgent.”
“Ah. Continue.”
“Second, sir, the timing of the transmissions and acknowledgements, one to the next, is very tight. And third, the character count is very nearly the same in all the messages. These are likely the same or similar signal repeated until reaching Berlin.”
“So, something important that their top brass needed to hear, but no indication that each layer added or subtracted anything.”
“Precisely sir.”
“You said four dodgy bits?”
“Well sir, I may be out on a limb, so to speak, on this one. After a delay of about two hours, the stations reported that they heard a similar series of messages…on an entirely different set of wavelengths… in an unknown code.”
“Well strike me pink! An unknown code. Have the Germans switched again already?”
“Actually sir, we don’t think it’s German. According to our receiving stations, the transmitting stations were too…sloppy?... to be German, and one sent the word ‘Karlskrona’ en clare before using the code.”
“Karlskrona! Lord! Please tell me you have the Swedish Naval code.”
Chief Andrews looked down at the deck, dashing Hope’s hopes.
This seemed to have nothing to do with the enemy battlecruisers, but he’d be damned if he kept this to himself.
December 22nd. 1930. Austro-Hungarian 5th Army HQ. Plyussa, Russia
The scouting report from the zeppelin confirmed Feldmarschall-Leutnant Svetovar Boroević’s fears. The Russers had finally gotten smart.
Though his troops continued to drive the Russer infantry back without respite, the enemy had finally realized that ripping up the railroad before him was a better use of infantry reserves than flinging them against his artillery, maschinengewehre, and rifles.
Two days. With the last 35 kilometers of the approach to Luga stripped of rails it would take two additional days to bring forward the heavy artillery, and thereafter the resupply of all ammunition and supplies – especially the heavy and siege artillery ammunition – would be a tenth of what it was now. Repairing the railroad would happen, but it would take yet more time and the repair efforts would further block the flow of his supplies.
The German 8th and 9th Armies on his flanks were already laboring under such conditions, but neither was trailed by the heavy morsers and kannon, nor expected to confront the heavy defenses and reserves that his 5th Army inevitably would face at Luga.
He was certain he could take the city and open the doorway to St. Petersburg. But if it took too long to break the Russers there he would find his army stopped in its tracks by the heavy snows of General Winter. That would give the enemy precious weeks to reinforce their capital’s defenses before the weather allowed further offensive operations.
He must give the enemy two additional days, but he would not give them an hour more.
December 22nd. 2245 SMS Markgraf. 18nm NNW of Dagö Island. Heading 325 at 6 knots
Carl Rudburg wasn’t quite asleep when the messenger knocked on the cabin door.
“Kommt!”
Rudburg recognized one of the Telefunken messengers.
“Herr Vitseadmiral, a priority message from the Heer relay station. The originator is AAHUTIER.”
“Danke.”
Rudburg carefully read the message from von Hutier, struggling with the Heer’s slightly different message cadence and phrasing. Good news: though von François’ korps remained somewhat behind schedule in his push toward Reval from the west, von Hutier’s korps had cut Reval and western Esthland off from reinforcements by rail.
Time to put pressure on their seaward defenses.
“Take this to the Operations Officer.” Rudburg paused in thought. “And Korvettenkapitän Dahm.”
Tomorrow, we enter the lion’s den.
Notes
Note 1. In 1915 the Åland Islands belonged to the Russian Empire and were administered from the Grand Duchy of Finland. Apart from the Russian garrison virtually the entire population of Åland Island itself was Swedish by ethnicity, culture, and language.
Note 2. The fork-bearded one.
Note 3. Taube would pass away less than a year later.
Note 4. ‘The Awakening’ was the nascent Latvian independence movement.
Note 5. A korporalschaft (section) comprised two gruppen (squads), in total 16 privates and three corporals (one for each squad and one for the section). The crew of each MG 08 was typically 4 men.
Note 6. Modern Tapa, Estonia
Note 7. Modern Rakvere, Estonia
December 22nd. 0930. Mariehamn, Åland Island.
