Chapter 23 – Plans Afoot
December 23rd. 0130. Submarine E-9. Oresund, 9nm east of Copenhagen. Heading 174 at 11 knots, surfaced.
Be careful what you ask for, they say.
Bollocks!
The lights of Copenhagen to starboard and Malmö off the port bow were bright, neither city dimmed by the wartime expedients that had darkened the coastal cities of the both the Empire and France.
Commander Max Horton knew that the next minutes would be the most dangerous of this short voyage into the Baltic, even so he was supremely confident that E-9 could make it through these narrows, and once through he and his short squadron would wreak havoc on the Germans. And the Swedes.
He had waited a long time for this opportunity. With the German merchant marine evicted from the high seas within the war’s first months, RN submarines could not engage in commerce warfare. Instead, they’d aimed for German warships, with decidedly limited results; speed, frequent maneuver, and staying on port when possible frustrated submersible torpedo attacks.
The terrible RN ship losses in the North Sea battles, particularly amongst the cruisers and destroyers, had forced the RN submersibles into the highly unglamourous role of static fleet scouts. Picketing the minefield exits, they had generally been successful in sighting the German sorties, but sighting was not the same thing as scouting. In the visibility conditions prevalent in the North Sea the RN submarines were often forced by German torpedo boats to quickly dive, usually before the wireless could send an adequate scouting report.
The very failure of the submarine scouts to warn of the latest German sorties had opened the door to Horton. Armed with the undeniable fact that the bulk of the German fleet was now operating in the Baltic, he had argued that his boats were being ill-used and should instead operate exclusively against the Swedish iron ore trade and the enemy fleet in the Baltic. He’d made a key ally in Captain Keyes, formerly the 8th Submarine Flotilla Commander, and together they’d taken their plan up the ladder of the Admiralty.
Horton liked to think that it was logic that saw his plan win approval, but he knew that likely as not it was Russian agitation that decided the matter. The unpleasantness in northern waters this last summer and autumn, and now the unexpected enemy Winter Offensive, had made the Russians desperate, and to keep them in the war the stodgy admirals were willing to offer up a handful of submarines.
Just four boats in this first tranche. E-13 followed E-9 through the Oresund, and E-18 and E-19 were passing through the navigationally less challenging but far more heavily patrolled Danish Belts to the west. More boats were being prepared to follow, contingent upon Horton’s report that the Russians could indeed support them.
There!
Lights on the port bow. Unlike those of Malmö behind, these were drifting left. Clearly a ship, but with lights all a-jangle.
No bloody Hun would steam about with lights like that. A ferry then, running between Sweden and Denmark?
With left bearing drift she would pass astern of E-9, and with his boat showing no lights he was sure that he wouldn’t be seen from her decks.
Horton looked aft – the ferry would pass much closer to E-13, unseen but more than a mile astern. His previous signal directing E-13 to maneuver independently as needed through these narrows should stand her commander, Lt Cdr Geoffrey Layton, in good stead.
With one eye searching ahead for danger, and another watching the ferry pass astern, Horton almost missed the moment when Layton’s night turned ugly. A shrill whistle of alarm from the steamer caught his attention, as did a questing searchlight.
There she is! Sweet Christ! She’s under the ferry’s lee and beam on to her.
Layton must have become confused by the ferry’s lights, as the angle on her conning tower – fully illuminated by the searchlight – showed he was now heading west, toward Copenhagen.
As the ferry continued toward the Danish capital, the submarine appeared to circle around. At least it seemed so, it was vexedly difficult to tell the other boat’s heading.
Broad on E-9’s starboard bow, the low-lying island of Saltholm could just be made out. Their planned track left it 3000 yards to starboard, but E-13 could be at least that far west of the track.
E-13’s tiny silhouette began drifting toward E-9’s wake.
Good, he’s realized his mistake and is coming back east.
Bloody hell, he’s not coming east, he’s slowed or stopped.
“Engine ahead dead slow.”
Horton waited twenty minutes, which seemed like hours, before a red light flickered.
“E-9 DE E-13. GRNDD. STBD BLST TNK AND PROP DAMGD. IF ABLE TO FLOAT WILL RTN TO BASE. GOD SPD.”
Bloody Hell!
“Helm. Steady on 174, engines ahead standard, turns for 11 knots.”
We haven’t even made it into the Baltic and have already lost a quarter of our strength!
(Note 1)
December 23rd. 0410. SMS V-26. 3nm south of Hanko, Finland. Lying to.
Despite the bitter cold, Fregattenkapitän zur See Paul Heinrich felt sweat permeate the band of his cap. How could he have thought this made sense?
When the corpulent kommodore of torpedobooten had gathered the halbflot kommanders to discuss this morning’s work, the original plan had been to storm in with an entire flotilla. One look at the chart and Heinrich had pointed out that the dozens of rocky islets and tight channel made the harbor a deathtrap for more than one or two boats at a time. It was likely too that the Russers, in the face of an overt attack, would douse all lights around the harbor making the rocks even more dangerous.
No, he’d suggested to the kommodore, one or at most two boats stood a much better chance of getting in and out without running aground and should be enough to deal with any Russers while executing the mission.
The other halbflot kommanders had nodded and mumbled agreement, Chinese Borys had stared hard at him for a heartbeat before nodding and saying, “Your mission then.” (Note 2)
Now, in the dark with the first of the rocks appearing as if conjured from the dark on V-26’s bows, Paul Heinrich wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
A tiny reddish light flickered momentarily from the islet off to port, the southernmost of the dragon’s teeth protecting Hanko, Lilla Tärnan on the chart.
“Bridge. Signals. The landing party has signaled “IN POSITION.”
Everything depended on that landing party. They had gambled that the Russers wouldn’t garrison it, a gamble they’d apparently won.
“Helm. Both engines ahead one-third, turns for 4 knots. Steady on 350."
“Both engines ahead one-third for four knots, steady on 350, aye.”
V-26’s engines, starved of all but a trickle of steam, rumbled quietly in discontent. Gliding smoothly, there was no betraying wake to be seen from the midnight-black painted torpedoboot’s stem or stern. Heinrich watched as the southernmost islets slid slowly down the port side.
“Herr Kapitän,” whispered the Deck Officer, “I think that is Russarö over there.”
Less than a dozen cables off the port bow an island showed itself, rocky but far more substantial than the other islets. Russarö was supposed to have a garrison and a battery of four 10.2cm kanon, though they were reputed to be old guns of uncertain reliability. He hoped not to test that information. The lighthouse at its southern end was dark, but elsewhere lamps or small fires could be seen, that could only mean there was a garrison.
“Verstanden.”
Heinrich watched Russarö closely for any sign that they’d been sighted, but nothing moved, no alarm sounded as they slid past.
More rocks on both bows now, very hard to see them in the night. More than a century ago several of these had rock and brick forts, but only ruins remained. Backlit by the town's lights they added a craggy haunted air to the near-ghostly apparitions.
Unlike the rocks, the town of Hanko spread out across both bows, fully lit. The tall church spire and a round water tower made excellent navigation markers.
“Come left to 343.”
“Message for the funker,” Heinrich called out softly. “Send ‘ACTION IMMINENT’ to Kaiserin.”
“Herr Kapitän, lookouts have sighted a small warship moored off the western jetty.”
Ja, there. Turtle deck forward, so a torpedoboot. Three funnels? (Note 2)
What's forward of the torpedoboot? Ah, a moored U-boot!
“Prepare two torpedoes to starboard. Shallow. High Speed.”
“Two torpedoes to starboard, shallow, high speed, aye.”
“Artillery Officer, your target will be the anchored torpedoboot.”
Suddenly, off to starboard, there was a brief flash from one of the islands – the telltale spark of a searchlight being energized. After several more seconds a thin beam lanced out… well astern of V-26.
Did they spot us, or just hear us? Soon the light from the town will mark us out.
“Herr Kapitän, AO. Target 1400 meters.”
“Guns. Hold fire until we turn to port.”
“Aye, Kapitän. 1250 meters.”
The open bridge around Heinrich suddenly lit up with reflected light. The searchlight on the quarter had found them! The time for stealth was over.
“Left full rudder. Starboard engine ahead full. Port engine stop!”
The unequal twist of the engines caused V-26 to pivot smartly to port
“Artillery! Open Fire!”
Crack! Crack!
“Torpedoes…stand by…”
Crack! Crack!
“Torpedo Eins…Los!”
Crack! Crack!
“Torpedo Zwei…Los!”
Hit on the torpedoboot!
Crack! Crack!
“Helm. Steady on 270. Engines ahead one third. Five knots.”
Only another minute before I must turn away, or I’ll end up on the rocks.
Whump! Whump!
The enemy U-boot broke in half and then disappeared in an enormous double explosion.
The bright light of the explosion illuminated two more U-boots, moored inside the tiny harbor.
Nothing I can do about those now.
The Russer torpedoboot had been hit several times, was on fire and down by the bow. The 10.5cm shells hit very hard compared to the old 8.8’s.
A bright flash from the tip of land that stuck out 4 km to the west of Hanko. The main enemy defenses, a 15.2cm battery, had woken up.
Splash!
A tall column of water rose up, mercifully short.
“Artillery, cease fire kanons. Stand by the rockets.
“Helm. Left full rudder, steady on 170, Engines ahead full, turns for 30 knots.”
Another flash from the enemy battery.
Just the one gun?
Splash.
Not even close, the turn away surprised them.
“Artillery. Three red rockets, dead astern!”
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The rockets flew true, landing just short of the enemy battery.
Another flash of a shot from the enemy battery; Heinrich didn’t see the splash.
Crump crump crump crump.
The southern horizon lit up.
The landing party’s navigation beacon and the rockets worked!.
Twenty-five seconds later the first of the 30.5cm HE shells from Kaiserin and Friedrich der Große rumbled overhead.
V-26 stayed within sight long enough for Heinrich to see numerous groups of shells land around the battery. Heinrich didn’t think much could live through that battering.
