Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 17
Part 18
Part 19
Part 20
Part 21
Part 22
Part 23
Part 24
Part 25
Part 26
Part 27
Part 28
Part 29
Part 30
Part 31
Part 32
Part 33
Part 34
Part 35
Part 36
Part 37
Part 38
Part 39
Part 40
Part 41
Part 42
Part 43
Part 44
Part 45
Part 46
Part 47
Part 48
Part 49
Part 50
Part 51
Part 52
Part 53
Part 54
Part 55
Part 56
Part 57
Part 58
Part 59
Part 60
Part 61
Part 62
Part 63
Part 64
Part 65
Part 66
Part 67
Part 68
Part 69
Part 70
Part 71
Part 72
Part 73
Part 74
Part 75
Part 76
Part 77
Part 78
Part 79
Part 80
Part 81
Part 82
Part 83
Part 84
Part 85
Part 86
Part 87
Part 88
Part 89
Part 90
Part 91
Part 92
Part 93
Part 94
Part 95
Part 96
Part 97
Part 98
Part 99
Part 100
Part 101
Part 102
Part 103
Part 104
Part 105
Part 106
Part 107
Part 108
Part 109
Part 110
Part 111
Part 112
Part 113
Part 114
Part 115
Part 116
Part 117
Part 118
Part 119
Part 120
Part 121
Part 122
Part 123
Part 124
Part 125
Part 126
Part 127
Part 128
Part 129
Part 130
Part 131
Part 132
Part 133
Part 134
Part 135
Part 136
Part 137
Part 138
Part 139
Part 140
Part 141
Part 142
Part 143
Part 144
Part 145
Part 146
Part 147
Part 148
Part 149
Part 150
Part 151
PART 10: June 10, 1915  

Letterstime - Ein Geleitzug - TIOWF, Part IX

Securing St. Pierre & Miquelon 

“The fatal coincidence that had doomed Max [von Spee on December 8, 1914] was well known to all of us, of course.  Thus, it was a great shock to discover just how close I had come, despite all my precautions, to duplicating that event.”

(Admiral Hanzik, to Karl Kisteschleppen in _Aus Frau Zu Fest_, Kaiser Imperial Press, Berlin, 1934)

---- St. Pierre, Place de la Roncière

By about an hour before noon, Max Browning and “Blue” Fox had finally grown sufficiently bored with the ongoing ant nests that the decks of the two battlecruisers had become, about two hundred meters from Imperator, so as to seek entertainment elsewhere.  By then, each had filled a couple pages with notes and shot a full roll of film of what had become obvious to be a very repetitive activity.  At that point, they had left their Promenade Deck rail positions and wandered down to the area just outside the doors to the Grand Dining Salon, wherein shortly lunch would be served.  They were standing there, loitering, and reviewing the just-posted menu when Ballin, perhaps a bit too casually, had strolled up and offered them tickets to a rollercoaster that dwarfed even Coney Island’s mighty “Giant Racer”.  (NOTE 1)   Indeed, to the two young American reporters, the thrill ride dwarfed any that would ever get built anywhere.
“So, what’s the catch?” Blue had asked, when first tendered the offer.  He had managed a poker face, despite having real difficulty getting the words out past the pulse hammering in his throat.
“I agree,” Max had chimed in, swallowing.  “Something smells fishy to me.”  The mounds of aromatically drying cod nearby had made the expression a particularly easy one to disgorge.
“There is no, um,” Ballin paused, his English not up to the task of making that wording work.  “Excuse me,” he said.  “I know not the proper idiom.  I will say it simply.  The offer is an honest one.  Admiral Hanzik extends his assurances that your material will be respected.”
“What does THAT mean?” Blue demanded.
“What it means,” Ballin answered, “is that your notes and your exposed film will remain your property.  There will be no, um, censoring - is that the word? - of your work.”
Both reporters had flinched at the word “film”, almost as though their distant editors had pricked them with hot needles.
“That’s the word we’re looking for,” confirmed Max, and Blue nodded in agreement.  “And you’re sure of that?  No censoring?”
“I cannot control others,” Ballin remarked, ruefully, “especially not admirals with guns.  But has not all gone as promised thus far?”

