Chapter 25 – A Christmas to Remember
December 25th. 0430. SMS Regensburg, 8nm southwest of Mäkiluoto Island, central Gulf of Finland. Heading 035 at 7 knots.
Kapitän zur See Joachim von Wolferein cursed the rancid weather.
Verdammt! With this heavy snowfall, I can barely see beyond the forward kanon!
“Deck. Slow to 5.”
The squeal of the halyards and limp flapping of the signal hoist told him that Graudenz and Rostock astern shouldn’t run up his arsch.
Regensburg was at Action Stations, with many pairs of eyes looking for danger. Even so, the snow and early hour meant none could see more than a few cables.
I could stumble right into an enemy ship at close range, just like the battles in the Nordsee.
Wolferein shivered at the memories.
Unkind thoughts directed toward his kommander, Konteradmiral Hopman, came unbidden. Orders from the Scouting Forces kommander to close to within visual range and draw fire from the Russer coastal defense battery on Mäkiluoto Island, off the tip of the Porkkala Peninsula, had presumed that he wouldn’t have to close to pistol range. Since the battery – the powerful northern anchor of the main Russer sea defenses in the Gulf of Finland – was thought to be armed with a mix of 20.3cm and 7.6cm kanonen, he was already too verdammt close.
“Navigation. Distance to our objective?”
“Estimated position of the island is on the bow at five nautical miles, Herr Kapitän.”
“Very well.”
This is more than close enough, especially since our navigation at this point was no more than guesses heaped upon speculation. I’ll circle out and return in an hour.
“Signals…
Before he could finish the order, a call came from the lookout. “Bridge. Land in sight, forward of the starboard beam, 12hm.”
Wolferein stared down the indicated bearing but could see nothing but white snow and darkness.
Wait…there!
A low hump of rock barely escaping the clutches of the sea. A small wooden tower clung to its meagre crest.
“Kapitän, that should be Porkkala Light.”
Unlit. No doubt an enemy wartime measure to confuse us. Wolferein turned back to gaze over the bows. Ja, there you are.
The snowfall had thinned enough that he could see a vague glow to the northeast, backlighting a more substantial rocky island.
“Energize forward searchlights, fine on the port bow”
Let these Thy gifts to us be blessed.
The big searchlight stabbed out ahead. Then...nothing happened.
Could I have caught them sleeping? Or is this the wrong island?
“Deck, come right to 120.”
“120, Aye Kapitän. Helm. Right full rudder, steady on new course 120.”
At 5 knots the usually nimble kreuzer turned like a blundering steamer, but eventually came about enough to put the Russer island near the beam.
“Artillery Officer. Target is the island 75hm on port beam, three salvoes.”
CraCrCracCrCrack!
One round splashed near the island’s shore; the rest disappeared.
CracCrCrCrackCrack!
Brownish-gray clouds of rock and dirt roiled above the island. Later rounds burst inside the clouds.
Crack!CraCrCrack! Crack!
Still no sign of a response from the Russers.
Must be the wrong island. Ja?
Wolferein’s question was answered with an emphatic negative. His mouth fell open as a very large flash lit the sky above the island. Seconds later a heavy freight train roared over Regensburg and struck the sea well to starboard with a huge column of dirty water.
Was that only a 20.3cm kanon? Time to clear away!
“Signals. Extinguish searchlights!
“Deck. Right full rudder, come to 160. Full speed.
“Navigation. How close will that take us to that lighthouse?”
“Kapitän, 160 will clear the Porkkala Light by 4hm.”
The next enemy shot came over nearly two minutes later, with Regensburg halfway to her new course and rapidly gaining speed. It was a good thing, as the splash was astern and slightly to port. Any relief Wolferein felt was quickly erased as a second enemy gun opened up, followed immediately by a third. A smile crept onto his lips as he watched the battery split its fire, one shell each at the still-wallowing Graudenz and Rostock.
“Signals. Hoist Maneuver independently to avoid fire.”
“Herr Kapitän,” The Deck Officer spoke up. “There are no explosions in the splashes, perhaps they are firing only armor piercing rounds?”
“Or training rounds. Gut observation.”
The enemy kanons continued to fire quite slowly, no more than once every 90 to 120 seconds. The enemy’s fire was no more accurate than it was rapid. Graudenz had a round come close to her bow, but everything else was appallingly aimed.
Splash! Whump!
What was that? Two shells, the second most definitely exploding…or…
Splash! Whump!
It happened again; a shell hit the water out to port, followed by a large explosion nearby.
It must be…Schieße!
“Deck. Hard right rudder. Come to 210.
“Navigation. Mark the chart for a possible minefield to our east.
”Signals. Emergency signal to Graudenz and Rostock. DANGER MINEFIELD EAST.”
As the snow seemed to close in again with longer range, the fire against first Regensburg, then the other kreuzers ceased.
Wolferien quickly jotted down a signal for the Scouting Gruppe Kommander.
“Signals. When Blücher comes in sight send this.”
Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash!
Crack!Crack! CraCrack! Crack!
Far to the south, the visibility around Fregattenkapitän Vogel’s Frankfurt was better, though the kreuzer’s kapitän didn’t find the improvement to be an advantage.
Sheiße! They are getting closer with each salvo.
Crack!CrCraCraCrack!
Carrying similar orders to Wolferein’s, Vogel was tasked with provoking the powerful kanonen at the northern tip of Naissaar Island. The island’s battery – supported by extensive minefields – was the lynchpin of the sea defenses of Reval, and intelligence suspected that the original four 20.3cm and four 12cm kanonen had been augmented with further batteries.
Crack! Crack! CrackCrackCrack!
Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash!
A second salvo of heavy kanonen. Well, at least intelligence has gotten something right for once. Those new heavy kanonen are quite operational.
Vogel watched as the shells from his ship and her consorts, Wiesbaden and Stralsund, fell all around the northern tip of the island, many appearing to impact near the location from where he thought the enemy batteries were flashing. Seeing only by the light of the searchlights and the brief flashes of the enemy firing, it was impossible to tell if they were hitting.
Vogel thought back to the last time he’d seen heavy shells and searchlights. Die Regenschlacht.
The darkness. The heavy rain. The bows of the heroically charging Britischer light forces. The desperate fire from the battle line…
Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash!
CracCrack! CraCrack! Crack!
“135 seconds between salvos, Herr Kapitän,” called out the Navigator.
“Gut. Note that in the log.”
They are slowing down. Must have used up their ready ammunition.
“Bridge. Signals. Only three shots in that salvo.”
Splash! Splash! Splash!
Lucky for us. Even three rounds were too damn close.
“AO. Cease Fire!
“Signals. Searchlights off!
“Deck. Right full rudder, come to 300. Full speed.”
We got their attention. Maybe knocked out one kanon, without casualties on our part.
A good start to the day.
December 25th. 0530. Battleship Gangut. Sveaborg, Grand Duchy of Finland. Anchored.
The soft but insistent knock on his cabin door woke Vasily Kanin from a troubled sleep. This cabin – and especially the bed – on his new Fleet Flagship was a poor substitute for the well-appointed accommodations on the previous flagship Rurik.
He hated feeble knocks and combined with the poor sleep he felt himself grow immediately grumpy.
“Come.”
“Vitse-admiral,” the messenger said from a position of stiff attention. “A wireless signal from the Army 317th Coastal Defense Brigade.”
Kanin sat up and made a ‘come here’ gesture. The message was brief, and incomplete.
Enemy cruisers sighted off Naissaar. A gunnery duel with the enemy being driven off into the dark.
How many cruisers? What type?
And what the hell are they doing? Was it a serious attempt to silence the cannons on Naissaar, or could they have simply been heading for Reval and somehow blundered into the coastal defense batteries?
He tried to think, but his thoughts remained muddled. Before he could decide on a response a second messenger knocked on the door frame to his cabin.
“Da. Come in.”
Behind the messenger was Kapitan Belyeyev, his Chief of Staff.
The second message was from the battery on Mäkiluoto Island, reporting a similar engagement with three cruisers – the same ones? No, the engagements happened at the same time, many miles apart.
“Attacks by small cruisers on the coastal batteries on Naissaar and Mäkiluoto. They could not have hoped to take out the batteries like they tried to do at Hanko and Batiiski Port with dreadnaughts.”
“A probing attack, Vitse-admiral?” asked the Chief of Staff.
Kanin nodded, then held up his hand to think. As long as those two batteries are intact, the minefield is protected in daylight. Ah… the minefield.
“Message for 1st Cruiser Brigade. SORTIE IMMEDIATELY. ENEMY CRUISERS OPERATING NEAR MAIN POSITION. VERIFY IF MINESWEEPERS PRESENT.”
When the messengers had left the Chief of Staff spoke up, “Minesweepers, Vitse-admiral?”
“Da,” Kanin nodded. “The Main position is unassailable if both minefield and batteries are intact. The batteries cannot be destroyed by night bombardment, even by a host of dreadnaughts. They need to attack in daylight, but that’s what the minefields make difficult. And the batteries should be able to protect the minefields from sweepers during daylight.”
“I wonder how the enemy cruisers made it that close without blundering into the mines…from the report they were right at the edge of the minefield.”
“Luck? Defective mines? Who knows? I need Rurik and 2nd Cruiser to find out if they are trying to sweep the minefield. Kontr-admiral Kolomeytsev will command. The Fleet will sortie two hours…”
“Vitse-admiral, one thing you should hear before giving those orders.”
Shocked at the Chief of Staff’s unprecedented interruption, Kanin bit down on his anger. “Go ahead.”
“This morning, I received reports of crew unrest from two ships, a destroyer in the 3rd Division, and from the Imperator Pavel I.
No, it cannot be mutiny. It must not be. Not now of all times.
“A sailor’s committee on the Kazanets demanded to meet with the Kapitan over conditions in the boiler room. Apparently, to be ready to quickly sortie, the Chief Engineer had ordered all the stokers to maintain port and starboard steaming watches and full steam pressure. The men were exhausted simply sitting at anchor. The Kapitan has addressed the situation favorably.”
A consequence of my orders. In my zeal to be able to catch the Germans, I should have been more careful. Thankfully Belyeyev was more tactful than to point that out.
“And on Imperator Pavel I?”
“A more serious situation I’m afraid,” said the Chief of Staff, looking around the cabin, apparently searching for the right words. “The officers became aware of the sailors organizing a ‘Sailor’s Union’ across almost all the ship’s divisions. No list of demands yet, but the Kapitan and his First Officer consider the situation perilous, as there have been numerous instances of anti-officer activities; muttered ‘behind-the-back’ words, pilfered officer’s laundry, graffiti in storage spaces, that sort of thing. They even found subversive Red literature. They have not yet been able to identify the ringleaders.”
“Hmmm. The ship’s reputation is one of mediocrity. Kapitan First Rank Pechory, da? I have met him on several occasions, but don’t know him well. What kind of kapitan is he?”
“Vitse-admiral, I don’t like speaking of others behind their backs…”
“Consider it an order.”
“Very well. He’s a bastard, one who revels in his sadism. When one man screws up, he punishes the entire division. With gusto. Worse, he undercuts the officers and michmen in front of the men, so they are either lackluster in doing their duty, or overzealous. I was not in the least surprised to hear of the brewing unrest.”
Kanin’s shoulders slumped.
“Very well. In view of this uncertainty, I will hold the Fleet at anchor until Rurik reports on the Germans. Regarding Imperator Pavel I, I must consider what to do about Pechory.”
And pray to the Father that that fool Pechory doesn’t overreact and make this mess worse.
December 25th. 0545. SMS Markgraf 13nm north of Worms Island, heading 270 at 11 knots.
Kapitän zur See Karl Seiferling read the message carefully, pleasantly surprised that neither of Second Scouting’s forays against the Russer coastal defenses had resulted in any damage. Even the smallest of the coastal defense kanon could cripple the lightly-armored kreuzers.
There was no surprise however, in Konteradmiral Hopman’s recommendations, and therefore no reason to awaken admiral Rudburg. He turned to the signals watch.