December 23rd. 0420. SMS S-50. 7nm NE of Baltischeport, Esthland. Heading 175 at 12 knots
Thirty-six nautical miles to the southeast, another Russer port was about to come under attack.
Kapitänleutnant zur See Otto Gerngross, acting kommander of the 20th Torpedoboot Halbflot, looked aft at his four trailing boats. Though all were new – none more than five months in service – the crews were relatively experienced, matrosen taken from older ships now laid up, as well as the survivors of ships lost in the Nordsee battles.
I’ll need all that experience tonight. Chinese Borys did us no favors.
His first task was to steam in close to the small Russer base at Baltischeport and attack any ships there. A quick in and out; kanon fire for smaller ships, and torpedoes for anything large. Other than any warships there, the only defenses were supposed to be a pair of old 7.5cm kanon located just north of the port. With a dozen 10.5cm kanon on his ships, he didn’t worry overmuch about that battery.
More concerning was the coastal defense battery on Kleiner Rågö Island guarding the western side of the approach to Baltischeport (Note 4). Kleiner Rågö had the heaviest battery in the outer Gulf of Finland: four each of 15.2cm and 10.2cm kanon. His orders were to approach the port from close to the east side of the entrance, leaving the island battery to the west and hopefully out of sight in the dark. After attacking the port itself, on the way out, he was to close on the island battery and use his searchlights to mark it for the two supporting dreadnaughts – Kaiser and Prinzregent Luitpold.
Both the Esthland coast and the offshore islands were flat – tree-covered and rimmed by ten-meter cliffs. There were no real navigation marks, so he would hug the coast by keeping the whitish cliffs just in sight to port.
“Messenger. For the Funker. Send ‘ACTION IMMINENT’ to Kaiser.”
S-50 had barely left the darkened lighthouse that graced the northern tip of the shore to port when the first dim lights of Baltischeport appeared fine on the port bow. A tiny town of less than a dozen buildings fronted a mole perpendicular to the shore.
It looks … inconsequential.
Just four minutes later, having closed to within a mile of the harbor breakwater, it was clear to Gerngross that there was nothing in the port that justified risking his halbflot with a close attack. His ships and crews were not worth the handful of small wooden sailing craft that lay behind the breakwater. (Note 5)
“Helm. Right 10 degrees rudder, steady on 290.”
The four boats astern followed obediently in his wake without signal. The new course would take him out of the bay and close to the northern tip of Kleiner Rågö.
“Searchlights. Stand ready to port.”
Gerngross gripped the railing tightly as they closed on the Kleiner Rågö battery, anxiety spiking like a shell splash close aboard. Suddenly he was filled with uncertainty.
Where is the northern tip of the island?
On the chart the battery at the northern end of the island seemed obvious. Here at night less than two miles from a battery equal to a kreuzer in power, he realized that the entire curving coast looked the same. The northern end of the island was indistinguishable; the battery could be anywhere in a 30-degree arc.
What if we steam by with neither we nor the Russers spotting the other? Can’t use the searchlights to range up and down the coast as that would confuse the gunlayers on the dreadnaughts. I pray we don’t pass right by and have to come around for a second, even slower pass!
In the end he was saved from that embarrassment.
A sharp crack and brilliant lance of flame shot out from the shore, broad on the port bow. A shell splashed 50 meters ahead and bounced across the water, ricocheting four times before exploding.
“Searchlights! There. Illuminate where the gun flashed. Right there, just to the…” he snapped his mouth shut before he babbled any more.
The fore searchlight wandered across the shore, quickly followed by the aft light, then the other eight lights from the rest of the halbflot. The torpedoboot searchlights were far less powerful than the big 110cm lights on larger ships, but at 2000 meters from the shore they were more than adequate for the task. The lights quickly settled on a small tower, either an observation tower or a control tower, or both, and a concrete and rock half circle that chose that moment to belch fire.
Gerngross didn’t see where the shell went.
“AO, open fire on that tower and any guns you can see.”
As if to challenge him, a second enemy kanon opened fire. The much larger muzzle flash declaring it one of the 15.2cm kanon.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Perhaps the enemy is blinded by our searchlights, at this range they should be hitting with every…
Whaaaang!
S-50 shook with the hit. A sudden strange pitch to the engines – like a metallic animal crying – told him something was quite wrong.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
He looked aft and saw smoke billowing between the two funnels. The boiler room air intakes were there.
Splash! Splash!
“Pilot house. Ingenieur here. There is too little air making it into the boiler rooms. We soon won’t be able to keep ordered steam pressure.”
Gerngross acknowledged the Ingenieur and turned to the Torpedo Officer. “Get your men back to the intakes and clear away any wreckage – get those intakes open or we’ll lose power right here in front of their guns.”
Crack! Crack! Crack!
More of the enemy kanon began to fire, even as his ships blasted away at the shore. One of the German shells hit the tower, and it burst into flames like the top of a candle. He almost felt sorry for the bastarde up there, then looked aft and saw that the forecastle of his third boat – S-48 – was on fire.
To Hölle with all Russers! When are the verdammt dreadnaughts going open fire?
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Suddenly the second boat, S-51, heeled out of formation to starboard, smoke pouring from amidships. She seemed to be under control but was slowing. Then S-48 was hit again. It didn’t seem as if the torpedoboot kanon were having any luck hitting the enemy battery other than that tower; he still counted eight flashes.
The weird keening noise of the engines stopped. Since S-50 wasn’t slowing, he hoped that meant the torpedomen had succeeded in clearing away any debris from the intakes.
Almost before he realized it, the signalman called down from the fore searchlight, “The enemy is too far astern to bear!”
Crack! Crack!
Schieße! I’m going to have to turn around and run by the enemy kanon a second time! Where are the verdammt dreadnaughts?
A deep rumbling noise, followed by thunderous booms, answered. There were many flashes from what should be about 50hm to the north, though the ships themselves weren’t visible.
“Douse all searchlights! Signals, for the halbflot – MAKE BEST SPEED.”
Time to clear out, then count the butcher’s bill.
December 23rd. 0650. Battleship Gangut. Sveaborg, Grand Duchy of Finland. Anchored.
Vitze-admiral Vasily Kanin sipped his tea and did his best to appear unperturbed to his staff, though what he really wanted to do was climb up to Gangut’s signal bridge to personally query – no, demand – why the ships were taking so long to make ready for sea.
In all fairness, less than three hours ago the bulk of the Fleet had been on six hours readiness for sea, and he knew it was unreasonable to expect the engineering plants brought up much faster than that.
Unreasonable or not, he wasn’t about the let the Germans blast his outer coastal defenses and then just steam off.
As it was, of the 1st Battleship Brigade Gangut and Poltava had reported ready for sea, though they would be slow steamers at first. Petropavlovsk would need two more hours to even get underway, and Sevastopol perhaps three.
Neither Andrei Pervozvanny nor Imperator Pavel I of the 2nd Brigade had even made their initial reports, and Kanin was torn about waiting for them once Sevastopol was ready. He knew the German fleet had at least four dreadnaughts here in the Baltic, and though he prayed that the Ganguts were as good one for one as their German counterparts, he didn’t think he could afford to simply ignore the two relatively new yet obsolescent battleships.
Another sip of tea while he thought of ways to use his fast dreadnaughts and his slow battleships. His ruminations were interrupted by an aide.
“Vitze-Admiral?”
“Da?”
“Report from Rurik. The Cruiser Brigade and 1st Destroyer Division report ready for sea, and three of five torpedoboat flotillas are ready. Anticipate all lighter ships here will be ready for sea within the hour, except Dago and boats 120, 128, and 129 which report engineering casualties which preclude getting underway today.
Kanin kept the disappointment from his face, then nodded. “Very well. What of the Reval flotillas?”
The aide looked down at his shoes before answering. “Nothing from Reval, Vitze-Admiral.”
“Ask the Chief of Staff for an update on Petropavlovsk and Sevastopol.”
The silence from the base at Reval wasn’t unexpected. Many of the ships there were undergoing maintenance or repairs, and since they could only communicate via wireless the base commander was no doubt waiting until he had a full set of reports before sending his summary.
The torpedo boats here at Sveaborg and Helsingfors were a different thing. Finding engineering casualties after being ordered to sortie smacked of commanders who were unaware of, or worse, actively hid the poor condition of their ships or crews.
Four torpedo boats likely wouldn’t make any difference against the Germans. He would deal with the commanders of those torpedo boats when he got back from the sortie.
December 23rd. 0930. Armee-Abteilung Hutier. Taps, Esthland.
“The 17th Regiment is in position, Herr General.”
“Gut. Execute the attack as planned.”
Oskar von Hutier had only a small part of his thoughts on the looming attack on the surrounded Russers south of the town. Prisoners indicated that it was the 176th Perevolochensk Infantry Regiment and assorted kleinkram units, with no artillery. They would not last long against the four regiments and artillery of the 42nd and 50th Divisions facing them.
Nor was he particularly concerned with the Russers at Reval, suspected to be more than a division. Von François’s 20th Korps was finally ashore at Hapsal and moving east. They should reach Reval’s western defenses within days and pin the Esthland capital’s defenders in place. One regiment and the radfahrer kompany from the 50th would block the eastern approaches to Reval until the rest of the 50th finished here.
What did dominate his thoughts was the rail line from here at Taps heading east, toward Narva and eventually St. Petersburg. The rail line would allow Russer reinforcements to approach almost without warning. He suspected that the sledgehammer thrust of the 8th, 9th, and Austro-Hungarian 5th Armies out of Pskov would prevent too powerful a response, but the farther east he could move before meeting resistance, the better.
Half the 42nd Division and a regiment of dragoons, followed by artillery, were heading east as fast as possible. The quicker this battle was over, and the sooner the 31st Division moved up from Dorpat, the better.
December 23rd. 1055. 74th Brigade. Risti, Esthland.
From the front door of the modest train station Generalmajor von Blumenthal tried to gauge the mood of his superior, as General der Infantrie von François climbed the steps.