“True,” both Americans agreed, mouth corners turning up at Ballin’s imagery, and turned to stare at each other.  They had just been offered an exclusive.  Now, it should be noted that there are “exclusives” and there are “EXCLUSIVES.”  The one Herr Ballin had just tendered had most definitely been of the all-capital, bold faced, 54-point variety.
What they were being offered was no less than the chance to cover a real-live, genuine, guaranteed-authentic invasion!  Battles they had already covered complete with smoking and sinking ships, survivors, prisoners, and all the rest.  But, an invasion?  And not just any invasion, but one that was taking place just off the American coast!
“We’re in!”  Blue announced, seeing the answer in Max’s eyes.
“Excuse me?”  Ballin said.
“We accept,” Max clarified.  “When can we leave?”
“Yes, we can eat later,” Blue said.
“Right - eat hell! - there’re only about - what? - 9 hours of decent light left!”
They had rushed back to their stateroom to fill their pockets with rolls of film, and then rushed back to board the launch.  Now, just over an hour later, their launch was drawing within reach of the little pier.  They watched as the sailor in the bow threw a rope to another standing between posts up above.  In just moments, they would clamber up onto the wooden structure.
And into “occupied” France.

---- Von der Tann, anchored and moored to SS Eyewhon

Kapitan zur See Dirk stared down at the ongoing coaling with his hands clasped behind his back.  He resisted the urge to lean against the railing, feeling that, if his men had to work like that, he could at least stand up straight.  Coaling was a dirty, back-breaking task under the best of circumstances, and the one here was hardly that.  He was terribly short-handed, as many of his men were ashore playing soldier or gaoler; the donor ship was not designed as a “collier”; and the “collier” had no work teams of her own to contribute.
His eyes blinked tiredly in the flickering light off the waves, emphasizing the dark shadows beneath them.  Still, he would be among the first to agree that these were far from the worst of circumstances for taking on coal.  No, he had most likely already faced those.  In fact, compared with their earlier attempts at open water coaling amidst the frigid, foamy waves off New York and Boston, the present arrangement bordered on idyllic.
Frustration, impatience, and anxiety were just some of the many emotions that beset the exhausted CO of von der Tann.  His ship far outmatched any ship the enemy had in the entire Western Hemisphere, but only if she had coal.  Von der Tann’s bunkerage had stood at just 20% when he’d dropped anchor here this morning.  (NOTE 2)  His hands twitched at the slowness of the coaling pace, as though they wanted to be down there plying a shovel, which was why he had them clasped out of sight behind his back.
Still, his situation seemed far better than that which Kapitan zur See Martel Uno Stang was dealing with over on the other side of Eyewhon.  At that thought, he turned to look over the intervening hull at the goings on over there.

---- Moltke, anchored and moored to Eyewhon

Stang would long ago have extracted every follicle of hair from his head if only he had had the time to do so.  In truth, he did not.  Coaling had come first, for several reasons.  For one thing, he had tied up alongside Eyewhon before the Kronprinz Wilhelm and Kronprinzessin Cecilie had been secured.  No matter what, however, the low bunkerage level would have made coaling the absolute highest priority, as Moltke’s coal state had been no better than von der Tann’s, and probably even slightly worse.  The latest risk to his close-cropped locks came from the order he now had to give.
“Sir,” reported the lookout section chief, “Imperator’s launch is at the pier.  The Americans have disembarked.”
“Very well,” Stang acknowledged.  He paused then and sucked in a deep breath, only to exhale it in a long, melancholic sigh.
“Secure taking on coal,” he ordered, trying not to grimace at his nautical sacrilege.  Imagine!  Here he was, desperately low on coal, thousands of miles from Wilhelmshaven, with the entire Grand Fleet between him and home (NOTE 3), with thousands of tons of high grade steam coal literally alongside and his for the taking, and he was ordering his men to stop.
Well, he consoled himself, a fair amount had already been struck below and there remained substantial piles on Moltke’s deck.  He probably had enough now for even a very high speed run back to Boston, though how welcome they’d be there when this all came out remained to be seen.  Meanwhile, at least the coal piles already aboard could be struck down into bunkers.
“Kronprinz reports that Kronprinzessin Cecilie is ready.”
“Very well,” Stang replied, and turned to the gray-haired civilian standing beside him.  “You may proceed.”  Stang could not order the other to hurry not only because the man was a civilian, but also because attempts at haste in these next steps would really be most unwise.
Nonetheless, he would be unable to bring more coal aboard until the other completed the next phase.  Repeat: there was coal right alongside, he needed it desperately, and he was going to have to stand here and simply stare at it until ....
“I, um,” Stang found himself compelled to say on, “I request that you expedite as much as possible.”
“Jawohl, Herr Kapitan,” replied Jakob Glock, “but, Kapitan, your men will have to cease moving mass.”
Glock blinked at the look on Stang’s face, mirrored on the faces of the other bridge officers.
“Kapitan, this is not a simple thing we are to do.”  Did any of these silly suits have the faintest clue as to how hard this was?  How dangerous?
“This is not Vulcan.  Your ship, it is not moored to a pier.  Kronprinz Wilhelm is not a dockyard, nor is she moored to one.  Not a dock also is Kronprinzessin Cecilie, nor is she moored either.”
Glock had just enough caution not to shake his head, which was why it was he who was here and not Coblentz, who was over on Kronprinzessin Cecilie, overseeing the lifts.  Far better for Glock to have been aboard Kronprinz Wilhelm, where he would have been able to see the crane operator and both decks.  Instead, he’d had to trust Jager there.  And, here, the kapitan STILL did not look properly chastened!
“This is not coal we are about to bring aboard,” he continued, and readied himself to go on.
“Herr Glock,” came a voice from above, “Jager is signaling the ready.”  Jager was beside the crane operator on Kronprinz Wilhelm.
“Now,” Glock said politely, “if you would excuse me.”  With that statement and a distinct nod, the senior man from Vulcan walked over to the ladder and began to make his way down to the main deck to oversee the landings.  Stang and his officers tensed their lips and carefully avoided looking at each other.  Admiral Hanzik would have well understood their expressions.