“Signals. From the flag, to Elbing. DETACH GRUPPE MORGENRÖTE FOR PREVIOUS TASKING.”
Seiferling watched as Elbing and Pillau, shepherding the lumbering transports, hauled out to the north. The seas, building since the midwatch, would have made their operation quite impossible out here in deep water.
Where they were going it would be more sheltered, but by no means safe.
Hopman’s second recommendation wasn’t one admiral Rudburg had anticipated, but the admiral would be awake in just a few minutes, so Seiferling began to draft the wireless message calling 2nd Minensucher forward. He’d have it taken to the admiral once he was awake.
December 25th. 0615. Outer Defense Line, 8.3km south of Luga, Russia. Second Company, Third Battalion of the 510th Volkov Infantry Regiment.
“Romashin!”
“Wha?” Pavel Romashin cracked an eye open to see Yefreytor Medvedev stalking toward the tiny niche he’d dug in the snow-littered trench’s wall.
“Romashin! Reveille was 15 minutes ago, what the hell are you doing sleeping? You see that glowing shit over there,” Medvedev said, pointing at the pitch black of the southeastern horizon. “That’s the sun about to come up, and we were supposed to have the company bunker completed before then. I gave your sorry ass off from two in the morning. Four hours! Is this the way you worked on the farm, you lazy son of a whore?”
Since Pavel was the son of a whore, and well known as a shirker to everyone on the Lipetsk estate where he’d been born and spent all his miserable life before this past summer, he took no offense at the Yefreytor’s tirade. Instead, he did what he usually did when in trouble, he played stupid. His favorite ploy was to ape one of the estate’s cows, letting his mouth move in a circular cud-chewing motion and his eyes glaze over, all while saying nothing.
As usual, it worked.
“Father! What did I do to deserve such a stupid infantryman in my section?” Medvedev cried, looking up. “Let me explain this to you one more time. The enemy has moved up and is preparing to attack us. Soon. This section of trench is likely to be attacked in the first attacks, and right now it is just a ditch in the ground. You know what a ditch is, right?”
Pavel nodded as slowly as he could.
“Good. When the enemy attacks, first they’ll fire artillery at us – a lot of artillery, and some of that will explode up in the air. Right up there,” Medvedev pointed right above Pavel’s head. “If you’re in this trench when that happens it will turn your brains into mush – no they’re already mush – it will kill you, and if there is any justice in this forsaken world, you will die after a lot of pain.
“I know it’s a lot, but got all that?”
Pavel nodded without a hint of energy.
“Good.” Medvedev continued. “The bunker the company is digging will protect your miserable head. Now go join them.” Medvedev gave Pavel a shove down the trench as he stormed off the other way, shouting for others of the company.
For the past three months, since he and all of Lipetsk’s other opolcheniye (Note 1) had been gathered up and sent off to a few weeks of training with the Army, Pavel had been learning new ways to avoid work. It got even worse when his unit had been sent here – wherever here was – and assigned in complete companies as replacements for Army units that had lost many men. He was rarely able to be by himself, there were far too many officers and non-coms around – each seeming to live for the chance of making Pavel’s life miserable – and always more digging to be done in this horrible piece of the misbegotten northern forest. Pavel considered himself a craftsman at avoiding work, and this place took every ounce of his skill.
Pavel grabbed his rifle and turned toward the bunker-to-be. The rifle had been his father’s, and though the metal was rusted into a single solid lump, the wood was still solid, and useful as both a club and bayonet. Pavel liked bayonet training. It was not too different from killing pigs on the estate.
Deep rumbling interrupted his happy thoughts of pigs. Pavel poked his head above the lip of the trench and saw the horizon light up in hundreds of sparkles.
Very pretty.
“Everyone under cover!” Someone yelled. Men all around him got down on the ground, digging down with their hands and feet as if they could bury themselves.
Finally realizing that this must be the artillery of which the Yefreytor spoke, Pavel squished back into his little sleeping dugout, remembering to put his hands up over his head so it didn’t turn into mush.
December 25th. 0900. Eckerö, Åland Island, Grand Duchy of Finland.
Kapten Joakim Lagerlöf, Swedish Army, stepped off the landing barge onto Russian soil.
Not Russian for much longer. About time this was returned to us.
“Form up! Form up on me!” yelled his company sergeant.
The grassland, verged by pine woods on three sides, sloped up away from the pier toward the large pale-yellow Customs House three hundred meters away. The grand dimensions of the building were a testament to the vigorous trade between Sweden and the vast archipelago that made up the western third of the Grand Duchy of Finland; said trade a function of the overwhelmingly Swedish make-up of the population.
Joakim came from a family of merchants from Visby, and didn’t consider himself particularly political. Nonetheless, he certainly approved of this venture. There were those at home who would condemn taking Åland as a dangerous departure from frihetstiden and the safe foreign policy that Sweden had followed for nearly 200 years (Note 2). Sweden was simply too small, they claimed, to contest the Baltic with an Empire as large as the Tsar commanded.
Joakim thought such opinions were cowardly trash. The shores and islands of the Baltic were brimming with Swedish speakers who’d been abandoned to the not-so-tender mercies of the Russians. The Russification programs of the last 20 years had already stamped out Swedish from areas like Ingermanland that had been speaking it for 300 years. Nearly everyone in the Åland archipelago spoke Swedish.
Long past time our people are brought back into the fold.
“Ready, Kapten,” the company sergeant reported.
“Good,” Joakim said, then bellowed, “Men! Today we bring freedom to our brothers and sisters on Åland! To the Customs House, follow me!”
Note 3.
December 25th. 1010. SMS Blücher 13nm northwest of Naissaar Island, heading 305 at 10 knots.
“Frankfurt reports ‘on station’ Herr Konter-admiral.”
“Very well.”
Albert Hopman focused his binoculars on the three small kreuzers in line astern of the flagship, then swung around to the northwest to looking for Regensburg, Graudenz and Rostock. He could barely make out one of the three but couldn’t count funnels to tell which ship she was.
Thankfully the overnight heavy snowfall had given way to light precipitation under a leaden sky and visibility had improved but remained variable. The snowfall might aid him in hiding his trap, if he could keep his scouting gruppe in sight enough to control its movement. If he couldn’t, he would risk defeat in detail.
Directly west of Blücher two full flotillas of torpedoboots were in sight, moving slowly to conserve coal and reduce their smoke plumes. The heavy seas were knocking them about, there would likely be injuries even if the enemy stayed away.
The final piece of the puzzle to the Russer’s defenses, and the key to the trap that he hoped to spring, had come from Regensburg herself. Wolferein’s report of suspected mines south of Mäkiluoto Island, which Hopman had at first assumed to be a small local field intended to defend the island, when plotted on the chart by Second Scouting’s staff navigator – and overlaid with the known tracks of the Russers during the battles on the 20th and 22nd – revealed a bigger picture.
German intelligence had suggested that the Russers would sow extensive minefields in the central Gulf of Finland but hadn’t been able to determine their exact locations or extent. Looking at the chart now, it became clear to the staff navigator, and Hopman, that the Russers had sown the mines in a straight line directly between their outer coastal forts on Mäkiluoto and Naissaar. The track charts showed the Russers had approached that north-south line in a single track, without doubt one of, if not the principle cleared passage through the mines. Once west of that north-south line and clear of the mines the Russer tracks spilled all over like a drunken matrosen’s first knot.
Thank gott I’d nott sent my kreuzers farther east against batteries closer to Helsingfors or Reval, they’d have run straight into the mines.
That exit point from the presumed cleared channel, the spot in the sea where he expected - no, fervently hoped - the Russers would appear, lay just east-southeast of Regensburg.
And so far this morning it remained quite empty.
Almost six hours since we engaged the shore batteries, where are the Russers? They should have been here by now.
“Bridge. Signal from Regensburg: SMOKE IN SIGHT E.”
Hopman smiled at the sighting, apparently conjured by his thoughts.
At a questioning look from Blücher’s kapitän, Hopman pointed his chin to the northeast, then pushed his hand down toward the deck.
“Deck,” ordered Blücher’s kommander, understanding Hopman’s intent. “Come right to 030. Remain at 10 knots.”
As always when the enemy can only be seen by another, it seemed an eternity before the next report.
“Bridge. Signal from Regensburg: ENEMY IN SIGHT E. 3 LRG PLUMES.”
The watchstanders on Blücher’s bridge snapped alert in shock at the next report: “ENEMY 1 LS, 2 GK, MANY TB. CSE 250.”
They sent a linienschiff and two große kreuzers?? Too heavy for my force. At least his course of 250 confirms our plot of the cleared channel, perhaps I will take that nugget of information and retire.
“Bridge. Signal from Regensburg: NEGAT MY LAST. ENEMY 2GK, 1KK AND TBS.”
Hopman felt the entire bridge watch relax.
Rurik again, no doubt. An easy mistake…she’s as big as Dreadnought herself.
“Bridge. Forward Lookout. Regensburg is coming around to port.”
Hopman smiled. Turning toward the enemy! Very well done trailing your coat Wolferein.
“Bridge. Forward Lookout. Smoke in sight, fine on the starboard bow.”
Everyone on the bridge with binoculars stared eagerly over the bow.
“Three cruisers, Kontr-admiral; two of three funnels and one of four funnels.”
Viktor Kolomeytsev thought that he recognized the enemy cruisers from the battle on the 22nd. If so, they were all armed with 15cm cannons, which had smothered Oleg in very short order. Against Rurik they’d be a mere nuisance.
“Captain, 18 knots.”
“18 knots aye, Kontr-admiral. Deck, 18 knots.”
Rurik can steam a bit faster, as can Bogatýr, but Rossia will struggle at even 18. I only need to drive these Germans away and find out if they have minesweepers here.
“Range is 20,000m, commencing ranging fire,” reported the Gunnery Officer.
The two guns in the newly-repaired forward turret trained and elevated.
Booom!
A single round belched from the left 25.4cm gun.
“Short 500.”
Boooom!
“Over, close.”
Excellent shooting!
The leading enemy cruiser turned sharply away.
“Maintaining fire on the turn point,” reported the Gunnery Officer, hoping to hit one of the two trailing cruisers as they steamed in the leader’s wake.
Boooom!
“Hold range. Hold deflection.”
Boooom!
“On target.”
The shell had landed very close indeed to the second cruiser. Kolomeytsev was surprised at the accuracy at such long range, but then Rurik was relatively new and equipped with excellent English systems. He was more accustomed to the mediocre gunnery of the old ships of 2nd Cruiser.
Boooom!
“Hit!”
“Kapitan, recommend turn to open aft turret arcs.”
Kolomeytsev stared in pleasant surprise as the trailing enemy cruiser turned away hard, spewing smoke and beginning to slow.
Boooom!
“Kontr-admiral?”
Kolomeytsev took a moment to consider the larger picture. “Are we clear of the minefield yet?”
“Short 700, off line to starboard,” chanted the GO. “Commencing fire with secondaries.”
Boom!Boom!
“Nyet, Kontr-admiral. Another…1600m,” answered the navigator.
“Once we are clear, you may come starboard to 290 to clear arcs, but no more.”
“Understood Kontr-admiral.”
Suddenly the two leading enemy cruisers came hard about, both now heading north toward their damaged consort. Kolomeytsev was disappointed to see the shells from Rurik’s main and secondary artillery fall far from the smoking third cruiser. As had been the case four days ago, the big cruiser seemed to be able to get on target, but soon drifted off, particularly in the face of target maneuvers.
“We’re clear of the minefield.”
“Helm. Right full rudder, steady on new course 290.”
One of the enemy began to belch heavy smoke, likely trying to screen the damaged cruiser. It wasn’t clear what the third enemy was doing, but Kolomeytsev suspected that it would try to render aid to the damaged ship.
“Bridge! A ship sighted just aft of the port beam!”
Kolomeytsev whipped his binoculars to the port beam but could see nothing through the swirling snow. What did the lookout see?
Splash!
A large column of water suddenly appeared a couple thousand meters off the port beam.
Der’mo!