How angry is he with me for disobeying his order to remain at Hapsal? His eyes betray nothing.
“Herr General der Infanterie,” he began, before being abruptly cut off by von François.
“Inside.”
Nicht gut.
As they entered the one-room building the korps kommander ordered the staff officers out, then took the chair at the stationmaster’s desk. There were no other chairs, and rather than trying to sit awkwardly on one of the benches facing sideways, von Blumenthal remained standing. Not quite at attention, but he hoped he seemed suitably respectful.
Surprisingly, rather than playing the game of making him stand there for long, von François began speaking right away. Rather quietly.
“When I found out that you had disobeyed my specific order to remain at Hapsal until my arrival, I was, how shall I put this? Ja, ‘energetically peeved’.” Von François grimaced sourly, “I’m sure my staff was suitably distressed as well, and since we were aboard ship coming here, they could not easily escape my wrath.”
Von François flicked some dirt off his boots before continuing in a tight voice.
“My initial inclination was to provide you with further written orders – which I would have had you countersign – that directed you to remain within the walls of Schlöss Hapsal until I ordered you otherwise. Further, should I fall in battle before then, you would remain within the schlöss until my moldy corpse sat up from my coffin to inform you otherwise!”
Von François thunderously slammed his hand onto the stationmaster’s desk, then took a deep breath through his nose and let it out. Von Bumenthal was surprised to hear a chuckle come from the older man.
“Upon reflection, it was not, of course, beyond me to recall that I was once guilty of a similar sin, at the beginning of this war. Generaloberst von Prittwitz was, I believe, ‘energetically peeved’ at me as well (Note 6).
Von François paused for a moment, and von Blumenthal felt his senior’s eyes search his own carefully.
“Ja. Given such, I have decided not to punish you. Instead, I will reward your aggressiveness by directing you and your 74th Brigade to press forward until reaching Freidrichshof and the Reval defenses (Note 7).
“I will also provide you with some advice. I have paid for this wisdom with the scorn of my peers – ignore it at your professional peril. When a kommander specifically directs you not to do something, he has taken an extra step beyond affirmative orders. Ask yourself why he took that step. You will be unaware of all that he knows…and an order which may seem to ill-use your kommand may be intended to enable the movement or activity of other units.
“There are times when you will think you have a better appreciation of the situation than your superior, and by all means you must then do what you believe to be right. But…you must always be ready to be held accountable for that violation. Should your violation of orders cause the collapse of your kommander’s plans, no success in your own action, no previous accolades, no awards or citations, nothing will protect you from your kommander’s wrath.”
Von Blumenthal held von François’ gaze, though it took all his willpower, then nodded.
“Ich Verstehe.”
“Gut. We’ll say no more of it. Get your brigade moving as soon as possible.”
December 23rd. 1215 SMS Markgraf. Central Gulf of Finland, mid-way between Hanko and Baltischeport. Heading 225 at 15 knots
“…and he reports the three damaged torpedoboots of 20th Halbflot have detached. S-50 is enroute Memel for repairs. S-48 and S-51, due to their more extensive damage, are enroute Danzig.”
“Very well,” Carl Rudberg acknowledged with some frustration. Though the attacks seemed to have accomplished their aims, he knew that the most difficult goals of the operation were ahead, and he now had Großer Kurfürst and six torpedoboots away for repairs, to say nothing of the three boots lost.
“Herr Vize-admiral, Graudenz reports a torpedoboot flotilla under the smoke to the northeast, composition eight. Additional smoke sighted beyond, four columns including one heavy plume.”
Rudburg nodded, then turned to his Chief of Staff and Korvettenkapitän Dahm, his right eyebrow raised.
“Eight hours since our attacks,” marked the Chief of Staff. “Far too quick for a force from Kotlin to traverse the whole gulf, even if they were already underway. They’re too far north to have come from Reval. They must have come from Sveaborg.”
Dahm looked up from his watch. “Agreed. Six hours for the Russers to get underway, then two hours at more than 20 knots from Sveaborg to the sighting. Or five and three, at 15 knots.”
“We’ll need to assume that they’ll be faster out of port next time,” the Chief of Staff suggested.
Rudburg nodded in agreement. “That is good in its own way; if they implement shorter ready for sea measures, it will wear on their maschinery and crews. Even so, quite a pleasant change from the RN, which seemed able to always meet us far from their bases,” he said.
“It’s good to have the initiative to manueuver, but I’m still surprised that our own wireless transmissions were so…damaging,” the Chief of Staff opined, obviously not ready to put to bed the early-war theory that spies were radioing the Hochseeflot’s sortie plans.
“The evidence seems conclusive.” Rudburg said, then made a decision. “In any case, bitte, slow the formation to twelve knots.”
The two staff officers looked at each other in surprise. Rudburg almost laughed at the sight.
“No, I haven’t changed the plan, nor suddenly lost my mind. I have no intention of sparring with them until Konter-admiral Nordman and 6th Division return after re-arming. I would like to confirm that their dreadnaughts are out, and I’d like to see how they deploy while in pursuit.”
An hour later the smoke plumes of no less than five groups were visible from the flagship. A massive plume still hull-down, flanked by two smaller ones to both port and starboard. The four outer plumes were torpedoboot flotillas that had wanted no part of Konter-admiral Hopman’s kreuzers, running back to shelter near the center plume like chicks to the hen at the first long-range salvoes.
“Bridge. Signals. IIAG reports heavy pole masts in sight under the large plume.”
“Signals,” Rudburg ordered. “Formation Speed 16 knots, if you please. Then, signal to IIAS: LEAD THROUGH MINEFIELD.”
Within ten minutes those on the Flagship could see the pole masts and tall funnels of four ships astern.
The Chief of Staff came over to Rudburg. “Their battleships do not have the large fighting tops, these must be their dreadnaughts.”
“Agreed, they came out as we hoped they would. And note that the torpedoboots are hanging back. We can use that…”
Rudburg turned to Markgraf’s kapitän, “I’d be pleased if your Artillery Officer could provide an estimate of speed for those large fellows.”
Turning to the chart table, “Navigation, distance to the minefields?”
“21nm, Herr Vize-admiral.”
“Very well.”
Twenty minutes later Markgraf’s AO got his first cut. “Range to leading enemy dreadnaught, 245hm.” Then, “Herr Vize-admiral, estimate enemy speed 20.5 knots.”
Rudburg sighed. “Signals. Immediate Execute. Formation Speed 20.”
Forty-five minutes later, “Bridge. Aft Lookout. Leading enemy heavy has opened fire.”
Splash!
A single shell landed a thousand meters astern of trailing Kronprinz.
“Herr Vize-admiral, Blücher has signaled that they are through the minefield swept channel. The flagship will enter in four minutes.”
The next enemy shell landed 900 meters astern of Kronprinz.
“Signals. For 5th Division: MAKE BEST SPEED.”
Another shell landed 750m behind Kronprinz, then the next fell 850m astern. A huge cloud of black smoke roiled up from the leading enemy ship, but the next three shells all fell at least 900m astern of the trailing German dreadnaught.
The enemy ceased fire, and minutes later turned away. Rudburg silently gave thanks, the enemy had gotten closer than he anticipated.
“Well,” Rudburg said loudly. “That was interesting.”
Smiles broke out among the bridge watch and the tension drained away.
“Indeed. Not only did we learn how long it takes him to sortie, but also that he will likely husband his torpedo craft,” said the Chief of Staff.
Dahm spoke up, “And despite the intelligence estimates that they are as fast a großerKreuzer, we may be able to match their dreadnaughts in actual sea conditions.”
The officers nodded, each carefully not mentioning that the big Russer kanon had proven much longer ranged than previous intelligence had suggested. Like engaging the big Britischer 38cm kanon on their Queen Elizabeths, fighting past a significant range disadvantage was not a pleasant experience.
December 23rd. 1255. 3rd Battalion, 175th Batursk Infantry Regiment. Charlottenhof, Esthland. (Note 8 )
Fel’dfebel’ Dmitri Lavrukhin rocked back and forth with the steady rhythm of the train, mostly awake. Two hours of simply sitting in an actual passenger wagon was as close to heaven as one might be in the Tsar’s Army, at least without a bottle of vodka to hand. Division had decided that something was going on at Taps and the 3rd Battalion would go and take care of the problem, whatever it was. Dmitri guessed that the proklyatyy locals were up to no good again, the bastards. A few hours relaxing on the train, bust some heads, and then a few more hours back to Reval. A damn fine day.
Most of the soldiers around him were following the Army’s unofficial prime dictum: that one must sleep whenever one might. Farther back in the car 2nd squad’s dice game was still going, quieter now since Dmitri had growled at them to keep things down.
Dmitri had an ear out for trouble, as the second senior non-commissioned officer in the battalion he always had an ear out for trouble. Maybe he felt the train begin to slow, or perhaps he heard the bolt of German Mausers slap forward. He never knew what alerted him, but suddenly he sat up and yelled: “Attention! We are under attack!!! Get off the train on this side as soon as it slows! You must attack and get away from the train as fast as you can. If you stay with the train you will stay in the middle of the ambush and die. Attack and live! Understand?”
The suddenly terrified soldiers grabbed their packs and weapons and squatted down as best they could, seconds before the train violently shuddered to a stop. Volleys of rifle fire from both flanks tore into the wagon, dropping several men.
“Now! Follow me!”
Most of the men made it into the trees, their sudden attack carrying them out of the ambush sack.
Those who stayed on the train were not so fortunate.
Of the 856 men on the train, only 177 men, led by Fel’dfebel’ Lavrukhin, managed to escape death or capture. Lavrukhin and his men retreated toward Reval in far less comfort than when they had arrived.
December 23rd. 1600. Austro-Hungarian 5th Army HQ. Plyussa, Russia.
Feldmarschall-Leutnant Svetovar Boroević stepped out onto the dark porch of his commandeered headquarters and reveled in the cold air. Inside, the smokey planning room was stuffed with busy staff officers – thank goodness very few were self-important peacocks, unlike the staffs from 16 months ago. He needed to escape the stultifying air, for a few minutes at least, or until someone came looking for him.
