Chapter 20 – The Battle of Three Seconds
December 20th. 0810. Cruiser Rurik. 17nm South of Porkala, Grand Duchy of Finland. Heading 240 at 10 knots
Damn Hans von Fersen to hell!
Vitze-admiral Vasili Kanin wouldn’t be so crass as to curse the man out loud, and he knew he was being uncharitable. Very uncharitable. His now-dead peer had probably fought as hard as he could against intolerable odds.
The battles in the archipelago were lost before they began, but would I have been able to hurt the enemy more, or preserve our ships in the face of the High Seas Fleet? The same fleet that has fully contested the North Sea with the mighty Royal Navy?
Still, the loss of the Moon Sound and Gulf of Riga Eskadra hurt. Tsesarevitch sunk and Slava crippled; neither a real loss to the Baltic Fleet; together they were far less than a tenth of its fighting strength. Unfortunately, the generals of the Stavka, and more so the Tsar himself, would bemoan the loss of an old battleship more than twice the tonnage in cruisers or twice the sailors on torpedo boats. Status symbols more than fighting ships, the Russian leadership was outraged by the loss, and more than one had whispered ‘Just like the Yaponskaya’ within hearing of the Admiralty Staff.
For Kanin, the loss of von Ferson’s cruisers and especially the destroyers were far more damaging. The Baltic Fleet’s powerful battle line could only see so far without adequate scouts; and the chances of miscalculation, poor positioning, and being surprised by the enemy had increased markedly with the loss of the Fleet’s eyes.
He pushed his anger away. Today the Baltic Fleet Commander was just an observer, hoping to ameliorate the scouting problem. The sortie was an opportunity for Rear Admiral Pechorov to exercise his 2nd Cruiser Brigade consisting of armored cruiser Rossia, which carried his pennant, and protected cruisers Bogatýr and Oleg. The three elderly cruisers were in column ahead of Rurik, which was standing in for the battle line in their maneuvers.
As they passed through the cleared channel in the Central Position minefields eight torpedo boats of the 2nd Torpedo Boat Division fell in astern. Watching them, Kanin felt again the loss of Adrionovich and seven of nine ships of 1st Destroyer Division sunk or crippled.
2nd Cruiser had operated very little so far in the war, and it showed. Sloppy seamanship, confusion with signals, tentative maneuvering. Pechorov needed to whip them into shape quickly.
There weren’t much, but they were the only eyes 1st Battleship Brigade – the core of his fleet – had.
December 20th. 0830. SMS Regensburg. 15nm North of Dagö Island. Heading 050 at 16 knots
The sea looks no different here.
Kapitän zur See Joachim von Wolferein smiled at the unbidden and absurd thought.
Even before the war had broken out the Russers had touted the Finnischer Meerbusen as their Mare Nostrum. Newspapers regaled the ‘trenches in the sea’, and though he knew that there was no such thing he privately wondered if a naval attack towards St Petersburg could ever be worth the inevitable price.
Yet here they were, through the outer shell of the defenses, and no lightning bolts had come down from the sky to punish their impertinence.
Von Wolferein looked aft at 2nd Scouting, in column and clearing the swept passage in the outer minefields: Graudenz, Rostock, Stralsund, then Blücher. Astern of the flagship but lost in the coalsmoke were Frankfurt and Weisbaden.
A powerful großer kreuzer and six of the Kaiserliche Marine’s fastest and most modern kleiner kreuzers. Short of the Russer battleships and dreadnoughts, they had little to fear.
Oh, and mines too. And U-Boots if we slow down. And the big coastal batteries if we get too close.
Von Wolferein’s catalog of dangers was interrupted by a call from above.
“Bridge. Signals. Signal in the air from the flag. DELAYED EXECUTIVE. SCREEN STATIONS DORA.”
The Deck Officer quickly interpreted Dora and calculated Regensburg’s maneuvering requirements.
“When the signal is executed, our station will be on Blücher’s port bow at 60hm. Recommend …Course 030 at 21 knots. When on station the guide will bear 185 at 60hm.”
“Very well.” Von Wolferein’s ‘seaman’s eye’ estimate, the sum of his experience, matched the Deck Officer’s calculation. Though…
“Deck, what is time to station?”
“28 minuten Kapitän.”
Too long. Five knots faster than the guide is standard stationing speed, but in 28 minutes we’ll already be a fifth of the way to the point we plan to turn back!
“Have the Ingenieur bring up the oil boilers. Recalculate for 26 knots.”
“Jawohl…11 minuten Kapitän.”
Fires were lit in the two large oil-fired boilers but were not yet up to pressure when the stationing signal was executed. Regensburg headed northeast at 24 knots.
The skies were leaden overcast, and the wind was bitter. Von Wolferein grinned.
What a glorious day to be at sea!
December 20th. 0930. 32nd Infantry Brigade. South of Ecks, Northern Livland.
“They’ll break.”
Generalmajor Löwenberg glanced over at Oberst de la Motte and wondered if his 70th Regiment kommander was talking about his own regiment or the Russers. It could go either way.
To his credit, de la Motte had aggressively attacked the Russers and driven them 6 km south of the town, but the conditions on the battlefield were changing; the enemy now significantly outnumbered his brigade, and more were arriving from the south in large clumps.
He sighed. The time for unrelenting aggressiveness was past. Reports from the West suggested that the Franzmänner hadn’t learned this lesson yet, but he was no fool to break his brigade on a sea of Russers.
“I have no doubt, but the rest of the division is still far behind. It’s time, we’ll switch to a hasty defense.”
De la Motte looked to object, then nodded in resignation. Löwenberg turned to his Operations Chief.
“All units not yet in the line will begin constructing defensive works. Start perpendicular to the railroad, beyond long rifle range from those trees. Once the first 500 meters of front are done, extend the lines to anchor on the lake to the east. As new troops arrive extend the line west. Arriving artillery to emplace just southwest of the town.”
“Jawohl, Herr Generalmajor.”
He turned back to de la Motte. “The 174th will man the center and eastern fieldworks. Pull your regiment back to the west once the center works are complete, that should give your men a respite. Until then, continue to keep the Russers off balance, but don’t over-extend your troops.
“I think the enemy knows they are cut off from escape – their desperation will only increase.”
December 20th. 1015. Werder, Southern Esthland.
The diver burst up through the dark waters, wiping oil and scum from his goggles before spitting out the mouthpiece of the air hose. He scrambled up the ladder and was immediately wrapped by his mates in thick woolen blankets. The men manning the mechanical air pump slumped down in exhaustion.
Kapitänleutnant Köhler waited impatiently; he had a verdammt harbor to clear and a port to return to operation. He looked up the quay and saw two non-descript men ambling toward him. More sightseers no doubt. Didn't anyone have work to do?
When he could wait no more, he demanded of the diver, “Well?”
Still shaking from the cold, he shook his head. “Herr Kapitänleutnant, the h-h-hull of the near ship is s-s-solid; I could find n-n-no evidence of holes.”
“Then we can pump her out to refloat her?” Kohler asked the diver. ”I just need the wrecks clear of the quay and the channel before sinking them again.”
“Herr Kapitänleutnant?”
Without turning, Kohler waved at whoever was behind him to be silent. He had clear orders to get this harbor back in operation without delay, and this diver’s report would determine how to clear the two scuttled Russer ships that were blocking the quay.
Those behind him muttered, just loud enough to hear, “Another officer hard of hearing?" “Like Helgoland.” “Moltke too." “Ja, that is so.”
“Herr Kapitänleutnant, I would need to dive the engineroom and boiler rooms to see what they’ve done to the sea chests. If they used explosives…” Was it trepidation that made the diver shiver, or was he still cold?
The diver’s supervisor looked behind Kohler, his mouth hanging slack before he nudged the diver and pointed. The latter looked up, eyes going wide, then nodded and smiled in recognition. Both men stood, then the others all stood too.