---- St. Pierre, Pier

The two reporters’ heads swiveled this way and that, with each snapping a couple pix.
“What do you think?”  Blue asked Browning.  The scene seemed artificially calm.  Many men were in sight.  The ones with guns were obviously all Germans.  Similarly, the ones seated in groups of about a dozen, were presumably French, and generally a couple decades or more older than their captors.  Many pairs of eyes had shifted to study the Americans, but no one moved to meet or challenge them.
“Gentleman, a word with you, please.”
They turned to see the German admiral approaching.  Damn, thought both Americans, they were about to learn what the catch was after all.
“Do you speak French?”
Huh?  Whatever they might have expected to hear from the German officer, it was not that.
“No.”  “Me neither.”
“Well, then, it is good that I have translator available.”
“Admiral,” Max began, “that won’t work, your putting soldiers with us, I mean.”
“That’s right,” Blue agreed.  “Now, don’t take it wrong.  You’re the one with the guns,” he continued, borrowing from Ballin, “we understand that, but you can’t expect us to ....”
“Let me,” interjected Max.  “Admiral, if your position is that we can only be here if your armed men stay with us, well, we have a problem.  If nothing else, we’ll have to tell that part, just like all the rest.  Heck, Admiral, the people here probably won’t even talk to us.”  Surely, he thought, many of the French would be able to speak at least some English?  No matter how limited, it would still be far better than ....
“I believe there is indeed a misunderstanding here,” said Hanzik.  “I have no intention of making you do your work in close company with my men.  No intention, at all.”
“But, but, you said ....”
“What I said was that I have a translator.  He’s an American, just as you are.  Out of caution, I dare not to let any Frenchmen free passage here, but an American I can accept.  He is the head of the Western Union office here, and he is quite, um, fluent in French.”
“Oh!  Our apologies, admiral, we misunderstood!”  Max was quick to try to make amends.
“There is no problem then?  Good.  A couple more items must we now discuss.”
The Americans, who had just begun to relax, tightened again.  Uh-oh, here it comes, Blue thought.
“First,” Hanzik continued, “there are two others here who claim to be Americans, but they did not have any documents, er, on their persons.  They claim their passports are on their boat out in the harbor, there, but Kommodore von Hoban did not find them when he looked.”
Hanzik looked down at some papers.
“They say their names are David Bender and Timothy Mixer.  We have them in that building over ... there.  They both appear to speak some French, especially Herr Bender, if that really IS his name.  You may speak to them - no one will stop you - but I can not allow them to leave that building and, so, they cannot go with you as translators.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said Blue.  “But, I mean, do you think they’re lying, about being Americans?”
“No,” answered Hanzik.  “That is to say, I don’t know.  Britons, Canadians, many subjects of the British Crown speak the same language as you and rarely can we tell you all apart.  Still, they may truly be as they claim.  For that matter, the Kommodore has said that his search of their boat was not a thorough one; there was not time.  So, their documents may indeed be aboard their boat.  The matter will be resolved when I more time have.  But, this day, in that building must they remain.  Any other questions on this?”
There were none.  The admiral had his mind made up, that much was clear.
“Now, the other matter.”  Hanzik paused, eyes narrowing slightly.  “Know this: The Hague does not address the specific situation that we have here, you and I - - that is, you being neutral Americans and I the Belligerent occupier of this place, this land of my enemy, who is another Belligerent.  Do you accept what I just said?”
“I don’t know much about that Hague thing, other than it being a treaty of some sort,” said Browning.  “Blue?”
“I know a little,” Blue admitted, “but if it covers this, well, I couldn’t tell you one way or another.”
“It does not,” said Hanzik, heavily.  “I have copies of it.  Each of my ship captains has one, as well, and you may look for yourselves.  Well, you can if you can read Deutsch.”  Hanzik knew they could speak it, but not if they could read it.
Neither American said anything.
“I will continue.  It is to my benefit, German benefit, for you to speak to my prisoners and look about this place, and even to take many pictures.  In a very real way, I am taking advantage of you, and I admit it.  You see, I am being frank with you.”
“Okay,” said Blue, “I’ll bite.  You’ve invaded here, right off our coast and our telling about it will help you?  Is that what you are saying?”  Blue could not keep an incredulous note out of his voice.  Did the Germans think this would intimidate America?!
“Yes.  That Germans have invaded here could never a secret be kept, at least not for long.  I just want you to tell the truth of it.  I don’t want the British turning this into another Bryce Report litany of lies of atrocities.” (NOTE 4)