Crump-crump.
He felt, more than heard, the sound of kanon fire, off to the northeast. Without conscious thought he knew it was a battery of the 3rd Heavy Howitzer Regiment, hammering a stubborn pocket of Russer resistance. Each 15cm round was precious, but his men needed the help. The Russers were still reeling back, but the pace was slowing, like a clock that hadn’t been wound. Nearly three weeks into this frozen offensive, the men were tiring, and casualties were mounting rapidly.
His dwindling regiments would take Luga – he’d use his heavy artillery profligately to ensure that outcome.
After that, with Winter gaining strength even as the men fade, will they be able to go on? To attack with speed and valor? Another 120km to St Petersburg?
In truth, it wasn’t all calculation and logic. Part of his need to come outside was to cleanse his soul of the never-ending casualty reports. Boroević was not some idealistic academic in a Viennese drawing room, thinking war could be fought without death and mutilation. Yet…here, behind the lines, his lost soldiers exacted a price from his heart.
A sudden realization, his brain catching up with his heart. I don’t have the manpower nor artillery ammunition to drive on the capital.
Boroević yanked open the door back into the staff planning room and strode inside.
“Get me the Signals Officer!”
He would send an urgent request to Conrad for more men, more horses, and more artillery ammunition. And if Conrad demurred, he’d go through the Germans to put pressure on him. One way or another he needed more of all three, or the bones of his men would fester in this land like Napoleon’s lost Grande Armée.
December 23rd. 1650. Armee-Abteilung Hutier. Taps, Esthland.
General der Infanterie Oskar von Hutier watched the first Russer prisoners stumble through the dark on their way to their bivouac area in a field to the southeast. The reinforced regiment had collapsed quickly once his infantry assault began; now 5,000 prisoners would be sent south to join their tens of thousands of komrades in camps in Pomerania and Silesia.
There had been a pleasant surprise in their rapid surrender. They had been surrounded in what were thought to be warehouses but had turned out to be a large railroad maintenance complex. Only lightly damaged by the short fight, it would make it much easier to get both the north-south and east-west railways back into service.
“Herr General, the last of the 42nd Division is on the road.”
“Gut.”
The 42nd had orders to advance as far east as possible before digging in. 25km to the east was the large town of Wesenberg (Note 9), and from there eastward to Narva and the Russer fortress at Ivangorod any advance was constrained between the coast and a series of marshes and lakes to the south. Good defensive ground that he would prefer to get through before the expected Russer reinforcements came from St Petersburg.
The bulk of 50th Division was marching for Reval, where they would block any escape to the east when von François’ 20th Korps hit the city from the west. When von Hutier’s 31st Division moved up from Dorpat…
Von Hutier sighed. No point in making plans for the 31st until they started to arrive. Unless they got the railroad back into service, that could be four or five days.
Much might change by then.
December 23rd. 1830. Stavka of the Supreme Commander. Novgorod, Russia.
General of the Army Mikhail Alekseyev was not pleased that the Tsar had called an emergency evening meeting of the Stavka. The Tsar was not always at his best in the evening, he was prone to be more stubborn and it was possible that an ill-considered or hasty plan put forward by one of the self-serving officers at the table might catch his fancy.
Whatever the Tsar ordered, Alekseyev would make happen, so it was imperative that only the plans that had received thorough vetting – by Alekseyev – should be presented. Except of course if Alekseyev allowed one of the others to present a poison pill plan that had no chance of acceptance, and thus would reflect badly on the author.
He looked down the table, meeting the gaze of many of the others, though a few looked pointedly away. After five minutes the door opened, and Mother Russia’s autocrat entered.
“Good evening, good evening all!”
How he loves playing the bon vivant. No doubt a defect of his English blood.
The Tsar lowered his head. “In the name of the Holy and Life-Giving Trinity, and by the blessing of the spiritual Father…”
“Well Gentlemen,” began Nicholas, after finishing the opening prayer, “I asked for this meeting to hear about the crisis in the Estlyandskaya Governorate.”
“Certainly, your Majesty. General Kondrachenko, if you would be so good as to lay out what we know?”
Alekseyev leaned forward. Kondrachenko was his creature and could be relied upon to gloss over the bad news and emphasize that no precipitous action need be taken.
Kondrachenko portrayed the loss of communications with Dorpat as a minor and quite temporary problem and spent some time explaining that German troops between Reval and Narva were very likely light troops landed from Moon Sound, intended to sow havoc behind the lines. They were unimportant as the Reval defensive works were very much as strong as any fortifications in France, and with resupply by sea, they would be able to hold indefinitely.
“Da, this issue of ‘resupply by sea’,” the Tsar interrupted, “I heard something about attacks on Hanko and Baltiiski Port this morning.”
Alekseyev hid a smile. “Perhaps Admiral Gregorovich would be so kind as to enlighten us as well.”
And feel free to slip up and make the Navy look bad.
“Your Majesty,” rumbled the Navy Minister, “Before dawn enemy small craft attacked both Hanko and Baltiiski Port. Strong shore batteries at both ports drove off the enemy. There was no damage to the facilities at either port, although two abandoned hulks at Hanko were destroyed, and stray rounds landed near the shore batteries.”
“What of the Fleet?” the Tsar asked. “I gave Vitse-admiral Kanin permission to defend the Peter the Great fortifications and the ports.”
Gregorovich smiled broadly before replying. “Admiral Kanin sortied the Fleet, and at the first sight of him the Germans ran as fast as their ships could steam. They had no stomach at all for a fight!”
Laughter, excitement, and back-slapping ran around the table. It had been far too long since there was any good news to share.
He covered that well, too bad.
The Tsar seemed unimpressed, though no doubt for different reasons than Alekseyev. “A raid such as this, could it cut off resupply to Reval?”
“Nyet, your Majesty,” Gregorovich said. “The shore batteries just west of Reval and Helsingfors are far more powerful than the batteries at Hanko and Baltiiski Port.”
The Tsar looked thoughtful. “What you have said eases my heart, but what, General Alekseyev, are you doing about the Germans running riot in the Baltic Governorates?
“General Kondrachenko, options?”
“Your Majesty,” Kondrachenko began slowly. “Given the situation in Pskov Governorate, we are limited in our options. Anything we send to reinforce Estlyandskaya would come from either the defense of Luga or the reserves at the capital. There is a brigade of the 30th Minsk Infantry Division already in Narva, if we reinforced that with the rest of that division…”
“General, I object!“ came from General Ruzsky
Of course you do, your ass is on the line to defend the capital and you won’t loosen your grip on any of your units.
Grand Duke Nicholas cleared his throat and Alekseyev sat forward intently. Since being replaced by the Tsar as Supreme Commander four months ago he had attended most of the Stavka meetings but said very little.
“Da, cousin?”
“Your Majesty, I would urge you to exercise great care in this. We have already committed the last free reserves and artillery stockpiles to the defense of Luga. It will be another two weeks before troops withdrawn from the Caucasus Front arrive. Should we send additional troops to Estlyandskaya from St Petersburg, and Luga does fall, the defenses of the capital might be inadequate.
“The new divisions being formed and designated for the Summer offensive in the south are not ready; bringing them to the capital in their current state, would only bring more mouths to feed.”
“Still…”
“Your Majesty,” the Grand Duke interrupted softly, “The enemy has one or two corps in Estlyandskaya, 300km from the capital and on the other side of the Narva. They have three armies at Luga, half that far.”
Notes
Note 1. Historically, on 18 August 1915 HMS E-13 grounded hard on Saltholm Island east of Copenhagen while trying to enter the Baltic. Unable to get off the shore under her own power, and under a 24-hour limit to avoid internment, Lt. Cdr Layton went ashore to arrange for a tow, or if that was refused, to arrange terms for internment. In the morning, the German torpedo boat SMS G-132 investigated, and was ordered to destroy the submarine, which it (and a second TB) did despite valiant Danish efforts to protect E-13 (as was their duty under international law). While this action was in violation of Danish neutrality, the Battle of the Gulf of Riga was reaching its culmination, and the Germans did not feel inclined to allow addition subs to enter the Baltic. As it was, on 19 August SMS Moltke was torpedoed by HMS E-1, and the threat of RN subs essentially forced the IGN to abandon the campaign for two additional years.
Note 2. Historians are uncertain exactly how Borys came to be known as “Chinese Borys”. The moniker first appeared while the HSF was operating in the Baltic in late 1915 and early 1916 and was first attested in the staff papers of Vice-Admiral Rudburg’s Special Naval Group. One story is that following a night action in Moon Sound on 14 December, 1915, then-Korvettenkapitän Borys brought two damaged torpedo boats safely away from the battle tied together “Chinese style” – that is, one facing forward and one aft. Retired Oberbootsmann Hans Bachmayer, who served with Borys at die Regenschlacht, claims that the nickname came about much earlier. Bachmayer claims that the nickname first appeared because Borys could eat a large meal and still be hungry a short time later.
Note 3. Torpedo Boat No 213, built in Abo, Finland in 1902. By 1915 she was used as a minesweeper.
Note 4. Kleiner Rågö is now known as Väike Pakri Island, Estonia
Note 5. Baltische Port (modern Paldiski) in 1912. Although it supported larger ships at anchorage, the enclosed harbor was only suitable for small craft.
Note 6. At Stallupönen, in the first major battle on the Eastern Front, von François’ 1st Korps was ordered to retreat to Gumbinnen. Instead, taking advantage of poor Russian coordination, he successfully counterattacked four advancing Russian divisions. Generaloberst von Prittwitz was his superior, in command of 8th Army.
Note 7. Modern Saue, Estonia. Coincidentally, Freidrichshof Manor (after which the town was named) was the Baronial seat of the von Fersens.
Note 8. Modern Aegviidu, Estonia. 20km west of Taps.
Note 9. Modern Rakvere, Estonia.