Life in Mariehamn was quiet, unexciting, and constant.
Gustav Lindfors sat peacefully on the wooden bench in front of his bootmaker shop, as was his habit most mornings.
Watching the small city of Mariehamn wake up every morning gave him pleasure and a good insight into the lives of his fellows. He’d sold more than one pair of boots to someone walking by with the slightest of limps, a clunking heel, or the unique scuffing sound of a timeworn sole.
The passing of yesterday’s storm had left the air over the town clear and cold, but thankfully dry; the feathery-light dusting of snow would soon disappear and there should be three or four days of good weather ahead. Gustav could open the shutters while he worked.
Tomas Överström came out of his tailor shop next door and sat down next to Gustav, as he did on most mornings.
“Godmorgen Tomas.” (Note 1)
Tomas was in a quiet mood this morning; else he’d have already launched into a story of some kind.
“Godmorgen Gustav.”
They sat silently, both content to watch the world come alive again.
A deep rumbling sound interrupted Gustav’s idle thoughts. The heads of those in the street whipped around to the southeast. Gustav looked at Tomas, receiving a quizzical look in return.
“It seems the storm has not left us yet,” Gustav guessed.
Tomas grunted in reply.
The rumbling came and went, as thunder is wont to do. Then a few minutes later more rumbling…from the west. And then yet more from the northwest, and the southeast again.
“Odd. The skies are clear, but that sure sounds like thunder. And all around us at the same time,” Gustav said, giving voice to his confusion.
“Ja, det. Never heard that before,” Tomas said. “Strange times, eh?”
Strange times…in Mariehamn?
December 22nd. 1000. 74th Infantry Brigade. Hapsal, Esthland
“Jawohl Herr Generalleutnant! Instantly!”
The Hauptmann saluted and practically ran out of the room. Von Blumenthal smiled at the display of manly vigor.
If only more of my officers were so active. Too many must be told how to scheißt.
One of the Operations messengers saluted and handed him a message slip.
“Herr Generalleutnant, a report from the 4th Radfahrer. They continue to press along the railroad on foot and have taken the village of Pänul. The enemy continues to fall back in front of them, contesting the ground.”
Von Blumenthal looked at the map. They had advanced about 12 kilometers. Too slow.
“On foot? Why are they not mounted?”
“They report heavy rifle fire from the forests, Herr Generalleutnant. They are unable to mount.”
“Very well,” von Blumenthal grumped.
I should not be surprised. Real warriors do not ride cycles into combat. Afoot or on horseback has always been good enough since the days of the Römer.
“Herr Generalleutnant?”
The Hauptmann kommanding his pionier kompany was striving to get his attention.
“You have a report?” Von Blumenthal said, his eyes still on the map, looking for a way to outflank or smash the Russers that were bedeviling his scouts.
“Ja, Herr Generalleutnant. I’ve just come from the train maintenance yard. Though there were no engines at the station, there is one there. I have a man who is familiar with the type, and he believes it was there for minor repairs and likely can be operated.
Von Blumenthal’s head snapped up.
“How many wagons?”
“Just the one, Herr Generalleutnant. Like the engine it probably has something deficient in need of repair.”
“Get me Oberstleutnant Kühn,” von Blumenthal shouted to his staff. “On the double!
“Hauptmann, here is what I want…”
December 22nd. 1045 SMS Kaiser. 8nm SSW of Mariehamn. Heading 125 at 6 knots.
Konteradmiral Hermann Nordmann looked up from the chart as a funkenpuster messenger came to attention and saluted.
“Herr Konteradmiral, a wireless signal from Prinzregent Luitpold.”
The Sixth Battleship Division kommander quickly reviewed the short message from the dreadnaught operating off the western Åland coast.
“MSN ORANGE COMP”
Unless the Russers had more coastal defense batteries of which he was unaware, that would be the last of the Åland Island defenses he need worry about, his other three ships having silenced a battery on the tip of the Herrö Peninsula, and another larger one west of the main town at Mariehamn.