“You’re claiming the Bryce Report was nothing but lies?!”  Max was not ready to believe that.
“I was not there,” Hanzik stated flatly.  “Neither were you.  Consider these facts: it was commissioned by the British Crown, conducted by one of the British nobility, and Britain is at war with Germany.  Is it any surprise that Viscount Bryce should condemn Britain’s enemies?”
“Just because he’s your enemy,” Blue retorted, “does not mean he was not telling the truth!”
“Maybe some of those things he wrote did happen,” Hanzik replied.  “War is a terrible thing, after all.  But do you really think we turned Belgian dead into cakes of soap?  But this is the point!”
“The point?”
“Yes, as I said, I was not in Belgium, nor were you.”  Hanzik let a pause seep in. “But you ARE here.”
Oh!  Blue thought, his mind stunned into turmoil, and glanced at Browning.  Omigod, Max was thinking, whatinthehell have I gotten myself into now?!
“I see you understand.”  Hanzik’s voice held real satisfaction.  “But know that you are not the first Americans that I have asked for such a service.”  He saw that he had their attention back and continued.  “Some days ago, two British civilians died in a gun battle after surrendering and, at my request, your navy provided a team who investigated and confirmed that we were telling the truth of the matter.  Their names were,” Hanzik consulted his notes again, “LCDR Kyle Holgate, Executive Officer of the USS Parker (Destroyer No. 48), acting pursuant to the orders of Admiral McDonald, accompanied by a petty officer named Mayweather and another named Sturz.  Their report went directly to their Admiral and your government surely has it by now.
“I tell you this to prove to you that The Hague allows Neutrals - such as yourselves - to act as true Neutral parties in situations like that.  And like this.  And that you are not the first to do it.
“So, you are free to go, to wander where you wish.  Talk to whom you wish.  Take pictures of whatever you wish.  The Western Union official is over there.  Use him or not, again, as you wish.  Be back here at 7:00 PM, so that I can get you back to your ship in the light.
“However, I must impose one limitation.  LT Kessock, join us bitte.”
“These two Americans,” Hanzik began in Deutsch, “are to have free access to places and people on this island.  Is that understood?”
“Jawohl, Herr Admiral.”  Kessock did not know why Hanzik was telling HIM this, but he recognized his cue easily enough.  He remained impassive as the admiral turned to the Americans.
“Now, Gentlemen, this leutnant knows French but does not speak English.  I stated to you that you would have freedom to go where you wished and to speak to any people you wished.  Correct?  Without interference?”
“Yes, Admiral Hanzik,” agreed Browning for the two.
“And, as you just heard, those are precisely the orders that I just gave.  However, I am also responsible under The Hague for YOUR safety.  That is, I represent the Occupying Power, and you are Neutrals, here with my permission.  I tell you this so that you will understand that I must take actions to ensure your safety - there has already been one sniper attack here, though there was no wounding.  That means escorts, but I will order that the escorts remain at some distance, out of hearing.  I must insist, however, that you allow them to keep you in sight.  You must give me your word on this point.  Can you accept this?”
Max and Blue conferred, and declared that they could and would abide with those terms.  The sniper part had been a sobering reminder.
“Gut.  Herr Kessock, I want you to assign a reliable man to each one, a senior petty officer, if possible.”
“Jawohl, Herr Admiral.  I have two suitable men right here on the Place: Petty Officer Sumpfhühn and Petty Officer Felsarzt.”
The admiral left and Kessock asked the reporters, in Deutsch, to go with him to get their escorts.  Sumpfhühn was just a few steps away, and Kessock began to describe the situation to him as they all walked around the perimeter rope to where Felsarzt’s post was.
Max raised an eyebrow as they approached the other petty officer.  The man had a frown on his face as he stared at a fist-sized stone that he was holding.  At his feet were several others of various sizes.  He hastily dropped it and stood up straight as the German officer addressed him and gave him his orders.
Once Kessock had finished and walked away, in simple Deutsch the young Americans took a few minutes to introduce themselves to their escorts, who were about the same age.  Successful reporters know to cultivate sources, and also when to work to gain favor.  Both knew that they would likely encounter many doors this day and that escorts could be keys or they could be locks.
“The stone,” began Max.  “Why did you look at it as you did?”
Felsarzt blushed, but finally answered.
“It seems to me that it should not be here, that stone.  That is, it is here, but I do not know how it came to be here.  An ice river?  Maybe ballast in a ship?”
The Americans were puzzled.  “This whole island is rocks, of one sort or another.  Isn’t it?”
“Ja, you have the right of it.  The island is small, but,” the German gestured to the little pile at his feet, “the [lithology] here must be very complicated.”  (NOTE 5)