December 23rd. 0130. Submarine E-9. Oresund, 9nm east of Copenhagen. Heading 174 at 11 knots, surfaced.
Be careful what you ask for, they say.
Bollocks!
The lights of Copenhagen to starboard and Malmö off the port bow were bright, neither city dimmed by the wartime expedients that had darkened the coastal cities of the both the Empire and France.
Commander Max Horton knew that the next minutes would be the most dangerous of this short voyage into the Baltic, even so he was supremely confident that E-9 could make it through these narrows, and once through he and his short squadron would wreak havoc on the Germans. And the Swedes.
He had waited a long time for this opportunity. With the German merchant marine evicted from the high seas within the war’s first months, RN submarines could not engage in commerce warfare. Instead, they’d aimed for German warships, with decidedly limited results; speed, frequent maneuver, and staying on port when possible frustrated submersible torpedo attacks.
The terrible RN ship losses in the North Sea battles, particularly amongst the cruisers and destroyers, had forced the RN submersibles into the highly unglamourous role of static fleet scouts. Picketing the minefield exits, they had generally been successful in sighting the German sorties, but sighting was not the same thing as scouting. In the visibility conditions prevalent in the North Sea the RN submarines were often forced by German torpedo boats to quickly dive, usually before the wireless could send an adequate scouting report.
The very failure of the submarine scouts to warn of the latest German sorties had opened the door to Horton. Armed with the undeniable fact that the bulk of the German fleet was now operating in the Baltic, he had argued that his boats were being ill-used and should instead operate exclusively against the Swedish iron ore trade and the enemy fleet in the Baltic. He’d made a key ally in Captain Keyes, formerly the 8th Submarine Flotilla Commander, and together they’d taken their plan up the ladder of the Admiralty.
Horton liked to think that it was logic that saw his plan win approval, but he knew that likely as not it was Russian agitation that decided the matter. The unpleasantness in northern waters this last summer and autumn, and now the unexpected enemy Winter Offensive, had made the Russians desperate, and to keep them in the war the stodgy admirals were willing to offer up a handful of submarines.
Just four boats in this first tranche. E-13 followed E-9 through the Oresund, and E-18 and E-19 were passing through the navigationally less challenging but far more heavily patrolled Danish Belts to the west. More boats were being prepared to follow, contingent upon Horton’s report that the Russians could indeed support them.
There!
Lights on the port bow. Unlike those of Malmö behind, these were drifting left. Clearly a ship, but with lights all a-jangle.
No bloody Hun would steam about with lights like that. A ferry then, running between Sweden and Denmark?
With left bearing drift she would pass astern of E-9, and with his boat showing no lights he was sure that he wouldn’t be seen from her decks.
Horton looked aft – the ferry would pass much closer to E-13, unseen but more than a mile astern. His previous signal directing E-13 to maneuver independently as needed through these narrows should stand her commander, Lt Cdr Geoffrey Layton, in good stead.
With one eye searching ahead for danger, and another watching the ferry pass astern, Horton almost missed the moment when Layton’s night turned ugly. A shrill whistle of alarm from the steamer caught his attention, as did a questing searchlight.
There she is! Sweet Christ! She’s under the ferry’s lee and beam on to her.
Layton must have become confused by the ferry’s lights, as the angle on her conning tower – fully illuminated by the searchlight – showed he was now heading west, toward Copenhagen.
As the ferry continued toward the Danish capital, the submarine appeared to circle around. At least it seemed so, it was vexedly difficult to tell the other boat’s heading.
Broad on E-9’s starboard bow, the low-lying island of Saltholm could just be made out. Their planned track left it 3000 yards to starboard, but E-13 could be at least that far west of the track.
E-13’s tiny silhouette began drifting toward E-9’s wake.
Good, he’s realized his mistake and is coming back east.
Bloody hell, he’s not coming east, he’s slowed or stopped.
“Engine ahead dead slow.”
Horton waited twenty minutes, which seemed like hours, before a red light flickered.
“E-9 DE E-13. GRNDD. STBD BLST TNK AND PROP DAMGD. IF ABLE TO FLOAT WILL RTN TO BASE. GOD SPD.”
Bloody Hell!
“Helm. Steady on 174, engines ahead standard, turns for 11 knots.”
We haven’t even made it into the Baltic and have already lost a quarter of our strength!
(Note 1)
December 23rd. 0410. SMS V-26. 3nm south of Hanko, Finland. Lying to.
Despite the bitter cold, Fregattenkapitän zur See Paul Heinrich felt sweat permeate the band of his cap. How could he have thought this made sense?
When the corpulent kommodore of torpedobooten had gathered the halbflot kommanders to discuss this morning’s work, the original plan had been to storm in with an entire flotilla. One look at the chart and Heinrich had pointed out that the dozens of rocky islets and tight channel made the harbor a deathtrap for more than one or two boats at a time. It was likely too that the Russers, in the face of an overt attack, would douse all lights around the harbor making the rocks even more dangerous.
No, he’d suggested to the kommodore, one or at most two boats stood a much better chance of getting in and out without running aground and should be enough to deal with any Russers while executing the mission.
The other halbflot kommanders had nodded and mumbled agreement, Chinese Borys had stared hard at him for a heartbeat before nodding and saying, “Your mission then.” (Note 2)
Now, in the dark with the first of the rocks appearing as if conjured from the dark on V-26’s bows, Paul Heinrich wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
A tiny reddish light flickered momentarily from the islet off to port, the southernmost of the dragon’s teeth protecting Hanko, Lilla Tärnan on the chart.
“Bridge. Signals. The landing party has signaled “IN POSITION.”
Everything depended on that landing party. They had gambled that the Russers wouldn’t garrison it, a gamble they’d apparently won.
“Helm. Both engines ahead one-third, turns for 4 knots. Steady on 350."
“Both engines ahead one-third for four knots, steady on 350, aye.”
V-26’s engines, starved of all but a trickle of steam, rumbled quietly in discontent. Gliding smoothly, there was no betraying wake to be seen from the midnight-black painted torpedoboot’s stem or stern. Heinrich watched as the southernmost islets slid slowly down the port side.
“Herr Kapitän,” whispered the Deck Officer, “I think that is Russarö over there.”
Less than a dozen cables off the port bow an island showed itself, rocky but far more substantial than the other islets. Russarö was supposed to have a garrison and a battery of four 10.2cm kanon, though they were reputed to be old guns of uncertain reliability. He hoped not to test that information. The lighthouse at its southern end was dark, but elsewhere lamps or small fires could be seen, that could only mean there was a garrison.
“Verstanden.”
Heinrich watched Russarö closely for any sign that they’d been sighted, but nothing moved, no alarm sounded as they slid past.
More rocks on both bows now, very hard to see them in the night. More than a century ago several of these had rock and brick forts, but only ruins remained. Backlit by the town's lights they added a craggy haunted air to the near-ghostly apparitions.
Unlike the rocks, the town of Hanko spread out across both bows, fully lit. The tall church spire and a round water tower made excellent navigation markers.
“Come left to 343.”
“Message for the funker,” Heinrich called out softly. “Send ‘ACTION IMMINENT’ to Kaiserin.”
“Herr Kapitän, lookouts have sighted a small warship moored off the western jetty.”
Ja, there. Turtle deck forward, so a torpedoboot. Three funnels? (Note 2)
What's forward of the torpedoboot? Ah, a moored U-boot!
“Prepare two torpedoes to starboard. Shallow. High Speed.”
“Two torpedoes to starboard, shallow, high speed, aye.”
“Artillery Officer, your target will be the anchored torpedoboot.”
Suddenly, off to starboard, there was a brief flash from one of the islands – the telltale spark of a searchlight being energized. After several more seconds a thin beam lanced out… well astern of V-26.
Did they spot us, or just hear us? Soon the light from the town will mark us out.
“Herr Kapitän, AO. Target 1400 meters.”
“Guns. Hold fire until we turn to port.”
“Aye, Kapitän. 1250 meters.”
The open bridge around Heinrich suddenly lit up with reflected light. The searchlight on the quarter had found them! The time for stealth was over.
“Left full rudder. Starboard engine ahead full. Port engine stop!”
The unequal twist of the engines caused V-26 to pivot smartly to port
“Artillery! Open Fire!”
Crack! Crack!
“Torpedoes…stand by…”
Crack! Crack!
“Torpedo Eins…Los!”
Crack! Crack!
“Torpedo Zwei…Los!”
Hit on the torpedoboot!
Crack! Crack!
“Helm. Steady on 270. Engines ahead one third. Five knots.”
Only another minute before I must turn away, or I’ll end up on the rocks.
Whump! Whump!
The enemy U-boot broke in half and then disappeared in an enormous double explosion.
The bright light of the explosion illuminated two more U-boots, moored inside the tiny harbor.
Nothing I can do about those now.
The Russer torpedoboot had been hit several times, was on fire and down by the bow. The 10.5cm shells hit very hard compared to the old 8.8’s.
A bright flash from the tip of land that stuck out 4 km to the west of Hanko. The main enemy defenses, a 15.2cm battery, had woken up.
Splash!
A tall column of water rose up, mercifully short.
“Artillery, cease fire kanons. Stand by the rockets.
“Helm. Left full rudder, steady on 170, Engines ahead full, turns for 30 knots.”
Another flash from the enemy battery.
Just the one gun?
Splash.
Not even close, the turn away surprised them.
“Artillery. Three red rockets, dead astern!”
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The rockets flew true, landing just short of the enemy battery.
Another flash of a shot from the enemy battery; Heinrich didn’t see the splash.
Crump crump crump crump.
The southern horizon lit up.
The landing party’s navigation beacon and the rockets worked!.
Twenty-five seconds later the first of the 30.5cm HE shells from Kaiserin and Friedrich der Große rumbled overhead.
V-26 stayed within sight long enough for Heinrich to see numerous groups of shells land around the battery. Heinrich didn’t think much could live through that battering.
December 23rd. 0420. SMS S-50. 7nm NE of Baltischeport, Esthland. Heading 175 at 12 knots
Thirty-six nautical miles to the southeast, another Russer port was about to come under attack.