At this Köhler turned around. Two scruffy men slouched close behind him, both dressed in gray coveralls, with padded jackets and heavy boots. The shorter one, gray of hair, ducked his head minutely in greeting. The taller one brushed back his longish hair.
“You have something to say?” Köhler demanded, perhaps a bit harshly considering they were obviously civilians.
“Mein name ist Jakob Glocke,” said the shorter one, with a small smile. “And this is Laban Coblentz. We are from Vulcan.”
As if that introduction tells me everything I would ever need to know.
“And, uh. Ja. Bitte, you have something to say regarding my salvage operations?”
Glocke looked at Coblentz. “Only one of the firerooms?”
The taller man nodded. "No trim. Not even bottomed.”
"The other?"
“She squats...only the condenser."
They continued muttering back and forth in an occult language of some kind. Köhler stayed quiet as long as he could.
“Schweig! I need to clear this pier as quickly as possible. If you have something to say, say it to me.”
"Jaja," said Glocke, turning to face him." He pointed. "We will need the steam pump ship and a dozen men.”
Numbly, Kohler followed the pointing finger. A large tug was just then pulling into the anchorage.
Glocke cleared his throat, bringing Kohler's eyes back to him. “This ship,” this time Kohler's eyes were directed to the closer wreck directly alongside the pier, “she is Novik.”
“Ja, and…?” Köhler asked, hoping something would eventually make sense.
“Novik. She was designed at Vulcan,” Glocke traded a small smile with Coblentz. “Her technik spaces hold no surprises for us. The other as well.” (Note 1)
Köhler felt his mouth go dry. “You think you can raise the wrecks and tow them away?”
Coblentz canted his head oddly. "Vulcan has an open dock.”
Köhler, excitement mounting, needed one more bit. “Assuming you can…”
“Ja,” Glocke repeated, with a small wiggling wave of his right hand.
“How soon can you have them cleared?”
Glocke again traded glances with Coblentz, “How soon can you have our tools brought from that tug?”
December 20th. 1045. Cruiser Rurik. 20nm North of Baltiyskiy Port, Esthland. Heading 180 at 10 knots
“Admiral! Signal from Oleg. Smoke sighted to the southwest!”
Kanin was in Rurik’s flag cabin, having left the pilot house in utter disgust at the pathetic display of seamanship from the three cruisers. The torpedo boats were only marginally better.
“And?...”
“Ah. She has been tasked to investigate.”
“Keep me advised.”
Probably a steamer, sneaking in from Åland.
December 20th. 1045. SMS Regensburg. 16nm Northwest of Baltischeport. Heading 070 at 16 knots
“Slight right bearing drift, Herr Kapitän.”
Heading south then, and not fast. Have they sighted us yet?
Von Wolferein still had all Regensburg’s boilers on line, but the low steam demand at 16 knots meant there was not much funnel smoke. Even Blücher, back on the starboard quarter, was putting out only a wispy gray-brown funnel cloud.
Graudenz, slightly ahead and out to starboard, had first reported the smoke twenty minutes ago. His own lookouts sheepishly reported that they had seen it but were unsure whether it was coalsmoke or a low cloud. So far it had failed to resolve into a ship’s upperworks.
The flag had yet to signal either Graudenz or Regensburg, the two closest ships, to investigate. Had they been in the NordSee von Wolferein would have done so without orders, but Konter-Admiral Hopman had emphasized that he wished to keep the formation intact.
He took another look at the chart. Only another four miles before they reached the Hango-Baltischeport line. Given the bearing and the possible range, he thought it likely the ship under the smoke was patrolling outside the Russer’s minefield north of Nargö Island.
“Bridge, Forward Lookout. Sighted a mast and three funnels under the smoke on the bow. Warship. Contact has turned toward us.”
“Signals. For 2nd Scouting. ENEMY IN SIGHT. CSE SW.”
December 20th. 1105. Cruiser Rurik. Central Gulf of Finland. Heading 180 at 10 knots
How did German cruisers get past the Outer Position? The minefields were exceptionally thick and dense. And what of the submarines stationed inside the mines?
No matter how, they are here now, and they cannot be allowed to roam free.
“Oleg reports a second warship in sight, north of the first, also a cruiser. Four additional smoke plumes beyond.”
Kanin’s keen interest in a puzzle transformed into concern. A single enemy cruiser was no threat, six or more ships might be. Rurik herself could take on anything short of a dreadnought, but enough grains of sand make a heap (Note 2).
A training mission had just become perhaps the most significant encounter of the war. It was an opportunity he didn’t intend to squander.
“Signals. All ships. REJOIN.”
He quickly drafted orders to 1st Battleship Brigade and supporting torpedo boat divisions. They couldn’t get here before dark, but one never knew what twists and turns a sea battle would take.
December 20th. 1110. SMS Blücher. Central Gulf of Finland. Coming left to 345, speed 17 knots increasing
Konter-Admiral Albert Hopman considered the latest report from his kreuzers. A big four-funneled Russer cruiser and two smaller three-funneled ones. A large smoke cloud behind and numerous small smoke clouds; the latter probably torpedoboots.
Without Blücher his six smaller kreuzers outgunned the identified enemy, even if the big four-funneled one carried 20cm kanons. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the armor for a stand-up fight against even older Russer armored or protected kreuzers. Blücher did, and her 21cm kanons could hurt any Russer kreuzer built.
With confidence he’d brought his kommand to the north-northwest and increased speed, eager to engage before the short winter daylight waned.
Two things kept him from lunging at the enemy. First and least, he was coming up on the line between Baltischport and Hango that his orders forbade him from passing. Given a good opportunity he would eagerly violate the letter of that order; it was after all only intended to keep him from blundering into the minefields that they knew existed to the east of that line.
Far more constraining was that large cloud of smoke to the north. The one the others seemed intent on joining. If it was, as he suspected, the modern cruiser Rurik, possibly with more kreuzers, he wouldn’t hesitate to engage.
But what if it is the rest of their Baltic Fleet, including the four dreadnoughts?
-----------------------------
Kapitän von Wolferein was as certain, as much as the fog of war would allow.
Three short funnels, big turrets fore and aft.
“Signals. For the flag. ENMY GK IN SIGHT. R-U-R-I-K.”
-----------------------------
Like harrying hounds, the Germans were closing in on his older cruisers astern.
“Signals. For all, FORM ON ME. CSE 330-8.”
The slow speed would let the trailing ships catch up quickly and would make the flagship a steady firing platform.
“Distance to the nearest enemy?”
“19,600 meters, admiral.”
“You may open fire at your discretion.”
BOOOM! BOOOM!
-----------------------------
Hopman watched the Russer shells fall well short of Graudenz. A small smile capered lightly across his lips as he imagined how her crew must feel. Short or not, they were very large shells.
A hoist from the kleiner kreuzer’s foremast fitted the last piece of the puzzle into place. He didn’t need the signalmen to translate it for him: “NO SMOKE - NE.” He would gladly pit his ships against these four kreuzers and the torpedoboots.
“Signals. All ships. FORM LINE AHEAD. CSE 000-16. HALF STD DIST.”
It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that the signal was barely hoisted before Graudenz whipped around to head to her new station, leaving the towering splashes well astern.
December 20th. 1150. 32nd Infantry Brigade. Ecks, Northern Livland.
Löwenberg had probably waited too long to take up defensive positions.
It was clear to him that the Russer 78th Division, last located facing Walk and Werro, 80 km and more to the south, had abandoned those positions and were attempting to flee north with the Dorpat brigade to the safety of Esthland. Using the railroad, they had outrun word of their flight from the third line German troops that had been facing them in the south.
Now being attacked by at least three brigades, with only one brigade and rudimentary fieldworks, he was under exquisite pressure. Frankly, had the bulk of the 31st Division’s artillery not arrived near dawn after a night march, he might have already been overrun.
“Herr Generalmajor. Oberst de la Motte reports a large body of infantry is moving to flank the west end of his line. He requests release of the reserves to extend the line.”
There will be nothing left to counterattack any penetrations.
