Chapter 26 – A New Front
December 26th. 0130. Leading whaleboat, KuK 24th Feldjägers, 10nm northeast of Hangö, Finland. Heading northeast at 4 knots
The days of Honvéd Sebok gazing from his parent’s flat in Pest-Buda upon the boats plying the mighty Duna with a sense of adventure were long past. He now hated boats, with a passion that he couldn’t have foreseen just a month ago. (Note 1)
The brutal boat training last week was bad enough, but having escaped major injury in that, he now suspected that losing a hand or foot in those drills might have been preferable to…this. This being a pitch-black night, snow falling through a bitter breeze, and a distinct danger of death or dismemberment by one of several means. Atop the long list Sebok placed drowning, freezing, artillery bursts, rifle fire, and being smashed against rocks.
Ahead of the longboat that carried Sebok and 1st Kompanie’s 4th Zug was a steam pinnace, chugging along with the lead boat and five others towed in a long line. Directly behind the string of boats – astern, the Korvettenkapitän might say – another pinnace towed six more boats carrying the balance of 1st Feldkompanie. Behind them were three more pinnaces towing boats carrying the Germans and Finns of the 27th, including the bataillon headquarters kompanie and a feldkompanie. Together, the two kompanies were the vanguard of the 2nd Composite Jäger Regiment.
Somewhere off to the west, out of sight, yet more boats carried elements of the 1st Composite Jäger Regiment, three German jäger bataillons, toward the coast where they would isolate and assault Hangö from the landward side while the 2nd continued north.
The boats moving slowly through the rocky waters jostled and jerked each time the pinnaces changed course to avoid the slick black rocks that rose up unannounced from the water. Each jerk pulled the front of the boat one way, making the back go the other, which in turn pulled the front of the next boat the wrong way and so on in an awkward jangling dance.
Thunk!
Ice chunks bounced off the hull.
Other than being holed by ice and then drowning, being smashed upon the rocks, or thrown into the frigid water by the jerking lines, Sebok expected to die from enemy fire. The pinnaces were not much larger than the longboats, but they each had tall coalsmoke funnels that belched thick clouds and occasionally bright sparks. If the Russers manning the shore defenses that must surround this long waterway didn’t spot the sparks, Sebok would eat his cap.
His dark ruminations were interrupted yet again by jostling from the pinnace ahead, this time with the pinnace slowing and coming about.
A body-less voice called out softly from the drifting pinnace, “Ice ahead, we’ll go as far as we can, but not much further.”
In the front of the boat, Oberjäger Dutka acknowledged the call from ahead then turned and called out to the men in the back of the boat, “Pass the word to the next boat that there is ice ahead – prepare to go ashore.”
Falling through ice, yet another way to die.
December 26th. 0500. Austro-Hungarian 5th Army Headquarters, 13km south of Luga, Russia.
CRUUUUUMP!
Staff officers, hunched over maps, reading reports, or talking quietly in small groups, stopped what they were doing and looked up in surprise as the powerful explosion shook the building. Dust, insects, and a dead rodent rained down from the rafters.
“For those of you who cannot tell, that’s our artillery going out. Return to your duties.”
The fear-furrowed brows disappeared and were replaced with nervous laughter and smiles at the Chief of Staff’s stern order.
The heavy 30.5cm mörsers, emplaced not far from the headquarters, had finally joined the artillery barrage that was preceding the morrow’s infantry assaults. Excitement filled everyone, as the big kanonen heralded the coming battle that would almost certainly decide the fate of empires.
Not quite everyone was excited. Over in a shadowed corner, the officer overseeing the resupply of artillery ammunition scowled and muttered about ‘foolish line officers’.
How can they not understand? There are precious few of the big rounds on hand, and every one that is shot today will take a week to ten days to replace, unless the weather slows things down even more.
Gott help us if we somehow manage to make it to St Petersburg. We will be down to bayonets and hurling curses at the Russers. Hmmmm. At least bayonets require no ammunition.
A very thin smile creased his dour face, but just for a moment.
December 26th. 0710. KuK 24th Feldjägers, 26km northeast of Hangö, Finland
Nothing in this Godforsaken pokol has gone according to plan (Note 2). Nothing. But at least we are all still alive. For now.
The ‘plan’ had been to have the steam pinnaces tow the boats all the way up to the primary objective – the town of Ekenäs. According to their Finn allies, Ekenäs was the most defensible position near the base of the Hangö Peninsula, with both the main road and railroad to Helsingfors crossing deep water. They should have arrived shortly after the 1st Regiment began their approach on Hangö itself at about 0630.
Oberjäger Dutka looked at his precious watch. It was already well past 0630, and Ekenäs was still far ahead.
The boats had worked hard to find a way up the long waterway, but each of the channels around the many islands were blocked by ice. After trying several paths the senior officer, the kommander of the 27th Prussians, had finally ordered the boats to get as close to shore as possible and the men debarked.
Once unloaded the boats quickly departed, heading back to the transports to take on the balance of the jägers, and then to bring up supplies.
Marching along the railroad verge left Dutka feeling greatly exposed. The jägers would be able to see any approaching train far away and could slip into the scraggly mixed pine and birch forest, but even a single enemy soldier standing his post ahead would surely see the nearly 500 men marching along long before he himself would be visible.
It didn’t help that the Finns of the 27th, who Dutka regarded as glorified scharfschützen (Note 3), didn’t seem to be trying to approach Ekenäs with any degree of stealth. Russer defenders would hear their approach long before they arrived.
Surprisingly, they had not been attacked by the Russers while on the water, nor had they seen anyone while marching alongside the railroad.
Where are you?
December 26th. 0730. 148th Regiment. 4km Northeast of Friedrichshof, Estland
Oberstleutnant Kuhn winced as the medic tightened the bandage on his calf. It was little more than a deep scratch, but he didn’t want to fall out over something so minor.
The wound had come at the end of the battle. As he’d hoped, the pre-dawn attack on Reval’s outermost defenses had taken the Russers by surprise, and his infantry had been deep among the town’s buildings before any organized resistance could be offered. The Russer defenses had stiffened from there, but they had only a battalion of regular troops and an equal number of militia – old men and boys, mostly – with no artillery and no prepared field fortifications. As his regiment had flanked the enemy positions in the center of the town they’d wisely fled, leaving over half of their strength dead or captured.
Once driven from the town, his artillery had savaged them until they’d run beyond the reach of the 7.7 cm kanonen, then surprisingly they’d turned to make a stand on the far bank of a small stream. It was there, well outside effective rifle range, Kuhn had been struck by a nearly spent shell.
I suppose my definitions of ‘effective range’ and ‘spent’ may need to be reconsidered.
“Herr Oberstleutnant, I have the initial casualty report,” offered his Major. At Kuhn’s nod he continued, ”1st Bataillon, seven dead, 11 severely wounded, and 36 wounded. 2nd Bataillon, four wounded. 3rd Bataillon 14 dead, 23 severely wounded, and 75 wounded. Headquarters Kompanie, one wounde…’
“Do not include this,” Kuhn said, indicating his leg, “in the official tally. Were any units in 1st or 3rd Bataillons particularly hard hit?”
“1st of the 3rd. Oberleutnant Jockusch, his feldwebel and two sergeants killed. Most of the casualties in 3rd Bataillon were from that kompanie.”
“Get me recommendations from Oberstleutnant Rademacher on moving leadership into that kompanie, or…”
Kuhn paused as a cavalcade of a dozen horsemen rode into the small clearing next to the railroad. He gingerly got up and saluted as Generalmajor von Blumenthal dismounted.
“Kuhn! Well done here! I was beginning to wonder if they still taught about the coup de main in infantry school, but it appears so, it appears so. What is with your leg?” Blumenthal barked, pointing at Kuhn’s bandaged limb.
“A scratch, nothing more Herr Generalmajor.”
“Gut. There is too much to do to sit around. A map!”
His aide brought out a large-scale map, and Blumenthal waved Kuhn over. “Show me where the enemy is.”
“We took the town, and they ran until getting beyond the range of my artillery. They stopped on the other side of this small watercourse in these woods. They are only in kompanie strength, unless they have been reinforced.”
The brigade kommander began a rapid-fire series of orders. “Operations, the 152nd will advance directly, until they can anchor their right on the Jerweküll, using this modest high ground south of the Russer lines. The 79th Feldartillerie will be positioned behind their center, across the rail line.
“Kuhn, move out to the left flank, remain in contact with the 152nd, with your left flank on the Harko (Note 4).
“Light field fortifications only, we are here to take the city, not besiege it. Local scouting of the Russer lines, raids as you see fit, and as soon as the division arrives, I will push for an assault.”
“Jawohl, Herr Generalmajor.”
Blumenthal turned to leave, then paused next to his horse.
“And Herr Kuhn, good initiative this morning. Perhaps I will keep you in kommand of the 148th.”
December 26th. 0745. Battleship Gangut. Sveaborg, Grand Duchy of Finland. Anchored.
Is there no one who can follow orders, or at least understand their intent?
Vitse-admiral Vasili Kanin looked up from the battle report to its author, Kontr-admiral Viktor Kolomeytsev, exerting all his willpower to appear calm. It didn’t help that the cruiser commander was sitting relaxed and outwardly confident, despite having gone well beyond his orders and then having been soundly thrashed by the Germans.
“You are certain,” Kanin asked when he had his anger in check, “there were no enemy minesweepers at the Central Position minefields?”
“Most certain, admiral. Though, I could not observe the northern and southern extremities.”