Kapitänleutnant zur See Otto Gerngross, acting kommander of the 20th Torpedoboot Halbflot, looked aft at his four trailing boats. Though all were new – none more than five months in service – the crews were relatively experienced, matrosen taken from older ships now laid up, as well as the survivors of ships lost in the Nordsee battles.
I’ll need all that experience tonight. Chinese Borys did us no favors.
His first task was to steam in close to the small Russer base at Baltischeport and attack any ships there. A quick in and out; kanon fire for smaller ships, and torpedoes for anything large. Other than any warships there, the only defenses were supposed to be a pair of old 7.5cm kanon located just north of the port. With a dozen 10.5cm kanon on his ships, he didn’t worry overmuch about that battery.
More concerning was the coastal defense battery on Kleiner Rågö Island guarding the western side of the approach to Baltischeport (Note 4). Kleiner Rågö had the heaviest battery in the outer Gulf of Finland: four each of 15.2cm and 10.2cm kanon. His orders were to approach the port from close to the east side of the entrance, leaving the island battery to the west and hopefully out of sight in the dark. After attacking the port itself, on the way out, he was to close on the island battery and use his searchlights to mark it for the two supporting dreadnaughts – Kaiser and Prinzregent Luitpold.
Both the Esthland coast and the offshore islands were flat – tree-covered and rimmed by ten-meter cliffs. There were no real navigation marks, so he would hug the coast by keeping the whitish cliffs just in sight to port.
“Messenger. For the Funker. Send ‘ACTION IMMINENT’ to Kaiser.”
S-50 had barely left the darkened lighthouse that graced the northern tip of the shore to port when the first dim lights of Baltischeport appeared fine on the port bow. A tiny town of less than a dozen buildings fronted a mole perpendicular to the shore.
It looks … inconsequential.
Just four minutes later, having closed to within a mile of the harbor breakwater, it was clear to Gerngross that there was nothing in the port that justified risking his halbflot with a close attack. His ships and crews were not worth the handful of small wooden sailing craft that lay behind the breakwater. (Note 5)
“Helm. Right 10 degrees rudder, steady on 290.”
The four boats astern followed obediently in his wake without signal. The new course would take him out of the bay and close to the northern tip of Kleiner Rågö.
“Searchlights. Stand ready to port.”
Gerngross gripped the railing tightly as they closed on the Kleiner Rågö battery, anxiety spiking like a shell splash close aboard. Suddenly he was filled with uncertainty.
Where is the northern tip of the island?
On the chart the battery at the northern end of the island seemed obvious. Here at night less than two miles from a battery equal to a kreuzer in power, he realized that the entire curving coast looked the same. The northern end of the island was indistinguishable; the battery could be anywhere in a 30-degree arc.
What if we steam by with neither we nor the Russers spotting the other? Can’t use the searchlights to range up and down the coast as that would confuse the gunlayers on the dreadnaughts. I pray we don’t pass right by and have to come around for a second, even slower pass!
In the end he was saved from that embarrassment.
A sharp crack and brilliant lance of flame shot out from the shore, broad on the port bow. A shell splashed 50 meters ahead and bounced across the water, ricocheting four times before exploding.
“Searchlights! There. Illuminate where the gun flashed. Right there, just to the…” he snapped his mouth shut before he babbled any more.
The fore searchlight wandered across the shore, quickly followed by the aft light, then the other eight lights from the rest of the halbflot. The torpedoboot searchlights were far less powerful than the big 110cm lights on larger ships, but at 2000 meters from the shore they were more than adequate for the task. The lights quickly settled on a small tower, either an observation tower or a control tower, or both, and a concrete and rock half circle that chose that moment to belch fire.
Gerngross didn’t see where the shell went.
“AO, open fire on that tower and any guns you can see.”
As if to challenge him, a second enemy kanon opened fire. The much larger muzzle flash declaring it one of the 15.2cm kanon.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Perhaps the enemy is blinded by our searchlights, at this range they should be hitting with every…
Whaaaang!
S-50 shook with the hit. A sudden strange pitch to the engines – like a metallic animal crying – told him something was quite wrong.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
He looked aft and saw smoke billowing between the two funnels. The boiler room air intakes were there.
Splash! Splash!
“Pilot house. Ingenieur here. There is too little air making it into the boiler rooms. We soon won’t be able to keep ordered steam pressure.”
Gerngross acknowledged the Ingenieur and turned to the Torpedo Officer. “Get your men back to the intakes and clear away any wreckage – get those intakes open or we’ll lose power right here in front of their guns.”
Crack! Crack! Crack!
More of the enemy kanon began to fire, even as his ships blasted away at the shore. One of the German shells hit the tower, and it burst into flames like the top of a candle. He almost felt sorry for the bastarde up there, then looked aft and saw that the forecastle of his third boat – S-48 – was on fire.
To Hölle with all Russers! When are the verdammt dreadnaughts going open fire?
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Suddenly the second boat, S-51, heeled out of formation to starboard, smoke pouring from amidships. She seemed to be under control but was slowing. Then S-48 was hit again. It didn’t seem as if the torpedoboot kanon were having any luck hitting the enemy battery other than that tower; he still counted eight flashes.
The weird keening noise of the engines stopped. Since S-50 wasn’t slowing, he hoped that meant the torpedomen had succeeded in clearing away any debris from the intakes.
Almost before he realized it, the signalman called down from the fore searchlight, “The enemy is too far astern to bear!”
Crack! Crack!
Schieße! I’m going to have to turn around and run by the enemy kanon a second time! Where are the verdammt dreadnaughts?
A deep rumbling noise, followed by thunderous booms, answered. There were many flashes from what should be about 50hm to the north, though the ships themselves weren’t visible.
“Douse all searchlights! Signals, for the halbflot – MAKE BEST SPEED.”
Time to clear out, then count the butcher’s bill.
December 23rd. 0650. Battleship Gangut. Sveaborg, Grand Duchy of Finland. Anchored.
Vitze-admiral Vasily Kanin sipped his tea and did his best to appear unperturbed to his staff, though what he really wanted to do was climb up to Gangut’s signal bridge to personally query – no, demand – why the ships were taking so long to make ready for sea.
In all fairness, less than three hours ago the bulk of the Fleet had been on six hours readiness for sea, and he knew it was unreasonable to expect the engineering plants brought up much faster than that.
Unreasonable or not, he wasn’t about the let the Germans blast his outer coastal defenses and then just steam off.
As it was, of the 1st Battleship Brigade Gangut and Poltava had reported ready for sea, though they would be slow steamers at first. Petropavlovsk would need two more hours to even get underway, and Sevastopol perhaps three.
Neither Andrei Pervozvanny nor Imperator Pavel I of the 2nd Brigade had even made their initial reports, and Kanin was torn about waiting for them once Sevastopol was ready. He knew the German fleet had at least four dreadnaughts here in the Baltic, and though he prayed that the Ganguts were as good one for one as their German counterparts, he didn’t think he could afford to simply ignore the two relatively new yet obsolescent battleships.
Another sip of tea while he thought of ways to use his fast dreadnaughts and his slow battleships. His ruminations were interrupted by an aide.
“Vitze-Admiral?”
“Da?”
“Report from Rurik. The Cruiser Brigade and 1st Destroyer Division report ready for sea, and three of five torpedoboat flotillas are ready. Anticipate all lighter ships here will be ready for sea within the hour, except Dago and boats 120, 128, and 129 which report engineering casualties which preclude getting underway today.
Kanin kept the disappointment from his face, then nodded. “Very well. What of the Reval flotillas?”
The aide looked down at his shoes before answering. “Nothing from Reval, Vitze-Admiral.”
“Ask the Chief of Staff for an update on Petropavlovsk and Sevastopol.”
The silence from the base at Reval wasn’t unexpected. Many of the ships there were undergoing maintenance or repairs, and since they could only communicate via wireless the base commander was no doubt waiting until he had a full set of reports before sending his summary.
The torpedo boats here at Sveaborg and Helsingfors were a different thing. Finding engineering casualties after being ordered to sortie smacked of commanders who were unaware of, or worse, actively hid the poor condition of their ships or crews.
Four torpedo boats likely wouldn’t make any difference against the Germans. He would deal with the commanders of those torpedo boats when he got back from the sortie.
December 23rd. 0930. Armee-Abteilung Hutier. Taps, Esthland.
“The 17th Regiment is in position, Herr General.”
“Gut. Execute the attack as planned.”
Oskar von Hutier had only a small part of his thoughts on the looming attack on the surrounded Russers south of the town. Prisoners indicated that it was the 176th Perevolochensk Infantry Regiment and assorted kleinkram units, with no artillery. They would not last long against the four regiments and artillery of the 42nd and 50th Divisions facing them.
Nor was he particularly concerned with the Russers at Reval, suspected to be more than a division. Von François’s 20th Korps was finally ashore at Hapsal and moving east. They should reach Reval’s western defenses within days and pin the Esthland capital’s defenders in place. One regiment and the radfahrer kompany from the 50th would block the eastern approaches to Reval until the rest of the 50th finished here.
What did dominate his thoughts was the rail line from here at Taps heading east, toward Narva and eventually St. Petersburg. The rail line would allow Russer reinforcements to approach almost without warning. He suspected that the sledgehammer thrust of the 8th, 9th, and Austro-Hungarian 5th Armies out of Pskov would prevent too powerful a response, but the farther east he could move before meeting resistance, the better.
Half the 42nd Division and a regiment of dragoons, followed by artillery, were heading east as fast as possible. The quicker this battle was over, and the sooner the 31st Division moved up from Dorpat, the better.
December 23rd. 1055. 74th Brigade. Risti, Esthland.
From the front door of the modest train station Generalmajor von Blumenthal tried to gauge the mood of his superior, as General der Infantrie von François climbed the steps.
How angry is he with me for disobeying his order to remain at Hapsal? His eyes betray nothing.