“Very well. Order the 2nd of the 174th to reinforce the west end of the line. They are to refuse the line to the northeast edge of the town. The headquarters kompany is to set up firing positions at the north end of the town.”
Far better to be surrounded than overrun!
He turned to his staff. “Meine Herren, here we make our stand!”
December 20th. 1230. Cruiser Rurik. Central Gulf of Finland. Heading 330 at 10 knots
The two lines, each headed by big, armored cruisers, were slowly converging.
“Admiral. Should we wait for the 1st Battleship Brigade?”
Kanin looked at Rurik’s captain in astonishment.
“What? Nyet! Rurik and Blücher are well matched, and we have the far heavier broadside. The 2nd Cruiser Brigade should be able to hold against the enemy’s small cruisers. In any case the dreadnoughts must raise steam and cannot reach us before dark. I’ve summoned them, but we’ll see these intruders off long before the rest of the Fleet gets here.”
Though he visibly recoiled from Kanin’s vehemence, Rurik’s captain didn’t back down. “The British reports of rearmed main guns on the cruisers…”
“Da, da. Even if some of them have been rearmed with 5.9” guns, our ships have 8” and 6” guns and well-tested armor; their small cruisers have no armor to speak of.
“And though I don’t count the old torpedo boats for much, they will serve to keep the Germans at arm’s length, where our larger guns will count for more.”
Rurik’s captain seemed to want to say more, but instead nodded.
“I’ll go see to the Gunnery Officer. By your leave admiral?”
-----------------------------
Smoke blossomed from fore and aft on the big Russer, quickly blown clear by the relative wind.
The two splashes, when they came, were well short and slightly off line from Blücher.
16 minuten.
“Admiral, Stralsund is on station.”
“Very well.” As the formation firmed up, Hopman felt the quivering of butterflies in his stomach fade away. His decisions to this point were sound, and his confidence in the ships and crews – all NordSee veterans – was high. Furthermore, his ships were faster than the enemy, giving him engagement, pursuit, and escape options that his opponent did not have.
“Admiral. Range to our target is 195hm.”
14 minuten.
He looked over at Blücher’s captain and made a ‘hold’ motion.
The enemy fire is very slow: barely more than one round per minute. They are firing two-gun half salvoes and spotting between. Even so, they are slow.
He watched the latest rounds land over by 5hm and well ahead.
And their aim is not improving.
Suddenly more smoke blossomed from Rurik’s side. Her secondaries fired in a ragged volley of all four 20.3cm kanons.
“Range 187hm.”
We are in range, but barely. 12 minuten. This is not enjoyable.
Splash! Splash! Whhnnng!
Hopman barely restrained himself from surging out of the conning tower to look over the side. The two shells had splashed within 50 meters on the engaged side, but there was no apparent explosion.
When the ship’s kapitän, who had not been so self-controlled, returned, Hopman raised an eyebrow.
“Apparently a fragment ricocheted and struck the side admiral. Other than new paint…” He shrugged.
The next salvo, probably 20.3cm projectiles, was well short again, followed by two 25.4cm rounds that landed two hundred meters over.
A glance at the chronometer showed just over 9 minuten remaining before the 15cm kanons would be in range. He had planned to wait and have the entire line fire the first salvo as one, but perhaps it was time to interfere with the Russer rangefinders.
“Signals, OPEN FIRE at the dip.”
He turned to Blücher’s kapitän.
“Kapitän. You may open fire when you wish.”
A grateful nod and a quick word with the Gunnery Officer.
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
A neat cluster of four splashes, short but not by much.
SplashSplash!
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
Short again. But close.
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
Over!
Whaang!
A hit somewhere aft.
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
Straddled her!
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
Splash! Splash! Well over.
Splashes all around the enemy, but no apparent hits.
Brown-gray blossoms of smoke erupted from the second Russer, the four-funneled one. The two shells landed far apart and at least 20hm away from Blücher – if she was indeed the target, instead of one of the kleiner kreuzers.
“Damage report Herr Kapitän. Hit on the top of the armor strake aft. Damage to the overhead of Coal Bunker 8, with small fires in the bunker.”
Hopman signaled to Blücher’s Kapitän that he had also heard the report.
“Hit!” Someone shouted in a small break in discipline.
A pattern began to emerge. Blücher’s fire seemed regular, accurate, and far more rapid than the enemy. Rurik’s main kanon fire was slow and seemed to get on target but then quickly drifted off in both range and line.
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
CrackCrackCrackCrack!
Hopman turned in shock at the sound of Blücher’s 15cm secondary kanons firing.
A look at the chronometer suggested his self-imposed calculation of the time to get the 15cm kanon in range had just expired.
Where did 9 minuten go?
“What is the range?”
“155hm, Herr Konteradmiral.”
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
CrackCrackCrackCrack!
Scheiße, I lost track of time.
“Signals. Close up OPEN FIRE.”
The signal had barely reached the masthead when the six kreuzers astern opened fire.
-----------------------------
Kanin watched in reluctant respect as the six enemy cruisers opened fire, only a slight ripple from the lead ship to the last suggesting that they weren’t but one ship.
BoomBoom!
CrackCrackCrackCrack!
Boom!Boom!
A sharp intake of breath from one of the junior officers looking aft caused Kanin to step out of the conning tower to look for himself. The sea around the three cruisers astern looked like a pond during a summer rain, splashes from dozens of shells dappling the surface.
“Did anyone see any hits?” Someone asked. Kanin knew it didn’t really matter; the shells landed all around the three ships. Hits were only a matter of time.
BoomBoom!
CrackCrackCrackCrack!
Boom!Boom!
The first splashes had barely subsided before another storm of shells arrived. This time even Kanin could see one hit on Rossia and another on Bogatýr. He couldn’t even see Oleg for the splashes.
“Hit! on the big one!” Someone yelled. “No, it was a near-miss,” said another.
Whaang!
The conning tower rang like a bell.
Right on top of us!
Rurik’s captain stepped close to yell over the din. “Admiral, that hit damaged the forward rangefinder. They are switching over to the aft one.”
CrackCrackCrackCrack!
Boom!
Whaaaaang!
Kanin looked down and as the smoke cleared he saw the forecastle deck next to the fore 10” turret was torn up, as if a giant steel plow had made a 4-meter-long furrow. Sickly yellowish smoke curled around the base of the turret.
“A hit! Amidships on the big one!”
Boom!
CrackCrackCrackCrack!
“Captain, why is the fore turret not firing? It wasn’t hit.”
“I will find out admiral.”
“Oleg’s been hurt!” Someone yelled.
Kanin turned to see the trailing cruiser haul out of line to starboard, heavily on fire aft.
“Admiral, Gunnery is now using the aft rangefinder, but fumes have made the fore turret temporarily untenable. It should only be a matter of minutes to clear the atmosphere and get it back in action.” (Note 3)
Kanin stared hard at Rurik’s captain, then made his decision.
“Nyet. We will retire.
“Signals. All ships. Immediate execute, turn stbd 9. Spd 18. For the torpedo boats: COVER MAIN BODY – SMOKE.”
“Admiral…”
Rurik’s captain had the fire, he would give him that.
“Captain,” Kanin answered as quietly as he could in the din, “my mind is made up. Get me a course to the minefield entrance if you please.”
December 20th. 1400. 1st Battalion, 493rd Klin Infantry Regiment. East of Hapsal.
“Repeat your report for the Kapitan.”
Kapitan Evgeni Artymov squinted up from the folding camp chair where he was examining the hole in his boot. After more than a week on the road – first on the freezing open flatcars of the train from Derpt, and then the long march from the railhead at Reval – his boots were shot. At least he had boots, unlike a third of his battalion.
Tired from the long march on short commons, he wasn’t in a mood for bullshit from his scouts but hesitated before berating the man. The feldfebel wouldn’t have brought the scout to him if he didn’t think the report was important. He gave the feldfebel a look that said, ‘this better be good’, then waved vaguely at the scout to give his report.