“Helm. 24 knots,” ordered Blücher’s Deck Officer.
“I think we got his attention, Herr Konter-admiral,” the kapitän murmured. “Holding further fire until the range drops.”
“Gut, well done,” Hopman replied.
When Regensburg had flashed the signal that they were under fire at very long range he had assumed that the nimble kreuzers would be able to rejoin him without incident. Very good gunnery by the enemy had disabused him of that notion, and now he was doing all he could to get to damaged Rostock. Regrettably, he had been forced to spring his trap early, leaving his torpedoboots out of position and the enemy an option to escape.
“Signal from Rostock. 4 BOILERS DAMAGED. MSA 15KTS.”
15 knots was faster than she could be towed, but escape would be difficult if the Russers stayed on her. Regensburg and Graudenz would continue to lay smoke, but eventually one of them would get hit, unless…
“Signals,” Hopman ordered. “To II and VI Torpedoboot Flotillas: CONDUCT TORP ATK NE.”
Hopman intended to call them back before they actually attacked, but faced with Blücher, three kleine Kreuzers, and twenty torpedoboots, he hoped the Russers would break off their pursuit of limping Rostock.
“Range to leading enemy 205hm,” intoned Blucher’s AO, with the droning cadence all Artillery Officer’s seemed to use as they got into the rhythm of their tasks.
“Open fire on the leading enemy when in range,” ordered Blücher’s kapitän. Hopman was pleased that his flagship, by now one of the most experienced in the battle-hardened HochSeeFlot, didn’t require him to order every detail. He could focus his attention on the whole battle - a pleasant change from the pre-war days when even admirals got personally involved in the least orders.
Splash!
A very large waterspout rose up well beyond the starboard bow.
Gut. He’s shifted his fire off Rostock.
“Bridge. Lookout. Leading enemy ship is Rurik, followed by Rossia, then a Bogatyr-class kreuzer. Astern of the kreuzers appear to be at least 12 torpedoboots.”
Hopman liked his chances against the Russer kreuzers in a gunnery duel, and the Russer torpedoboots were small, slow, and weakly armed…little threat to his line in this weather unless in large numbers, but if there were any of the big Novik zerstörers amongst the them, the torpedo threat would increase. They also could block pursuit back through the minefield.
Splash!
Hopman looked aft to where the leading ships of his two TB flotillas were just passing astern of his trailing ship, Stralsund.
“Signals. To II and VI Torpedoboot Flotillas. NEGAT ATTACK. HOLD ON QTR.”
“Range to leading enemy 199hm.”
Splash! Splash!
Hopman shook his head at the poor gunnery; both rounds landed more than a thousand meters short. He observed Rurik‘s next salvo and confirmed she was now firing one gun from each 25.4cm turret.
“Herr Konter-admiral, I intend to come slightly to port when we get into range, to be able to fire four-gun half-salvoes.”
Hopman nodded. “Come no farther than enough, and hold the speed at 24 even though it may reduce gunnery accuracy. I intend to bring our secondaries and the kanon of the others into range as soon as possible.”
Splash! Splash!
Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash!
Hopman thought it odd that Rurik was firing half salvoes with her mains, and full salvoes with her secondaries, in contrast to the earlier battle where she’d fired half-salvoes with both the 54.4cm and 20.3cm kanons. Perhaps they find it easier to distinguish between splashes that way.
“Kapitän, we are in range.”
“Very well AO. Deck. Come left to 340,” called Blücher‘s kommander.
Just before the ship steadied up on the new course the enemy bracketed Blücher, though none of the shells fell closer than 200m.
BoooBooBoBoom!
Splash! Splash!
“Short 300.”
SplSplash! Splash! Splash!
“Enemy is turning to port! Heavy smoke from the torpedoboots.”
He is steadying up on a western course. He must be hoping that the weight of fire from his two other kreuzers will hold us while his torpedoboots attack. Foolish, from that far astern and on a western course his torpedoboots will take hours to get in position to attack.
“Kapitän,” Hopman called. “When we are within 15cm range come left to put the head of their column near our beam, slightly converging, and slow to 16.”
BoooBooBoBoom!
“Aye, Konter-admiral.”
Whang!!!!
Blücher shook like a rat in a terrier’s jaws. The hit was somewhere aft, near turret Cezilie (Note 4). Near where she’d been hit three days ago. Hopman pressed his thumbs that it didn’t hit the same spot; the hull there had been made water-tight, but the armor was compromised.
Splash! SplashSplashSplash!
The Russer’s next salvo was well off in range, thankfully.
Booom! BoooBoom!
Ominously, turret Cezilie had missed firing.
Splash! Splash!
“Bridge. Lookout. Second enemy kreuzer has opened fire.”
Splash!
The splash, probably from the second Russer, was very short and well astern. Either a terrible shot or they were firing at Frankfurt and led her too much.
“Kapitän,” called out the Deck Officer. “Damage Control reports the barbette of turret Cezilie was hit above the waterline, but not penetrated. The crew was shaken up but should be back in action momentarily. Number 3 starboard 15cm kanon reports 4 casualties, but no damage to the mount, shifting personnel from the port side.”
“Range 155hm,” called the AO. “Recommend open fire with secondaries.”
“Hold fire secondaries AO until we steady up on the new course.” Blücher’s Kapitän looked over at Hopman.
“Wait one more minute, Kapitän, I want the 15cm fire to be effective.”
The enemy’s fire is now landing much closer, hopefully the change in course and speed will throw off their aim.
“Deck. Come left to 300, when on new course slow to 16.”
“300 then slow to 16, aye Kapitän.”
Whaang! Whaang!
Blücher staggered in the turn under twin hits amidships.
“Bridge. Signals. Regensburg reports Rostock clear and she and Graudenz are reengaging.”
If Blücher takes too much damage, every kleiner Kreuzer in the Fleet wouldn’t turn this battle around.
Crack! Crack! CraCrack!
The sudden crash of Blücher’s secondaries gave him heart, followed seconds later by the more distant crack from the kanon of the three kreuzers astern.
My trap might still work.
Hopman shouted over the crash of shellfire, “II and VI torpedoboot flotillas are to advance across enemy’s line of retreat!”
“Damage Control reports hits amidships have penetrated the ammunition supply corridor for turrets Bautzen and Fehrbellin. They have only 12 rounds apiece remaining until the supply can be restored.” (Note 5)
Just like that, Blücher’s broadside could be cut in half!
Thankfully Cezilie fired with the next salvo and the four-shell salvo straddled the big Russer.
“Bridge. Lookout. Regensburg in sight broad on the starboard bow.”
As Hopman brought the kreuzer into focus through the flurries, her side blossomed with fire, as did a ship behind her, no doubt Graudenz. More shell splashes erupted around the leading Russer. He would have preferred that they engage the two smaller Russers, but Wolferein’s position almost directly ahead of the Russer line precluded that.
“Hit!”
Hopman had missed it and wasn’t sure if it was a 21cm or a 15cm shell, but there was smoke coming from the base of Rurik’s mainmast. He also spotted flames and heavy smoke coming from the forecastle of the second kreuzer.
Gut. More of this.
Until the latest exchange, Kolomeytsev had been pleased with the battle so far. Rurik’s fire, though slower than the enemy’s, was nonetheless regular and accurate enough to register at least three hits. Rossia and Bogatýr were now in range, and he was confident they could outduel the three small German cruisers trailing Blücher.
“Kontr-admiral, two more enemy cruisers sighted ahead, crossing our bow from port to starboard.”
Whaang!
Kolomeytsev climbed to his feet and looked around the tiny, armored conning tower, the navigator was kneeling, bleeding from a head wound, but everyone else seemed no worse than shaken, though they were all standing still and looking around at each other, like cows who had heard the first thwack of the mallet at the slaughter pens.
“Damage report!” Kolomeytsev shouted over the ringing in his ears, hoping action would quickly shake them from their stupor.
It seemed to work as men jumped back to their tasks.
Whaang! Whang!
Two smaller shells struck the forecastle, from one of the cruisers ahead. The deck was torn up, but no other damage was visible.
“Kontr-admiral,” called the deck officer. “Two reports. The fire at the base of the mainmast is now out, but the cabling to the aft rangefinder was destroyed. Second, that last big hit struck and penetrated the main deck just above the Number Four 120mm gun, then struck the conning tower on the First Deck. The gun crew was killed, and while there appears to be no damage to the tower’s armor, the wireless room was badly tumbled about and the equipment damaged. They are attempting repairs.”
“Very well.”
“Bridge. Lookout. Rossia is on fire aft.”
“Kontr-admiral,“ called Rurik’s captain. “The enemy torpedoboats appear to be headed across our stern.”
“Signals, the torpedoboat squadrons are to engage the enemy torpedoboats and drive them back!”
Kolomeytsev turned to Rurik’s captain. “Our boats will stop them, but I must know, has anyone seen any sign of enemy minesweepers? Check with the lookouts…perhaps a report was missed.”
Whaang!
A large shell plowed into the top of the forward 25.4 turret, leaving a long metal-bright furrow from front to back. At the next cycle the guns remained silent.
“Kontr-admiral, no reports of minesweepers.”
Mission complete. Time to withdraw.
“Signals. Immediate execute, turn starboard 90 degrees.”
They’re turning starboard, probably running.
“Kapitän,” Hopman called. “Bring us about to the northeast. Signals! Immediate execute, Turn Starboard 045.”
Can I stilll cut off their route home?
________________________
Fregattenkapitän Paul Heinrich’s V-26 sliced through the cold seas, kicking up spray with each wavetop she cut across. Though he knew later – if he survived – he would feel miserably cold from the icy water, now all he could feel was the joy of being alive, racing ahead at V-26’s best speed, about to smash into the enemy.
Ahead, his Russer counterparts were spreading out to receive him. He thanked Gott that he was facing only torpedoboots. The big Britischer and Russer zerstörers were next to impossible to sink without a lucky torpedo hit, and their 10cm kanon could shred the average German torpedoboot with just a few hits. Not today! His II Flotilla boots were all Großes Torpedoboot 1913 design, two or three times the size of the enemy in front of him, and the new 10.5cm kanon greatly outgunned the smaller kanon on the Russers. VI Flotilla was even more powerful with the four G101 boots. (Note 6)
“Signals. For VI Flot. I AM WEST, YOU ARE EAST.
“Helm, come to 020. Artillery. Open fire as you will.”
“Their line is turning to starboard again Konter-admiral, to a reciprocal,” offered Blücher‘s Kapitän. “They must be running.”
Splash!
“Agreed.”
BooomBooomBoooom!
Hopman looked ahead and to starboard at the two large groups of torpedoboots about to merge. Already, two of the Russer boats appeared to be on fire and stopped. Even from here the shell splashes amongst the Russers were visibly far larger than the returning shells falling near his boots. He had no doubt his two flotillas would drive off the smaller but more numerous Russer boots, but unfortunately, they were already athwart where he wanted to head to cut off the Russer cruisers before they could re-enter the minefield swept channel.
Far too much chance of eating an aal should I try to push through them. Unless she is slowed, Rurik is going to make the entrance well before us.
“Come back up to 20 knots Kapitän, I don’t want him to get too far in front of us. Work around the torpedoboots as you can, but leave them at least 6000m to starboard.”
“Kapitän. Damage Control reports the ammunition passageways to turrets Bautzen and Fehrbellin are cleared.”
BooomBooomBoooom!Booom!
The bright red spark of a hit amidships on Rurik was followed seconds later by billowing smoke.
If we can shave a few knots off her speed, I might be willing to follow her through the minefield, though Rudburg would certainly scold me for taking the risk.
Hopman glanced off to port, where Regensburg and Graudenz were beginning to come hard around to take up station at the tail of his line.
“Herr Konter-admiral! The enemy torpedoboots are fleeing!”
They had little choice. Our flotillas were crushing them.
“Gut,” he replied, “bring us around to point at the entrance to the swept channel.”
Before Blücher’s kapitän could order the turn to starboard a frantic call came from above.
“Bridge! Lookout. “Torpedo in the water, starboard beam. 400m!”