“Understood. You went quite far enough as it was, and what you could not observe, the batteries to north and south can. At least that is one good to have come from this.”
Kolomeytsev, sat up and bristled. Kanin held up a hand to forestall him.
Though he barely deserves it, I will speak plainly.
“I had hoped, and intended, that you would be able to observe any minesweeping activity without leaving the protection of the fields, without coming fully to grips with the enemy cruisers. You drove off the small cruisers – that was well done – and then inexplicably left the protection of the minefields to chase them, exposing yourself to a powerful enemy counterstroke. As a result, both of my large cruisers are headed to Kotlin Island for extensive repairs, and an entire squadron-worth of torpedoboats was lost.”
“But, Vitse-admiral, we hurt the enemy badly…”
“Irrelevant to the mission you were given,” Kanin interrupted before Kolomeytsev could repeat his no doubt inflated claims of sinking several German cruisers. “I cannot afford to trade cruisers, now having only Bogatýr left in fighting trim.
“Nonetheless, my report to the capital will support your actions.”
Kanin paused, digesting the look of surprise on Kolomeytsev’s face, before continuing. “In these dark times, we need victories and heroes. Yesterday was a victory, and today, you are a hero. On your way out, be so good as to send in the Chief of Staff.”
Hopefully, after some time to consider, he will understand his good fortune.
The Chief of Staff, waiting outside the cabin door, came in on Kolomeytsev’s heels, and closed the door.
“Da, admiral?”
“Draft orders for Kontr-admiral Kolomeytsev, he is to remain on Rurik and take her and Rossia to Kotlin for repairs. He is to remain there until repairs are completed.”
No doubt he will be the toast of the capital. Others will understand his banishment.
“Of course, admiral.”
“Also, have Operations draft orders to the submarine flotilla, I want a surge of all available boats. Today. They are to drive the Germans back from the Central Position.”
December 26th. 0915. 27th Jägerbataillon, Ekanäs Finland.
Major Maximilian Bayer stared at the western end of the railroad bridge through his field glasses, aware that time was quickly running out.
If they were not already informed by wireless, at some point the Russers at Helsingfors to the east, or Åbo to the northwest, would become aware of the attack on Hangö by the 1st Composite Jägers. A large relief column would most certainly come down the railway that passed through Ekenäs, where the bridge ahead formed the most defensible position to block the Russers.
Bayer’s indecision was caused by the dozen men that he could see lounging at the end of the bridge, likely a military post of some kind. What couldn’t be seen were uniforms – the men were dressed as laborers – nor were any weapons in evidence.
He was tempted to simply order a zug forward to take the bridge, but the brigade kommander had been clear that everything possible must be done to befriend the Finnish populace. The jägers were far too few to defend against the two Russer divisions while also conducting security operations against hostile civilians; indeed, any advance beyond simply seizing and holding Hangö was impossible without rousing the Finns to throw off the Russer yoke.
Bayer made up his mind; he’d have one of his Finn officers go forward and contact the men ahead (Note 5).
“Get Rittmeister Ljunberg up here.”
A few minutes later the fresh-faced blond Finn cavalry officer came forward.
“Herr Major.”
“Gut. Up ahead are a dozen men guarding the approach to the railroad bridge. No uniforms or weapons are in sight, so I don’t know what they are really doing. I want you to contact them. I’d prefer to not fight them if possible. Take a korporalschaft with you.”
Ljunberg paused for a moment then answered, “If it’s acceptable, I’ll just go myself Herr Major. More armed men will only scare them, make them more guarded, eh?”
“Very well, just hurry.”
As Ljunberg got up and started walking quickly toward the bridge, Bayer turned and ordered both his two kompanies and the Hungarian kompanie to move as far forward as possible without breaking cover. If the local guards turned on Ljunberg he’d never be able to save him, but if that happened, he’d need to rush the bridge as quickly as possible.
Bayer watched as the Rittmeister approached the bridge. Oddly, the men on guard there remained relaxed.
Is that laughter?
After a few minutes talking one of the local men reached out and shook Ljunberg’s hand. The jäger waved to them, turned and retraced his steps back to Bayer.
“Herr Major, they are not guards, but rather workers waiting to replace some damaged sleepers on the bridge. At first, they thought I was a Russer, but once they became aware I was with a German unit they relaxed. They were surprised when they found out I hail from Åbo and they seemed excited when I told them that we have many Finns in the bataillon, here to kick the Russers out of the Grand Duchy.”
“So, we are free to cross into the town?”
“Ja, Herr Major. There was a militia unit stationed there, but two months ago most of them were loaded on a train heading east. None have been heard from, so the workers think they have been taken into the army. Since we Finns pay a hefty tax to be exempted from conscription, taking the town’s young men has left a stink. I think we will be welcomed here.”
“Good work, Rittmeister. I have one more task for you as we move into the town. Ask around and find out what is happening up in Karis.”
“Jawohl, Herr Major.”
Bayer noticed an Oberjäger from the Hungarian bataillon had come up, a trim but evil-looking man with death-cold gray eyes.
“Ah, gut. Oberjäger…?”
“Oberjäger Dutka, Herr Major.”
“Ja, of course. You are in temporary kommand of your kompany, ja? Gut. The hauptquartier and 1st Kompanie from the 27th will advance through the town and continue along the rail toward Karis. As additional companies of the 27th arrive they are to be sent forward to join me. The 24th will remain here and begin constructing field fortifications. You are to establish three positions: northeast of the town, on the island in the middle of the river, and here on the western bank.
“Pass on to Korvettenkapitän Trapp that when the Kaiserjäger Rifles bataillon arrives he is to turn over defense of the town to them and hurry with all dispatch to Karis to join my bataillon. Tell him it is imperative that he advances quickly. If we can seize Karis, we will hold the junction connecting Åbo, Helsingfors, and Hangö.
“The town is friendly but be on your guard, this land has been under the Tsar’s heel for two hundred years.”
Turning to his 1st Kompanie Kommander, Bayer ordered the vanguard of his bataillon into Ekenäs. “Take the men through the town and follow the rail line north!”
December 26th. 0930. Karlholm, Åland Island, Grand Duchy of Finland.
Kapten Joakim Lagerlöf looked carefully at the map. He knew the intended march route from the temporary Swedish base at Eckerö to Åland’s main city of Mariehamn, but the dense pine and birch forest made it important to use every possible landmark to double and triple check his position. It simply wouldn’t do to march off into the empty hinterlands and then be forced to backtrack after wasting hours and tiring the men.
The men would never forget or forgive such a mistake; I’d be ‘woodsman Lagerlöf’ behind my back.
After capturing the Eckerö Customs House from six befuddled Russian militiamen yesterday morning, his Company had advanced without resistance until reaching the narrow Marsund, which separated Eckerö island from the main island of Åland. Camping for the night, he’d negotiated passage on the small ferry at Karlhom. Though the crossing was no more than five minutes each way, it had taken nearly 90 minutes to bring his entire company over.
Tacka Gud that the Russians didn’t think to contest the crossing!
Certain that he now knew exactly which way to take toward Mariehamn, the Swedes set off.
Two kilometers down the dirt cart track his scouts came under rifle fire from one of the houses in the substantial settlement of Hammarland. Two men were down, one unmoving.
The radius of cleared land around the town was less than rifle range, so Lagerlöf decided to use maneuver.
“Sergeant, 2nd Pluton hold position and engage, 1st Pluton flank left, 4th Pluton flank right. Remainder of company hold.”
As the men of the flanking units slipped through the trees Lagerlof berated himself.
A single envelopment would have sufficed, now I’ll worry about the two wings engaging each other. Far too late to change my orders.
In the end he was saved from his worst-case worry. Whoever had shot at his scouts slipped out of the building and took off to the southwest as fast as they could run, leaving one of their number dead and apparently dropping their rifles as well.
December 26th. 0955. SMS Prinzregent Luitpold. 6 nm north of Cape Surron, Estland (Note 6) Heading 250 at 3 knots.
BooomBooomBooomBoooooom!
Kapitän zur See Karl Heuser watched another half-salvo strike the northern end of Cape Surron. The bursts were followed ten seconds later by shells from Kaiserin, then after a similar delay those from Friedrich der Grosse. Then flagship Kaiser fired again to start yet another cycle.
BooomBooomBooomBoooooom!
Heuser thought it was a complete waste of precious HE and APC shells…except that it might not be a waste if the random dispersion of shells managed to silence the enemy kanonen. Heser knew it was important to clear the Cape Surron battery, as it guarded both Baltischport to the southwest and the approaches to Reval to the southeast.
“Bridge. Signals. FDG reports to the flag that the fire on her boat deck is out.”
BooomBooomBooomBoooooom!
Heuser had found some small respect for the Russers when 6th Division had closed with the battery shortly after first light. The crafty enemy had waited until the entire division was within 100hm before opening fire, though even so close none of the enemy shells had much chance to find a way past their heavy armor. They’d managed to hit Kaiser once and Friedrich der Grosse four times, the latter with at least one large caliber shell, likely a 22.9cm shell. None of the hits were significant, other than the heavy hit causing a modest fire on the Fleet’s former flagship.
“Bridge. Signals. From the flag, CEASE FIRE.”
“AO. Cease fire”
“Cease fire, aye Herr Kapitän.”
Heuser watched as one of the escorting torpedoboots was detached and raced close to shore, then slowed to parallel the coast at less than a cable. After three passes the TB turned and raced back to the unengaged side of the line.
Maybe the rounds weren’t wasted after all.