“Kapitan, as ordered we advanced to Hapsal. When we came within sight of the town we came under fire from trenches and earthworks two versts before the first buildings. We lost Yermilov there.”
That idiot Yermilov walked into an ambush, you mean.
“Go on.”
“We tried to work around the flanks to north and south, Kapitan, but there were Germans there too.”
Germans? Unlikely. Have the locals rebelled? There are rumblings of rebellion among the Livs in Derpt and Ests in Reval.
“Did you see uniforms on the enemy?”
“Nyet Kapitan…but…”
“Spit it out!”
“From the castle a German flag was flying.”
“And what did this German flag look like?”
“White, with a black cross through the middle. And a bird of some kind. Oh, and red in the upper corner.”
Der’mo.
“Close enough.”
Artymov slapped his boot back on.
“Feldfebel, get the battalion ready to march. Get me two pairs of couriers to take duplicate messages back to Reval.” He looked down and wiggled his foot. “Men with good boots.”
How many of you bastards are there in Hapsal?
December 20th. 1520. 31st Infantry Division. Ecks, Northern Livland.
Generalleutnant Albert von Berrer coughed as he rode into the small town of Ecks shortly before sunset. Smoke from burning buildings joined with the residue of kanon, rifle, and maschinengewehr fire to form a miasma wreathing everything. Most shocking was the distribution of green-clad bodies; Russer dead were clustered in front of and in some places over and through the limited fieldworks.
This was the back of the position! I’d be excused from thinking this was a battle lost, not a victory.
Von Berrer and the 62nd Brigade should have been here long ago, but they’d been slowed by thousands of panicked Russers who’d bypassed the town’s defenses in a bid to reach the supposed safety of Esthland. With two more German divisions to the north they would have never reached safety, but he wasn’t going to let thousands of enemies run around behind Armee-Abteilung Hutier.
Von Berrer and his entourage came upon some filthy locals, sitting around a fire near the front of the railroad station. He was about to have his aide de camp roust them to find out where the German headquarters were when one of the men looked up though blackened and bloodshot eyes.
“Achtung!” the man croaked, then stood.
Meine Gott! He’s wearing feldgrau!
Once roused they pulled themselves into some semblance of presentability. The one who’d stood first even managed a salute.
“Where is Generalmajor Löwenberg?” Von Berrer’s aide asked in a sharp tone.
Confusion. Much looking about before one spoke up.
“The Generalmajor? I think he was last headed for the bloody corner. Ah, that would be, uh, a kilometer or so that way, Herr Generalleutnant.”
Von Berrer and his close staff turned to the southwest but were saved from a trek into the forest by a cluster of rapidly approaching officers.
“Apologies for not greeting you when you arrived,” Generalmajor Löwenberg said after the obligatory salutes were rendered. “There was a stubborn pocket of greencoats that needed to be dealt with.”
“Better work any day than leaving the fight to speak to your kommander,” von Berrer said with a smile. “Especially your tardy kommander. You have my apologies as well; we were delayed by those that bypassed your position.”
Seeing the exhaustion of the brigade kommander and the men around him, von Berrer changed his mind before continuing, “I had planned to have your brigade lead the next movement, to Dorpat, but after the hard fight you’ve had, I’ll have the 62nd lead off tomorrow. Your brigade will remain here, guarding the prisoners.”
And once we get the trains working, we’ll use those to turn around and head back north to rejoin von Hutier and the rest of the Armee-Abteilung in the assault on Esthland.
December 20th. 1550. SMS Blücher. Central Gulf of Finland. Heading 250 at 16 knots.
Albert Hopman felt a sense of satisfaction tinged with disappointment. He’d gotten his battle and an undisputed victory. On the other hand, the enemy had escaped with all his ships, bar the two torpedoboots that had been sunk while thickening the smoke screen that had allowed the enemy cruisers to escape.
Had I followed them…
Hopman knew he’d forever question his decision to allow the enemy to break off. The smokescreen had carried outsized weight in his decision, for he knew that several times in North Sea battles smokescreens had been used to spring surprises on pursuing ships. The dangers were many: the enemy reformed and waiting to pound his ships as they came through the smoke one at a time, torpedoboots waiting to use their aale, enemy dreadnoughts within range, and perhaps the most dangerous and likely, coming through the smoke and stumbling into the heavy minefields.
Still, had I followed them…
He returned his attention to Blücher’s Damage Control Officer.
“A large shell, likely a 25.4cm or a 20.3cm, struck the roof of turret Cezilie (Note 4), Herr Admiral. It did not penetrate, but the train gear was damaged. It should be repairable in short order.”
“And the fires in the coal bunker?” one of his staff enquired.
“Out, for now. We are continuing to spray firemain water into Coal Bunker 8 and will do so at least through the night to ensure no smoldering remains. We are assessing plans to plate over the deck once we are sure there will be no reflash. The bent armor is of course unrepairable at sea, but a temporary patch to keep out spray is being fabricated.”
Hopman turned to his Chief of Staff. “Damage reports from the other ships?”
“None of the kleiner kreuzers were hit, Herr admiral.”
“None? Is that so?”
“Ja. Rurik and the four funnel kreuzer, probably Rossia, fired at Blücher, but the handful of salvoes from the two smaller kreuzers, which appeared to be aimed at Frankfurt and Weisbaden, landed well short of our ships. Well short.”
Hopman was chagrined that he hadn’t observed that part of the battle, but on the other hand, visibility aft from the conning tower was execrable.
“Kapitän, what are your casualties?”
“Fourteen matrosen injured. Eight have been released back to their posts, the other six have more severe injuries. The Doktor fears for two of them.”
“Keep me advised of their recovery. On second thought, I’ll visit them this evening. They are heroes.
“Anyone have anything else to add? Very well, provide your individual sections to the Chief of Staff who will assemble the report. I’ll provide the Kommander’s Summary.
“Well done, meine Herren. You’ve done the Baltic Fleet proud today, may you always remember this day. You stood tall with us, with these men, and you were a man among us.” (Note 5)
Notes
Note 1. The successful Novik spawned 35 Russian half-sisters in four classes (the second ship outboard Novik at Werder is the Kpt Izylmetev of the Orfey class) and eight German torpedoboot-zerstörers of the B97 class. SMS V-99 and V-100 (which launched her floatplane on the 19th) were the Vulcan-built ships. Visually, the German variants could be distinguished by the gap between the forecastle deck and the bridge/first funnel:
[V-99]
[Orfey]
Note 2. The phrase “Quantity has a quality all its own” is often attributed to Stalin, likely because his approach to WWII emphasized mass (quantity). The concept goes much farther back, at least to Eubulides of Miletus (4th Century BC), who posed the ‘paradox of the heap’, which goes something like this: A single grain of sand is not a heap. If you add one grain of sand to grains that do not make a heap, they still do not make a heap. So, starting with one grain, and adding grain after grain, you will never have a heap, no matter how high the sand is piled. Thus a heap, though composed of grains of sand, is something different.
Note 3. The hits damaging Rurik’s forward rangefinder and temporarily causing evacuation of the forward turret are hits Rurik suffered in the historical Battle of Åland Islands.
Note 4. Blücher’s six 21cm turrets were named: Alsen, Bautzen, Cezilie, Düppel, Eylau, and Fehrbellin, from the forecastle counterclockwise.
There was no standardization of turret naming in the Kaiserliche Marine, the rest of the GKs had:
Von der Tann - Alsen, Bautzen, Culm, Düppel
Seydlitz - Anna, Berta, Cäsar, Dora, Emil
Derfflinger - Anna, Berta, Cäsar, Dora
Lützow - Alsen, Bautzen, Culm, Düppel
Hindenburg - Augustowo, Bukarest, Masuren, Tannenberg
Note 5. Hopman is no doubt paraphrasing Oberst John Christian Falkenberg, reflecting on his first battle: “He belonged here, with this man, with these men, and he was a man with them.”