He’d even sent Elbing and Pillau in to skirt close to the hundreds of tiny islands surrounding southern and western Åland in the hope of provoking any hidden batteries to open fire. With no response to that provocation, he was quite certain that the enemy had been rendered defenseless.
Nordmann handed his prearranged message to the messenger, “Send this immediately.”
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Carl Rudburg was looking over the chart when admiral Nordmann’s message came in.
Gut. Now the dance begins.
He pulled out his prearranged message.
“Messenger, send this immediately.”
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Prinz-Großadmiral Heinrich smiled as he read the message from Rudburg. The man was punctual, and certainly effective.
“Messenger, send this immediately.”
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Vizeadmiral Gustav Bachmann, Chief of the Admiralstab and no fan of this venture, huffed.
“Messenger, send this immediately to the Foreign Office. And a copy to the State Secretary to the Imperial Naval Office.” (Note 2)
--------------------
Gottleib von Jagow, State Secretary of the German Foreign Office shook his head. He’d never believed that the Navy would be able to arrange this. Unlikely or not, anything that would pull the Swedes closer was to be encouraged.
He turned to the waiting messenger
“Take this to the Swedish Embassy, for the Ambassador’s eyes only.”
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Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to the German Empire Arvid Taube opened the letter with shaking hands. Reading the letter from von Jagow he realized that his long quest for closer Swedish-German relations was now within reach. If the Germans didn’t overplay their hands, a real alliance against the Russians might be possible.
The excitement was almost too much; Taube clutched at the pain in his chest (Note 3). He took a deep breath, waited for the pain to subside, then penned a short message to Foreign Minister Ehrensvärd, and one to the Naval Staff. Taking a deep breath he called in his secretary.
“Take these to the wireless room and have them sent immediately.”
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Admiral Henning von Krusenstierna, Commander of the First Coastal Defense Division, read the wireless message from the Chief of the Naval Staff with equal measures of surprise and calculation. He could only imagine the torturous path the information had taken, up through the German military, across diplomatic channels, and then down through his own chain of command. It must have taken all day to reach him.
Many fathoms in this chain.
He looked out into the darkness of Karlskrona beyond his window and wondered if his view was a metaphor for Sweden’s future in the shadow of a triumphant German Empire.
Better the Germans than the Russians.
“Kapten Sjöberg!”
The door opened promptly – his aide must have been waiting there. Good man.
“The operation is authorized for immediate execution. Notify Thor, Niord, Runeberg, and Storskär: be prepared to sail with tomorrow afternoon’s tide. Then contact the expeditionary brigade to ensure they have received orders to board the steamers. Questions?”
“Injen Admiral.”
“Off you go.”
December 22nd. 1150. 62nd Infantry Brigade. Dorpat, Livland
This is the schieße.
The city elders hate the Reds. The landowners hate the Reds and the merchants. The merchants hate the Reds and the landowners. The peasants hate the landowners and the elders. The Reds hate everybody, and everybody hates the Russers.
Generalmajor Bernhard von Hülsen let the arguments and hostility of the others wash over him. He’d called this meeting to try to get ahead of the simmering unrest in Dorpat. The two Landwehr brigades were still two days march to the south, and he had no intention of leaving them a city in flames.
He would prefer to deal with only the city elders, as they had been exercising unofficial authority before the Russers left. Unfortunately, too many of the others saw them as creatures of the Russers. Leaving them in charge, he might turn his back and find them swinging among the elms in the churchyard. The same held for the landowners, many of whom had – for generations – exchanged service with the Tsar for the security of their vast holdings. They might be German by blood, but they were Russian in all other ways that mattered.
“Who among the rioters can we work with?”
His question stilled the others around the large table, his emphasis not lost on them.
“What about this Stučka, the leader of the Reds,” Suggested his deputy.
“Never!” replied the vice mayor. “Stučka hates the landowners and you Germans more than he hates the Russians.”
“How about Frieherr von Pilchau?” von Hülsen asked. “He seems a trustworthy sort and one of the few landowners not in Russer service.”
