The Baron Calls
-----Bridge of the cruiser "Frankfurt", course 085, speed
23 knots
"Artillery Officer, what is the range to the target?" The freshly
promoted Korvettenkapitan Vogel waited calmly while the bridge talker
queried the gunnery officer. Below the bridge, Vogel could see the rangefinder
on top of the armored command post already tracking the target.
In a moment, the talker answered, "Six thousand four hundred meters,
Herr Kapitan."
"Permission to fire." There was a short pause, and then the
port side 15cm bow gun fired with a crash. The big 15cm shell flew out
towards the target, the tracer in its tail like an angry orange bee. At
6,400 meters, Vogel had time to raise his Zeiss night glasses and watch
the tracer zip just over the broad cloth panel atop the target sled and
splash into the sea perhaps 200 meters further away. He nodded in satisfaction
just as the second gun, the port gun aft of the bridge, fired. Again,
the tracer arced toward the target, but this time dropped into the water
about 200 meters short. A good ladder, and clearly the Artillery Officer
thought so too, because all the port side 15 cm guns now begun to fire
in measured succession, with just enough interval to permit observation
of each round's fall. The 'midships gun, the superimposed aft gun and
then the quarterdeck gun each crashed, sending their shells downrange.
Splash after splash now began to churn the water around the sled, as the
forward gun fired, starting the cycle again.
Each gun had fired several rounds when the voice of the watch officer
interrupted his concentration, "Herr Kapitan, we are coming to the
end of the range area."
A quick look with his binoculars did indeed show the marker buoy coming
up. "Battery, halt fire! Watch Officer, signal the target tug that
we will make another run to the West. Come to course 265," he ordered
crisply.
The ship began to heel into the turn as Frankfurt's helmsman reversed
her course. He was one of the handful Vogel had brought from his prior
command, a grizzled old petty officer, and he handled the cruiser with
a torpedo boat's flair and élan. Out to seaward, the old torpedo
boat towing the target sled also began to drag its charge through a reversal
of course. As both ships steadied on their new heading, Frankfurt's starboard
guns took their turn to track the bobbing panel.
"Feuer!" The crash of the forward gun sounded almost immediately.
It was time to make the conditions of the exercise a little tougher. "Artillery
Officer, go to salvo fire as soon as you have the range! Helm, steer evasive
zig-zag along the base course." Vogel remembered Dogger Bank all
too well. He had commanded a torpedo boat there, and the British light
had made it completely clear that anyone who stood still for it would
be shot to pieces. Even as it was, dodging like a rabbit, his torpedo
boat had limped into harbor on one shaft, with two gun mounts wrecked,
and much of the hull and upper works riddled with jagged splinter holes.
His first command would never sail again, but they had repaid the Britishers
with interest. His conduct that day, covering the Baron's withdrawal,
had earned him the Iron Cross First Class, and the attention of Baron
Letters. Best of all, when his torpedo boat had been declared a total
loss, he had been given command of this beautiful new cruiser.
Bridge of Frankfurt, Schweinemunde harbor
The familiar tower of the lighthouse pointed at a gray, drizzling sky
as the tugs pushed Frankfurt against the dock. Vogel watched the tugs,
the line handling parties, and the dock, while restraining himself from
interfering with the watch officer's ship handling. Combat with the British
would leave no room for anyone not fully capable of performing his duties,
and this working up period was his best chance to bring his crew together
as a combat capable fighting ship. Finally, a gentle bump heralded a completed
docking. He caught the Watch Officer's eye and nodded his approval, then
swept his glance along the dock one last time. As he did, he noticed for
the first time a petty officer standing on the dock with a bicycle. As
soon as the gangplank touched the dock, the petty officer left his bicycle
on the dock and marched purposefully on board. Vogel watched from the
bridge wing as the man consulted with the watch at the gangplank and then
made his way toward the bridge.
"Korvettenkapitan Vogel?" he asked, snapping to attention and
saluting.
"Ja."
Without breaking his ramrod attention, the man reached into the dispatch
pouch hanging by his side, and extracted an envelope, which he offered
to Vogel. Vogel accepted it, ripped it open, and scanned the contents,
ending with a querulous grunt. He quickly scrawled his signature on the
attached document receipt and handed it back to the messenger. "Dismissed."
The messenger saluted, about-faced, and left, to the accompaniment of
Vogel's distracted wave salute, as he returned to absorbing the contents
of the order and their implications.
"Herr Kapitan?" It was the voice of his XO, who joined him
on the bridge, followed by the Artillery Officer.
