Letterstime - Ein Geleitzug: Homeward Bound? Part XLI
July 8, 1915
---- Stuttgart, course (changing), speed 15 knots
(slowing in turn)
Großer Kurfürst’s searchlights were quickly joined by
those from Kronprinz and then Friedrich der Große. Aurich’s Konig Albert gunnery officers lost
sight of their target, Warspite, moments later, following the British flagship’s
turn away, and the men aloft then added their searchlights to those of the flag’s
and the ships ahead. On all the ships,
as the searchlights pivoted, the 88 mm gunners obediently swivelled their
pieces to follow.
“Midships!”
Odalb ordered, his problems little lessened by greater clarity. He had picked out the closest Britisher
cruiser and pointed Stuttgart’s bows ahead of his “target”, not so much to lead
it as to provide good angles for torpedo launch. The range, 1500 yards, he thought staring
through the rain. Maybe a mite more.
Muzzle flashes sparkled on the lead British cruiser,
followed by flashes on the other Britishers.
Who were they shooting at? Odalb spotted few splashes nearby. “Hold fire,” he repeated.
“Steady, steady ... hold fire!” A glance to port showed his half-flotilla echeloned
tight on his beam, but they began to diverge as their officers picked their
targets. He couldn’t see his other
half-flotilla further back. They’d
turned with him, though; that much he’d seen.
He looked to starboard. He couldn’t
see Ehrhart’s second half-flotilla, but he got glimpses of white water,
indicating that they must be turning hard as well.
---- Ostfriesland, course 080, speed 15 knots
Whack!
Whack-whack! Admiral Rudburg
grimaced.
The Britishers were shooting at Ostfriesland and the
rest of Rudburg’s Battle Squadron, dead on their bows. Rudburg had seen Helgoland’s searchlights add
their candle power to those First Battle Squadron and knew this would
happen. His flagcaptain had then looked
at Rudburg and ordered theirs on, as well.
“Stay on target,” Rudburg ordered, when it appeared
that Ostfriesland’s CO might order the main guns to shift aim prematurely. There were dreadnoughts still in view, even
if the visibility was poor.
---- Vanguard, course 090, speed 18 knots
“Rudder amidships.”
Previously, Vanguard’s captain had altered to port to
go around the shattered pyre of Colossus.
This had had the effect of breaking the line of sight for both his and
the German gunners but, more importantly, it had preserved his line of sight to
the fleet flagship, though its form could only be dimly seen through the smoke
and rain. He had gotten back in line
astern of Marlborough quickly enough, more quickly actually than he had
expected due to the fact that Marlborough had herself jogged several hundred
yards to the north during her brief loss of steering control. He had not seen that but gave it no thought,
having more pressing matters before him in the form of German dreadnoughts.
Whack!
Whack! Several German 88 mm
gunners continued to poke at Vanguard with their 10-kilo shells. All the 150 mm gunners had lost Vanguard when
she passed behind the wreck of Colossus.
Two had already resumed fire but had yet to score a hit.
Boo-oom!
Vanguard’s salvo at Rheinland went long, as so many others had this
battle.
Whang! The
first 150 mm hit left pit marks on the armoured con, but did not
penetrate. The shock knocked several off
their feet and two stayed down, the victims of shrapnel through the view slits.
Vanguard was beginning to close up on Marlborough as
the latter slowed, but none aboard were yet aware of the extent of damage to
their division leader. Wretched
visibility was compounded by smoke from coal and damage left them with no view
at all of the forward part of Marlborough, but the intermittent muzzle flashes
of her stern 13.5-inch turrets seemed cue enough.
Whack-whang!
The number of 88 mm hits began to drop as more and more German gunners
swung their pieces around to follow the fleet searchlights. In another minute, the 150 mm gunners also
began to shift fire, leaving only the few secondary guns still operational on
Rheinland shooting at Vanguard.
“Sir, Marlborough’s turning to port.”
Boo-oom!
Vanguard’s captain looked over his bows at this
report, but had to wait for five large waterspouts to subside for
confirmation. Four had been from
Ostfriesland.
---- Rheinland, course 080, speed 15 knots
The other shell splash just ahead of Vanguard’s bows
had been from Rheinland, whose stern turret commander continued his odd
duel. A previous shot of his had notched
Vanguard’s bow and another had splashed short in line with her bow turret, but
he did not know where either shell had gone.
Another had also been short, but had skipped invisibly past his intended
target so he had no knowledge on that one, either. This latest one had grouped with those of
Ostfriesland, so no one had reported it.
This time as he again opened his eyes and prepared to shoot, so did
Vanguard. This would be his last shot,
but he didn’t know that either.
Boom-whannng!
Shell flight time was about four seconds, and the
flash of his gun had not fully dissipated when Vanguard’s salvo arrived. Most of her shells splashed astern, but three
did not. One “grazed” his turret near
the deck - if that is the correct word for taking out a chunk of armored steel
the size of a cantaloupe - and exploded on contact twenty feet further away,
punching a two foot divot out of the deck.