“Herr Kapitän,” called the AO, “38 rounds HE and 44 rounds APC expended, no casualties.”
“Gut, pass on ‘well done’ to the turret, magazine, and control personnel. Keep observers and turrets trained on the enemy battery. If they somehow manage to get kanonen back in service, I want our fire to be on the way toward them before their first shots land, verstanden?”
“Jawohl, Herr Kapitän.”
Looking over the starboard quarter, Heuser watched the small minensucher flotilla turn east to begin looking for the minefield expected to be sited between Cape Surron and Nargö Island, guarding the inshore approach to Reval.
“For all hands: Expect to remain at Action Stations through at least the morning.”
More likely the entire day.
Beyond the minensucher flotilla, muted flashes rippled in the falling snow and mist. 5th Division, probably less than ten nautical miles distant but invisible, continued to pound the powerful battery on Nargö Island’s northern tip.
Even though the offshore route around Nargö is not likely to be the main axis of attack, the Russers must believe it is. At least until the minensuchers can clear us a path to within range of Reval’s last seaward defenses. At that point there will be no reason for subterfuge.
December 26th. 1005. 7th Dragoons. Sõtke River, 25km west of Narva, northeast Estland.
Crack!
Rifle fire from across the small watercourse caused Oberstleutnant Höger to duck, even though he was already well protected by a stone wall located 100 meters from the railroad bridge, and more than that to the enemy.
When 42nd Division staff had ordered his regiment of dragoons to race ahead of Armee-Abtielung Hutier to seize a defensible position as far east as possible along the Reval-St Petersburg rail line he’d hoped to reach Narva itself. Failing that, he’d expected better terrain than this feeble nearly iced-over watercourse. Unfortunately, the enemy gets to have their say; here was where they met him and here was where he’d make his stand.
Crack!
The single shot presaged a renewal of general fire from the east, though it wasn’t nearly as heavy now as it had been at first light when the Russers had first tried to storm the bridge. Höger didn’t have his men returning fire; as a firm believer in the old adage that when the enemy is making a mistake, do nothing to disturb him, he was quite happy to let the enemy waste their ammunition.
Despite the somewhat reduced fire, Höger felt his situation was precarious, with his men badly outnumbered. With the scouts detached to north and south he had less than 600 men here at the bridge, facing at least three times that of Russer infantry, perhaps more. The disparity in firepower was made worse by the fact that his dragoon's only firearms were carbines and pistols.
Höger, for perhaps the tenth time, berated himself for leaving his assigned artillery – four kanonen and a pair of wheeled maxims – behind, in his race to the east. On the snow-slick roads they simply couldn’t keep up. Perhaps if he’d waited for them, he would have still made it this far, though likely not.
“Herr Oberstleutnant, report from 1st Squadron’s 3rd Zug, on the left flank. ‘Enemy infantry moving north in double kompanie strength.”
Schieße, they must be headed for the northern ford, which is lightly held by scouts. So much for my reserve.
“Orders for 4th Squadron,” Höger shouted above the cacophony of fire. “Detach all but one zug to proceed to the northern ford with all haste. Remaining zug will mount and arm with stahlrohrlanze.”
Not ten minutes after the bulk of his reserves had departed to the north the volume of fire picked up noticeably.
Schieße.
“Prepare to receive infantry attack!”
The enemy was smart enough to form up their attacking column well back from the water, deeper in the woods and out of sight. When they finally burst out of the woods his men barely had time for a single volley before they were at the bridge. Dozens of green-clad infantrymen fell as they stormed across the 20 meters of stone, then they were on his side of the river in a densely packed mass. His men continued to fire from behind the protection of the stone wall, but if the Russers were willing to spend the men, they would break his line.
“Signaler. Sound 4th Squadron cavalry charge!”
At the first notes of the bugle call the dismounted men of the regiment paused firing and looked up.
What horseman wouldn’t pause upon hearing those notes, even if not meant for them?
As the German rifle fire slacked, the enemy infantry seemed to pause too. Höger could only imagine their shock, as out of the thick snowfall a block of horsemen six abreast and as many deep charged forward with the steel tubes of their lances lowered.
As they reached Höger’s position the single zug flashed past him in an instant, already at a gallop. Without orders the rest of his regiment jumped up from the flanks and joined the charge afoot. Höger too found himself drawing his sword, charging the enemy, and screaming his head off.
Most of the enemy broke or tried to; only a handful of Russers stood their ground and fired into the mad cavalcade of horsemen, dropping three before the rest smashed into the packed infantry. The steel lances, driven by tons of speeding horse, smashed into and through the immobile mass by the narrow bridge, the front ranks of Russer infantry crushed and scattered by the horsemen.
His infantry kneeled on the flanks and poured fire into the fleeing green-coats. His men took casualties from the remaining enemy across the river, but even those Russers left their positions and fled east at the sight of his remaining horse running down their comrades along the bridge and onto the far side of the river, followed closely by dismounted Germans.
With their blood up, it took far too long for Höger to regain control of his regiment, but he was finally able to bring them back into defensive positions in an arc protecting the new salient on the east side of the bridge. 28 of the 35 mounted men that had charged returned to their lines. Höger was sure they’d never again have to buy their own drinks in any tavern frequented by his regiment.
A messenger from 4th Squadron brought the welcome news that the Russers heading for the northern ford had turned east before reaching the ford, no doubt following their fleeing brethren. Not long after, the rattle and clop of horses was heard to the west. Out of the cold mists came the dray horses pulling the artillery; four kanonen and the pair of maschinengewehre.
It would be many days before the rest of the Regiment stopped chiding the kanon cockers for what they’d missed.
December 26th. 1145. 50th Infantry Division, 12km southeast of Reval, Estland.
Oberleutnant Erwin Rommel watched his exhausted men march past. Their uniforms hung loosely from their sinewy frames, their faces gaunt, hollow eyes downcast. Rommel was no doktor, but he knew that the lack of rest and ungenerous rations made the men far more susceptible to the cold and diseases.
Rommel swore that when they finally stopped for more than a few furtive hours he’d ensure the fires were large and hot food plentiful, or he’d find a commissariat officer to strangle.
50th Division was exhausted. More than three weeks of marching 10 to 16 hours a day, much of that in the dark and all of it in bitter cold, had taken its toll on the once-proud division. They had crossed Livland and half of Estland and had finally made it to the outskirts of Reval.
Just ahead a cluster of commissariat wagons were setting up. Soon there would be soup and bread and a chance to rest.
“Oberleutnant Rommel!”
“Ja?”
“Herr Oberleutnant, orders from bataillon.”
Rommel read the terse orders. He was to take his kompanie to the far right of an east-west line that was forming. Once he was in position, the entire brigade was going to execute a sweeping movement, ending with the brigade positioned from southwest to northeast, centered on the rail line heading toward St. Petersburg.
Located at the end of the line, the entire movement would wait on his men getting in position. He glanced longingly at the food wagons, but his orders allowed no time for such niceties as a meal or rest for his men. Rommel simply couldn’t march them past the wagon. They’d do what he ordered, but they’d be worthless in the fight to come.
Wait. There’s der Spiess.
“Etatmäßiger Feldwebel!” (Note 7)
Rommel explained his plight to the senior regimental noncom and suggested that he would try to liberate some bread and other portable food from the commissariat for his kompany. He asked the Pike to back him up in case the commissariat refused.
The Pike looked Rommel up and down like Rommel’d stepped in a pile of schieße, then looked at the gaunt men marching by.
He chuckled.
“No need to get on the Oberst’s bad side Herr Oberleutnant. Get your men moving, and I’ll have hot food brought up before the attack kicks off.
December 26th. 1445. Submarine Gepard. 4nm South of Sveaborg, Grand Duchy of Finland. Heading 190 at 8 knots. Surfaced
Leitenant Messer scowled at the stern of Tigr, wallowing through the mild seas at the head of the column.
Gepard should be leading this sortie, not that fool Kondrakhov.
Tigr’s commander, Starshii' leitenant Kondrakhov, was the senior commander in the squadron, and well-connected at the Admiralty, but he had no submarine experience, having converted to submarines only a month ago to take command. He hadn’t even attended submarine school! The other commanders had a private bet on how long it would take before Tigr grounded or failed to surface.
One should not lead a squadron to sea on one’s first sortie. Nor should submarines travel in columns, as if we were surface torpedo boats.
All six of the available submarines at Sveaborg, two Kaiman class and four Bars class, were in the sortie. Messer would have left the two older Kaiman’s behind in favor of a more homogenous force, but Vepr was still undergoing repairs from damage suffered last week to bombs from a German aircraft.
At least submarines do not conduct much in the way of group operations.
For this sortie three boats, Volk and the two Kaimans would detach early and take the northern minefield swept channel to patrol from the Porkala Peninsula to the center of the gulf. Tigr, Gepard and Lvistsa would continue to the southern swept channel and patrol the southern half.
Suddenly Tigr turned sharply to port, then after 20 seconds turned back to the ordered course. Messer ordered Gepard to follow her around, and the column followed like a snake.
Signal flags hoisted on Tigr: ‘DISREGARD MY MOVEMENTS’.
A surface ship signal for when one had a casualty, or someone had made a mistake. The dumb ass, how are we to disregard the movements of the guide when we can only follow him?
It’s going to be a long afternoon.
December 26th. 1850. Submarine Gepard. 30nm southwest of Sveaborg. Heading 245 at 8 knots. Surfaced
It was a long afternoon, now given way to darkness. Messer’s navigation held the southern group almost at the entrance to the minefield.