“Herr General der Infanterie,” he began, before being abruptly cut off by von François.
“Inside.”
Nicht gut.
As they entered the one-room building the korps kommander ordered the staff officers out, then took the chair at the stationmaster’s desk. There were no other chairs, and rather than trying to sit awkwardly on one of the benches facing sideways, von Blumenthal remained standing. Not quite at attention, but he hoped he seemed suitably respectful.
Surprisingly, rather than playing the game of making him stand there for long, von François began speaking right away. Rather quietly.
“When I found out that you had disobeyed my specific order to remain at Hapsal until my arrival, I was, how shall I put this? Ja, ‘energetically peeved’.” Von François grimaced sourly, “I’m sure my staff was suitably distressed as well, and since we were aboard ship coming here, they could not easily escape my wrath.”
Von François flicked some dirt off his boots before continuing in a tight voice.
“My initial inclination was to provide you with further written orders – which I would have had you countersign – that directed you to remain within the walls of Schlöss Hapsal until I ordered you otherwise. Further, should I fall in battle before then, you would remain within the schlöss until my moldy corpse sat up from my coffin to inform you otherwise!”
Von François thunderously slammed his hand onto the stationmaster’s desk, then took a deep breath through his nose and let it out. Von Bumenthal was surprised to hear a chuckle come from the older man.
“Upon reflection, it was not, of course, beyond me to recall that I was once guilty of a similar sin, at the beginning of this war. Generaloberst von Prittwitz was, I believe, ‘energetically peeved’ at me as well (Note 6).
Von François paused for a moment, and von Blumenthal felt his senior’s eyes search his own carefully.
“Ja. Given such, I have decided not to punish you. Instead, I will reward your aggressiveness by directing you and your 74th Brigade to press forward until reaching Freidrichshof and the Reval defenses (Note 7).
“I will also provide you with some advice. I have paid for this wisdom with the scorn of my peers – ignore it at your professional peril. When a kommander specifically directs you not to do something, he has taken an extra step beyond affirmative orders. Ask yourself why he took that step. You will be unaware of all that he knows…and an order which may seem to ill-use your kommand may be intended to enable the movement or activity of other units.
“There are times when you will think you have a better appreciation of the situation than your superior, and by all means you must then do what you believe to be right. But…you must always be ready to be held accountable for that violation. Should your violation of orders cause the collapse of your kommander’s plans, no success in your own action, no previous accolades, no awards or citations, nothing will protect you from your kommander’s wrath.”
Von Blumenthal held von François’ gaze, though it took all his willpower, then nodded.
“Ich Verstehe.”
“Gut. We’ll say no more of it. Get your brigade moving as soon as possible.”
December 23rd. 1215 SMS Markgraf. Central Gulf of Finland, mid-way between Hanko and Baltischeport. Heading 225 at 15 knots
“…and he reports the three damaged torpedoboots of 20th Halbflot have detached. S-50 is enroute Memel for repairs. S-48 and S-51, due to their more extensive damage, are enroute Danzig.”
“Very well,” Carl Rudberg acknowledged with some frustration. Though the attacks seemed to have accomplished their aims, he knew that the most difficult goals of the operation were ahead, and he now had Großer Kurfürst and six torpedoboots away for repairs, to say nothing of the three boots lost.
“Herr Vize-admiral, Graudenz reports a torpedoboot flotilla under the smoke to the northeast, composition eight. Additional smoke sighted beyond, four columns including one heavy plume.”
Rudburg nodded, then turned to his Chief of Staff and Korvettenkapitän Dahm, his right eyebrow raised.
“Eight hours since our attacks,” marked the Chief of Staff. “Far too quick for a force from Kotlin to traverse the whole gulf, even if they were already underway. They’re too far north to have come from Reval. They must have come from Sveaborg.”
Dahm looked up from his watch. “Agreed. Six hours for the Russers to get underway, then two hours at more than 20 knots from Sveaborg to the sighting. Or five and three, at 15 knots.”
“We’ll need to assume that they’ll be faster out of port next time,” the Chief of Staff suggested.
Rudburg nodded in agreement. “That is good in its own way; if they implement shorter ready for sea measures, it will wear on their maschinery and crews. Even so, quite a pleasant change from the RN, which seemed able to always meet us far from their bases,” he said.
“It’s good to have the initiative to manueuver, but I’m still surprised that our own wireless transmissions were so…damaging,” the Chief of Staff opined, obviously not ready to put to bed the early-war theory that spies were radioing the Hochseeflot’s sortie plans.
“The evidence seems conclusive.” Rudburg said, then made a decision. “In any case, bitte, slow the formation to twelve knots.”
The two staff officers looked at each other in surprise. Rudburg almost laughed at the sight.
“No, I haven’t changed the plan, nor suddenly lost my mind. I have no intention of sparring with them until Konter-admiral Nordman and 6th Division return after re-arming. I would like to confirm that their dreadnaughts are out, and I’d like to see how they deploy while in pursuit.”
---------------------------------------
An hour later the smoke plumes of no less than five groups were visible from the flagship. A massive plume still hull-down, flanked by two smaller ones to both port and starboard. The four outer plumes were torpedoboot flotillas that had wanted no part of Konter-admiral Hopman’s kreuzers, running back to shelter near the center plume like chicks to the hen at the first long-range salvoes.
“Bridge. Signals. IIAG reports heavy pole masts in sight under the large plume.”
“Signals,” Rudburg ordered. “Formation Speed 16 knots, if you please. Then, signal to IIAS: LEAD THROUGH MINEFIELD.”
Within ten minutes those on the Flagship could see the pole masts and tall funnels of four ships astern.
The Chief of Staff came over to Rudburg. “Their battleships do not have the large fighting tops, these must be their dreadnaughts.”
“Agreed, they came out as we hoped they would. And note that the torpedoboots are hanging back. We can use that…”
Rudburg turned to Markgraf’s kapitän, “I’d be pleased if your Artillery Officer could provide an estimate of speed for those large fellows.”
Turning to the chart table, “Navigation, distance to the minefields?”
“21nm, Herr Vize-admiral.”
“Very well.”
Twenty minutes later Markgraf’s AO got his first cut. “Range to leading enemy dreadnaught, 245hm.” Then, “Herr Vize-admiral, estimate enemy speed 20.5 knots.”
Rudburg sighed. “Signals. Immediate Execute. Formation Speed 20.”
Forty-five minutes later, “Bridge. Aft Lookout. Leading enemy heavy has opened fire.”
Splash!
A single shell landed a thousand meters astern of trailing Kronprinz.
“Herr Vize-admiral, Blücher has signaled that they are through the minefield swept channel. The flagship will enter in four minutes.”
The next enemy shell landed 900 meters astern of Kronprinz.
“Signals. For 5th Division: MAKE BEST SPEED.”
Another shell landed 750m behind Kronprinz, then the next fell 850m astern. A huge cloud of black smoke roiled up from the leading enemy ship, but the next three shells all fell at least 900m astern of the trailing German dreadnaught.
The enemy ceased fire, and minutes later turned away. Rudburg silently gave thanks, the enemy had gotten closer than he anticipated.
“Well,” Rudburg said loudly. “That was interesting.”
Smiles broke out among the bridge watch and the tension drained away.
“Indeed. Not only did we learn how long it takes him to sortie, but also that he will likely husband his torpedo craft,” said the Chief of Staff.
Dahm spoke up, “And despite the intelligence estimates that they are as fast a großerKreuzer, we may be able to match their dreadnaughts in actual sea conditions.”
The officers nodded, each carefully not mentioning that the big Russer kanon had proven much longer ranged than previous intelligence had suggested. Like engaging the big Britischer 38cm kanon on their Queen Elizabeths, fighting past a significant range disadvantage was not a pleasant experience.
December 23rd. 1255. 3rd Battalion, 175th Batursk Infantry Regiment. Charlottenhof, Esthland. (Note 8 )
Fel’dfebel’ Dmitri Lavrukhin rocked back and forth with the steady rhythm of the train, mostly awake. Two hours of simply sitting in an actual passenger wagon was as close to heaven as one might be in the Tsar’s Army, at least without a bottle of vodka to hand. Division had decided that something was going on at Taps and the 3rd Battalion would go and take care of the problem, whatever it was. Dmitri guessed that the proklyatyy locals were up to no good again, the bastards. A few hours relaxing on the train, bust some heads, and then a few more hours back to Reval. A damn fine day.
Most of the soldiers around him were following the Army’s unofficial prime dictum: that one must sleep whenever one might. Farther back in the car 2nd squad’s dice game was still going, quieter now since Dmitri had growled at them to keep things down.
Dmitri had an ear out for trouble, as the second senior non-commissioned officer in the battalion he always had an ear out for trouble. Maybe he felt the train begin to slow, or perhaps he heard the bolt of German Mausers slap forward. He never knew what alerted him, but suddenly he sat up and yelled: “Attention! We are under attack!!! Get off the train on this side as soon as it slows! You must attack and get away from the train as fast as you can. If you stay with the train you will stay in the middle of the ambush and die. Attack and live! Understand?”
The suddenly terrified soldiers grabbed their packs and weapons and squatted down as best they could, seconds before the train violently shuddered to a stop. Volleys of rifle fire from both flanks tore into the wagon, dropping several men.
“Now! Follow me!”
Most of the men made it into the trees, their sudden attack carrying them out of the ambush sack.
Those who stayed on the train were not so fortunate.
Of the 856 men on the train, only 177 men, led by Fel’dfebel’ Lavrukhin, managed to escape death or capture. Lavrukhin and his men retreated toward Reval in far less comfort than when they had arrived.
December 23rd. 1600. Austro-Hungarian 5th Army HQ. Plyussa, Russia.
Feldmarschall-Leutnant Svetovar Boroević stepped out onto the dark porch of his commandeered headquarters and reveled in the cold air. Inside, the smokey planning room was stuffed with busy staff officers – thank goodness very few were self-important peacocks, unlike the staffs from 16 months ago. He needed to escape the stultifying air, for a few minutes at least, or until someone came looking for him.