“Hard a port!” ordered the Deck Officer. Blücher heeled heavily to starboard and slowed as she came around.
None of the enemy are close enough to reach us with a torpedo. A U-boot?
Hopman and several of the officers surged out of the tiny conning tower onto the open bridge.
“Can anyone see it?” Asked the Kapitän, before looking up. “Lookout, where away?”
“The report was from the after Lookout. One moment Herr Kapitän.” After a brief phone conversation, the Lookout called down to the Bridge. “He no longer has it in sight. He thinks it passed astern then to port.”
If it ever really existed. Schieße.
“Get us back into pursuit.” Hopman glanced over at his five kreuzers, the neat column astern now completely jumbled as ships backed and filled to keep from running into the ship ahead. Fire at the enemy was sporadic. The irregular fire from the enemy kreuzers wasn’t even falling near.
Blücher built back up to speed as quickly as possible, but by the time she reached the enemy’s 18 knots the range had opened beyond 15cm kanon range.
“Hit!”
Right near one of Rurik’s secondary turrets. Smoke there too.
“Herr Konter-admiral, hold the enemy cruisers entering the entrance to the minefield.”
“Very well.”
You won’t get away so easily as that.
Suddenly flames shot up from Rurik’s quarterdeck, reaching nearly masthead height. Hopman’s hands gripped the railing.
Come on. Come on. Just blow up.
“Damage control confirms that all aft magazines are flooded.”
Kolomeytsev was not the only one on Rurik’s bridge to release the breath they’d been holding. The heavy hit aft had somehow penetrated the aft port 20.3cm barbette. Someone there had been forehanded enough to begin flooding that magazine, but only seconds later the charges in the turret and supply train had ignited. The heat from that conflagration had threatened the starboard secondary turret and the aft main turret as well. After reading the reports from the Britischers, Kolomeytsev was now certain that they’d barely escaped the horrible fate of too many big British-built ships.
Despite the crippling damage, the Father must have nonetheless extended his hand in blessing to Rurik. Had the enemy shell struck a bit more to starboard it would have hit and certainly penetrated the thin 7.6cm armored bulkhead that extended between the two secondary barbettes – and thence right into one or both main machinery rooms. Stopped, the enemy would pound his ship to scrap, and there was nothing his other cruisers and remaining torpedoboats could have done. (Note 7)
Whaang!
A hit somewhere amidships, between two of the funnels.
Kolomeytsev prayed that the armor around Rurik’s engines kept out the enemy shells.
“Enemy cruisers and torpedoboats are turning away!”
“Herr Konter-admiral, II Flotilla reports two boots damaged but all boats can maintain ordered speed. VI Flotilla has four boats damaged with V44 disabled and under tow from G39. The two flotillas report several enemy torpedoboots sunk and many others damaged. Very few Russer survivors were pulled from the water.”
No surprise there, they would have had only seconds before hypothermia set in.
“Very well Kapitän,” Hopman called as he headed for the hatch. ”Shape course back to the Fleet, 15 knots. I’ll be in my cabin drafting my report to admiral Rudburg.”
Two of the enemy’s kreuzers were badly damaged, many torpedoboots sunk, and we now know much more about the enemy’s minefields. Other than Rostock and V44, not too much damage to my ships. A victory by all measures. Why then do I feel so melancholy?
December 25th. 1055. Submarine E-9. 19nm South of the Kalmar Straight. Heading 110 at 3 knots, surfaced.
Max Horton checked the chronometer for the thousandth time.
Where in blazes are E-18 and E-19?
Horton had waited too long as it was for his squadron mates to arrive. He had received no report from them, and if they had failed yet again to break through into the Baltic, particularly should they again involve the Danes, Flag Officer Submarines would almost certainly recall them.
“Cap’n. Ship in sight to the sou-souwest.”
Horton pivoted and picked out the target in his binoculars. She was already within 6 or 7 miles and he almost scolded the lookout for not seeing her or her funnel smoke earlier. He quickly realized that she had just emerged from one of the many snow flurries being driven across the choppy seas.
“Swedish flag,” called the lookout.
Damn. Just what I’m looking for…but going the wrong way.
The iron ore shipments, heading south to German smelters, mills, and factories were his target. This one - he could see she was riding high in the water – would be returning to Sweden with things like cooking oil, tea, and textiles.
Reluctantly, Horton let her pass, rather than give away his presence for a ship and cargo that would mean nothing to the Germans, and might drive the Swedes even farther away from neutrality.
I'll wait here for another hour, to hear from E-18 and 19, then I’ll head up to our new base at Werder. The Russians promise that the base there has everything we need: fuel, torpedoes, food, and limited spare parts, but our Royal Army liaison to the Stavka has warned of reports that the Germans were attacking through Pskov and north out of Riga. With fuel already below 65%, if the Russians were wrong, well, I'll not have many good options.
December 25th. 1445. 73rd Orel Infantry Division. South of Reval, Estland.
“Da General-Leytenant, infantry in at least regimental strength,” Kapitan Evgeni Artymov repeated for the fifth time since arriving at Division headquarters. “Also, twice we were driven back by artillery fire.”
General-Leytenant Gutor gazed placidly at Artymov across the large wooden desk. His face gave away nothing; the only sign that the general wasn’t a statue was the rhythmic tapping of one finger.
”Quite a story, Kapitan,” Gutor said after far too long. “Quite a story indeed. Germans appearing magically near Hapsal, as if conjured by my worst nightmares, and the brave Kapitan Artymov fighting valiantly to hold the Teutons back in a winter retreat. Your regimental chief of staff would have me believe that you have made all of this up to cover your incompetence… or something less savory.”
The bastard!
“Fortunately for you I believe you. The fall of Yur’yev was an unpleasant surprise, as well as reports of Germans less than 60 kilometers to the east of here (Note 8 ). I cannot afford to discount your story. Report back to your battalion and get some rest. If your story is true, you will be back in the thick of things quite soon.”
December 25th. 1510. 148th Regiment. 6km Southwest of Friedrichshof Estland (Note 9).
22 kilometers to the southwest of the Reval military headquarters, Oberstleutnant Kühn watched through the gathering gloom as his supporting artillery, the 79th Feldartillerie-Regiment, moved off the road to the north, toward his left flank.
With darkness, Kühn hoped that his scouts would return soon. Unless they reported that the enemy held Friedrichshof in far greater strength than expected, he intended to attack before dawn. A surprise coup de main – even one that would suffer from the confusion of fighting in darkness – should be less costly than a straight up attack with the Russers prepared and waiting. Too, the new Reval fortifications that yesterday’s zeppelin had spotted two days ago were not far beyond Friedrichshof, and he could threaten those while severing the railroad to Baltischport.
Should the enemy infantry in Friedrichshof be stronger than he suspected, he would have to consider delaying his attack for the arrival of Generalmajor von Blumenthal and the brigade’s second infantry regiment, the 152nd.
Unless I have no other choice, I will not wait.
Kühn had come to realize that although von Blumenthal was a very difficult kommander, being overly aggressive was far less likely to incur his ire than would the alternative.
December 25th. 1545. 7th Dragoons. Sõtke River, near Sillamäggi, northeast Estland.
Oberstleutnant Höger slumped in the saddle. The exhilarating and exhausting race to the east was over.
For now.
His cavalry had come to a stop only 25km short of Narva when faced with a heavy Russer infantry presence across the minor river to his front. There was a ford between here and the coast, but he was certain his scouts would find it held by the enemy. If not, he might try encircling the position facing him.
Höger had also sent two squadrons south, to a possible ford over the Narva River – 20km southwest of the city.
If neither ford could be used, this would become an infantry problem.
In any case, he’d done his job by keeping any Russer reinforcements from moving from Narva into Estland to threaten Armie-Abtielung Hutier’s rear while they in turn closed on Reval from the east. With the three divisions of AA Hutier and the two from XXI Korps in western Estland, it was only a matter of time before…
Höger looked up into the softly falling snow and decided not to get too far ahead of himself.
December 25th. 2230. Steamship Orestes 11nm south of Hangö, Finland. Heading 025 at 8 knots
“The men are ready,” reported Oberjäger Orkény Dutka as he saluted the new Bataillon Kommander, Korvettenkapitän Trapp, on the deck of the small steamer. “Nervous about going into action, but nothing they won’t get over once we get to land.
"Ahem, this weather…”
Both men looked out at the water. In the dark, the only thing that could be seen was the white of the wind-driven spray flying wildly across the angry seas.
Trapp addressed Dutka’s unspoken question. “Ja, in these seas the boats would be quickly swamped, even if manned by Matrosen. Our jägers have learned a lot this last week, but it would be a disaster if we tried to land now.”
While nothing compared to actual combat, the training on and near the shore of Dägo Island had been uniquely challenging to both Dutka and the KuK 24th Feldjäger Bataillon. Endless boat drills: climbing in, climbing out, landing ashore, shooting at targets ashore from the boats, shooting at boats from ashore, rowing fast, rowing quietly. Most of all, moving supplies ashore as quickly as possible.
It hadn’t been the safest of training either; Dutka had never known that climbing in and out of boats could be so dangerous. At least a dozen men had been injured, thankfully only a few men so seriously that they would be left behind. Among those was the Battailon Kommander himself, who had been caught between two boats and was in hospital waiting to determine if his leg would be removed.
Korvettenkapitän Trapp had only been notified yesterday that he was to take over as the acting Bataillon Kommander, mere hours before Operation Balmung kicked off (Note 10).
“Trust me though, the seas will calm, I am certain. Over there,” the officer said, waving off to one side of the ship into the darkness, “is the Hangö Peninsula. Very soon we will pass behind it and it will block the northwest winds that are making the seas so rough.”
He’s a naval officer, I hope he knows what he’s talking about.
“Oberjäger, what of the new men with the grenatenwerfers?”
Dutka snorted. “We should leave them on this boat. They have no forest skills and will give us away to even stinking Russer city boys.”
Trapp smiled as the familiar argument threatened to surface again. “Have no fear, they will be far in the rear when we are on the move, and I think you will be very happy that we have them with us when the Russers counterattack, which they will. In fact…”
Whatever Trapp was going to say was lost at a call from above
“Herr Korvettenkapitän? There’s the signal from Libau,” an officer called down from the open bridge above. “The Regiment is ordering all Bataillons to prepare to embark their boats. 30 minuten.”
“It begins. See to the men Oberjäger, and good luck with your part.”
Notes
Note 1. More formally, Norodnoye Opolcheniye: “People’s Militia”
Note 2. Frihetstiden = ”Age of Liberty”. The period of Swedish political life following the decline of the monarchy after the Great Northern War. Characterized by parliamentary government, increased civil rights, and a retreat from the Swedish Empire.
Note 3. Swedish troops at the Eckero Customs House
Swedish Gotland Infantry Regiment on Åland
Note 4. Blücher’s turrets were named Alsen, Bautzen, Cezilie, Düppel, Eylau, and Fehrbellin, in clockwise order from the forecastle.
Note 5. Blücher’s forward pair of wing turrets did not have their own magazines, but instead received ammunition from the magazines below the aft wing turrets, transported through an armored passageway.
Note 6. The four boats of the G101 class were being built for the Argentine Navy, then seized upon the outbreak of war.
Note 7. Designed and built by Vickers, Rurik‘s armor scheme was robust and generally similar to Invincible. However, like most British designs, it was assumed that the ship would be the aggressor in any battle, and consequently Rurik‘s aft armor had weaknesses. The aft main gun barbette and turret were well armored, but the inboard sections of the aft secondary gun barbettes below the quarterdeck were only 38 to 76mm. Worse, the transverse bulkhead between the two aft secondary turrets – forming the aft end of the citadel enclosing the engine and boiler rooms – was only 76mm thick.
Note 8. Yur’yev = Dorpat = Tartu, Estonia
Note 9. Freidrichshof = Saue, Estonia.
Note 10. Balmung was Sigurd/Siegfried’s sword. Also known as Gram or Nothung.