---- Moltke

Kapitan Stang felt himself relax as the second pallet of pressurized bottles of very, very volatile gas finished settling gently onto Moltke’s deck.  Beside it, Glock’s shirt showed dark half-moons of moisture under his arms as the Vulcanite gestured with energy, this way and that.  Twelve large pallets had already been brought aboard, mostly weld rods, equipment, and stock.  The most challenging lifts remained, but Stang’s senior-most chief had told him that Glock had sequenced it with the least fragile or dangerous transfers first.  The stocky chief had turned out to get along quite well with Glock, so Stang had started working through him, which was what Glock had wanted all along and was glad that the suits had finally wised up.
In Glock’s experience, there were trade-offs between gaining experience and growing exhaustion.  Here, he’d judged the variables to be so uncertain as to make it best for the hardest transfers to come late.  They had indeed learned, but Glock could feel that fatigue was beginning to sap them all.  Too many days at sea, he thought.  He looked up, trying to gauge the hours of light he had left.  Damn, too many hours had sped by completely unnoticed.  Nonetheless, he deemed he had no choice in the matter.
“Are the pumps ready?  Hoses?  Good.  We rest now,” Glock called out to his Vulcan teams.  “Fifteen minutes.  Drink water, all of you.  Sit.
“Chief,” he continued, addressing Moltke’s most senior enlisted man as he uncapped his canteen.  “The cofferdam is next.”
At that, Molltke’s chief nodded his understanding of Glock’s pause.
“My thought is not to bring over the plates unless it holds,” Glock continued, between swallows.  “Many were done in port, but the last welds could not be done until this morning.  I won’t know anything until it is pumped out.”
“If it fails?”
“Cement, but the drag,” Glock shrugged expressively.
Yes, thought the chief, raising coal consumption, reducing range, and reducing speed.
“Laban thinks we could just reinforce the patch and avoid cement, but the effect would be much the same.”  Glock twisted his head back and forth, then glanced at his pocket watch.
“All right, back on your feet,” he called out, twisting the cap back on the canteen and putting it down.  He strode to the deck edge and raised both hands and gave them a twist.  Flags high up on Kronprinz Wilhelm flickered in reply.  “Here we go,” he muttered to himself.