“Put him in charge and the city will explode!’ rumbled one of the elders. “Those of the Awakening (Note 4) hate him for being of the nobility and others because he is from Pernau. You need someone from here!”
“Who then?” von Hülsen asked into the quiet.
Silence.
“I have an idea,” the head of the Dorpat police said just above a whisper.
“Explain.”
The lawman looked up and down the table before settling on von Hülsen. “Oberst Goppers, whom many of us know well, is a local man, distinguished in the service of the Tsar. Until recently he was engaged in recruiting local boys to raise a Lativan Rifle Battalion. The Russers stopped him when Riga fell and set him aside on half-pay. He did not take that well and has been vocal in his criticism of the Imperials.
“He is his own man, and respected by all sides,” he continued, “even the Reds, though they’ll turn on him if he doesn’t do their bidding.”
“You others, you agree?”
Heads nodded along the table.
“I’d like to meet with this Goppers as soon as possible,” von Hülsen said to the police chief, “if he is willing.”
I’m not pleased with putting a former Russian Empire officer in charge, but if he can hold the violence in check, it will be up to the Landwehr to decide if he stays.
December 22nd. 1210. 1st Battalion, 493rd Klin Infantry Regiment. East of Hapsal
“Fall back half a verst, then take up ambush positions on the right flank.”
Kapitan Evgeni Artymov was certain that another attempt at ambushing the advancing Germans would fail, as it had thrice now. The first time he’d spung an ambush on the bicycle men it had caught them by surprise while they were mounted. Half a dozen men killed convinced them to work their way along the railroad with more care. Since then, they’d bested his men with counter-ambushes and flanking maneuvers. Once they’d nearly surrounded him. Very good soldiers, unfortunately.
At least I’ve delayed them and forced them to stay dismounted.
“Kapitan, we have but a half dozen rounds per man.”
“Then shoot twice and fall back again. We’ll pull back through you and then cover your withdrawal.”
The platoon podporuchik, now leading the remnants of a company, saluted and ran off.
He knew he’d be lucky to delay them to nightfall. After this next ambush he would send a few squads much further back, in the hope that a few sniping rounds would keep them off their bicycles. Slowing them might be the best he could do; without more ammunition and a defensible position, he certainly couldn’t hope to stop the bastards.
Where are the damn reinforcements from 73rd Division in Reval?
His messengers should have reached the telegraph station at Risti yesterday afternoon, and if reinforcements were dispatched by rail they’d already be here. If they were sent on foot, it would take five days to a week.
“Kapitan?”
Something in the man’s voice surprised Artymov. He was a veteran and not given to unreasoning fear.
He looked where the man was pointing, back along the tracks toward Hapsal.
Smoke?
“Back back back! Everyone fall back, farther into the woods!”
-------------------------
Generalleutnant von Blumenthal congratulated himself on his brilliant tactical thinking and execution.
Was there ever an officer so gifted?
The train engine and single wagon had not needed extensive repairs; his pioniers had suggested they were simply worn out. Leaking steam in many places and with squealing axles they couldn’t go fast and might not last. He really didn’t care so long as they moved fast enough and lasted long enough.
With a korporalschaft and two maschinengewehr (Note 5) in the wagon put before the engine, they had run right through the stubborn Russers, and his men were now advancing at a steady walking pace. Every few hundred meters the Russers tried to snipe at his infantry or the train itself. A belt or two from the MG 08s drove them away, followed by a few rounds from his artillery which was doing its best to try to keep up.
He intended to continue his advance until reaching Risti, a crossroads town that linked up with Werder to the south. It would give the korps a second supply line.
Thoughts of the korps tempered his pleasure. Ships had begun to fill the port at Hapsal and there were at least three regiments already ashore. It wouldn’t be long before von François himself arrived. Von Blumenthal intended to gift his senior the important crossroads and a two day start on the march to Reval.
It will be much harder for me to shine once he gets here.
December 22nd. 1220. 50th Division. Southwest of Taps, Esthland (Note 6)
“Marsch! Marsch!”