Crump-crump.
He felt, more than heard, the sound of kanon fire, off to the northeast. Without conscious thought he knew it was a battery of the 3rd Heavy Howitzer Regiment, hammering a stubborn pocket of Russer resistance. Each 15cm round was precious, but his men needed the help. The Russers were still reeling back, but the pace was slowing, like a clock that hadn’t been wound. Nearly three weeks into this frozen offensive, the men were tiring, and casualties were mounting rapidly.
His dwindling regiments would take Luga – he’d use his heavy artillery profligately to ensure that outcome.
After that, with Winter gaining strength even as the men fade, will they be able to go on? To attack with speed and valor? Another 120km to St Petersburg?
In truth, it wasn’t all calculation and logic. Part of his need to come outside was to cleanse his soul of the never-ending casualty reports. Boroević was not some idealistic academic in a Viennese drawing room, thinking war could be fought without death and mutilation. Yet…here, behind the lines, his lost soldiers exacted a price from his heart.
A sudden realization, his brain catching up with his heart. I don’t have the manpower nor artillery ammunition to drive on the capital.
Boroević yanked open the door back into the staff planning room and strode inside.
“Get me the Signals Officer!”
He would send an urgent request to Conrad for more men, more horses, and more artillery ammunition. And if Conrad demurred, he’d go through the Germans to put pressure on him. One way or another he needed more of all three, or the bones of his men would fester in this land like Napoleon’s lost Grande Armée.
December 23rd. 1650. Armee-Abteilung Hutier. Taps, Esthland.
General der Infanterie Oskar von Hutier watched the first Russer prisoners stumble through the dark on their way to their bivouac area in a field to the southeast. The reinforced regiment had collapsed quickly once his infantry assault began; now 5,000 prisoners would be sent south to join their tens of thousands of komrades in camps in Pomerania and Silesia.
There had been a pleasant surprise in their rapid surrender. They had been surrounded in what were thought to be warehouses but had turned out to be a large railroad maintenance complex. Only lightly damaged by the short fight, it would make it much easier to get both the north-south and east-west railways back into service.
“Herr General, the last of the 42nd Division is on the road.”
“Gut.”
The 42nd had orders to advance as far east as possible before digging in. 25km to the east was the large town of Wesenberg (Note 9), and from there eastward to Narva and the Russer fortress at Ivangorod any advance was constrained between the coast and a series of marshes and lakes to the south. Good defensive ground that he would prefer to get through before the expected Russer reinforcements came from St Petersburg.
The bulk of 50th Division was marching for Reval, where they would block any escape to the east when von François’ 20th Korps hit the city from the west. When von Hutier’s 31st Division moved up from Dorpat…
Von Hutier sighed. No point in making plans for the 31st until they started to arrive. Unless they got the railroad back into service, that could be four or five days.
Much might change by then.
December 23rd. 1830. Stavka of the Supreme Commander. Novgorod, Russia.
General of the Army Mikhail Alekseyev was not pleased that the Tsar had called an emergency evening meeting of the Stavka. The Tsar was not always at his best in the evening, he was prone to be more stubborn and it was possible that an ill-considered or hasty plan put forward by one of the self-serving officers at the table might catch his fancy.
Whatever the Tsar ordered, Alekseyev would make happen, so it was imperative that only the plans that had received thorough vetting – by Alekseyev – should be presented. Except of course if Alekseyev allowed one of the others to present a poison pill plan that had no chance of acceptance, and thus would reflect badly on the author.
He looked down the table, meeting the gaze of many of the others, though a few looked pointedly away. After five minutes the door opened, and Mother Russia’s autocrat entered.
“Good evening, good evening all!”
How he loves playing the bon vivant. No doubt a defect of his English blood.
The Tsar lowered his head. “In the name of the Holy and Life-Giving Trinity, and by the blessing of the spiritual Father…”
“Well Gentlemen,” began Nicholas, after finishing the opening prayer, “I asked for this meeting to hear about the crisis in the Estlyandskaya Governorate.”
“Certainly, your Majesty. General Kondrachenko, if you would be so good as to lay out what we know?”
Alekseyev leaned forward. Kondrachenko was his creature and could be relied upon to gloss over the bad news and emphasize that no precipitous action need be taken.
Kondrachenko portrayed the loss of communications with Dorpat as a minor and quite temporary problem and spent some time explaining that German troops between Reval and Narva were very likely light troops landed from Moon Sound, intended to sow havoc behind the lines. They were unimportant as the Reval defensive works were very much as strong as any fortifications in France, and with resupply by sea, they would be able to hold indefinitely.
“Da, this issue of ‘resupply by sea’,” the Tsar interrupted, “I heard something about attacks on Hanko and Baltiiski Port this morning.”
Alekseyev hid a smile. “Perhaps Admiral Gregorovich would be so kind as to enlighten us as well.”
And feel free to slip up and make the Navy look bad.
“Your Majesty,” rumbled the Navy Minister, “Before dawn enemy small craft attacked both Hanko and Baltiiski Port. Strong shore batteries at both ports drove off the enemy. There was no damage to the facilities at either port, although two abandoned hulks at Hanko were destroyed, and stray rounds landed near the shore batteries.”
“What of the Fleet?” the Tsar asked. “I gave Vitse-admiral Kanin permission to defend the Peter the Great fortifications and the ports.”
Gregorovich smiled broadly before replying. “Admiral Kanin sortied the Fleet, and at the first sight of him the Germans ran as fast as their ships could steam. They had no stomach at all for a fight!”
Laughter, excitement, and back-slapping ran around the table. It had been far too long since there was any good news to share.
He covered that well, too bad.
The Tsar seemed unimpressed, though no doubt for different reasons than Alekseyev. “A raid such as this, could it cut off resupply to Reval?”
“Nyet, your Majesty,” Gregorovich said. “The shore batteries just west of Reval and Helsingfors are far more powerful than the batteries at Hanko and Baltiiski Port.”
The Tsar looked thoughtful. “What you have said eases my heart, but what, General Alekseyev, are you doing about the Germans running riot in the Baltic Governorates?
“General Kondrachenko, options?”
“Your Majesty,” Kondrachenko began slowly. “Given the situation in Pskov Governorate, we are limited in our options. Anything we send to reinforce Estlyandskaya would come from either the defense of Luga or the reserves at the capital. There is a brigade of the 30th Minsk Infantry Division already in Narva, if we reinforced that with the rest of that division…”
“General, I object!“ came from General Ruzsky
Of course you do, your ass is on the line to defend the capital and you won’t loosen your grip on any of your units.
Grand Duke Nicholas cleared his throat and Alekseyev sat forward intently. Since being replaced by the Tsar as Supreme Commander four months ago he had attended most of the Stavka meetings but said very little.
“Da, cousin?”
“Your Majesty, I would urge you to exercise great care in this. We have already committed the last free reserves and artillery stockpiles to the defense of Luga. It will be another two weeks before troops withdrawn from the Caucasus Front arrive. Should we send additional troops to Estlyandskaya from St Petersburg, and Luga does fall, the defenses of the capital might be inadequate.
“The new divisions being formed and designated for the Summer offensive in the south are not ready; bringing them to the capital in their current state, would only bring more mouths to feed.”
“Still…”
“Your Majesty,” the Grand Duke interrupted softly, “The enemy has one or two corps in Estlyandskaya, 300km from the capital and on the other side of the Narva. They have three armies at Luga, half that far.”
Notes
Note 1. Historically, on 18 August 1915 HMS E-13 grounded hard on Saltholm Island east of Copenhagen while trying to enter the Baltic. Unable to get off the shore under her own power, and under a 24-hour limit to avoid internment, Lt. Cdr Layton went ashore to arrange for a tow, or if that was refused, to arrange terms for internment. In the morning, the German torpedo boat SMS G-132 investigated, and was ordered to destroy the submarine, which it (and a second TB) did despite valiant Danish efforts to protect E-13 (as was their duty under international law). While this action was in violation of Danish neutrality, the Battle of the Gulf of Riga was reaching its culmination, and the Germans did not feel inclined to allow addition subs to enter the Baltic. As it was, on 19 August SMS Moltke was torpedoed by HMS E-1, and the threat of RN subs essentially forced the IGN to abandon the campaign for two additional years.
Note 2. Historians are uncertain exactly how Borys came to be known as “Chinese Borys”. The moniker first appeared while the HSF was operating in the Baltic in late 1915 and early 1916 and was first attested in the staff papers of Vice-Admiral Rudburg’s Special Naval Group. One story is that following a night action in Moon Sound on 14 December, 1915, then-Korvettenkapitän Borys brought two damaged torpedo boats safely away from the battle tied together “Chinese style” – that is, one facing forward and one aft. Retired Oberbootsmann Hans Bachmayer, who served with Borys at die Regenschlacht, claims that the nickname came about much earlier. Bachmayer claims that the nickname first appeared because Borys could eat a large meal and still be hungry a short time later.
Note 3. Torpedo Boat No 213, built in Abo, Finland in 1902. By 1915 she was used as a minesweeper.
Note 4. Kleiner Rågö is now known as Väike Pakri Island, Estonia
Note 5. Baltische Port (modern Paldiski) in 1912. Although it supported larger ships at anchorage, the enclosed harbor was only suitable for small craft.
Note 6. At Stallupönen, in the first major battle on the Eastern Front, von François’ 1st Korps was ordered to retreat to Gumbinnen. Instead, taking advantage of poor Russian coordination, he successfully counterattacked four advancing Russian divisions. Generaloberst von Prittwitz was his superior, in command of 8th Army.
Note 7. Modern Saue, Estonia. Coincidentally, Freidrichshof Manor (after which the town was named) was the Baronial seat of the von Fersens.
Note 8. Modern Aegviidu, Estonia. 20km west of Taps.
Note 9. Modern Rakvere, Estonia.
statistics: Posted by seaoh1979 — 2:46 PM - 1 day ago — Replies 3 — Views 54