---- St. Pierre, Place de la Roncière, Office of the “Burgermeister”

“Sir,” reported LT Kessock, “I don’t know what they discussed, but they have left the Place and gone into the city now.  To take pictures, I would guess.”
That was an obvious conclusion, since all the population was in three places - the Place, the pier, and Nottingham Star - with none of the three being where the Americans were heading.
“Very well,” replied Admiral Hanzik without lowering his binoculars.  He and Kommodore von Hoban were standing in at the highest window looking up into the channel.  From there, they could just make out the tops of the Kronprinz Wilhelm’s cranes where they crested the intervening silhouettes of the larger liners.   “Continue to monitor them, but at a discreet distance.  Try not to be seen, or at least sighted rarely.  Kommodore?”
“I would prefer that they did not go over to Savoyard Cove,” von Hoban commented.
“Yes,” agreed Hanzik, “Leutnant, in that case, send a messenger here, but they are not to be stopped.  Carry on.”
Once Kessock had left, the admiral turned to his second in command.
“Where is LT Bornholdt?”
“I sent him over to the Grande Miquellon, to patrol for hiders.”
Hanzik nodded, not bothering to conceal his relief.  Now, he thought, if only those cranes would stop.  Only then could they go on to the next phase.  They’d just stopped for a few minutes, raising his hopes, but were now moving again.
“Sir,” interjected a signalist from the doorway, “Kolberg reports complete.”
“Very well, signal Herr Dahm that he is to commence his stand down.”
The two senior officers exchanged glances.  Captain Westfeldt and Rostock had commenced their stand down just after first meal.  Strassburg was guard ship, but Siegmund and his crew had had the most time in New York, by far.
“Augsburg got a later start,” von Hoban observed.  “And Herr Speck is a properly cautious captain.  Two more hours, is my guess.”
Hanzik agreed.  Both knew that von der Tann would still be coaling at dusk, and Moltke would be lucky to finish by dusk the next day.

There was so much to do.  But, would the British allow them enough time?


1) There have been previous NOTEs on Coney Island.  The roller coaster phenomenon might be hard to understand today, but in 1915, it was huge.  See:
Per the above sites, Coney Island boasted one of the earliest loop-the-loop coasters, with either France or Britain having had the first one years earlier, albeit on a much smaller scale.
2) Dirk was mistaken in his view, being mercifully unaware at the time of just how close a call Hanzik’s force had just had with the Admiral Burney’s force.  In one of the great ironies of The Great War, HMS Benbow and HMS Hercules were coaling in Halifax at the same time that SMS Von der Tann and SMS Moltke were coaling in St. Pierre about 335 nautical miles to the east-northeast.  Burney’s force had been about 30 miles off Halifax at dawn on June 27, 1915, while Hanzik’s had been about 20 miles off St. Pierre. 
The general consensus of historians has been that the closest the two formations came to each other was about 130 nautical miles, and that this happened around dusk on June 26, 1915.  Hanzik, who one biographer claimed to have suffered angina pains when shown the annotated charts after the war, had, in fact, taken adequate precautions.  The Baron had not expected the British Admiralty to be able to get a dreadnought force into the Western Hemisphere until a day or two later than turned out to be the case.  Nonetheless, Hanzik had been ordered to take all precautions possible and responded by arranging matters so that his ships would cross the RN track into Halifax in the very middle of the eight hour period of darkness, with sunset being at 1950 local time and sunrise at 0416.  Per Benbow’s log, maintained by the famous navigator, Captain Lord Herrick himself, the British crossed what would become Hanzik’s track into St. Pierre around noon on June 26, or around 12 hours before the Germans got there.  This also marked their closest approach to St. Pierre: just over 100 nautical miles.
3) As discussed in NOTE #2, Stang was incorrect.  That is, two of the Grand Fleet dreadnoughts were NOT between his position and Wilhelmshaven.  Also as noted above, this fact would not likely have improved his morale.
4) The entire Bryce Report can be found here:
See also:
5) A discussion of the lithology can be found here:‑geographie/geologie/nougier.html

by Jim

Home | Gaming Model | Dogger Bank | Intermission Stories | Jutland | After Jutland | Side Stories | Ein Geleitzug | The Humor of jj | NEW!

Content Copyright 2010 Lettertime. All Rights Reserved.
Web Design 2009-2010 Kathryn Wanschura
Contact Letterstime