December 20th. 0810. Cruiser Rurik. 17nm South of Porkala, Grand Duchy of Finland. Heading 240 at 10 knots
Damn Hans von Fersen to hell!
Vitze-admiral Vasili Kanin wouldn’t be so crass as to curse the man out loud, and he knew he was being uncharitable. Very uncharitable. His now-dead peer had probably fought as hard as he could against intolerable odds.
The battles in the archipelago were lost before they began, but would I have been able to hurt the enemy more, or preserve our ships in the face of the High Seas Fleet? The same fleet that has fully contested the North Sea with the mighty Royal Navy?
Still, the loss of the Moon Sound and Gulf of Riga Eskadra hurt. Tsesarevitch sunk and Slava crippled; neither a real loss to the Baltic Fleet; together they were far less than a tenth of its fighting strength. Unfortunately, the generals of the Stavka, and more so the Tsar himself, would bemoan the loss of an old battleship more than twice the tonnage in cruisers or twice the sailors on torpedo boats. Status symbols more than fighting ships, the Russian leadership was outraged by the loss, and more than one had whispered ‘Just like the Yaponskaya’ within hearing of the Admiralty Staff.
For Kanin, the loss of von Ferson’s cruisers and especially the destroyers were far more damaging. The Baltic Fleet’s powerful battle line could only see so far without adequate scouts; and the chances of miscalculation, poor positioning, and being surprised by the enemy had increased markedly with the loss of the Fleet’s eyes.
He pushed his anger away. Today the Baltic Fleet Commander was just an observer, hoping to ameliorate the scouting problem. The sortie was an opportunity for Rear Admiral Pechorov to exercise his 2nd Cruiser Brigade consisting of armored cruiser Rossia, which carried his pennant, and protected cruisers Bogatýr and Oleg. The three elderly cruisers were in column ahead of Rurik, which was standing in for the battle line in their maneuvers.
As they passed through the cleared channel in the Central Position minefields eight torpedo boats of the 2nd Torpedo Boat Division fell in astern. Watching them, Kanin felt again the loss of Adrionovich and seven of nine ships of 1st Destroyer Division sunk or crippled.
2nd Cruiser had operated very little so far in the war, and it showed. Sloppy seamanship, confusion with signals, tentative maneuvering. Pechorov needed to whip them into shape quickly.
There weren’t much, but they were the only eyes 1st Battleship Brigade – the core of his fleet – had.
December 20th. 0830. SMS Regensburg. 15nm North of Dagö Island. Heading 050 at 16 knots
The sea looks no different here.
Kapitän zur See Joachim von Wolferein smiled at the unbidden and absurd thought.
Even before the war had broken out the Russers had touted the Finnischer Meerbusen as their Mare Nostrum. Newspapers regaled the ‘trenches in the sea’, and though he knew that there was no such thing he privately wondered if a naval attack towards St Petersburg could ever be worth the inevitable price.
Yet here they were, through the outer shell of the defenses, and no lightning bolts had come down from the sky to punish their impertinence.
Von Wolferein looked aft at 2nd Scouting, in column and clearing the swept passage in the outer minefields: Graudenz, Rostock, Stralsund, then Blücher. Astern of the flagship but lost in the coalsmoke were Frankfurt and Weisbaden.
A powerful großer kreuzer and six of the Kaiserliche Marine’s fastest and most modern kleiner kreuzers. Short of the Russer battleships and dreadnoughts, they had little to fear.
Oh, and mines too. And U-Boots if we slow down. And the big coastal batteries if we get too close.
Von Wolferein’s catalog of dangers was interrupted by a call from above.
“Bridge. Signals. Signal in the air from the flag. DELAYED EXECUTIVE. SCREEN STATIONS DORA.”
The Deck Officer quickly interpreted Dora and calculated Regensburg’s maneuvering requirements.
“When the signal is executed, our station will be on Blücher’s port bow at 60hm. Recommend …Course 030 at 21 knots. When on station the guide will bear 185 at 60hm.”
“Very well.” Von Wolferein’s ‘seaman’s eye’ estimate, the sum of his experience, matched the Deck Officer’s calculation. Though…
“Deck, what is time to station?”
“28 minuten Kapitän.”
Too long. Five knots faster than the guide is standard stationing speed, but in 28 minutes we’ll already be a fifth of the way to the point we plan to turn back!
“Have the Ingenieur bring up the oil boilers. Recalculate for 26 knots.”
“Jawohl…11 minuten Kapitän.”
Fires were lit in the two large oil-fired boilers but were not yet up to pressure when the stationing signal was executed. Regensburg headed northeast at 24 knots.
The skies were leaden overcast, and the wind was bitter. Von Wolferein grinned.
What a glorious day to be at sea!
December 20th. 0930. 32nd Infantry Brigade. South of Ecks, Northern Livland.
“They’ll break.”
Generalmajor Löwenberg glanced over at Oberst de la Motte and wondered if his 70th Regiment kommander was talking about his own regiment or the Russers. It could go either way.
To his credit, de la Motte had aggressively attacked the Russers and driven them 6 km south of the town, but the conditions on the battlefield were changing; the enemy now significantly outnumbered his brigade, and more were arriving from the south in large clumps.
He sighed. The time for unrelenting aggressiveness was past. Reports from the West suggested that the Franzmänner hadn’t learned this lesson yet, but he was no fool to break his brigade on a sea of Russers.
“I have no doubt, but the rest of the division is still far behind. It’s time, we’ll switch to a hasty defense.”
De la Motte looked to object, then nodded in resignation. Löwenberg turned to his Operations Chief.
“All units not yet in the line will begin constructing defensive works. Start perpendicular to the railroad, beyond long rifle range from those trees. Once the first 500 meters of front are done, extend the lines to anchor on the lake to the east. As new troops arrive extend the line west. Arriving artillery to emplace just southwest of the town.”
“Jawohl, Herr Generalmajor.”
He turned back to de la Motte. “The 174th will man the center and eastern fieldworks. Pull your regiment back to the west once the center works are complete, that should give your men a respite. Until then, continue to keep the Russers off balance, but don’t over-extend your troops.
“I think the enemy knows they are cut off from escape – their desperation will only increase.”
December 20th. 1015. Werder, Southern Esthland.
The diver burst up through the dark waters, wiping oil and scum from his goggles before spitting out the mouthpiece of the air hose. He scrambled up the ladder and was immediately wrapped by his mates in thick woolen blankets. The men manning the mechanical air pump slumped down in exhaustion.
Kapitänleutnant Köhler waited impatiently; he had a verdammt harbor to clear and a port to return to operation. He looked up the quay and saw two non-descript men ambling toward him. More sightseers no doubt. Didn't anyone have work to do?
When he could wait no more, he demanded of the diver, “Well?”
Still shaking from the cold, he shook his head. “Herr Kapitänleutnant, the h-h-hull of the near ship is s-s-solid; I could find n-n-no evidence of holes.”
“Then we can pump her out to refloat her?” Kohler asked the diver. ”I just need the wrecks clear of the quay and the channel before sinking them again.”
“Herr Kapitänleutnant?”
Without turning, Kohler waved at whoever was behind him to be silent. He had clear orders to get this harbor back in operation without delay, and this diver’s report would determine how to clear the two scuttled Russer ships that were blocking the quay.
Those behind him muttered, just loud enough to hear, “Another officer hard of hearing?" “Like Helgoland.” “Moltke too." “Ja, that is so.”
“Herr Kapitänleutnant, I would need to dive the engineroom and boiler rooms to see what they’ve done to the sea chests. If they used explosives…” Was it trepidation that made the diver shiver, or was he still cold?
The diver’s supervisor looked behind Kohler, his mouth hanging slack before he nudged the diver and pointed. The latter looked up, eyes going wide, then nodded and smiled in recognition. Both men stood, then the others all stood too.
At this Köhler turned around. Two scruffy men slouched close behind him, both dressed in gray coveralls, with padded jackets and heavy boots. The shorter one, gray of hair, ducked his head minutely in greeting. The taller one brushed back his longish hair.