The order by Oberst Osman to advance from a quick march to a run caught no one by surprise. The 158th Regiment had been advancing steadily along the road from Weissenstein toward the key objective of Taps, and for the last quarter hour the sound of intermittent artillery fire had sounded to the east. Now rifle fire could be heard and that could only mean one of the other divisions of the 21st Korps – the 31st or the 42nd – had also reached Taps from the south and were engaging the defenders.
Pleased that his regiment appeared to have reached the battle in time, Osman knew seizing Taps would probably be the key battle of the western Baltic operation. With control of Taps, where the north-south railroad from Dorpat joined the great east west railroad that ran between Reval and St. Petersburg, the korps would cut off Reval from resupply by rail as well as gain axes of advance directly on the Russer and Esthland capitals. All while securing their own resupply to the south.
“Herr Oberst, the radfahrer scouts report the railroad is in sight one kilometer to the north. They also report seeing steeples above the trees to the east.”
Do I head north to take the train junction, or continue east to take the Russer defenders in the rear?
With Solomonic sangfroid Osman turned to his Operations chief. “First Bataillon, swing north to join the radfahrers in taking the rail junction – scouts then to move five kilometers east and west along the railroad to delay Russer reinforcements. The rest of the regiment will continue east to support our engaged comrades.
“Messenger. Report to the division kommander: Reached outskirts Taps. Two Bns taking RR junction, remainder of rgmt coming to aid of korps engaged with Russer defenders SE.”
December 22nd. 1520. Armee-Abteilung Hutier. Southeast of Taps, Esthland
“Nein. Complete the envelopment before we hammer them again with artillery.”
“Jawohl, Herr General.”
General der Infanterie Oskar von Hutier was exceedingly pleased with the day. His 42nd Division had reached Taps and immediately engaged the Russer defenders there, estimated to be a brigade. With superb timing the 50th had attacked the enemy rear and put them completely on the defensive.
While the 42nd and the 50th were strong enough to reduce the defending Russers, he also needed to advance east and west along the railroad to prevent Russer reinforcements from joining the battle.
He considered having the 31st Division expedite bringing up the 7th Ulanen so that he could send them east toward Wesenberg to defend against reinforcements from Narva and St Petersburg (Note 7).
He held back, certain that trying to reorder the march would invariably snarl the whole movement. The 31st, minus those still in Dorpat, would get here fastest by staying in the order they were already in.
December 22nd. 1755. 40 O.B. London, UK
“Commander Hope?”
“Come in Chief Andrews.”
“Sir. I’ve been going over the morning intercepts, and I think I’ve found something a bit…dodgy. May I?” Andrews asked, nodding toward the desk.
Seeing the large number of sheets in Andrews’ hand, Hope pushed aside several piles of folders to make room on the overburdened desk. “Show me.”
“Each of these is an intercept from this morning, sir, starting at just before 1000,” Andrews began, laying out the single sheets one after another. “The stations annotated that these were all weak signals, and therefore possibly originating outside the North Sea. As you can see, sir, they are in the new Navy November A code, so we have no confirmed decryption yet.”
“So I see. Transmitting station information?”
“Sir. Almost certainly these first originated within the High Seas or Baltic Fleets. The third signal is from what we think is the fleet flagship. And this is an acknowledgement from what we think is their Admiralty HQ.”
“Any chance this has anything to do with the recent sortie?”
Hope had spent several exceedingly uncomfortable hours being interrogated by both Fleet and Admiralty flags over the failure to predict or track the recent German battlecruiser sortie. In no uncertain terms he had been directed to prevent a recurrence.
A quick re-coaling and back out, perhaps.
“Who can say for certain, sir? The receiving stations did not peg these as coming from the Wilhelmshaven anchorage, and that base has been deucedly quiet since we spotted the shift of ships to the Baltic. My guess? Not the battlecruisers. This has all the signs of being something to do with the Baltic.”
“Very well. And the dodgy bit?
“Actually, three things, or mayhap four. First, they are all marked with the same senders priority code. We suspect that this here,” Andrews said, pointing to a single character at the beginning of each of the slips, “translates to ‘D’ for ‘Dringend’, or Urgent.”