December 25th. 0430. SMS Regensburg, 8nm southwest of Mäkiluoto Island, central Gulf of Finland. Heading 035 at 7 knots.
Kapitän zur See Joachim von Wolferein cursed the rancid weather.
Verdammt! With this heavy snowfall, I can barely see beyond the forward kanon!
“Deck. Slow to 5.”
The squeal of the halyards and limp flapping of the signal hoist told him that Graudenz and Rostock astern shouldn’t run up his arsch.
Regensburg was at Action Stations, with many pairs of eyes looking for danger. Even so, the snow and early hour meant none could see more than a few cables.
I could stumble right into an enemy ship at close range, just like the battles in the Nordsee.
Wolferein shivered at the memories.
Unkind thoughts directed toward his kommander, Konteradmiral Hopman, came unbidden. Orders from the Scouting Forces kommander to close to within visual range and draw fire from the Russer coastal defense battery on Mäkiluoto Island, off the tip of the Porkkala Peninsula, had presumed that he wouldn’t have to close to pistol range. Since the battery – the powerful northern anchor of the main Russer sea defenses in the Gulf of Finland – was thought to be armed with a mix of 20.3cm and 7.6cm kanonen, he was already too verdammt close.
“Navigation. Distance to our objective?”
“Estimated position of the island is on the bow at five nautical miles, Herr Kapitän.”
“Very well.”
This is more than close enough, especially since our navigation at this point was no more than guesses heaped upon speculation. I’ll circle out and return in an hour.
“Signals…
Before he could finish the order, a call came from the lookout. “Bridge. Land in sight, forward of the starboard beam, 12hm.”
Wolferein stared down the indicated bearing but could see nothing but white snow and darkness.
Wait…there!
A low hump of rock barely escaping the clutches of the sea. A small wooden tower clung to its meagre crest.
“Kapitän, that should be Porkkala Light.”
Unlit. No doubt an enemy wartime measure to confuse us. Wolferein turned back to gaze over the bows. Ja, there you are.
The snowfall had thinned enough that he could see a vague glow to the northeast, backlighting a more substantial rocky island.
“Energize forward searchlights, fine on the port bow”
Let these Thy gifts to us be blessed.
The big searchlight stabbed out ahead. Then...nothing happened.
Could I have caught them sleeping? Or is this the wrong island?
“Deck, come right to 120.”
“120, Aye Kapitän. Helm. Right full rudder, steady on new course 120.”
At 5 knots the usually nimble kreuzer turned like a blundering steamer, but eventually came about enough to put the Russer island near the beam.
“Artillery Officer. Target is the island 75hm on port beam, three salvoes.”
CraCrCracCrCrack!
One round splashed near the island’s shore; the rest disappeared.
CracCrCrCrackCrack!
Brownish-gray clouds of rock and dirt roiled above the island. Later rounds burst inside the clouds.
Crack!CraCrCrack! Crack!
Still no sign of a response from the Russers.
Must be the wrong island. Ja?
Wolferein’s question was answered with an emphatic negative. His mouth fell open as a very large flash lit the sky above the island. Seconds later a heavy freight train roared over Regensburg and struck the sea well to starboard with a huge column of dirty water.
Was that only a 20.3cm kanon? Time to clear away!
“Signals. Extinguish searchlights!
“Deck. Right full rudder, come to 160. Full speed.
“Navigation. How close will that take us to that lighthouse?”
“Kapitän, 160 will clear the Porkkala Light by 4hm.”
The next enemy shot came over nearly two minutes later, with Regensburg halfway to her new course and rapidly gaining speed. It was a good thing, as the splash was astern and slightly to port. Any relief Wolferein felt was quickly erased as a second enemy gun opened up, followed immediately by a third. A smile crept onto his lips as he watched the battery split its fire, one shell each at the still-wallowing Graudenz and Rostock.
“Signals. Hoist Maneuver independently to avoid fire.”
“Herr Kapitän,” The Deck Officer spoke up. “There are no explosions in the splashes, perhaps they are firing only armor piercing rounds?”
“Or training rounds. Gut observation.”
The enemy kanons continued to fire quite slowly, no more than once every 90 to 120 seconds. The enemy’s fire was no more accurate than it was rapid. Graudenz had a round come close to her bow, but everything else was appallingly aimed.
Splash! Whump!
What was that? Two shells, the second most definitely exploding…or…
Splash! Whump!
It happened again; a shell hit the water out to port, followed by a large explosion nearby.
It must be…Schieße!
“Deck. Hard right rudder. Come to 210.
“Navigation. Mark the chart for a possible minefield to our east.
”Signals. Emergency signal to Graudenz and Rostock. DANGER MINEFIELD EAST.”
As the snow seemed to close in again with longer range, the fire against first Regensburg, then the other kreuzers ceased.
Wolferien quickly jotted down a signal for the Scouting Gruppe Kommander.
“Signals. When Blücher comes in sight send this.”
- ----------------------------------------
Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash!
Crack!Crack! CraCrack! Crack!
Far to the south, the visibility around Fregattenkapitän Vogel’s Frankfurt was better, though the kreuzer’s kapitän didn’t find the improvement to be an advantage.
Sheiße! They are getting closer with each salvo.
Crack!CrCraCraCrack!
Carrying similar orders to Wolferein’s, Vogel was tasked with provoking the powerful kanonen at the northern tip of Naissaar Island. The island’s battery – supported by extensive minefields – was the lynchpin of the sea defenses of Reval, and intelligence suspected that the original four 20.3cm and four 12cm kanonen had been augmented with further batteries.
Crack! Crack! CrackCrackCrack!
Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash!
A second salvo of heavy kanonen. Well, at least intelligence has gotten something right for once. Those new heavy kanonen are quite operational.
Vogel watched as the shells from his ship and her consorts, Wiesbaden and Stralsund, fell all around the northern tip of the island, many appearing to impact near the location from where he thought the enemy batteries were flashing. Seeing only by the light of the searchlights and the brief flashes of the enemy firing, it was impossible to tell if they were hitting.
Vogel thought back to the last time he’d seen heavy shells and searchlights. Die Regenschlacht.
The darkness. The heavy rain. The bows of the heroically charging Britischer light forces. The desperate fire from the battle line…
Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash!
CracCrack! CraCrack! Crack!
“135 seconds between salvos, Herr Kapitän,” called out the Navigator.
“Gut. Note that in the log.”
They are slowing down. Must have used up their ready ammunition.
“Bridge. Signals. Only three shots in that salvo.”
Splash! Splash! Splash!
Lucky for us. Even three rounds were too damn close.
“AO. Cease Fire!
“Signals. Searchlights off!
“Deck. Right full rudder, come to 300. Full speed.”
We got their attention. Maybe knocked out one kanon, without casualties on our part.
A good start to the day.
December 25th. 0530. Battleship Gangut. Sveaborg, Grand Duchy of Finland. Anchored.
The soft but insistent knock on his cabin door woke Vasily Kanin from a troubled sleep. This cabin – and especially the bed – on his new Fleet Flagship was a poor substitute for the well-appointed accommodations on the previous flagship Rurik.
He hated feeble knocks and combined with the poor sleep he felt himself grow immediately grumpy.
“Come.”
“Vitse-admiral,” the messenger said from a position of stiff attention. “A wireless signal from the Army 317th Coastal Defense Brigade.”
Kanin sat up and made a ‘come here’ gesture. The message was brief, and incomplete.
Enemy cruisers sighted off Naissaar. A gunnery duel with the enemy being driven off into the dark.
How many cruisers? What type?
And what the hell are they doing? Was it a serious attempt to silence the cannons on Naissaar, or could they have simply been heading for Reval and somehow blundered into the coastal defense batteries?
He tried to think, but his thoughts remained muddled. Before he could decide on a response a second messenger knocked on the door frame to his cabin.
“Da. Come in.”
Behind the messenger was Kapitan Belyeyev, his Chief of Staff.
The second message was from the battery on Mäkiluoto Island, reporting a similar engagement with three cruisers – the same ones? No, the engagements happened at the same time, many miles apart.
“Attacks by small cruisers on the coastal batteries on Naissaar and Mäkiluoto. They could not have hoped to take out the batteries like they tried to do at Hanko and Batiiski Port with dreadnaughts.”
“A probing attack, Vitse-admiral?” asked the Chief of Staff.
Kanin nodded, then held up his hand to think. As long as those two batteries are intact, the minefield is protected in daylight. Ah… the minefield.
“Message for 1st Cruiser Brigade. SORTIE IMMEDIATELY. ENEMY CRUISERS OPERATING NEAR MAIN POSITION. VERIFY IF MINESWEEPERS PRESENT.”
When the messengers had left the Chief of Staff spoke up, “Minesweepers, Vitse-admiral?”
“Da,” Kanin nodded. “The Main position is unassailable if both minefield and batteries are intact. The batteries cannot be destroyed by night bombardment, even by a host of dreadnaughts. They need to attack in daylight, but that’s what the minefields make difficult. And the batteries should be able to protect the minefields from sweepers during daylight.”
“I wonder how the enemy cruisers made it that close without blundering into the mines…from the report they were right at the edge of the minefield.”
“Luck? Defective mines? Who knows? I need Rurik and 2nd Cruiser to find out if they are trying to sweep the minefield. Kontr-admiral Kolomeytsev will command. The Fleet will sortie two hours…”
“Vitse-admiral, one thing you should hear before giving those orders.”
Shocked at the Chief of Staff’s unprecedented interruption, Kanin bit down on his anger. “Go ahead.”
“This morning, I received reports of crew unrest from two ships, a destroyer in the 3rd Division, and from the Imperator Pavel I.
No, it cannot be mutiny. It must not be. Not now of all times.
“A sailor’s committee on the Kazanets demanded to meet with the Kapitan over conditions in the boiler room. Apparently, to be ready to quickly sortie, the Chief Engineer had ordered all the stokers to maintain port and starboard steaming watches and full steam pressure. The men were exhausted simply sitting at anchor. The Kapitan has addressed the situation favorably.”
A consequence of my orders. In my zeal to be able to catch the Germans, I should have been more careful. Thankfully Belyeyev was more tactful than to point that out.
“And on Imperator Pavel I?”
“A more serious situation I’m afraid,” said the Chief of Staff, looking around the cabin, apparently searching for the right words. “The officers became aware of the sailors organizing a ‘Sailor’s Union’ across almost all the ship’s divisions. No list of demands yet, but the Kapitan and his First Officer consider the situation perilous, as there have been numerous instances of anti-officer activities; muttered ‘behind-the-back’ words, pilfered officer’s laundry, graffiti in storage spaces, that sort of thing. They even found subversive Red literature. They have not yet been able to identify the ringleaders.”
“Hmmm. The ship’s reputation is one of mediocrity. Kapitan First Rank Pechory, da? I have met him on several occasions, but don’t know him well. What kind of kapitan is he?”
“Vitse-admiral, I don’t like speaking of others behind their backs…”
“Consider it an order.”
“Very well. He’s a bastard, one who revels in his sadism. When one man screws up, he punishes the entire division. With gusto. Worse, he undercuts the officers and michmen in front of the men, so they are either lackluster in doing their duty, or overzealous. I was not in the least surprised to hear of the brewing unrest.”
Kanin’s shoulders slumped.
“Very well. In view of this uncertainty, I will hold the Fleet at anchor until Rurik reports on the Germans. Regarding Imperator Pavel I, I must consider what to do about Pechory.”
And pray to the Father that that fool Pechory doesn’t overreact and make this mess worse.
December 25th. 0545. SMS Markgraf 13nm north of Worms Island, heading 270 at 11 knots.
Kapitän zur See Karl Seiferling read the message carefully, pleasantly surprised that neither of Second Scouting’s forays against the Russer coastal defenses had resulted in any damage. Even the smallest of the coastal defense kanon could cripple the lightly-armored kreuzers.
There was no surprise however, in Konteradmiral Hopman’s recommendations, and therefore no reason to awaken admiral Rudburg. He turned to the signals watch.