“You have something to say?” Köhler demanded, perhaps a bit harshly considering they were obviously civilians.
“Mein name ist Jakob Glocke,” said the shorter one, with a small smile. “And this is Laban Coblentz. We are from Vulcan.”
As if that introduction tells me everything I would ever need to know.
“And, uh. Ja. Bitte, you have something to say regarding my salvage operations?”
Glocke looked at Coblentz. “Only one of the firerooms?”
The taller man nodded. "No trim. Not even bottomed.”
"The other?"
“She squats...only the condenser."
They continued muttering back and forth in an occult language of some kind. Köhler stayed quiet as long as he could.
“Schweig! I need to clear this pier as quickly as possible. If you have something to say, say it to me.”
"Jaja," said Glocke, turning to face him." He pointed. "We will need the steam pump ship and a dozen men.”
Numbly, Kohler followed the pointing finger. A large tug was just then pulling into the anchorage.
Glocke cleared his throat, bringing Kohler's eyes back to him. “This ship,” this time Kohler's eyes were directed to the closer wreck directly alongside the pier, “she is Novik.”
“Ja, and…?” Köhler asked, hoping something would eventually make sense.
“Novik. She was designed at Vulcan,” Glocke traded a small smile with Coblentz. “Her technik spaces hold no surprises for us. The other as well.” (Note 1)
Köhler felt his mouth go dry. “You think you can raise the wrecks and tow them away?”
Coblentz canted his head oddly. "Vulcan has an open dock.”
Köhler, excitement mounting, needed one more bit. “Assuming you can…”
“Ja,” Glocke repeated, with a small wiggling wave of his right hand.
“How soon can you have them cleared?”
Glocke again traded glances with Coblentz, “How soon can you have our tools brought from that tug?”
December 20th. 1045. Cruiser Rurik. 20nm North of Baltiyskiy Port, Esthland. Heading 180 at 10 knots
“Admiral! Signal from Oleg. Smoke sighted to the southwest!”
Kanin was in Rurik’s flag cabin, having left the pilot house in utter disgust at the pathetic display of seamanship from the three cruisers. The torpedo boats were only marginally better.
“And?...”
“Ah. She has been tasked to investigate.”
“Keep me advised.”
Probably a steamer, sneaking in from Åland.
December 20th. 1045. SMS Regensburg. 16nm Northwest of Baltischeport. Heading 070 at 16 knots
“Slight right bearing drift, Herr Kapitän.”
Heading south then, and not fast. Have they sighted us yet?
Von Wolferein still had all Regensburg’s boilers on line, but the low steam demand at 16 knots meant there was not much funnel smoke. Even Blücher, back on the starboard quarter, was putting out only a wispy gray-brown funnel cloud.
Graudenz, slightly ahead and out to starboard, had first reported the smoke twenty minutes ago. His own lookouts sheepishly reported that they had seen it but were unsure whether it was coalsmoke or a low cloud. So far it had failed to resolve into a ship’s upperworks.
The flag had yet to signal either Graudenz or Regensburg, the two closest ships, to investigate. Had they been in the NordSee von Wolferein would have done so without orders, but Konter-Admiral Hopman had emphasized that he wished to keep the formation intact.
He took another look at the chart. Only another four miles before they reached the Hango-Baltischeport line. Given the bearing and the possible range, he thought it likely the ship under the smoke was patrolling outside the Russer’s minefield north of Nargö Island.
“Bridge, Forward Lookout. Sighted a mast and three funnels under the smoke on the bow. Warship. Contact has turned toward us.”
“Signals. For 2nd Scouting. ENEMY IN SIGHT. CSE SW.”
December 20th. 1105. Cruiser Rurik. Central Gulf of Finland. Heading 180 at 10 knots
How did German cruisers get past the Outer Position? The minefields were exceptionally thick and dense. And what of the submarines stationed inside the mines?
No matter how, they are here now, and they cannot be allowed to roam free.
“Oleg reports a second warship in sight, north of the first, also a cruiser. Four additional smoke plumes beyond.”
Kanin’s keen interest in a puzzle transformed into concern. A single enemy cruiser was no threat, six or more ships might be. Rurik herself could take on anything short of a dreadnought, but enough grains of sand make a heap (Note 2).
A training mission had just become perhaps the most significant encounter of the war. It was an opportunity he didn’t intend to squander.
“Signals. All ships. REJOIN.”
He quickly drafted orders to 1st Battleship Brigade and supporting torpedo boat divisions. They couldn’t get here before dark, but one never knew what twists and turns a sea battle would take.
December 20th. 1110. SMS Blücher. Central Gulf of Finland. Coming left to 345, speed 17 knots increasing
Konter-Admiral Albert Hopman considered the latest report from his kreuzers. A big four-funneled Russer cruiser and two smaller three-funneled ones. A large smoke cloud behind and numerous small smoke clouds; the latter probably torpedoboots.
Without Blücher his six smaller kreuzers outgunned the identified enemy, even if the big four-funneled one carried 20cm kanons. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the armor for a stand-up fight against even older Russer armored or protected kreuzers. Blücher did, and her 21cm kanons could hurt any Russer kreuzer built.
With confidence he’d brought his kommand to the north-northwest and increased speed, eager to engage before the short winter daylight waned.
Two things kept him from lunging at the enemy. First and least, he was coming up on the line between Baltischport and Hango that his orders forbade him from passing. Given a good opportunity he would eagerly violate the letter of that order; it was after all only intended to keep him from blundering into the minefields that they knew existed to the east of that line.
Far more constraining was that large cloud of smoke to the north. The one the others seemed intent on joining. If it was, as he suspected, the modern cruiser Rurik, possibly with more kreuzers, he wouldn’t hesitate to engage.
But what if it is the rest of their Baltic Fleet, including the four dreadnoughts?
-----------------------------
Kapitän von Wolferein was as certain, as much as the fog of war would allow.
Three short funnels, big turrets fore and aft.
“Signals. For the flag. ENMY GK IN SIGHT. R-U-R-I-K.”
-----------------------------
Like harrying hounds, the Germans were closing in on his older cruisers astern.
“Signals. For all, FORM ON ME. CSE 330-8.”
The slow speed would let the trailing ships catch up quickly and would make the flagship a steady firing platform.
“Distance to the nearest enemy?”
“19,600 meters, admiral.”
“You may open fire at your discretion.”
BOOOM! BOOOM!
-----------------------------
Hopman watched the Russer shells fall well short of Graudenz. A small smile capered lightly across his lips as he imagined how her crew must feel. Short or not, they were very large shells.
A hoist from the kleiner kreuzer’s foremast fitted the last piece of the puzzle into place. He didn’t need the signalmen to translate it for him: “NO SMOKE - NE.” He would gladly pit his ships against these four kreuzers and the torpedoboots.
“Signals. All ships. FORM LINE AHEAD. CSE 000-16. HALF STD DIST.”
It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that the signal was barely hoisted before Graudenz whipped around to head to her new station, leaving the towering splashes well astern.
December 20th. 1150. 32nd Infantry Brigade. Ecks, Northern Livland.
Löwenberg had probably waited too long to take up defensive positions.
It was clear to him that the Russer 78th Division, last located facing Walk and Werro, 80 km and more to the south, had abandoned those positions and were attempting to flee north with the Dorpat brigade to the safety of Esthland. Using the railroad, they had outrun word of their flight from the third line German troops that had been facing them in the south.
Now being attacked by at least three brigades, with only one brigade and rudimentary fieldworks, he was under exquisite pressure. Frankly, had the bulk of the 31st Division’s artillery not arrived near dawn after a night march, he might have already been overrun.
“Herr Generalmajor. Oberst de la Motte reports a large body of infantry is moving to flank the west end of his line. He requests release of the reserves to extend the line.”
There will be nothing left to counterattack any penetrations.
“Very well. Order the 2nd of the 174th to reinforce the west end of the line. They are to refuse the line to the northeast edge of the town. The headquarters kompany is to set up firing positions at the north end of the town.”