“Ah. Continue.”
“Second, sir, the timing of the transmissions and acknowledgements, one to the next, is very tight. And third, the character count is very nearly the same in all the messages. These are likely the same or similar signal repeated until reaching Berlin.”
“So, something important that their top brass needed to hear, but no indication that each layer added or subtracted anything.”
“Precisely sir.”
“You said four dodgy bits?”
“Well sir, I may be out on a limb, so to speak, on this one. After a delay of about two hours, the stations reported that they heard a similar series of messages…on an entirely different set of wavelengths… in an unknown code.”
“Well strike me pink! An unknown code. Have the Germans switched again already?”
“Actually sir, we don’t think it’s German. According to our receiving stations, the transmitting stations were too…sloppy?... to be German, and one sent the word ‘Karlskrona’ en clare before using the code.”
“Karlskrona! Lord! Please tell me you have the Swedish Naval code.”
Chief Andrews looked down at the deck, dashing Hope’s hopes.
This seemed to have nothing to do with the enemy battlecruisers, but he’d be damned if he kept this to himself.
December 22nd. 1930. Austro-Hungarian 5th Army HQ. Plyussa, Russia
The scouting report from the zeppelin confirmed Feldmarschall-Leutnant Svetovar Boroević’s fears. The Russers had finally gotten smart.
Though his troops continued to drive the Russer infantry back without respite, the enemy had finally realized that ripping up the railroad before him was a better use of infantry reserves than flinging them against his artillery, maschinengewehre, and rifles.
Two days. With the last 35 kilometers of the approach to Luga stripped of rails it would take two additional days to bring forward the heavy artillery, and thereafter the resupply of all ammunition and supplies – especially the heavy and siege artillery ammunition – would be a tenth of what it was now. Repairing the railroad would happen, but it would take yet more time and the repair efforts would further block the flow of his supplies.
The German 8th and 9th Armies on his flanks were already laboring under such conditions, but neither was trailed by the heavy morsers and kannon, nor expected to confront the heavy defenses and reserves that his 5th Army inevitably would face at Luga.
He was certain he could take the city and open the doorway to St. Petersburg. But if it took too long to break the Russers there he would find his army stopped in its tracks by the heavy snows of General Winter. That would give the enemy precious weeks to reinforce their capital’s defenses before the weather allowed further offensive operations.
He must give the enemy two additional days, but he would not give them an hour more.
December 22nd. 2245 SMS Markgraf. 18nm NNW of Dagö Island. Heading 325 at 6 knots
Carl Rudburg wasn’t quite asleep when the messenger knocked on the cabin door.
“Kommt!”
Rudburg recognized one of the Telefunken messengers.
“Herr Vitseadmiral, a priority message from the Heer relay station. The originator is AAHUTIER.”
“Danke.”
Rudburg carefully read the message from von Hutier, struggling with the Heer’s slightly different message cadence and phrasing. Good news: though von François’ korps remained somewhat behind schedule in his push toward Reval from the west, von Hutier’s korps had cut Reval and western Esthland off from reinforcements by rail.
Time to put pressure on their seaward defenses.
“Take this to the Operations Officer.” Rudburg paused in thought. “And Korvettenkapitän Dahm.”
Tomorrow, we enter the lion’s den.
Notes
Note 1. In 1915 the Åland Islands belonged to the Russian Empire and were administered from the Grand Duchy of Finland. Apart from the Russian garrison virtually the entire population of Åland Island itself was Swedish by ethnicity, culture, and language.
Note 2. The fork-bearded one.
Note 3. Taube would pass away less than a year later.
Note 4. ‘The Awakening’ was the nascent Latvian independence movement.
Note 5. A korporalschaft (section) comprised two gruppen (squads), in total 16 privates and three corporals (one for each squad and one for the section). The crew of each MG 08 was typically 4 men.
Note 6. Modern Tapa, Estonia
Note 7. Modern Rakvere, Estonia
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