"Orders, Hans. We have new orders."
"But our working up period, Herr Kapitan. They never interrupt a
ship's working up. We have two more weeks."
"No longer. We are ordered to join the High Seas Fleet at Wilhelmshaven."
Briefly he wondered what could be happening to cause this sudden summons,
but his immediate situation beckoned, and he addressed his gathered senior
officers. "Cancel all shore leaves. Begin re-coaling and re-munitioning
immediately. Take on board all war stocks. I want the ship ready to sail
by the afternoon tide tomorrow. Prepare as if we will be in combat at
any time after leaving Schweinemunde. We will not embarrass Frankfurt
by having her arrive as a slack dog."
"Yes, Herr Kapitan!" chorused his officers. They departed in
a rush, to attend to their departments. There was much to do. Vogel watched
them go before turning to the outboard bridge wing. He leaned on the rail
and looked out toward the open sea.
Into the Storm
----On board Frankfurt, Schweinemunde harbor, about 1530, 14
June 1915
The front that had brought rain late yesterday afternoon cleared out
by early afternoon. Now only a handful of stray clouds scudded across
the sky in its wake. They reminded Vogel of a battle fleet's screen, but
this cloudy fleet did not bring the clamor of battle. Instead, the breeze
carried the smells of land and sea mixed in a refreshing perfume that
urged idleness and contemplation.
The arrival of Frankfurt's XO interrupted his metrological reverie
with a click of heels and a salute. "Herr Kapitan."
"Yes, Hans?"
"Herr Kapitan, I report the ship ready for sea. All personnel are
on board, our fuel bunkers are full, war load ammunition is stowed, boilers
are lit with steam ready. We exchanged mail with the naval post office
just an hour ago." He hesitated in his recital, as if suddenly remembering
something, and reached into a jacket pocket. "There was a letter
for you, Herr Kapitan."
Vogel took the proffered envelope, noting with pleasure that it was addressed
in Viktoria's graceful feminine hand. He tucked it away, to be opened
and savored in private, later.
The watch officer joined them from the bridge wing, "The tugs are
coming up now, Herr Kapitan."
They all moved the bridge wing, to watch as the two black-painted tugs
moved in, one each to bow and stern. "Watch officer, as soon as the
tugs are in position, cast off."
The watch officer moved to the dockside bridge wing, and began giving
commands to the line handlers. A few moments later the tugs were pushing
them clear, engines chuffing dark coal smoke with the effort. Slowly,
carefully, they swung Frankfurt's bow around and eased her toward
the channel and the harbor exit. Within a quarter hour they were in the
clear channel.
"Watch officer, release the tugs with my thanks. As soon as they
are clear, make turns for four knots. Once we are out of the marked channel,
go to 18 knots, course 330."
"Yes, Herr Kapitan."
Vogel stepped into the chartroom alcove at the back of the bridge, beckoning
the watch officer to follow. "I have plotted the course to Kiel,
and marked it on this chart. At 18 knots, this should enable us to pass
any observer on Danish territory in the dark and arrive at Kiel's outer
defenses just after dawn tomorrow." The watch officer nodded his
understanding. Spies were everywhere, and it would not be good to stumble
into an overeager patrol boat in the dark. Killed by friendly fire was
just as dead.
----Approach to Kiel/Holtenau, 0425 15 June 1915
The outpost boat at the terminus of the coastal shipping lane was an
old torpedo boat, a relic of a couple of hundred tons. If Frankfurt
had been an enemy cruiser, the outpost boat would not have lasted a minute.
As it was, they exchanged recognition signals in the early morning light
and Frankfurt slowed and headed toward the point where they would
pick up their pilot before entering the harbor.
Within minutes the lookouts reported the pilot boat on the port bow,
and Frankfurt slowed still further to pick him up. A petty officer
brought him up to the bridge, where he introduced himself and shook hands
with Vogel. Suddenly, a gasp and an oath drew everyone's attention. The
watch officer pointed out to the starboard bow. Following his finger,
the bridge crew fell silent in shock. Passing them on a reciprocal course
was a powerful salvage tug, and in tow behind the tug was a cruiser that
was the exact mirror of their own. Yet not exact, for where Frankfurt
was new and shipshape, this nightmare was torn and charred, riddled with
shell hits and splinter holes. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing
a corpse.
"Wiesbaden." Vogel's voice was flat with the shock they
all felt.
"Ja," answered the pilot. "They are taking her to Gotenhafen
for repairs. The shipyards at Wilhelmshaven and Kiel are overloaded with
repair work, so they are transferring many ships elsewhere for repair.