Far better to be surrounded than overrun!
He turned to his staff. “Meine Herren, here we make our stand!”
December 20th. 1230. Cruiser Rurik. Central Gulf of Finland. Heading 330 at 10 knots
The two lines, each headed by big, armored cruisers, were slowly converging.
“Admiral. Should we wait for the 1st Battleship Brigade?”
Kanin looked at Rurik’s captain in astonishment.
“What? Nyet! Rurik and Blücher are well matched, and we have the far heavier broadside. The 2nd Cruiser Brigade should be able to hold against the enemy’s small cruisers. In any case the dreadnoughts must raise steam and cannot reach us before dark. I’ve summoned them, but we’ll see these intruders off long before the rest of the Fleet gets here.”
Though he visibly recoiled from Kanin’s vehemence, Rurik’s captain didn’t back down. “The British reports of rearmed main guns on the cruisers…”
“Da, da. Even if some of them have been rearmed with 5.9” guns, our ships have 8” and 6” guns and well-tested armor; their small cruisers have no armor to speak of.
“And though I don’t count the old torpedo boats for much, they will serve to keep the Germans at arm’s length, where our larger guns will count for more.”
Rurik’s captain seemed to want to say more, but instead nodded.
“I’ll go see to the Gunnery Officer. By your leave admiral?”
-----------------------------
Smoke blossomed from fore and aft on the big Russer, quickly blown clear by the relative wind.
The two splashes, when they came, were well short and slightly off line from Blücher.
16 minuten.
“Admiral, Stralsund is on station.”
“Very well.” As the formation firmed up, Hopman felt the quivering of butterflies in his stomach fade away. His decisions to this point were sound, and his confidence in the ships and crews – all NordSee veterans – was high. Furthermore, his ships were faster than the enemy, giving him engagement, pursuit, and escape options that his opponent did not have.
“Admiral. Range to our target is 195hm.”
14 minuten.
He looked over at Blücher’s captain and made a ‘hold’ motion.
The enemy fire is very slow: barely more than one round per minute. They are firing two-gun half salvoes and spotting between. Even so, they are slow.
He watched the latest rounds land over by 5hm and well ahead.
And their aim is not improving.
Suddenly more smoke blossomed from Rurik’s side. Her secondaries fired in a ragged volley of all four 20.3cm kanons.
“Range 187hm.”
We are in range, but barely. 12 minuten. This is not enjoyable.
Splash! Splash! Whhnnng!
Hopman barely restrained himself from surging out of the conning tower to look over the side. The two shells had splashed within 50 meters on the engaged side, but there was no apparent explosion.
When the ship’s kapitän, who had not been so self-controlled, returned, Hopman raised an eyebrow.
“Apparently a fragment ricocheted and struck the side admiral. Other than new paint…” He shrugged.
The next salvo, probably 20.3cm projectiles, was well short again, followed by two 25.4cm rounds that landed two hundred meters over.
A glance at the chronometer showed just over 9 minuten remaining before the 15cm kanons would be in range. He had planned to wait and have the entire line fire the first salvo as one, but perhaps it was time to interfere with the Russer rangefinders.
“Signals, OPEN FIRE at the dip.”
He turned to Blücher’s kapitän.
“Kapitän. You may open fire when you wish.”
A grateful nod and a quick word with the Gunnery Officer.
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
A neat cluster of four splashes, short but not by much.
SplashSplash!
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
Short again. But close.
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
Over!
Whaang!
A hit somewhere aft.
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
Straddled her!
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
Splash! Splash! Well over.
Splashes all around the enemy, but no apparent hits.
Brown-gray blossoms of smoke erupted from the second Russer, the four-funneled one. The two shells landed far apart and at least 20hm away from Blücher – if she was indeed the target, instead of one of the kleiner kreuzers.
“Damage report Herr Kapitän. Hit on the top of the armor strake aft. Damage to the overhead of Coal Bunker 8, with small fires in the bunker.”
Hopman signaled to Blücher’s Kapitän that he had also heard the report.
“Hit!” Someone shouted in a small break in discipline.
A pattern began to emerge. Blücher’s fire seemed regular, accurate, and far more rapid than the enemy. Rurik’s main kanon fire was slow and seemed to get on target but then quickly drifted off in both range and line.
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
CrackCrackCrackCrack!
Hopman turned in shock at the sound of Blücher’s 15cm secondary kanons firing.
A look at the chronometer suggested his self-imposed calculation of the time to get the 15cm kanon in range had just expired.
Where did 9 minuten go?
“What is the range?”
“155hm, Herr Konteradmiral.”
BoomBoomBoomBoom!
CrackCrackCrackCrack!
Scheiße, I lost track of time.
“Signals. Close up OPEN FIRE.”
The signal had barely reached the masthead when the six kreuzers astern opened fire.
-----------------------------
Kanin watched in reluctant respect as the six enemy cruisers opened fire, only a slight ripple from the lead ship to the last suggesting that they weren’t but one ship.
BoomBoom!
CrackCrackCrackCrack!
Boom!Boom!
A sharp intake of breath from one of the junior officers looking aft caused Kanin to step out of the conning tower to look for himself. The sea around the three cruisers astern looked like a pond during a summer rain, splashes from dozens of shells dappling the surface.
“Did anyone see any hits?” Someone asked. Kanin knew it didn’t really matter; the shells landed all around the three ships. Hits were only a matter of time.
BoomBoom!
CrackCrackCrackCrack!
Boom!Boom!
The first splashes had barely subsided before another storm of shells arrived. This time even Kanin could see one hit on Rossia and another on Bogatýr. He couldn’t even see Oleg for the splashes.
“Hit! on the big one!” Someone yelled. “No, it was a near-miss,” said another.
Whaang!
The conning tower rang like a bell.
Right on top of us!
Rurik’s captain stepped close to yell over the din. “Admiral, that hit damaged the forward rangefinder. They are switching over to the aft one.”
CrackCrackCrackCrack!
Boom!
Whaaaaang!
Kanin looked down and as the smoke cleared he saw the forecastle deck next to the fore 10” turret was torn up, as if a giant steel plow had made a 4-meter-long furrow. Sickly yellowish smoke curled around the base of the turret.
“A hit! Amidships on the big one!”
Boom!
CrackCrackCrackCrack!
“Captain, why is the fore turret not firing? It wasn’t hit.”
“I will find out admiral.”
“Oleg’s been hurt!” Someone yelled.
Kanin turned to see the trailing cruiser haul out of line to starboard, heavily on fire aft.
“Admiral, Gunnery is now using the aft rangefinder, but fumes have made the fore turret temporarily untenable. It should only be a matter of minutes to clear the atmosphere and get it back in action.” (Note 3)
Kanin stared hard at Rurik’s captain, then made his decision.
“Nyet. We will retire.
“Signals. All ships. Immediate execute, turn stbd 9. Spd 18. For the torpedo boats: COVER MAIN BODY – SMOKE.”
“Admiral…”
Rurik’s captain had the fire, he would give him that.
“Captain,” Kanin answered as quietly as he could in the din, “my mind is made up. Get me a course to the minefield entrance if you please.”
December 20th. 1400. 1st Battalion, 493rd Klin Infantry Regiment. East of Hapsal.
“Repeat your report for the Kapitan.”
Kapitan Evgeni Artymov squinted up from the folding camp chair where he was examining the hole in his boot. After more than a week on the road – first on the freezing open flatcars of the train from Derpt, and then the long march from the railhead at Reval – his boots were shot. At least he had boots, unlike a third of his battalion.
Tired from the long march on short commons, he wasn’t in a mood for bullshit from his scouts but hesitated before berating the man. The feldfebel wouldn’t have brought the scout to him if he didn’t think the report was important. He gave the feldfebel a look that said, ‘this better be good’, then waved vaguely at the scout to give his report.