“Signals. From the flag, to Elbing. DETACH GRUPPE MORGENRÖTE FOR PREVIOUS TASKING.”
Seiferling watched as Elbing and Pillau, shepherding the lumbering transports, hauled out to the north. The seas, building since the midwatch, would have made their operation quite impossible out here in deep water.
Where they were going it would be more sheltered, but by no means safe.
Hopman’s second recommendation wasn’t one admiral Rudburg had anticipated, but the admiral would be awake in just a few minutes, so Seiferling began to draft the wireless message calling 2nd Minensucher forward. He’d have it taken to the admiral once he was awake.
December 25th. 0615. Outer Defense Line, 8.3km south of Luga, Russia. Second Company, Third Battalion of the 510th Volkov Infantry Regiment.
“Romashin!”
“Wha?” Pavel Romashin cracked an eye open to see Yefreytor Medvedev stalking toward the tiny niche he’d dug in the snow-littered trench’s wall.
“Romashin! Reveille was 15 minutes ago, what the hell are you doing sleeping? You see that glowing shit over there,” Medvedev said, pointing at the pitch black of the southeastern horizon. “That’s the sun about to come up, and we were supposed to have the company bunker completed before then. I gave your sorry ass off from two in the morning. Four hours! Is this the way you worked on the farm, you lazy son of a whore?”
Since Pavel was the son of a whore, and well known as a shirker to everyone on the Lipetsk estate where he’d been born and spent all his miserable life before this past summer, he took no offense at the Yefreytor’s tirade. Instead, he did what he usually did when in trouble, he played stupid. His favorite ploy was to ape one of the estate’s cows, letting his mouth move in a circular cud-chewing motion and his eyes glaze over, all while saying nothing.
As usual, it worked.
“Father! What did I do to deserve such a stupid infantryman in my section?” Medvedev cried, looking up. “Let me explain this to you one more time. The enemy has moved up and is preparing to attack us. Soon. This section of trench is likely to be attacked in the first attacks, and right now it is just a ditch in the ground. You know what a ditch is, right?”
Pavel nodded as slowly as he could.
“Good. When the enemy attacks, first they’ll fire artillery at us – a lot of artillery, and some of that will explode up in the air. Right up there,” Medvedev pointed right above Pavel’s head. “If you’re in this trench when that happens it will turn your brains into mush – no they’re already mush – it will kill you, and if there is any justice in this forsaken world, you will die after a lot of pain.
“I know it’s a lot, but got all that?”
Pavel nodded without a hint of energy.
“Good.” Medvedev continued. “The bunker the company is digging will protect your miserable head. Now go join them.” Medvedev gave Pavel a shove down the trench as he stormed off the other way, shouting for others of the company.
For the past three months, since he and all of Lipetsk’s other opolcheniye (Note 1) had been gathered up and sent off to a few weeks of training with the Army, Pavel had been learning new ways to avoid work. It got even worse when his unit had been sent here – wherever here was – and assigned in complete companies as replacements for Army units that had lost many men. He was rarely able to be by himself, there were far too many officers and non-coms around – each seeming to live for the chance of making Pavel’s life miserable – and always more digging to be done in this horrible piece of the misbegotten northern forest. Pavel considered himself a craftsman at avoiding work, and this place took every ounce of his skill.
Pavel grabbed his rifle and turned toward the bunker-to-be. The rifle had been his father’s, and though the metal was rusted into a single solid lump, the wood was still solid, and useful as both a club and bayonet. Pavel liked bayonet training. It was not too different from killing pigs on the estate.
Deep rumbling interrupted his happy thoughts of pigs. Pavel poked his head above the lip of the trench and saw the horizon light up in hundreds of sparkles.
Very pretty.
“Everyone under cover!” Someone yelled. Men all around him got down on the ground, digging down with their hands and feet as if they could bury themselves.
Finally realizing that this must be the artillery of which the Yefreytor spoke, Pavel squished back into his little sleeping dugout, remembering to put his hands up over his head so it didn’t turn into mush.
December 25th. 0900. Eckerö, Åland Island, Grand Duchy of Finland.
Kapten Joakim Lagerlöf, Swedish Army, stepped off the landing barge onto Russian soil.
Not Russian for much longer. About time this was returned to us.
“Form up! Form up on me!” yelled his company sergeant.
The grassland, verged by pine woods on three sides, sloped up away from the pier toward the large pale-yellow Customs House three hundred meters away. The grand dimensions of the building were a testament to the vigorous trade between Sweden and the vast archipelago that made up the western third of the Grand Duchy of Finland; said trade a function of the overwhelmingly Swedish make-up of the population.
Joakim came from a family of merchants from Visby, and didn’t consider himself particularly political. Nonetheless, he certainly approved of this venture. There were those at home who would condemn taking Åland as a dangerous departure from frihetstiden and the safe foreign policy that Sweden had followed for nearly 200 years (Note 2). Sweden was simply too small, they claimed, to contest the Baltic with an Empire as large as the Tsar commanded.
Joakim thought such opinions were cowardly trash. The shores and islands of the Baltic were brimming with Swedish speakers who’d been abandoned to the not-so-tender mercies of the Russians. The Russification programs of the last 20 years had already stamped out Swedish from areas like Ingermanland that had been speaking it for 300 years. Nearly everyone in the Åland archipelago spoke Swedish.
Long past time our people are brought back into the fold.
“Ready, Kapten,” the company sergeant reported.
“Good,” Joakim said, then bellowed, “Men! Today we bring freedom to our brothers and sisters on Åland! To the Customs House, follow me!”
Note 3.
December 25th. 1010. SMS Blücher 13nm northwest of Naissaar Island, heading 305 at 10 knots.
“Frankfurt reports ‘on station’ Herr Konter-admiral.”
“Very well.”
Albert Hopman focused his binoculars on the three small kreuzers in line astern of the flagship, then swung around to the northwest to looking for Regensburg, Graudenz and Rostock. He could barely make out one of the three but couldn’t count funnels to tell which ship she was.
Thankfully the overnight heavy snowfall had given way to light precipitation under a leaden sky and visibility had improved but remained variable. The snowfall might aid him in hiding his trap, if he could keep his scouting gruppe in sight enough to control its movement. If he couldn’t, he would risk defeat in detail.
Directly west of Blücher two full flotillas of torpedoboots were in sight, moving slowly to conserve coal and reduce their smoke plumes. The heavy seas were knocking them about, there would likely be injuries even if the enemy stayed away.
The final piece of the puzzle to the Russer’s defenses, and the key to the trap that he hoped to spring, had come from Regensburg herself. Wolferein’s report of suspected mines south of Mäkiluoto Island, which Hopman had at first assumed to be a small local field intended to defend the island, when plotted on the chart by Second Scouting’s staff navigator – and overlaid with the known tracks of the Russers during the battles on the 20th and 22nd – revealed a bigger picture.
German intelligence had suggested that the Russers would sow extensive minefields in the central Gulf of Finland but hadn’t been able to determine their exact locations or extent. Looking at the chart now, it became clear to the staff navigator, and Hopman, that the Russers had sown the mines in a straight line directly between their outer coastal forts on Mäkiluoto and Naissaar. The track charts showed the Russers had approached that north-south line in a single track, without doubt one of, if not the principle cleared passage through the mines. Once west of that north-south line and clear of the mines the Russer tracks spilled all over like a drunken matrosen’s first knot.
Thank gott I’d nott sent my kreuzers farther east against batteries closer to Helsingfors or Reval, they’d have run straight into the mines.
That exit point from the presumed cleared channel, the spot in the sea where he expected - no, fervently hoped - the Russers would appear, lay just east-southeast of Regensburg.
And so far this morning it remained quite empty.
Almost six hours since we engaged the shore batteries, where are the Russers? They should have been here by now.
“Bridge. Signal from Regensburg: SMOKE IN SIGHT E.”
Hopman smiled at the sighting, apparently conjured by his thoughts.
At a questioning look from Blücher’s kapitän, Hopman pointed his chin to the northeast, then pushed his hand down toward the deck.
“Deck,” ordered Blücher’s kommander, understanding Hopman’s intent. “Come right to 030. Remain at 10 knots.”
As always when the enemy can only be seen by another, it seemed an eternity before the next report.
“Bridge. Signal from Regensburg: ENEMY IN SIGHT E. 3 LRG PLUMES.”
The watchstanders on Blücher’s bridge snapped alert in shock at the next report: “ENEMY 1 LS, 2 GK, MANY TB. CSE 250.”
They sent a linienschiff and two große kreuzers?? Too heavy for my force. At least his course of 250 confirms our plot of the cleared channel, perhaps I will take that nugget of information and retire.
“Bridge. Signal from Regensburg: NEGAT MY LAST. ENEMY 2GK, 1KK AND TBS.”
Hopman felt the entire bridge watch relax.
Rurik again, no doubt. An easy mistake…she’s as big as Dreadnought herself.
“Bridge. Forward Lookout. Regensburg is coming around to port.”
Hopman smiled. Turning toward the enemy! Very well done trailing your coat Wolferein.
“Bridge. Forward Lookout. Smoke in sight, fine on the starboard bow.”
Everyone on the bridge with binoculars stared eagerly over the bow.
----------------------------------------
“Three cruisers, Kontr-admiral; two of three funnels and one of four funnels.”
Viktor Kolomeytsev thought that he recognized the enemy cruisers from the battle on the 22nd. If so, they were all armed with 15cm cannons, which had smothered Oleg in very short order. Against Rurik they’d be a mere nuisance.
“Captain, 18 knots.”
“18 knots aye, Kontr-admiral. Deck, 18 knots.”
Rurik can steam a bit faster, as can Bogatýr, but Rossia will struggle at even 18. I only need to drive these Germans away and find out if they have minesweepers here.
“Range is 20,000m, commencing ranging fire,” reported the Gunnery Officer.
The two guns in the newly-repaired forward turret trained and elevated.
Booom!
A single round belched from the left 25.4cm gun.
“Short 500.”
Boooom!
“Over, close.”
Excellent shooting!
The leading enemy cruiser turned sharply away.
“Maintaining fire on the turn point,” reported the Gunnery Officer, hoping to hit one of the two trailing cruisers as they steamed in the leader’s wake.
Boooom!
“Hold range. Hold deflection.”
Boooom!
“On target.”
The shell had landed very close indeed to the second cruiser. Kolomeytsev was surprised at the accuracy at such long range, but then Rurik was relatively new and equipped with excellent English systems. He was more accustomed to the mediocre gunnery of the old ships of 2nd Cruiser.
Boooom!
“Hit!”
“Kapitan, recommend turn to open aft turret arcs.”
Kolomeytsev stared in pleasant surprise as the trailing enemy cruiser turned away hard, spewing smoke and beginning to slow.
Boooom!
“Kontr-admiral?”
Kolomeytsev took a moment to consider the larger picture. “Are we clear of the minefield yet?”
“Short 700, off line to starboard,” chanted the GO. “Commencing fire with secondaries.”
Boom!Boom!
“Nyet, Kontr-admiral. Another…1600m,” answered the navigator.
“Once we are clear, you may come starboard to 290 to clear arcs, but no more.”
“Understood Kontr-admiral.”
Suddenly the two leading enemy cruisers came hard about, both now heading north toward their damaged consort. Kolomeytsev was disappointed to see the shells from Rurik’s main and secondary artillery fall far from the smoking third cruiser. As had been the case four days ago, the big cruiser seemed to be able to get on target, but soon drifted off, particularly in the face of target maneuvers.
“We’re clear of the minefield.”
“Helm. Right full rudder, steady on new course 290.”
One of the enemy began to belch heavy smoke, likely trying to screen the damaged cruiser. It wasn’t clear what the third enemy was doing, but Kolomeytsev suspected that it would try to render aid to the damaged ship.
“Bridge! A ship sighted just aft of the port beam!”
Kolomeytsev whipped his binoculars to the port beam but could see nothing through the swirling snow. What did the lookout see?
Splash!
A large column of water suddenly appeared a couple thousand meters off the port beam.
Der’mo!