The telegraphist mate stuck his head up through the hatch. “Kapitan, we copied a wireless from Volk to Commander, Submarine Flotilla.“
The northern group had successfully passed through the northern swept channel and split up to transit to their patrol areas. As yet, no contact with the enemy.
Good. Our turn next.
A red signal lamp ahead stuttered to life. “TURN STBD IN SUCCESSION. CSE 260.”
Where hell is he going? Base course through the channel is 255.
“Request Tigr repeat the signal.”
The handheld signal lamp’s shutter clacked, then the weak red signal ahead responded.
260 again!
“Navigation,” Messer yelled down to the control room. “Bearing to center of swept channel?”
“Center of channel entrance bears 251 Kapitan.”
“Kapitan,” called the lookout. “Hold Tigr in a turn to starboard.”
Fuck, we’re already north of track and turning too far north!
“Helm. Slow to steerageway.
“Signals. To Lvistsa, MY SPD 3.”
Messer grabbed the backup signal lamp and sent ‘YOU ARE STANDING INTO DANGER’ to Tigr.
Tigr flashed back. ‘RESUME STATION’.
The HELL I will.
“Kapitan. Lvistsa acknowledges speed 3.”
“Very well.”
“Kapitan, Navigation holds us entering the swept channel. Recommend 255.”
“Helm, Come right to 255.”
Tigr was still visible as a vague darkness, broad on the starboard bow.
Wumpf!
“Helm. Engine stop!”
Wumpf! Wumpf!
Holy Father, the mine set off two of her torpedoes!
“Away the rescue boat crew!
“Signals. To Lvistsa, SPD 0.”
Messer grabbed the signal pad and scratched off a quick message to Sveaborg, telling them of Tigr‘s fate. He knew Kondrakhov had almost certainly taken Tigr out of the swept channel and into the minefield, but he wouldn’t put that into the record. He’d left it as simply, “TIGR LOST. APPARENTLY STRUCK MINE IN CHANNEL.”
December 26th. 1905. SMS Markgraf. 10 nm west of Nargö Island, Estland Heading 350 at 11 knots.
At the insistent knock on the cabin door, Vize-admiral Carl Rudburg looked up from the large stack of paperwork that had somehow managed to occupy half of his writing desk.
“Come.”
A messenger entered and came to attention. Behind him the Chief of Staff looked on.
“Herr Vize-admiral,” the messenger reported. “The Flag Kapitän’s respects. Lookouts report hearing three explosions to the east-northeast. There are no friendly ships in that direction and no shell splashes to indicate that the battery on Nargö is firing on us.”
“Very well. Please pass to the Kapitän my compliments and advise if anything more is determined.
“Chief of Staff?”
The messenger departed and Rudburg’s staff deputy came in. Rudburg waved him to a chair.
“I’m glad you’re here, I now have an excuse to put this,” he indicated the stack of paper and folders, “off for a bit.”
“Herr admiral, I’m always happy to throw you a lifeline from the drudgery of administrative work, but if you don’t do it tonight, there will likely be even more tomorrow.”
Rudburg scowled in mock-anger. “What brings you in?”
“I stopped in the staff offices, and Operations asked me to get your final go-ahead for the landings tomorrow. Everything is ready, but he thinks it will be better to have a signal from you to confirm things.”
Both 5th and 6th Divisions would be landing shore parties of matrosen drawn from the dreadnoughts. They’d land on Nargö and Surron tomorrow before dawn, to ensure the batteries they’d taken out today could not be easily put back in service.
“Ja. Have Ops make the signal.
“Once you’ve notified him, please return. I have some paperwork and need a second,” Rudburg said, pulling a deck of cards from his desk.
December 26th. 1935. Battleship Gangut. Sveaborg, Grand Duchy of Finland. Anchored.
As Vitse-admiral Kanin entered the crowded staff office the Chief of Staff rapped on the table.
“Attention gentlemen, there is much to go over.”
Kanin sat, then nodded to the Chief of Staff. “Let’s begin.”
“The first issue is the reported landing at Hankö, admiral.”
“I think we must now consider the landing a fact,” Kanin interrupted. “Reports of Germans advancing into the town, followed by silence on the telegraph and wireless seem quite convincing. Unless someone thinks this is an elaborate though ill-considered prank?”
Kanin looked around the staff, none met his eyes.
They are so desperate to avoid the defeat that is staring us in the face that they are starting to couch everything in words that cast doubt on anything bad. If they cannot be honest about bad news, what kind of reports can I expect from them?
“Chief of Staff, continue.”
“Grand Duchy Army Command assesses that the Germans have landed only a small force, no more than a regiment, and they expect to eradicate the invaders shortly. Two regiments are being detached from Helsingfors garrison and another from Turku.”
“Has the Army requested naval support?” asked the Operations Chief.
“Not yet. I want you to look at options…”
“Chief,” Kanin interrupted. “Send a message to the Stavka requesting permission to sortie to cut off the sea resupply of this incursion. If we sit around waiting for the Army in Helsingfors or St Petersburg to think of sending us, the enemy will be firmly fixed on our shore.”
The Chief of Staff nodded and then continued. “There are more sporadic reports of foreign troops on Åland Island. Nothing specific though.”
“Not like we could do anything about it, tied down here,” muttered someone. Kanin let the comment slide, as he’d thought the same thing.
“Reports from the Stavka on events at Luga,” the Chief of Staff continued. “The enemy continues artillery bombardments, but no infantry attacks. Additional divisions earmarked for the future southern offensive have been redirected to the Northwest Front. Apparently, they are creating an oversize corps at Veliky Novgorod to threaten the German right flank.
“Regarding Reval, the Stavka forwarded a report from 73rd Division that strong enemy forces have arrived at the southwest and southeast sectors of the city.”
Faces turned in shock. Everyone here had spent considerable time in their careers in Reval.
“Army,” the Chief continued, “claims they can hold indefinitely, if we hold open the supply lines by sea. They also have asked for heavy ships to provide additional artillery support from within the harbor. We are ordered to provide all necessary support.’’
“Dear Father. Another Pallada,” the staff Gunnery Officer whispered (Note 8 ).
Kanin smiled grimly, his thoughts far from eleven years ago and the poor doomed cruiser. With those orders, I can employ the Fleet in any way I choose, as long as it can be argued that it supports the 73rd. I could send 2nd Battleship Brigade to Reval…no, I’ll keep them here in case I need to attack the Germans at Hangö, though their draft is deeper than my dreadnoughts.
“Admiral, we have few operable ships at Reval. Submarine Bars and two destroyers, Konstantin and Pobiditel, are undergoing repairs. We have the two 152mm gunboats and four older torpedoboats operational.”
“Draft orders for cruiser Bogatýr to sail for Reval tomorrow,” instructed Kanin. “If things get worse, I’ll consider sending 2nd Battleship Brigade. I want orders for available icebreakers from Kotlin; before long I will need them to keep the harbor exit clear, and if this lasts until February, I’ll need them in the gulf seaways. Also, expedite repairs to the damaged ships at Reval. I want them moved to Kotlin as soon as they can steam, even if they cannot fight.”
“Ops,” the Chief ordered, “get me those orders as soon as we finish here.
“One more item admiral. Two reports just came in from the submarines. The northern group is on station outside the minefield, no contact with the enemy.”
“Da, and the southern group?”
“Gepard has signaled that Tigr has been lost, admiral. Apparently, she struck a mine in the southern cleared passage. Gepard and Lvistsa are searching for survivors.”
The staff fell silent at the news of yet another unexpected loss.
“The enemy must have counter-mined the passage,” offered the staff mine specialist. “We know the passage was clear as of four days ago.”
Kanin sighed. “Get the sweepers out immediately. Recall both boats, I won’t risk them until the passage is again safe.”
Notes.
Note 1. In 1873 the Hungarian cities of Pest, Buda, and Óbuda were administratively joined as a single city: Budapest. Before that, and for some years after the merger, the city was colloquially known to residents as “Pest-Buda”.
Note 2. Pokol = Hell (Hungarian)
Note 3. Scharfschützen = sharpshooters. In both the AH and German armies there was a lively rivalry between sharpshooter units, which specialized in marksmanship (sniping) and open field tactics, and jägers, whose training focused on field craft, scouting, and skirmishing. In the post-Napoleonic era, with line units being outfitted with rifles, the number of scharfschützen units declined. By 1914 there was only a single German (Prussian) scharfschützen battalion. Austro-Hungary retained four regiments of Tiroler Kaiserjäger who were trained as alpine scharfschützen, and 29 battalions of jägers.
Note 4. The Jerweküll Ober-See (Ülemiste Lake, Estonia, south of Tallinn) is the Estonian capital’s primary fresh water supply. Harko Lake (modern Harku Lake), lies to the west of Tallinn.
Note 5. Bayer, like most of the senior officers of the 27th, were German cadre intended to train and lead the Finns until their own officers could be developed. A few officers and the bulk of the bataillon were Finns.
Note 6. Cape Surron = Cape Suurupi, Estonia
Note 7. The Etatmäßiger Feldwebel (nicknamed ‘der Spiess’ (the Pike)). Roughly equivalent to a British Regimental Sergeant Major.
Note 8. Damaged by torpedoes from early in the Russo-Japanese War, Pallada was trapped in Port Arthur when the Japanese laid siege to the port. She was eventually sunk by Japanese heavy artillery firing over the surrounding hills.