“Kapitan, as ordered we advanced to Hapsal. When we came within sight of the town we came under fire from trenches and earthworks two versts before the first buildings. We lost Yermilov there.”
That idiot Yermilov walked into an ambush, you mean.
“Go on.”
“We tried to work around the flanks to north and south, Kapitan, but there were Germans there too.”
Germans? Unlikely. Have the locals rebelled? There are rumblings of rebellion among the Livs in Derpt and Ests in Reval.
“Did you see uniforms on the enemy?”
“Nyet Kapitan…but…”
“Spit it out!”
“From the castle a German flag was flying.”
“And what did this German flag look like?”
“White, with a black cross through the middle. And a bird of some kind. Oh, and red in the upper corner.”
Der’mo.
“Close enough.”
Artymov slapped his boot back on.
“Feldfebel, get the battalion ready to march. Get me two pairs of couriers to take duplicate messages back to Reval.” He looked down and wiggled his foot. “Men with good boots.”
How many of you bastards are there in Hapsal?
December 20th. 1520. 31st Infantry Division. Ecks, Northern Livland.
Generalleutnant Albert von Berrer coughed as he rode into the small town of Ecks shortly before sunset. Smoke from burning buildings joined with the residue of kanon, rifle, and maschinengewehr fire to form a miasma wreathing everything. Most shocking was the distribution of green-clad bodies; Russer dead were clustered in front of and in some places over and through the limited fieldworks.
This was the back of the position! I’d be excused from thinking this was a battle lost, not a victory.
Von Berrer and the 62nd Brigade should have been here long ago, but they’d been slowed by thousands of panicked Russers who’d bypassed the town’s defenses in a bid to reach the supposed safety of Esthland. With two more German divisions to the north they would have never reached safety, but he wasn’t going to let thousands of enemies run around behind Armee-Abteilung Hutier.
Von Berrer and his entourage came upon some filthy locals, sitting around a fire near the front of the railroad station. He was about to have his aide de camp roust them to find out where the German headquarters were when one of the men looked up though blackened and bloodshot eyes.
“Achtung!” the man croaked, then stood.
Meine Gott! He’s wearing feldgrau!
Once roused they pulled themselves into some semblance of presentability. The one who’d stood first even managed a salute.
“Where is Generalmajor Löwenberg?” Von Berrer’s aide asked in a sharp tone.
Confusion. Much looking about before one spoke up.
“The Generalmajor? I think he was last headed for the bloody corner. Ah, that would be, uh, a kilometer or so that way, Herr Generalleutnant.”
Von Berrer and his close staff turned to the southwest but were saved from a trek into the forest by a cluster of rapidly approaching officers.
“Apologies for not greeting you when you arrived,” Generalmajor Löwenberg said after the obligatory salutes were rendered. “There was a stubborn pocket of greencoats that needed to be dealt with.”
“Better work any day than leaving the fight to speak to your kommander,” von Berrer said with a smile. “Especially your tardy kommander. You have my apologies as well; we were delayed by those that bypassed your position.”
Seeing the exhaustion of the brigade kommander and the men around him, von Berrer changed his mind before continuing, “I had planned to have your brigade lead the next movement, to Dorpat, but after the hard fight you’ve had, I’ll have the 62nd lead off tomorrow. Your brigade will remain here, guarding the prisoners.”
And once we get the trains working, we’ll use those to turn around and head back north to rejoin von Hutier and the rest of the Armee-Abteilung in the assault on Esthland.
December 20th. 1550. SMS Blücher. Central Gulf of Finland. Heading 250 at 16 knots.
Albert Hopman felt a sense of satisfaction tinged with disappointment. He’d gotten his battle and an undisputed victory. On the other hand, the enemy had escaped with all his ships, bar the two torpedoboots that had been sunk while thickening the smoke screen that had allowed the enemy cruisers to escape.
Had I followed them…
Hopman knew he’d forever question his decision to allow the enemy to break off. The smokescreen had carried outsized weight in his decision, for he knew that several times in North Sea battles smokescreens had been used to spring surprises on pursuing ships. The dangers were many: the enemy reformed and waiting to pound his ships as they came through the smoke one at a time, torpedoboots waiting to use their aale, enemy dreadnoughts within range, and perhaps the most dangerous and likely, coming through the smoke and stumbling into the heavy minefields.
Still, had I followed them…
He returned his attention to Blücher’s Damage Control Officer.
“A large shell, likely a 25.4cm or a 20.3cm, struck the roof of turret Cezilie (Note 4), Herr Admiral. It did not penetrate, but the train gear was damaged. It should be repairable in short order.”
“And the fires in the coal bunker?” one of his staff enquired.
“Out, for now. We are continuing to spray firemain water into Coal Bunker 8 and will do so at least through the night to ensure no smoldering remains. We are assessing plans to plate over the deck once we are sure there will be no reflash. The bent armor is of course unrepairable at sea, but a temporary patch to keep out spray is being fabricated.”
Hopman turned to his Chief of Staff. “Damage reports from the other ships?”
“None of the kleiner kreuzers were hit, Herr admiral.”
“None? Is that so?”
“Ja. Rurik and the four funnel kreuzer, probably Rossia, fired at Blücher, but the handful of salvoes from the two smaller kreuzers, which appeared to be aimed at Frankfurt and Weisbaden, landed well short of our ships. Well short.”
Hopman was chagrined that he hadn’t observed that part of the battle, but on the other hand, visibility aft from the conning tower was execrable.
“Kapitän, what are your casualties?”
“Fourteen matrosen injured. Eight have been released back to their posts, the other six have more severe injuries. The Doktor fears for two of them.”
“Keep me advised of their recovery. On second thought, I’ll visit them this evening. They are heroes.
“Anyone have anything else to add? Very well, provide your individual sections to the Chief of Staff who will assemble the report. I’ll provide the Kommander’s Summary.
“Well done, meine Herren. You’ve done the Baltic Fleet proud today, may you always remember this day. You stood tall with us, with these men, and you were a man among us.” (Note 5)
Notes
Note 1. The successful Novik spawned 35 Russian half-sisters in four classes (the second ship outboard Novik at Werder is the Kpt Izylmetev of the Orfey class) and eight German torpedoboot-zerstörers of the B97 class. SMS V-99 and V-100 (which launched her floatplane on the 19th) were the Vulcan-built ships. Visually, the German variants could be distinguished by the gap between the forecastle deck and the bridge/first funnel:
- Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
[V-99]
- Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
[Orfey]
Note 2. The phrase “Quantity has a quality all its own” is often attributed to Stalin, likely because his approach to WWII emphasized mass (quantity). The concept goes much farther back, at least to Eubulides of Miletus (4th Century BC), who posed the ‘paradox of the heap’, which goes something like this: A single grain of sand is not a heap. If you add one grain of sand to grains that do not make a heap, they still do not make a heap. So, starting with one grain, and adding grain after grain, you will never have a heap, no matter how high the sand is piled. Thus a heap, though composed of grains of sand, is something different.
Note 3. The hits damaging Rurik’s forward rangefinder and temporarily causing evacuation of the forward turret are hits Rurik suffered in the historical Battle of Åland Islands.
Note 4. Blücher’s six 21cm turrets were named: Alsen, Bautzen, Cezilie, Düppel, Eylau, and Fehrbellin, from the forecastle counterclockwise.
There was no standardization of turret naming in the Kaiserliche Marine, the rest of the GKs had:
Von der Tann - Alsen, Bautzen, Culm, Düppel
Seydlitz - Anna, Berta, Cäsar, Dora, Emil
Derfflinger - Anna, Berta, Cäsar, Dora
Lützow - Alsen, Bautzen, Culm, Düppel
Hindenburg - Augustowo, Bukarest, Masuren, Tannenberg
Note 5. Hopman is no doubt paraphrasing Oberst John Christian Falkenberg, reflecting on his first battle: “He belonged here, with this man, with these men, and he was a man with them.”
statistics: Posted by seaoh1979 — 3:55 PM - 1 day ago — Replies 2 — Views 96