________________________
“Helm. 24 knots,” ordered Blücher’s Deck Officer.
“I think we got his attention, Herr Konter-admiral,” the kapitän murmured. “Holding further fire until the range drops.”
“Gut, well done,” Hopman replied.
When Regensburg had flashed the signal that they were under fire at very long range he had assumed that the nimble kreuzers would be able to rejoin him without incident. Very good gunnery by the enemy had disabused him of that notion, and now he was doing all he could to get to damaged Rostock. Regrettably, he had been forced to spring his trap early, leaving his torpedoboots out of position and the enemy an option to escape.
“Signal from Rostock. 4 BOILERS DAMAGED. MSA 15KTS.”
15 knots was faster than she could be towed, but escape would be difficult if the Russers stayed on her. Regensburg and Graudenz would continue to lay smoke, but eventually one of them would get hit, unless…
“Signals,” Hopman ordered. “To II and VI Torpedoboot Flotillas: CONDUCT TORP ATK NE.”
Hopman intended to call them back before they actually attacked, but faced with Blücher, three kleine Kreuzers, and twenty torpedoboots, he hoped the Russers would break off their pursuit of limping Rostock.
“Range to leading enemy 205hm,” intoned Blucher’s AO, with the droning cadence all Artillery Officer’s seemed to use as they got into the rhythm of their tasks.
“Open fire on the leading enemy when in range,” ordered Blücher’s kapitän. Hopman was pleased that his flagship, by now one of the most experienced in the battle-hardened HochSeeFlot, didn’t require him to order every detail. He could focus his attention on the whole battle - a pleasant change from the pre-war days when even admirals got personally involved in the least orders.
Splash!
A very large waterspout rose up well beyond the starboard bow.
Gut. He’s shifted his fire off Rostock.
“Bridge. Lookout. Leading enemy ship is Rurik, followed by Rossia, then a Bogatyr-class kreuzer. Astern of the kreuzers appear to be at least 12 torpedoboots.”
Hopman liked his chances against the Russer kreuzers in a gunnery duel, and the Russer torpedoboots were small, slow, and weakly armed…little threat to his line in this weather unless in large numbers, but if there were any of the big Novik zerstörers amongst the them, the torpedo threat would increase. They also could block pursuit back through the minefield.
Splash!
Hopman looked aft to where the leading ships of his two TB flotillas were just passing astern of his trailing ship, Stralsund.
“Signals. To II and VI Torpedoboot Flotillas. NEGAT ATTACK. HOLD ON QTR.”
“Range to leading enemy 199hm.”
Splash! Splash!
Hopman shook his head at the poor gunnery; both rounds landed more than a thousand meters short. He observed Rurik‘s next salvo and confirmed she was now firing one gun from each 25.4cm turret.
“Herr Konter-admiral, I intend to come slightly to port when we get into range, to be able to fire four-gun half-salvoes.”
Hopman nodded. “Come no farther than enough, and hold the speed at 24 even though it may reduce gunnery accuracy. I intend to bring our secondaries and the kanon of the others into range as soon as possible.”
Splash! Splash!
Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash!
Hopman thought it odd that Rurik was firing half salvoes with her mains, and full salvoes with her secondaries, in contrast to the earlier battle where she’d fired half-salvoes with both the 54.4cm and 20.3cm kanons. Perhaps they find it easier to distinguish between splashes that way.
“Kapitän, we are in range.”
“Very well AO. Deck. Come left to 340,” called Blücher‘s kommander.
Just before the ship steadied up on the new course the enemy bracketed Blücher, though none of the shells fell closer than 200m.
BoooBooBoBoom!
Splash! Splash!
“Short 300.”
SplSplash! Splash! Splash!
“Enemy is turning to port! Heavy smoke from the torpedoboots.”
He is steadying up on a western course. He must be hoping that the weight of fire from his two other kreuzers will hold us while his torpedoboots attack. Foolish, from that far astern and on a western course his torpedoboots will take hours to get in position to attack.
“Kapitän,” Hopman called. “When we are within 15cm range come left to put the head of their column near our beam, slightly converging, and slow to 16.”
BoooBooBoBoom!
“Aye, Konter-admiral.”
Whang!!!!
Blücher shook like a rat in a terrier’s jaws. The hit was somewhere aft, near turret Cezilie (Note 4). Near where she’d been hit three days ago. Hopman pressed his thumbs that it didn’t hit the same spot; the hull there had been made water-tight, but the armor was compromised.
Splash! SplashSplashSplash!
The Russer’s next salvo was well off in range, thankfully.
Booom! BoooBoom!
Ominously, turret Cezilie had missed firing.
Splash! Splash!
“Bridge. Lookout. Second enemy kreuzer has opened fire.”
Splash!
The splash, probably from the second Russer, was very short and well astern. Either a terrible shot or they were firing at Frankfurt and led her too much.
“Kapitän,” called out the Deck Officer. “Damage Control reports the barbette of turret Cezilie was hit above the waterline, but not penetrated. The crew was shaken up but should be back in action momentarily. Number 3 starboard 15cm kanon reports 4 casualties, but no damage to the mount, shifting personnel from the port side.”
“Range 155hm,” called the AO. “Recommend open fire with secondaries.”
“Hold fire secondaries AO until we steady up on the new course.” Blücher’s Kapitän looked over at Hopman.
“Wait one more minute, Kapitän, I want the 15cm fire to be effective.”
The enemy’s fire is now landing much closer, hopefully the change in course and speed will throw off their aim.
“Deck. Come left to 300, when on new course slow to 16.”
“300 then slow to 16, aye Kapitän.”
Whaang! Whaang!
Blücher staggered in the turn under twin hits amidships.
“Bridge. Signals. Regensburg reports Rostock clear and she and Graudenz are reengaging.”
If Blücher takes too much damage, every kleiner Kreuzer in the Fleet wouldn’t turn this battle around.
Crack! Crack! CraCrack!
The sudden crash of Blücher’s secondaries gave him heart, followed seconds later by the more distant crack from the kanon of the three kreuzers astern.
My trap might still work.
Hopman shouted over the crash of shellfire, “II and VI torpedoboot flotillas are to advance across enemy’s line of retreat!”
“Damage Control reports hits amidships have penetrated the ammunition supply corridor for turrets Bautzen and Fehrbellin. They have only 12 rounds apiece remaining until the supply can be restored.” (Note 5)
Just like that, Blücher’s broadside could be cut in half!
Thankfully Cezilie fired with the next salvo and the four-shell salvo straddled the big Russer.
“Bridge. Lookout. Regensburg in sight broad on the starboard bow.”
As Hopman brought the kreuzer into focus through the flurries, her side blossomed with fire, as did a ship behind her, no doubt Graudenz. More shell splashes erupted around the leading Russer. He would have preferred that they engage the two smaller Russers, but Wolferein’s position almost directly ahead of the Russer line precluded that.
“Hit!”
Hopman had missed it and wasn’t sure if it was a 21cm or a 15cm shell, but there was smoke coming from the base of Rurik’s mainmast. He also spotted flames and heavy smoke coming from the forecastle of the second kreuzer.
Gut. More of this.
________________________
Until the latest exchange, Kolomeytsev had been pleased with the battle so far. Rurik’s fire, though slower than the enemy’s, was nonetheless regular and accurate enough to register at least three hits. Rossia and Bogatýr were now in range, and he was confident they could outduel the three small German cruisers trailing Blücher.
“Kontr-admiral, two more enemy cruisers sighted ahead, crossing our bow from port to starboard.”
Whaang!
Kolomeytsev climbed to his feet and looked around the tiny, armored conning tower, the navigator was kneeling, bleeding from a head wound, but everyone else seemed no worse than shaken, though they were all standing still and looking around at each other, like cows who had heard the first thwack of the mallet at the slaughter pens.
“Damage report!” Kolomeytsev shouted over the ringing in his ears, hoping action would quickly shake them from their stupor.
It seemed to work as men jumped back to their tasks.
Whaang! Whang!
Two smaller shells struck the forecastle, from one of the cruisers ahead. The deck was torn up, but no other damage was visible.
“Kontr-admiral,” called the deck officer. “Two reports. The fire at the base of the mainmast is now out, but the cabling to the aft rangefinder was destroyed. Second, that last big hit struck and penetrated the main deck just above the Number Four 120mm gun, then struck the conning tower on the First Deck. The gun crew was killed, and while there appears to be no damage to the tower’s armor, the wireless room was badly tumbled about and the equipment damaged. They are attempting repairs.”
“Very well.”
“Bridge. Lookout. Rossia is on fire aft.”
“Kontr-admiral,“ called Rurik’s captain. “The enemy torpedoboats appear to be headed across our stern.”
“Signals, the torpedoboat squadrons are to engage the enemy torpedoboats and drive them back!”
Kolomeytsev turned to Rurik’s captain. “Our boats will stop them, but I must know, has anyone seen any sign of enemy minesweepers? Check with the lookouts…perhaps a report was missed.”
Whaang!
A large shell plowed into the top of the forward 25.4 turret, leaving a long metal-bright furrow from front to back. At the next cycle the guns remained silent.
“Kontr-admiral, no reports of minesweepers.”
Mission complete. Time to withdraw.
“Signals. Immediate execute, turn starboard 90 degrees.”
________________________
They’re turning starboard, probably running.
“Kapitän,” Hopman called. “Bring us about to the northeast. Signals! Immediate execute, Turn Starboard 045.”
Can I stilll cut off their route home?
________________________
Fregattenkapitän Paul Heinrich’s V-26 sliced through the cold seas, kicking up spray with each wavetop she cut across. Though he knew later – if he survived – he would feel miserably cold from the icy water, now all he could feel was the joy of being alive, racing ahead at V-26’s best speed, about to smash into the enemy.
Ahead, his Russer counterparts were spreading out to receive him. He thanked Gott that he was facing only torpedoboots. The big Britischer and Russer zerstörers were next to impossible to sink without a lucky torpedo hit, and their 10cm kanon could shred the average German torpedoboot with just a few hits. Not today! His II Flotilla boots were all Großes Torpedoboot 1913 design, two or three times the size of the enemy in front of him, and the new 10.5cm kanon greatly outgunned the smaller kanon on the Russers. VI Flotilla was even more powerful with the four G101 boots. (Note 6)
“Signals. For VI Flot. I AM WEST, YOU ARE EAST.
“Helm, come to 020. Artillery. Open fire as you will.”
________________________
“Their line is turning to starboard again Konter-admiral, to a reciprocal,” offered Blücher‘s Kapitän. “They must be running.”
Splash!
“Agreed.”
BooomBooomBoooom!
Hopman looked ahead and to starboard at the two large groups of torpedoboots about to merge. Already, two of the Russer boats appeared to be on fire and stopped. Even from here the shell splashes amongst the Russers were visibly far larger than the returning shells falling near his boots. He had no doubt his two flotillas would drive off the smaller but more numerous Russer boots, but unfortunately, they were already athwart where he wanted to head to cut off the Russer cruisers before they could re-enter the minefield swept channel.
Far too much chance of eating an aal should I try to push through them. Unless she is slowed, Rurik is going to make the entrance well before us.
“Come back up to 20 knots Kapitän, I don’t want him to get too far in front of us. Work around the torpedoboots as you can, but leave them at least 6000m to starboard.”
“Kapitän. Damage Control reports the ammunition passageways to turrets Bautzen and Fehrbellin are cleared.”
BooomBooomBoooom!Booom!
The bright red spark of a hit amidships on Rurik was followed seconds later by billowing smoke.
If we can shave a few knots off her speed, I might be willing to follow her through the minefield, though Rudburg would certainly scold me for taking the risk.
Hopman glanced off to port, where Regensburg and Graudenz were beginning to come hard around to take up station at the tail of his line.
“Herr Konter-admiral! The enemy torpedoboots are fleeing!”
They had little choice. Our flotillas were crushing them.
“Gut,” he replied, “bring us around to point at the entrance to the swept channel.”
Before Blücher’s kapitän could order the turn to starboard a frantic call came from above.