December 26th. 0130. Leading whaleboat, KuK 24th Feldjägers, 10nm northeast of Hangö, Finland. Heading northeast at 4 knots
The days of Honvéd Sebok gazing from his parent’s flat in Pest-Buda upon the boats plying the mighty Duna with a sense of adventure were long past. He now hated boats, with a passion that he couldn’t have foreseen just a month ago. (Note 1)
The brutal boat training last week was bad enough, but having escaped major injury in that, he now suspected that losing a hand or foot in those drills might have been preferable to…this. This being a pitch-black night, snow falling through a bitter breeze, and a distinct danger of death or dismemberment by one of several means. Atop the long list Sebok placed drowning, freezing, artillery bursts, rifle fire, and being smashed against rocks.
Ahead of the longboat that carried Sebok and 1st Kompanie’s 4th Zug was a steam pinnace, chugging along with the lead boat and five others towed in a long line. Directly behind the string of boats – astern, the Korvettenkapitän might say – another pinnace towed six more boats carrying the balance of 1st Feldkompanie. Behind them were three more pinnaces towing boats carrying the Germans and Finns of the 27th, including the bataillon headquarters kompanie and a feldkompanie. Together, the two kompanies were the vanguard of the 2nd Composite Jäger Regiment.
Somewhere off to the west, out of sight, yet more boats carried elements of the 1st Composite Jäger Regiment, three German jäger bataillons, toward the coast where they would isolate and assault Hangö from the landward side while the 2nd continued north.
The boats moving slowly through the rocky waters jostled and jerked each time the pinnaces changed course to avoid the slick black rocks that rose up unannounced from the water. Each jerk pulled the front of the boat one way, making the back go the other, which in turn pulled the front of the next boat the wrong way and so on in an awkward jangling dance.
Thunk!
Ice chunks bounced off the hull.
Other than being holed by ice and then drowning, being smashed upon the rocks, or thrown into the frigid water by the jerking lines, Sebok expected to die from enemy fire. The pinnaces were not much larger than the longboats, but they each had tall coalsmoke funnels that belched thick clouds and occasionally bright sparks. If the Russers manning the shore defenses that must surround this long waterway didn’t spot the sparks, Sebok would eat his cap.
His dark ruminations were interrupted yet again by jostling from the pinnace ahead, this time with the pinnace slowing and coming about.
A body-less voice called out softly from the drifting pinnace, “Ice ahead, we’ll go as far as we can, but not much further.”
In the front of the boat, Oberjäger Dutka acknowledged the call from ahead then turned and called out to the men in the back of the boat, “Pass the word to the next boat that there is ice ahead – prepare to go ashore.”
Falling through ice, yet another way to die.
December 26th. 0500. Austro-Hungarian 5th Army Headquarters, 13km south of Luga, Russia.
CRUUUUUMP!
Staff officers, hunched over maps, reading reports, or talking quietly in small groups, stopped what they were doing and looked up in surprise as the powerful explosion shook the building. Dust, insects, and a dead rodent rained down from the rafters.
“For those of you who cannot tell, that’s our artillery going out. Return to your duties.”
The fear-furrowed brows disappeared and were replaced with nervous laughter and smiles at the Chief of Staff’s stern order.
The heavy 30.5cm mörsers, emplaced not far from the headquarters, had finally joined the artillery barrage that was preceding the morrow’s infantry assaults. Excitement filled everyone, as the big kanonen heralded the coming battle that would almost certainly decide the fate of empires.
Not quite everyone was excited. Over in a shadowed corner, the officer overseeing the resupply of artillery ammunition scowled and muttered about ‘foolish line officers’.
How can they not understand? There are precious few of the big rounds on hand, and every one that is shot today will take a week to ten days to replace, unless the weather slows things down even more.
Gott help us if we somehow manage to make it to St Petersburg. We will be down to bayonets and hurling curses at the Russers. Hmmmm. At least bayonets require no ammunition.
A very thin smile creased his dour face, but just for a moment.
December 26th. 0710. KuK 24th Feldjägers, 26km northeast of Hangö, Finland
Nothing in this Godforsaken pokol has gone according to plan (Note 2). Nothing. But at least we are all still alive. For now.
The ‘plan’ had been to have the steam pinnaces tow the boats all the way up to the primary objective – the town of Ekenäs. According to their Finn allies, Ekenäs was the most defensible position near the base of the Hangö Peninsula, with both the main road and railroad to Helsingfors crossing deep water. They should have arrived shortly after the 1st Regiment began their approach on Hangö itself at about 0630.
Oberjäger Dutka looked at his precious watch. It was already well past 0630, and Ekenäs was still far ahead.
The boats had worked hard to find a way up the long waterway, but each of the channels around the many islands were blocked by ice. After trying several paths the senior officer, the kommander of the 27th Prussians, had finally ordered the boats to get as close to shore as possible and the men debarked.
Once unloaded the boats quickly departed, heading back to the transports to take on the balance of the jägers, and then to bring up supplies.
Marching along the railroad verge left Dutka feeling greatly exposed. The jägers would be able to see any approaching train far away and could slip into the scraggly mixed pine and birch forest, but even a single enemy soldier standing his post ahead would surely see the nearly 500 men marching along long before he himself would be visible.
It didn’t help that the Finns of the 27th, who Dutka regarded as glorified scharfschützen (Note 3), didn’t seem to be trying to approach Ekenäs with any degree of stealth. Russer defenders would hear their approach long before they arrived.
Surprisingly, they had not been attacked by the Russers while on the water, nor had they seen anyone while marching alongside the railroad.
Where are you?
December 26th. 0730. 148th Regiment. 4km Northeast of Friedrichshof, Estland
Oberstleutnant Kuhn winced as the medic tightened the bandage on his calf. It was little more than a deep scratch, but he didn’t want to fall out over something so minor.
The wound had come at the end of the battle. As he’d hoped, the pre-dawn attack on Reval’s outermost defenses had taken the Russers by surprise, and his infantry had been deep among the town’s buildings before any organized resistance could be offered. The Russer defenses had stiffened from there, but they had only a battalion of regular troops and an equal number of militia – old men and boys, mostly – with no artillery and no prepared field fortifications. As his regiment had flanked the enemy positions in the center of the town they’d wisely fled, leaving over half of their strength dead or captured.
Once driven from the town, his artillery had savaged them until they’d run beyond the reach of the 7.7 cm kanonen, then surprisingly they’d turned to make a stand on the far bank of a small stream. It was there, well outside effective rifle range, Kuhn had been struck by a nearly spent shell.
I suppose my definitions of ‘effective range’ and ‘spent’ may need to be reconsidered.
“Herr Oberstleutnant, I have the initial casualty report,” offered his Major. At Kuhn’s nod he continued, ”1st Bataillon, seven dead, 11 severely wounded, and 36 wounded. 2nd Bataillon, four wounded. 3rd Bataillon 14 dead, 23 severely wounded, and 75 wounded. Headquarters Kompanie, one wounde…’
“Do not include this,” Kuhn said, indicating his leg, “in the official tally. Were any units in 1st or 3rd Bataillons particularly hard hit?”
“1st of the 3rd. Oberleutnant Jockusch, his feldwebel and two sergeants killed. Most of the casualties in 3rd Bataillon were from that kompanie.”
“Get me recommendations from Oberstleutnant Rademacher on moving leadership into that kompanie, or…”
Kuhn paused as a cavalcade of a dozen horsemen rode into the small clearing next to the railroad. He gingerly got up and saluted as Generalmajor von Blumenthal dismounted.
“Kuhn! Well done here! I was beginning to wonder if they still taught about the coup de main in infantry school, but it appears so, it appears so. What is with your leg?” Blumenthal barked, pointing at Kuhn’s bandaged limb.
“A scratch, nothing more Herr Generalmajor.”
“Gut. There is too much to do to sit around. A map!”
His aide brought out a large-scale map, and Blumenthal waved Kuhn over. “Show me where the enemy is.”
“We took the town, and they ran until getting beyond the range of my artillery. They stopped on the other side of this small watercourse in these woods. They are only in kompanie strength, unless they have been reinforced.”
The brigade kommander began a rapid-fire series of orders. “Operations, the 152nd will advance directly, until they can anchor their right on the Jerweküll, using this modest high ground south of the Russer lines. The 79th Feldartillerie will be positioned behind their center, across the rail line.
“Kuhn, move out to the left flank, remain in contact with the 152nd, with your left flank on the Harko (Note 4).
“Light field fortifications only, we are here to take the city, not besiege it. Local scouting of the Russer lines, raids as you see fit, and as soon as the division arrives, I will push for an assault.”
“Jawohl, Herr Generalmajor.”
Blumenthal turned to leave, then paused next to his horse.
“And Herr Kuhn, good initiative this morning. Perhaps I will keep you in kommand of the 148th.”
December 26th. 0745. Battleship Gangut. Sveaborg, Grand Duchy of Finland. Anchored.
Is there no one who can follow orders, or at least understand their intent?
Vitse-admiral Vasili Kanin looked up from the battle report to its author, Kontr-admiral Viktor Kolomeytsev, exerting all his willpower to appear calm. It didn’t help that the cruiser commander was sitting relaxed and outwardly confident, despite having gone well beyond his orders and then having been soundly thrashed by the Germans.
“You are certain,” Kanin asked when he had his anger in check, “there were no enemy minesweepers at the Central Position minefields?”
“Most certain, admiral. Though, I could not observe the northern and southern extremities.”
“Understood. You went quite far enough as it was, and what you could not observe, the batteries to north and south can. At least that is one good to have come from this.”