A great victory, the Kaiserschlacht, but many ships damaged. Still, they
brought our boys home. Not like those Britishers! BOOM!" He pantomimed
an explosion.
Vogel had seen a battlecruiser blow up, and the reminder, coupled with
the ghastly vision of their sister ship, unsettled him for a moment. With
a conscious effort, he shook it off and returned to consulting with the
pilot.
----Frankfurt's Wardroom, Brunsbuttel, "Wee hours" 16 June 1915
Despite their warship's priority, they were forced to wait several hours
for a place in the queue to pass through the canal. It was 2 o'clock that
afternoon before they were finally signaled to begin their passage. With
a speed limit of just 8 knots and with two locks thrown in, it took over
ten hours to clear the 61 mile long canal and arrive in the harbor at
Brunsbuttel. Vogel stayed on the bridge the whole time, guiding Frankfurt
carefully through the narrow canal. It was near 2 o'clock in the morning
when they finally tied up to their assigned buoy. Shortly thereafter a
cutter arrived with orders from the harbormaster. Vogel gathered his officers
in Frankfurt's tiny wardroom. With the Leading Engineer and his
deputy, the First and Second Artillery Officers, the two Navigating Officers,
the Signal Officer, the Surgeon, the XO and himself all crowded in, there
was not much room to spare.
"The harbormaster has sent orders for our movement onwards to Wilhelmshaven.
Apparently the lane between here and there is checked and swept each morning
to protect against mines and British submarines. We will depart at 10
in the morning, and the local guard flotilla will provide an escort. I
want a minimum watch set for tonight, to let the crew get some rest."
"Herr Kapitan, is there really a danger of submarines in this close?"
asked the Artillery Officer.
"Yes, apparently there is. Since the Kaiserschlacht, it seems the
Royal Navy has given its submarines orders to take abnormal risks to get
intelligence on our movements and try to get at our heavy units. Patrols
have detected them trying to find lanes through the minefields, and at
least one is thought to have been lost in the attempt." He hesitated,
before going on, "As far as this ship is concerned, we are to be
prepared for combat on leaving the harbor in the morning. Our own U-boats
surface at Heligoland and are escorted in. Any submarine skulking about
in these waters is enemy, and to be sunk on sight."
----Bridge of Frankfurt, course 270, speed 16 knots
Their escort met them at the outer buoy. It was a minesweeper and another
of the old torpedo boats that seemed to be maids of all work for the inshore
forces. The minesweeper took the lead, with the torpedo boat zigzagging
along about 500 meters to starboard. Once they had steadied on their course,
Vogel gave the order, "Clear the ship for action!" (Klar
Schiff zum Gefecht!)
Within seconds the alarm klaxon sounded throughout the ship. Because
the crew had known it was coming, many were already at or near their stations.
Within a few seconds the first crews had begun to close up to their guns,
watertight doors banged shut, covers were removed from gun and torpedo
directors, damage control parties assembled and extra lookouts were posted.
Ready reports quickly flooded in to the XO. In just moments, he turned
back to Vogel, "Ship is clear for action, Herr Kapitan."
Vogel nodded his acknowledgement, and turned back to scanning the sea
for any threat to his precious ship.
After about an hour, they cleared the headland northwest of Cuxhaven
and turned southwest towards Wilhelmshaven. Frankfurt began to
roll with the gentle swell coming in from the open expanses of the North
Sea and the crew found out quickly enough if there was anything not properly
stowed and secured.
----Bridge of Frankfurt, course 225, speed 16 knots
They had been on 225 for less than half an hour when a dull boom echoed
across the water. Vogel jerked his binoculars around in time to see a
tall column of water subsiding from above the torpedo boat. A heartbeat
later came a lookout's cry, "Torpedoes to starboard!"
"Rudder hard to starboard! Both engines maximum power!" The
helmsman spun the wheel as the watch officer jumped forward and rammed
the engine room telegraph all the way to full. Frankfurt heeled
hard and slowly began to accelerate, as Vogel aimed her to comb the torpedo
tracks. As they came on to the torpedo's heading he ordered, "Rudder
amidships!"
Seconds later the bubbling tracks of two torpedoes ran by to starboard,
the closest less than ten meters from Frankfurt.
"Periscope!" shouted a lookout on the bridge wing, pointing
dead ahead. Indeed, there it was, a feather of water, perhaps 1200 meters
away.
"Order the forward guns to fire at the periscope!"