“Bridge! Lookout. “Torpedo in the water, starboard beam. 400m!”
“Hard a port!” ordered the Deck Officer. Blücher heeled heavily to starboard and slowed as she came around.
None of the enemy are close enough to reach us with a torpedo. A U-boot?
Hopman and several of the officers surged out of the tiny conning tower onto the open bridge.
“Can anyone see it?” Asked the Kapitän, before looking up. “Lookout, where away?”
“The report was from the after Lookout. One moment Herr Kapitän.” After a brief phone conversation, the Lookout called down to the Bridge. “He no longer has it in sight. He thinks it passed astern then to port.”
If it ever really existed. Schieße.
“Get us back into pursuit.” Hopman glanced over at his five kreuzers, the neat column astern now completely jumbled as ships backed and filled to keep from running into the ship ahead. Fire at the enemy was sporadic. The irregular fire from the enemy kreuzers wasn’t even falling near.
Blücher built back up to speed as quickly as possible, but by the time she reached the enemy’s 18 knots the range had opened beyond 15cm kanon range.
“Hit!”
Right near one of Rurik’s secondary turrets. Smoke there too.
“Herr Konter-admiral, hold the enemy cruisers entering the entrance to the minefield.”
“Very well.”
You won’t get away so easily as that.
Suddenly flames shot up from Rurik’s quarterdeck, reaching nearly masthead height. Hopman’s hands gripped the railing.
Come on. Come on. Just blow up.
________________________
“Damage control confirms that all aft magazines are flooded.”
Kolomeytsev was not the only one on Rurik’s bridge to release the breath they’d been holding. The heavy hit aft had somehow penetrated the aft port 20.3cm barbette. Someone there had been forehanded enough to begin flooding that magazine, but only seconds later the charges in the turret and supply train had ignited. The heat from that conflagration had threatened the starboard secondary turret and the aft main turret as well. After reading the reports from the Britischers, Kolomeytsev was now certain that they’d barely escaped the horrible fate of too many big British-built ships.
Despite the crippling damage, the Father must have nonetheless extended his hand in blessing to Rurik. Had the enemy shell struck a bit more to starboard it would have hit and certainly penetrated the thin 7.6cm armored bulkhead that extended between the two secondary barbettes – and thence right into one or both main machinery rooms. Stopped, the enemy would pound his ship to scrap, and there was nothing his other cruisers and remaining torpedoboats could have done. (Note 7)
Whaang!
A hit somewhere amidships, between two of the funnels.
Kolomeytsev prayed that the armor around Rurik’s engines kept out the enemy shells.
“Enemy cruisers and torpedoboats are turning away!”
________________________
“Herr Konter-admiral, II Flotilla reports two boots damaged but all boats can maintain ordered speed. VI Flotilla has four boats damaged with V44 disabled and under tow from G39. The two flotillas report several enemy torpedoboots sunk and many others damaged. Very few Russer survivors were pulled from the water.”
No surprise there, they would have had only seconds before hypothermia set in.
“Very well Kapitän,” Hopman called as he headed for the hatch. ”Shape course back to the Fleet, 15 knots. I’ll be in my cabin drafting my report to admiral Rudburg.”
Two of the enemy’s kreuzers were badly damaged, many torpedoboots sunk, and we now know much more about the enemy’s minefields. Other than Rostock and V44, not too much damage to my ships. A victory by all measures. Why then do I feel so melancholy?
December 25th. 1055. Submarine E-9. 19nm South of the Kalmar Straight. Heading 110 at 3 knots, surfaced.
Max Horton checked the chronometer for the thousandth time.
Where in blazes are E-18 and E-19?
Horton had waited too long as it was for his squadron mates to arrive. He had received no report from them, and if they had failed yet again to break through into the Baltic, particularly should they again involve the Danes, Flag Officer Submarines would almost certainly recall them.
“Cap’n. Ship in sight to the sou-souwest.”
Horton pivoted and picked out the target in his binoculars. She was already within 6 or 7 miles and he almost scolded the lookout for not seeing her or her funnel smoke earlier. He quickly realized that she had just emerged from one of the many snow flurries being driven across the choppy seas.
“Swedish flag,” called the lookout.
Damn. Just what I’m looking for…but going the wrong way.
The iron ore shipments, heading south to German smelters, mills, and factories were his target. This one - he could see she was riding high in the water – would be returning to Sweden with things like cooking oil, tea, and textiles.
Reluctantly, Horton let her pass, rather than give away his presence for a ship and cargo that would mean nothing to the Germans, and might drive the Swedes even farther away from neutrality.
I'll wait here for another hour, to hear from E-18 and 19, then I’ll head up to our new base at Werder. The Russians promise that the base there has everything we need: fuel, torpedoes, food, and limited spare parts, but our Royal Army liaison to the Stavka has warned of reports that the Germans were attacking through Pskov and north out of Riga. With fuel already below 65%, if the Russians were wrong, well, I'll not have many good options.
December 25th. 1445. 73rd Orel Infantry Division. South of Reval, Estland.
“Da General-Leytenant, infantry in at least regimental strength,” Kapitan Evgeni Artymov repeated for the fifth time since arriving at Division headquarters. “Also, twice we were driven back by artillery fire.”
General-Leytenant Gutor gazed placidly at Artymov across the large wooden desk. His face gave away nothing; the only sign that the general wasn’t a statue was the rhythmic tapping of one finger.
”Quite a story, Kapitan,” Gutor said after far too long. “Quite a story indeed. Germans appearing magically near Hapsal, as if conjured by my worst nightmares, and the brave Kapitan Artymov fighting valiantly to hold the Teutons back in a winter retreat. Your regimental chief of staff would have me believe that you have made all of this up to cover your incompetence… or something less savory.”
The bastard!
“Fortunately for you I believe you. The fall of Yur’yev was an unpleasant surprise, as well as reports of Germans less than 60 kilometers to the east of here (Note 8 ). I cannot afford to discount your story. Report back to your battalion and get some rest. If your story is true, you will be back in the thick of things quite soon.”
December 25th. 1510. 148th Regiment. 6km Southwest of Friedrichshof Estland (Note 9).
22 kilometers to the southwest of the Reval military headquarters, Oberstleutnant Kühn watched through the gathering gloom as his supporting artillery, the 79th Feldartillerie-Regiment, moved off the road to the north, toward his left flank.
With darkness, Kühn hoped that his scouts would return soon. Unless they reported that the enemy held Friedrichshof in far greater strength than expected, he intended to attack before dawn. A surprise coup de main – even one that would suffer from the confusion of fighting in darkness – should be less costly than a straight up attack with the Russers prepared and waiting. Too, the new Reval fortifications that yesterday’s zeppelin had spotted two days ago were not far beyond Friedrichshof, and he could threaten those while severing the railroad to Baltischport.
Should the enemy infantry in Friedrichshof be stronger than he suspected, he would have to consider delaying his attack for the arrival of Generalmajor von Blumenthal and the brigade’s second infantry regiment, the 152nd.
Unless I have no other choice, I will not wait.
Kühn had come to realize that although von Blumenthal was a very difficult kommander, being overly aggressive was far less likely to incur his ire than would the alternative.
December 25th. 1545. 7th Dragoons. Sõtke River, near Sillamäggi, northeast Estland.
Oberstleutnant Höger slumped in the saddle. The exhilarating and exhausting race to the east was over.
For now.
His cavalry had come to a stop only 25km short of Narva when faced with a heavy Russer infantry presence across the minor river to his front. There was a ford between here and the coast, but he was certain his scouts would find it held by the enemy. If not, he might try encircling the position facing him.
Höger had also sent two squadrons south, to a possible ford over the Narva River – 20km southwest of the city.
If neither ford could be used, this would become an infantry problem.
In any case, he’d done his job by keeping any Russer reinforcements from moving from Narva into Estland to threaten Armie-Abtielung Hutier’s rear while they in turn closed on Reval from the east. With the three divisions of AA Hutier and the two from XXI Korps in western Estland, it was only a matter of time before…
Höger looked up into the softly falling snow and decided not to get too far ahead of himself.
December 25th. 2230. Steamship Orestes 11nm south of Hangö, Finland. Heading 025 at 8 knots
“The men are ready,” reported Oberjäger Orkény Dutka as he saluted the new Bataillon Kommander, Korvettenkapitän Trapp, on the deck of the small steamer. “Nervous about going into action, but nothing they won’t get over once we get to land.
"Ahem, this weather…”
Both men looked out at the water. In the dark, the only thing that could be seen was the white of the wind-driven spray flying wildly across the angry seas.
Trapp addressed Dutka’s unspoken question. “Ja, in these seas the boats would be quickly swamped, even if manned by Matrosen. Our jägers have learned a lot this last week, but it would be a disaster if we tried to land now.”
While nothing compared to actual combat, the training on and near the shore of Dägo Island had been uniquely challenging to both Dutka and the KuK 24th Feldjäger Bataillon. Endless boat drills: climbing in, climbing out, landing ashore, shooting at targets ashore from the boats, shooting at boats from ashore, rowing fast, rowing quietly. Most of all, moving supplies ashore as quickly as possible.
It hadn’t been the safest of training either; Dutka had never known that climbing in and out of boats could be so dangerous. At least a dozen men had been injured, thankfully only a few men so seriously that they would be left behind. Among those was the Battailon Kommander himself, who had been caught between two boats and was in hospital waiting to determine if his leg would be removed.
Korvettenkapitän Trapp had only been notified yesterday that he was to take over as the acting Bataillon Kommander, mere hours before Operation Balmung kicked off (Note 10).
“Trust me though, the seas will calm, I am certain. Over there,” the officer said, waving off to one side of the ship into the darkness, “is the Hangö Peninsula. Very soon we will pass behind it and it will block the northwest winds that are making the seas so rough.”
He’s a naval officer, I hope he knows what he’s talking about.
“Oberjäger, what of the new men with the grenatenwerfers?”
Dutka snorted. “We should leave them on this boat. They have no forest skills and will give us away to even stinking Russer city boys.”
Trapp smiled as the familiar argument threatened to surface again. “Have no fear, they will be far in the rear when we are on the move, and I think you will be very happy that we have them with us when the Russers counterattack, which they will. In fact…”
Whatever Trapp was going to say was lost at a call from above
“Herr Korvettenkapitän? There’s the signal from Libau,” an officer called down from the open bridge above. “The Regiment is ordering all Bataillons to prepare to embark their boats. 30 minuten.”
“It begins. See to the men Oberjäger, and good luck with your part.”
Notes
Note 1. More formally, Norodnoye Opolcheniye: “People’s Militia”
Note 2. Frihetstiden = ”Age of Liberty”. The period of Swedish political life following the decline of the monarchy after the Great Northern War. Characterized by parliamentary government, increased civil rights, and a retreat from the Swedish Empire.
Note 3. Swedish troops at the Eckero Customs House
Swedish Gotland Infantry Regiment on Åland
Note 4. Blücher’s turrets were named Alsen, Bautzen, Cezilie, Düppel, Eylau, and Fehrbellin, in clockwise order from the forecastle.
Note 5. Blücher’s forward pair of wing turrets did not have their own magazines, but instead received ammunition from the magazines below the aft wing turrets, transported through an armored passageway.
Note 6. The four boats of the G101 class were being built for the Argentine Navy, then seized upon the outbreak of war.
Note 7. Designed and built by Vickers, Rurik‘s armor scheme was robust and generally similar to Invincible. However, like most British designs, it was assumed that the ship would be the aggressor in any battle, and consequently Rurik‘s aft armor had weaknesses. The aft main gun barbette and turret were well armored, but the inboard sections of the aft secondary gun barbettes below the quarterdeck were only 38 to 76mm. Worse, the transverse bulkhead between the two aft secondary turrets – forming the aft end of the citadel enclosing the engine and boiler rooms – was only 76mm thick.
Note 8. Yur’yev = Dorpat = Tartu, Estonia
Note 9. Freidrichshof = Saue, Estonia.
Note 10. Balmung was Sigurd/Siegfried’s sword. Also known as Gram or Nothung.
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