Kolomeytsev, sat up and bristled. Kanin held up a hand to forestall him.
Though he barely deserves it, I will speak plainly.
“I had hoped, and intended, that you would be able to observe any minesweeping activity without leaving the protection of the fields, without coming fully to grips with the enemy cruisers. You drove off the small cruisers – that was well done – and then inexplicably left the protection of the minefields to chase them, exposing yourself to a powerful enemy counterstroke. As a result, both of my large cruisers are headed to Kotlin Island for extensive repairs, and an entire squadron-worth of torpedoboats was lost.”
“But, Vitse-admiral, we hurt the enemy badly…”
“Irrelevant to the mission you were given,” Kanin interrupted before Kolomeytsev could repeat his no doubt inflated claims of sinking several German cruisers. “I cannot afford to trade cruisers, now having only Bogatýr left in fighting trim.
“Nonetheless, my report to the capital will support your actions.”
Kanin paused, digesting the look of surprise on Kolomeytsev’s face, before continuing. “In these dark times, we need victories and heroes. Yesterday was a victory, and today, you are a hero. On your way out, be so good as to send in the Chief of Staff.”
Hopefully, after some time to consider, he will understand his good fortune.
The Chief of Staff, waiting outside the cabin door, came in on Kolomeytsev’s heels, and closed the door.
“Da, admiral?”
“Draft orders for Kontr-admiral Kolomeytsev, he is to remain on Rurik and take her and Rossia to Kotlin for repairs. He is to remain there until repairs are completed.”
No doubt he will be the toast of the capital. Others will understand his banishment.
“Of course, admiral.”
“Also, have Operations draft orders to the submarine flotilla, I want a surge of all available boats. Today. They are to drive the Germans back from the Central Position.”
December 26th. 0915. 27th Jägerbataillon, Ekanäs Finland.
Major Maximilian Bayer stared at the western end of the railroad bridge through his field glasses, aware that time was quickly running out.
If they were not already informed by wireless, at some point the Russers at Helsingfors to the east, or Åbo to the northwest, would become aware of the attack on Hangö by the 1st Composite Jägers. A large relief column would most certainly come down the railway that passed through Ekenäs, where the bridge ahead formed the most defensible position to block the Russers.
Bayer’s indecision was caused by the dozen men that he could see lounging at the end of the bridge, likely a military post of some kind. What couldn’t be seen were uniforms – the men were dressed as laborers – nor were any weapons in evidence.
He was tempted to simply order a zug forward to take the bridge, but the brigade kommander had been clear that everything possible must be done to befriend the Finnish populace. The jägers were far too few to defend against the two Russer divisions while also conducting security operations against hostile civilians; indeed, any advance beyond simply seizing and holding Hangö was impossible without rousing the Finns to throw off the Russer yoke.
Bayer made up his mind; he’d have one of his Finn officers go forward and contact the men ahead (Note 5).
“Get Rittmeister Ljunberg up here.”
A few minutes later the fresh-faced blond Finn cavalry officer came forward.
“Herr Major.”
“Gut. Up ahead are a dozen men guarding the approach to the railroad bridge. No uniforms or weapons are in sight, so I don’t know what they are really doing. I want you to contact them. I’d prefer to not fight them if possible. Take a korporalschaft with you.”
Ljunberg paused for a moment then answered, “If it’s acceptable, I’ll just go myself Herr Major. More armed men will only scare them, make them more guarded, eh?”
“Very well, just hurry.”
As Ljunberg got up and started walking quickly toward the bridge, Bayer turned and ordered both his two kompanies and the Hungarian kompanie to move as far forward as possible without breaking cover. If the local guards turned on Ljunberg he’d never be able to save him, but if that happened, he’d need to rush the bridge as quickly as possible.
Bayer watched as the Rittmeister approached the bridge. Oddly, the men on guard there remained relaxed.
Is that laughter?
After a few minutes talking one of the local men reached out and shook Ljunberg’s hand. The jäger waved to them, turned and retraced his steps back to Bayer.
“Herr Major, they are not guards, but rather workers waiting to replace some damaged sleepers on the bridge. At first, they thought I was a Russer, but once they became aware I was with a German unit they relaxed. They were surprised when they found out I hail from Åbo and they seemed excited when I told them that we have many Finns in the bataillon, here to kick the Russers out of the Grand Duchy.”
“So, we are free to cross into the town?”
“Ja, Herr Major. There was a militia unit stationed there, but two months ago most of them were loaded on a train heading east. None have been heard from, so the workers think they have been taken into the army. Since we Finns pay a hefty tax to be exempted from conscription, taking the town’s young men has left a stink. I think we will be welcomed here.”
“Good work, Rittmeister. I have one more task for you as we move into the town. Ask around and find out what is happening up in Karis.”
“Jawohl, Herr Major.”
Bayer noticed an Oberjäger from the Hungarian bataillon had come up, a trim but evil-looking man with death-cold gray eyes.
“Ah, gut. Oberjäger…?”
“Oberjäger Dutka, Herr Major.”
“Ja, of course. You are in temporary kommand of your kompany, ja? Gut. The hauptquartier and 1st Kompanie from the 27th will advance through the town and continue along the rail toward Karis. As additional companies of the 27th arrive they are to be sent forward to join me. The 24th will remain here and begin constructing field fortifications. You are to establish three positions: northeast of the town, on the island in the middle of the river, and here on the western bank.
“Pass on to Korvettenkapitän Trapp that when the Kaiserjäger Rifles bataillon arrives he is to turn over defense of the town to them and hurry with all dispatch to Karis to join my bataillon. Tell him it is imperative that he advances quickly. If we can seize Karis, we will hold the junction connecting Åbo, Helsingfors, and Hangö.
“The town is friendly but be on your guard, this land has been under the Tsar’s heel for two hundred years.”
Turning to his 1st Kompanie Kommander, Bayer ordered the vanguard of his bataillon into Ekenäs. “Take the men through the town and follow the rail line north!”
December 26th. 0930. Karlholm, Åland Island, Grand Duchy of Finland.
Kapten Joakim Lagerlöf looked carefully at the map. He knew the intended march route from the temporary Swedish base at Eckerö to Åland’s main city of Mariehamn, but the dense pine and birch forest made it important to use every possible landmark to double and triple check his position. It simply wouldn’t do to march off into the empty hinterlands and then be forced to backtrack after wasting hours and tiring the men.
The men would never forget or forgive such a mistake; I’d be ‘woodsman Lagerlöf’ behind my back.
After capturing the Eckerö Customs House from six befuddled Russian militiamen yesterday morning, his Company had advanced without resistance until reaching the narrow Marsund, which separated Eckerö island from the main island of Åland. Camping for the night, he’d negotiated passage on the small ferry at Karlhom. Though the crossing was no more than five minutes each way, it had taken nearly 90 minutes to bring his entire company over.
Tacka Gud that the Russians didn’t think to contest the crossing!
Certain that he now knew exactly which way to take toward Mariehamn, the Swedes set off.
Two kilometers down the dirt cart track his scouts came under rifle fire from one of the houses in the substantial settlement of Hammarland. Two men were down, one unmoving.
The radius of cleared land around the town was less than rifle range, so Lagerlöf decided to use maneuver.
“Sergeant, 2nd Pluton hold position and engage, 1st Pluton flank left, 4th Pluton flank right. Remainder of company hold.”
As the men of the flanking units slipped through the trees Lagerlof berated himself.
A single envelopment would have sufficed, now I’ll worry about the two wings engaging each other. Far too late to change my orders.
In the end he was saved from his worst-case worry. Whoever had shot at his scouts slipped out of the building and took off to the southwest as fast as they could run, leaving one of their number dead and apparently dropping their rifles as well.
December 26th. 0955. SMS Prinzregent Luitpold. 6 nm north of Cape Surron, Estland (Note 6) Heading 250 at 3 knots.
BooomBooomBooomBoooooom!
Kapitän zur See Karl Heuser watched another half-salvo strike the northern end of Cape Surron. The bursts were followed ten seconds later by shells from Kaiserin, then after a similar delay those from Friedrich der Grosse. Then flagship Kaiser fired again to start yet another cycle.
BooomBooomBooomBoooooom!
Heuser thought it was a complete waste of precious HE and APC shells…except that it might not be a waste if the random dispersion of shells managed to silence the enemy kanonen. Heser knew it was important to clear the Cape Surron battery, as it guarded both Baltischport to the southwest and the approaches to Reval to the southeast.
“Bridge. Signals. FDG reports to the flag that the fire on her boat deck is out.”
BooomBooomBooomBoooooom!
Heuser had found some small respect for the Russers when 6th Division had closed with the battery shortly after first light. The crafty enemy had waited until the entire division was within 100hm before opening fire, though even so close none of the enemy shells had much chance to find a way past their heavy armor. They’d managed to hit Kaiser once and Friedrich der Grosse four times, the latter with at least one large caliber shell, likely a 22.9cm shell. None of the hits were significant, other than the heavy hit causing a modest fire on the Fleet’s former flagship.
“Bridge. Signals. From the flag, CEASE FIRE.”
“AO. Cease fire”
“Cease fire, aye Herr Kapitän.”
Heuser watched as one of the escorting torpedoboots was detached and raced close to shore, then slowed to parallel the coast at less than a cable. After three passes the TB turned and raced back to the unengaged side of the line.
Maybe the rounds weren’t wasted after all.