A few seconds later Frankfurt fired her first shot in anger. First
one, then the other of the forward guns fired, causing splashes to fountain
around the periscope. It hurriedly disappeared. Frankfurt raced
onward for a moment as Vogel considered how to break off the contact without
setting himself up for another shot from the British submarine. Suddenly,
there was another huge fountain of water ahead. At first, he did not grasp
what had happened, then realization set in. "Rudder hard to port!
"What happened?" The XO hadn't realized yet.
"It's the edge of the cleared channel. The Britisher hit a mine,
Hans!" They went out onto the bridge wing, and trained their binoculars
on the spot where the water was still turbulent. A stream of bubbles roiled
the surface, then some loose debris and then, to Vogel's surprise, one,
two, three heads. "Slow to five knots and come about. Signal the
minesweeper to pick up survivors from our torpedo boat. Lower one of our
boats and get those three from the British sub."
----Quarterdeck of Frankfurt, stationary, about 45 nm from Brunsbuttel
Vogel watched the boat pull alongside. The three British survivors huddled,
sodden and miserable, in the stern. The Jacob's ladder had been lowered,
and ready hands helped them climb on board. One of the men wore the rank
of a lieutenant on his uniform, and when he saw Vogel he straightened
to attention and saluted. "Left-tenant Carisbrook, commander of His
Majesty's Submarine…" he paused, clearly having been struck
by the thought that perhaps he ought not to give out the name of his ship.
Vogel returned the salute and introduced himself formally, "Korvettenkapitan
Richard Vogel, commander of His Imperial Majesty's Cruiser Frankfurt.
My men will take you below to our Surgeon and get you some dry clothing.
Please accept my assurance that you will be well treated. For you, the
war is over."
----Bridge of Frankfurt, entering Wilhelmshaven, 1527 16 June 1915
Frankfurt proceeded up the Jade, to the anchorage where the other
light cruisers swung at their buoys. Once they were at their own assigned
buoy, Vogel gave his XO orders, "Get the coaling tender out and recoal
as soon as possible. Replace our ammunition expenditures, and draw any
charts we need of the North Sea area. Launch a boat to take me ashore,
and have a landing party bring those prisoners along. I'm going to my
cabin to change. I will want to be in a decent uniform when I report."
Once in the captain's cabin, Vogel stripped off his sea duty uniform
and washed away the salt, gun smoke and coal soot that covered him after
the voyage. With that done, he donned his dress uniform, complete with
formal frock coat, brocade belt and naval officer's dagger. He felt a
positive fool in this get-up, but he knew that custom and regulations
dictated proper attire in reporting to a new commander. It wouldn't do
to get off on the wrong foot. He tucked the ship's written orders into
his jacket and headed up to the deck.
The boat was ready by the time he arrived at the quarterdeck. The three
British prisoners were also there, escorted by guards in landing rig with
Mauser rifles and helmets. They boarded, Vogel taking a place near the
bow and the prisoners under guard aft. When they were all settled, the
boat cast off.
As they moved through the port, Vogel was struck by the atmosphere of
the place. He knew Wilhelmshaven well from his service there before. Normally,
it was busy, but now every yard and dock swarmed with frenetic activity.
There were empty spaces for which routine patrols could not account. Many
ships showed battle damage, or the traces of fresh repair.
After a few moments, he looked back over his shoulder. The British lieutenant
was alert and wide-eyed, head swiveling, obviously trying to take in all
the intelligence he could. Curiosity struck him, so he beckoned the Britisher
to come forward. The lieutenant looked dubiously at his guards, but they
had been attentive to Vogel's gesture and permitted him to move carefully
forward and take a seat next to Vogel.
"Have you been properly taken care of?"
The Britisher hesitated a moment, perhaps not quite sure how much of
a testimonial to give. "Well enough, thank you." He took another
look around, "Looks as if your ships took quite a pasting."
Vogel grunted good-humoredly, "True enough, but not near what your
'Grand Fleet' took."
The British lieutenant replied, "Well, I don't know about that.
I have seen the list of what you claim to have lost, and I think you are
not admitting all your losses."
"Really?" Vogel was a little amused still, "Why do you
say that?"
"Well, look around. Just as an example, I don't see von der Tann
or Moltke here, although the rest of the battlecruisers are."
Vogel just shrugged, "In another port," but inside he wondered.
Moltke and von der Tann were missing. Seydlitz and
Derfflinger were present, the repair activities around them perhaps
the most frantic of all, and even the new Lutzow was visible in
a distant fitting out basin. He had just come from Kiel and Brunsbuttel,
and they were not there either. He worried for a moment. Not only were
they important ships, but one of Viktoria's cousins was on von der
Tann.