“Herr Kapitän,” called the AO, “38 rounds HE and 44 rounds APC expended, no casualties.”
“Gut, pass on ‘well done’ to the turret, magazine, and control personnel. Keep observers and turrets trained on the enemy battery. If they somehow manage to get kanonen back in service, I want our fire to be on the way toward them before their first shots land, verstanden?”
“Jawohl, Herr Kapitän.”
Looking over the starboard quarter, Heuser watched the small minensucher flotilla turn east to begin looking for the minefield expected to be sited between Cape Surron and Nargö Island, guarding the inshore approach to Reval.
“For all hands: Expect to remain at Action Stations through at least the morning.”
More likely the entire day.
Beyond the minensucher flotilla, muted flashes rippled in the falling snow and mist. 5th Division, probably less than ten nautical miles distant but invisible, continued to pound the powerful battery on Nargö Island’s northern tip.
Even though the offshore route around Nargö is not likely to be the main axis of attack, the Russers must believe it is. At least until the minensuchers can clear us a path to within range of Reval’s last seaward defenses. At that point there will be no reason for subterfuge.
December 26th. 1005. 7th Dragoons. Sõtke River, 25km west of Narva, northeast Estland.
Crack!
Rifle fire from across the small watercourse caused Oberstleutnant Höger to duck, even though he was already well protected by a stone wall located 100 meters from the railroad bridge, and more than that to the enemy.
When 42nd Division staff had ordered his regiment of dragoons to race ahead of Armee-Abtielung Hutier to seize a defensible position as far east as possible along the Reval-St Petersburg rail line he’d hoped to reach Narva itself. Failing that, he’d expected better terrain than this feeble nearly iced-over watercourse. Unfortunately, the enemy gets to have their say; here was where they met him and here was where he’d make his stand.
Crack!
The single shot presaged a renewal of general fire from the east, though it wasn’t nearly as heavy now as it had been at first light when the Russers had first tried to storm the bridge. Höger didn’t have his men returning fire; as a firm believer in the old adage that when the enemy is making a mistake, do nothing to disturb him, he was quite happy to let the enemy waste their ammunition.
Despite the somewhat reduced fire, Höger felt his situation was precarious, with his men badly outnumbered. With the scouts detached to north and south he had less than 600 men here at the bridge, facing at least three times that of Russer infantry, perhaps more. The disparity in firepower was made worse by the fact that his dragoon's only firearms were carbines and pistols.
Höger, for perhaps the tenth time, berated himself for leaving his assigned artillery – four kanonen and a pair of wheeled maxims – behind, in his race to the east. On the snow-slick roads they simply couldn’t keep up. Perhaps if he’d waited for them, he would have still made it this far, though likely not.
“Herr Oberstleutnant, report from 1st Squadron’s 3rd Zug, on the left flank. ‘Enemy infantry moving north in double kompanie strength.”
Schieße, they must be headed for the northern ford, which is lightly held by scouts. So much for my reserve.
“Orders for 4th Squadron,” Höger shouted above the cacophony of fire. “Detach all but one zug to proceed to the northern ford with all haste. Remaining zug will mount and arm with stahlrohrlanze.”
Not ten minutes after the bulk of his reserves had departed to the north the volume of fire picked up noticeably.
Schieße.
“Prepare to receive infantry attack!”
The enemy was smart enough to form up their attacking column well back from the water, deeper in the woods and out of sight. When they finally burst out of the woods his men barely had time for a single volley before they were at the bridge. Dozens of green-clad infantrymen fell as they stormed across the 20 meters of stone, then they were on his side of the river in a densely packed mass. His men continued to fire from behind the protection of the stone wall, but if the Russers were willing to spend the men, they would break his line.
“Signaler. Sound 4th Squadron cavalry charge!”
At the first notes of the bugle call the dismounted men of the regiment paused firing and looked up.
What horseman wouldn’t pause upon hearing those notes, even if not meant for them?
As the German rifle fire slacked, the enemy infantry seemed to pause too. Höger could only imagine their shock, as out of the thick snowfall a block of horsemen six abreast and as many deep charged forward with the steel tubes of their lances lowered.
As they reached Höger’s position the single zug flashed past him in an instant, already at a gallop. Without orders the rest of his regiment jumped up from the flanks and joined the charge afoot. Höger too found himself drawing his sword, charging the enemy, and screaming his head off.
Most of the enemy broke or tried to; only a handful of Russers stood their ground and fired into the mad cavalcade of horsemen, dropping three before the rest smashed into the packed infantry. The steel lances, driven by tons of speeding horse, smashed into and through the immobile mass by the narrow bridge, the front ranks of Russer infantry crushed and scattered by the horsemen.
His infantry kneeled on the flanks and poured fire into the fleeing green-coats. His men took casualties from the remaining enemy across the river, but even those Russers left their positions and fled east at the sight of his remaining horse running down their comrades along the bridge and onto the far side of the river, followed closely by dismounted Germans.
With their blood up, it took far too long for Höger to regain control of his regiment, but he was finally able to bring them back into defensive positions in an arc protecting the new salient on the east side of the bridge. 28 of the 35 mounted men that had charged returned to their lines. Höger was sure they’d never again have to buy their own drinks in any tavern frequented by his regiment.
A messenger from 4th Squadron brought the welcome news that the Russers heading for the northern ford had turned east before reaching the ford, no doubt following their fleeing brethren. Not long after, the rattle and clop of horses was heard to the west. Out of the cold mists came the dray horses pulling the artillery; four kanonen and the pair of maschinengewehre.
It would be many days before the rest of the Regiment stopped chiding the kanon cockers for what they’d missed.
December 26th. 1145. 50th Infantry Division, 12km southeast of Reval, Estland.
Oberleutnant Erwin Rommel watched his exhausted men march past. Their uniforms hung loosely from their sinewy frames, their faces gaunt, hollow eyes downcast. Rommel was no doktor, but he knew that the lack of rest and ungenerous rations made the men far more susceptible to the cold and diseases.
Rommel swore that when they finally stopped for more than a few furtive hours he’d ensure the fires were large and hot food plentiful, or he’d find a commissariat officer to strangle.
50th Division was exhausted. More than three weeks of marching 10 to 16 hours a day, much of that in the dark and all of it in bitter cold, had taken its toll on the once-proud division. They had crossed Livland and half of Estland and had finally made it to the outskirts of Reval.
Just ahead a cluster of commissariat wagons were setting up. Soon there would be soup and bread and a chance to rest.
“Oberleutnant Rommel!”
“Ja?”
“Herr Oberleutnant, orders from bataillon.”
Rommel read the terse orders. He was to take his kompanie to the far right of an east-west line that was forming. Once he was in position, the entire brigade was going to execute a sweeping movement, ending with the brigade positioned from southwest to northeast, centered on the rail line heading toward St. Petersburg.
Located at the end of the line, the entire movement would wait on his men getting in position. He glanced longingly at the food wagons, but his orders allowed no time for such niceties as a meal or rest for his men. Rommel simply couldn’t march them past the wagon. They’d do what he ordered, but they’d be worthless in the fight to come.
Wait. There’s der Spiess.
“Etatmäßiger Feldwebel!” (Note 7)
Rommel explained his plight to the senior regimental noncom and suggested that he would try to liberate some bread and other portable food from the commissariat for his kompany. He asked the Pike to back him up in case the commissariat refused.
The Pike looked Rommel up and down like Rommel’d stepped in a pile of schieße, then looked at the gaunt men marching by.
He chuckled.
“No need to get on the Oberst’s bad side Herr Oberleutnant. Get your men moving, and I’ll have hot food brought up before the attack kicks off.
December 26th. 1445. Submarine Gepard. 4nm South of Sveaborg, Grand Duchy of Finland. Heading 190 at 8 knots. Surfaced
Leitenant Messer scowled at the stern of Tigr, wallowing through the mild seas at the head of the column.
Gepard should be leading this sortie, not that fool Kondrakhov.
Tigr’s commander, Starshii' leitenant Kondrakhov, was the senior commander in the squadron, and well-connected at the Admiralty, but he had no submarine experience, having converted to submarines only a month ago to take command. He hadn’t even attended submarine school! The other commanders had a private bet on how long it would take before Tigr grounded or failed to surface.
One should not lead a squadron to sea on one’s first sortie. Nor should submarines travel in columns, as if we were surface torpedo boats.
All six of the available submarines at Sveaborg, two Kaiman class and four Bars class, were in the sortie. Messer would have left the two older Kaiman’s behind in favor of a more homogenous force, but Vepr was still undergoing repairs from damage suffered last week to bombs from a German aircraft.
At least submarines do not conduct much in the way of group operations.
For this sortie three boats, Volk and the two Kaimans would detach early and take the northern minefield swept channel to patrol from the Porkala Peninsula to the center of the gulf. Tigr, Gepard and Lvistsa would continue to the southern swept channel and patrol the southern half.
Suddenly Tigr turned sharply to port, then after 20 seconds turned back to the ordered course. Messer ordered Gepard to follow her around, and the column followed like a snake.
Signal flags hoisted on Tigr: ‘DISREGARD MY MOVEMENTS’.
A surface ship signal for when one had a casualty, or someone had made a mistake. The dumb ass, how are we to disregard the movements of the guide when we can only follow him?
It’s going to be a long afternoon.
December 26th. 1850. Submarine Gepard. 30nm southwest of Sveaborg. Heading 245 at 8 knots. Surfaced
It was a long afternoon, now given way to darkness. Messer’s navigation held the southern group almost at the entrance to the minefield.