The Britisher took on a satisfied air, apparently believing that Vogel's
silence was an admission that he was right. Before Vogel could debate
the matter any further, the boat bumped against the landing stage. They
had arrived.
The petty officer in charge of the prisoners took them away and Vogel
headed for the naval Headquarters. A short walk brought him to the red
brick façade of Naval Headquarters, Wilhelmshaven. He checked his
uniform one last time, a little self-conscious, before climbing the stairs
to the main entrance. The sentries slammed to rigid attention and presented
arms as he passed. Inside, there was a foyer, with a desk occupied by
a senior petty officer whose armband showed him to be the duty NCO. He
came to attention as Vogel approached.
"May I help the Herr Korvettenkapitan?"
"I have orders to report to the commander of the 2nd Reconnaissance
Group. Where is his office?"
The petty officer consulted an orders book on the desk, "Herr Korvettenkapitan,
the commander of the 2nd Reconnaissance Group is not here. In his absence,
Kapitan zur See Ehrhart is tasked with the leadership." He beckoned
forward a sailor from a side alcove. "The orderly will show you to
his office."
A flight of stairs and a corridor brought them to a polished wooden door.
The orderly knocked and then held it open for Vogel. Entering brought
Vogel face to face with an officer whose sleeve bore the four rings and
crown of a Kapitan zur See.
He saluted, "Herr Kapitan, Korvettenkapitan Vogel, of the cruiser
Frankfurt, reports!"
The other returned his salute, "Stand easy, Vogel. Welcome to 2nd
Reconnaissance Group. I was informed you were coming. Pleased to see you
made it safely and on time."
"We almost did not, Herr Kapitan." He recounted the tale of
the British submarine's attack.
Ehrhart mulled this news over for a moment. "And you say there were
survivors?"
"Three, Herr Kapitan, including the boat's commander. A very cocksure
fellow for someone who has just lost his ship, if you ask me. On the way
ashore he noticed that von der Tann and Moltke were not
in harbor, so he was telling me that the British had sunk them in the
Kaiserschlacht. 'Jutland', he called it."
This innocent remark produced an unexpectedly sharp look from Ehrhart,
whose gray eyes focused intently on Vogel, "He noticed that von
der Tann and Moltke were not in harbor?"
"Yes, Herr Kapitan. It's not true, is it? About them being sunk?"
"One certainly hopes not," Ehrhart said, his mind clearly elsewhere.
Vogel blinked in confusion at this somewhat cryptic reply. How could
they not know? He was about to ask more, but Ehrhart seemed suddenly to
come to a decision. "I am late for a meeting, and now, I think you
are too. Come with me."
Another short walk through the corridors produced another polished wooden
door, this one with its own sentry. Ehrhart led the way in, and Vogel
followed, only to have to fight the sudden urge to duck back out. The
room behind this door was no office, but a large conference room with
a map table in the center. Around the table were a score of officers,
near every one senior to him. He recognized several battleship and battlecruiser
captains. There were also at least three admirals, one of them, the legendary
Letters himself.
While Vogel tried to think what to do or say, Ehrhart addressed Letters,
"Your Excellency, this is Korvettenkapitan Vogel of the cruiser Frankfurt.
He has brought his ship to join 2nd Reconnaissance Group. His ship was
attacked by a submarine in the Bight, and he has some interesting things
to tell us."
For the second time in just a few minutes, Vogel found himself telling
the story of his encounter with the British submarine, ending, as he had
before, with the British captain's remarks about von der Tann and
Moltke. As before, this produced sharp looks, at him and each other,
by the various officers present. Letters seemed lost in thought for a
moment, before turning to an aide. "See Kapitan Vogel's prisoners
are held somewhere they do not have the chance to talk to anyone else
for a few weeks."
Letters turned back to Vogel with another of his calculating pauses,
and Vogel began to realize that this constant weighing of options and
possibilities was very much a feature of Letters' character. "Well,
Vogel, since you are here, join us. We are discussing the operation in
hand." He gestured at the chart spread out on the table. For the
first time Vogel tore his eyes off the other people in the room and looked
down at the chart. At first he was disoriented, but then he realized with
a start what was strange about this chart. It showed not just the North
Sea area, the High Seas Fleet's normal zone of operations, but the whole
North Atlantic as far as the coast of North America. He looked back up,
to find Letters studying him with a faint and somewhat enigmatic smile.
(Continued in Ein Geleitzug, see New
York, New York Part V for the rest of this particular meeting.)
by Richard Byrd
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