The telegraphist mate stuck his head up through the hatch. “Kapitan, we copied a wireless from Volk to Commander, Submarine Flotilla.“
The northern group had successfully passed through the northern swept channel and split up to transit to their patrol areas. As yet, no contact with the enemy.
Good. Our turn next.
A red signal lamp ahead stuttered to life. “TURN STBD IN SUCCESSION. CSE 260.”
Where hell is he going? Base course through the channel is 255.
“Request Tigr repeat the signal.”
The handheld signal lamp’s shutter clacked, then the weak red signal ahead responded.
260 again!
“Navigation,” Messer yelled down to the control room. “Bearing to center of swept channel?”
“Center of channel entrance bears 251 Kapitan.”
“Kapitan,” called the lookout. “Hold Tigr in a turn to starboard.”
Fuck, we’re already north of track and turning too far north!
“Helm. Slow to steerageway.
“Signals. To Lvistsa, MY SPD 3.”
Messer grabbed the backup signal lamp and sent ‘YOU ARE STANDING INTO DANGER’ to Tigr.
Tigr flashed back. ‘RESUME STATION’.
The HELL I will.
“Kapitan. Lvistsa acknowledges speed 3.”
“Very well.”
“Kapitan, Navigation holds us entering the swept channel. Recommend 255.”
“Helm, Come right to 255.”
Tigr was still visible as a vague darkness, broad on the starboard bow.
Wumpf!
“Helm. Engine stop!”
Wumpf! Wumpf!
Holy Father, the mine set off two of her torpedoes!
“Away the rescue boat crew!
“Signals. To Lvistsa, SPD 0.”
Messer grabbed the signal pad and scratched off a quick message to Sveaborg, telling them of Tigr‘s fate. He knew Kondrakhov had almost certainly taken Tigr out of the swept channel and into the minefield, but he wouldn’t put that into the record. He’d left it as simply, “TIGR LOST. APPARENTLY STRUCK MINE IN CHANNEL.”
December 26th. 1905. SMS Markgraf. 10 nm west of Nargö Island, Estland Heading 350 at 11 knots.
At the insistent knock on the cabin door, Vize-admiral Carl Rudburg looked up from the large stack of paperwork that had somehow managed to occupy half of his writing desk.
“Come.”
A messenger entered and came to attention. Behind him the Chief of Staff looked on.
“Herr Vize-admiral,” the messenger reported. “The Flag Kapitän’s respects. Lookouts report hearing three explosions to the east-northeast. There are no friendly ships in that direction and no shell splashes to indicate that the battery on Nargö is firing on us.”
“Very well. Please pass to the Kapitän my compliments and advise if anything more is determined.
“Chief of Staff?”
The messenger departed and Rudburg’s staff deputy came in. Rudburg waved him to a chair.
“I’m glad you’re here, I now have an excuse to put this,” he indicated the stack of paper and folders, “off for a bit.”
“Herr admiral, I’m always happy to throw you a lifeline from the drudgery of administrative work, but if you don’t do it tonight, there will likely be even more tomorrow.”
Rudburg scowled in mock-anger. “What brings you in?”
“I stopped in the staff offices, and Operations asked me to get your final go-ahead for the landings tomorrow. Everything is ready, but he thinks it will be better to have a signal from you to confirm things.”
Both 5th and 6th Divisions would be landing shore parties of matrosen drawn from the dreadnoughts. They’d land on Nargö and Surron tomorrow before dawn, to ensure the batteries they’d taken out today could not be easily put back in service.
“Ja. Have Ops make the signal.
“Once you’ve notified him, please return. I have some paperwork and need a second,” Rudburg said, pulling a deck of cards from his desk.
December 26th. 1935. Battleship Gangut. Sveaborg, Grand Duchy of Finland. Anchored.
As Vitse-admiral Kanin entered the crowded staff office the Chief of Staff rapped on the table.
“Attention gentlemen, there is much to go over.”
Kanin sat, then nodded to the Chief of Staff. “Let’s begin.”
“The first issue is the reported landing at Hankö, admiral.”
“I think we must now consider the landing a fact,” Kanin interrupted. “Reports of Germans advancing into the town, followed by silence on the telegraph and wireless seem quite convincing. Unless someone thinks this is an elaborate though ill-considered prank?”
Kanin looked around the staff, none met his eyes.
They are so desperate to avoid the defeat that is staring us in the face that they are starting to couch everything in words that cast doubt on anything bad. If they cannot be honest about bad news, what kind of reports can I expect from them?
“Chief of Staff, continue.”
“Grand Duchy Army Command assesses that the Germans have landed only a small force, no more than a regiment, and they expect to eradicate the invaders shortly. Two regiments are being detached from Helsingfors garrison and another from Turku.”
“Has the Army requested naval support?” asked the Operations Chief.
“Not yet. I want you to look at options…”
“Chief,” Kanin interrupted. “Send a message to the Stavka requesting permission to sortie to cut off the sea resupply of this incursion. If we sit around waiting for the Army in Helsingfors or St Petersburg to think of sending us, the enemy will be firmly fixed on our shore.”
The Chief of Staff nodded and then continued. “There are more sporadic reports of foreign troops on Åland Island. Nothing specific though.”
“Not like we could do anything about it, tied down here,” muttered someone. Kanin let the comment slide, as he’d thought the same thing.
“Reports from the Stavka on events at Luga,” the Chief of Staff continued. “The enemy continues artillery bombardments, but no infantry attacks. Additional divisions earmarked for the future southern offensive have been redirected to the Northwest Front. Apparently, they are creating an oversize corps at Veliky Novgorod to threaten the German right flank.
“Regarding Reval, the Stavka forwarded a report from 73rd Division that strong enemy forces have arrived at the southwest and southeast sectors of the city.”
Faces turned in shock. Everyone here had spent considerable time in their careers in Reval.
“Army,” the Chief continued, “claims they can hold indefinitely, if we hold open the supply lines by sea. They also have asked for heavy ships to provide additional artillery support from within the harbor. We are ordered to provide all necessary support.’’
“Dear Father. Another Pallada,” the staff Gunnery Officer whispered (Note 8 ).
Kanin smiled grimly, his thoughts far from eleven years ago and the poor doomed cruiser. With those orders, I can employ the Fleet in any way I choose, as long as it can be argued that it supports the 73rd. I could send 2nd Battleship Brigade to Reval…no, I’ll keep them here in case I need to attack the Germans at Hangö, though their draft is deeper than my dreadnoughts.
“Admiral, we have few operable ships at Reval. Submarine Bars and two destroyers, Konstantin and Pobiditel, are undergoing repairs. We have the two 152mm gunboats and four older torpedoboats operational.”
“Draft orders for cruiser Bogatýr to sail for Reval tomorrow,” instructed Kanin. “If things get worse, I’ll consider sending 2nd Battleship Brigade. I want orders for available icebreakers from Kotlin; before long I will need them to keep the harbor exit clear, and if this lasts until February, I’ll need them in the gulf seaways. Also, expedite repairs to the damaged ships at Reval. I want them moved to Kotlin as soon as they can steam, even if they cannot fight.”
“Ops,” the Chief ordered, “get me those orders as soon as we finish here.
“One more item admiral. Two reports just came in from the submarines. The northern group is on station outside the minefield, no contact with the enemy.”
“Da, and the southern group?”
“Gepard has signaled that Tigr has been lost, admiral. Apparently, she struck a mine in the southern cleared passage. Gepard and Lvistsa are searching for survivors.”
The staff fell silent at the news of yet another unexpected loss.
“The enemy must have counter-mined the passage,” offered the staff mine specialist. “We know the passage was clear as of four days ago.”
Kanin sighed. “Get the sweepers out immediately. Recall both boats, I won’t risk them until the passage is again safe.”
Notes.
Note 1. In 1873 the Hungarian cities of Pest, Buda, and Óbuda were administratively joined as a single city: Budapest. Before that, and for some years after the merger, the city was colloquially known to residents as “Pest-Buda”.
Note 2. Pokol = Hell (Hungarian)
Note 3. Scharfschützen = sharpshooters. In both the AH and German armies there was a lively rivalry between sharpshooter units, which specialized in marksmanship (sniping) and open field tactics, and jägers, whose training focused on field craft, scouting, and skirmishing. In the post-Napoleonic era, with line units being outfitted with rifles, the number of scharfschützen units declined. By 1914 there was only a single German (Prussian) scharfschützen battalion. Austro-Hungary retained four regiments of Tiroler Kaiserjäger who were trained as alpine scharfschützen, and 29 battalions of jägers.
Note 4. The Jerweküll Ober-See (Ülemiste Lake, Estonia, south of Tallinn) is the Estonian capital’s primary fresh water supply. Harko Lake (modern Harku Lake), lies to the west of Tallinn.
Note 5. Bayer, like most of the senior officers of the 27th, were German cadre intended to train and lead the Finns until their own officers could be developed. A few officers and the bulk of the bataillon were Finns.
Note 6. Cape Surron = Cape Suurupi, Estonia
Note 7. The Etatmäßiger Feldwebel (nicknamed ‘der Spiess’ (the Pike)). Roughly equivalent to a British Regimental Sergeant Major.
Note 8. Damaged by torpedoes from early in the Russo-Japanese War, Pallada was trapped in Port Arthur when the Japanese laid siege to the port. She was eventually sunk by Japanese heavy artillery firing over the surrounding hills.
statistics: Posted by seaoh1979 — 6:54 PM - 1 day ago — Replies 6 — Views 74