Another struck on the deck midway between turret and stern, but the
angle of impact was too shallow for the shell, shattering it even as it ripped
up a thirty foot trough just ahead of the still-smoking crater from Colossus’
earlier hit. He had just begun to open
his eyes when the last shell struck the stern turret directly on the thickest
portion of the glacis and, nonetheless, punched through into the turret
itself. It had begun to structurally
fail during penetration and so did not fully detonate, but that made no difference
to the turret captain, as he and twenty-five others within were killed
instantly.
This left Rheinland with two turrets able to bear to
port: the bow and the forward wing-turret.
Both of those turret captains had been staring at Colossus and had
practically been blinded when she blew up.
The bow turret next fired at the first visible muzzle flashes the turret
commander saw, which were St. Vincent’s, while the wing-turret fired at
Vanguard. Both missed, and missed badly,
though the bow turret’s shell splashed close aboard Bellerophon in the furthest
column.
---- Vanguard, course 090, speed 18 knots
“Come left,” began the captain, making the decision
to turn short, ahead of Marlborough’s pivot point. He didn’t think Admiral Gaunt would
object. (NOTE 1) His command might well become the focus of
the collective firepower of the German Line no matter what he did, but this
would at least reduce their exposure somewhat.
He had waited a few extra seconds so as to give the order immediately
after their next salvo had gone out.
Craaack!
Rheinland’s stern turret commander had been the
recipient of that last salvo, but he had just
extracted some small posthumous measure of revenge. His last shell impaled itself directly on the
muzzle of one of the gun barrels of Vanguard’s starboard wing turret, perhaps
the same turret or even gun barrel that had just effected his demise. If the German shell had struck as few as
twelve inches in any direction, the hit would likely have destroyed the turret
and might even have been a mortal blow to Vanguard herself. As it was, the shell blew off about four feet
of the barrel and made a serious attempt to lever it sideways right out of the
turret. The shock transmitted by and along
the barrel partially unseated it, killing two and wounding three others inside
the turret itself. (NOTE 2) The turret crew had just begun to open the
breech when the shell hit; the toll could have much higher if they had been
quicker.
The brief but showy fireball dwarfed the occasional
88 and 150 mm impacts from Rheinland and Posen, and also the next four 305 mm
shell splashes from Ostfriesland.
Shrapnel from the blast shotgunned across the faces of two nearby
casemates, striking down several more within.
Vanguard’s secondary gunners had scored several hits on Rheinland, but
to no effect as the only parts vulnerable to their fire were the searchlight
platforms and 88 mm gunners aloft. The
reverse was not true, as German 150 mm shells could defeat Vanguard’s casemate
armor and, in fact, already had done so once further aft.
---- Frauenlob, course 080, speed 15 knots
Kommodore Ehrhart had instructed the helm to maintain
station on the flagship, once it had begun to change course.
“Sir, Großer Kurfürst’s lights!”
“Ahead flank,” ordered Kommodore Ehrhart, as he
pivoted to stare back at the flagship on his starboard afterquarter. Only the aft ships of each pair were to
activate their searchlights. It was
accepted that the lights might attract more than a fair share of shellfire to
their ships, but the gains were expected to outweigh the risks, especially for
the darkened shooters. The flagship was
certainly not the aft ship of any pair.
Only the Baron could have ordered Großer Kurfürst’s
searchlights on. To Ehrhart, it smacked
of extremis. Damn this rain!
“Where are they pointed?” Ehrhart shouted up at the
lookouts.
“Port after-quarter, sir. Approximate bearing 315.”
“Hard left rudder!”
How else, Ehrhart had realized, could the Baron instantly have ordered
his screen into action in this weather?!
“Hoist ‘Attack’!” His half-flotillas might not be able to read
it, but it still seemed the right thing to do.
If he were mistaken, he’d end up looking foolish, but so what.
---- Marlborough, course 055 (changing), speed 15.5
knots (slowing)
Whang - Boom - Whannng!
Balzer kept his head flat on the backs of his hands
on the deck, coughing intermittently as briny water splashed into his nose or
mouth. Putting his face directly in
contact with the metal deck risked being battered unconscious. Raising his head any higher, however, risked
decapitation. His feet trailed into a
deeper puddle formed behind a dam created by some trapped wreckage the young
officer did not even attempt to identify.
He would have been numb from exposure but the metal beneath him was
still warm from what he hoped were since-extinguished flames. After a couple minutes, Balzer realized that
the midships turret had remained silent after that last salvo, nor was it
attempting to track a target as Marlborough wallowed into the turn.
Whumpff! The partially
muffled sound was another major caliber detonation deep within the ruins
forward, casting a shower of momentary sparks into the air. The shooting by the midships turret had been
the only sign to Balzer that his ship was fighting back, and now it appeared
quite lifeless. Had the Huns killed them
all?
Actually, no gunners had been killed or injured in
the midships turret. Instead, they had
evacuated it after their magazine had been flooded in the face of advancing
fires. They had gamely fired off their
remaining rounds before making good their escape. Moments later, they were helping fight the
very fires they had fled; already they had suffered casualties.
Whanng! A
shell from Kronprinz still somewhat ahead of Marlborough had just passed through
the space normally occupied by her second turret. As that heavily armoured structure had just
settled onto the seabed, the shell continued on into the face of the lower
superstructure, piercing it easily and detonating on the inside of the exterior
face of the port side casemates. The
rest of the shells from Kronprinz and Friedrich der Große missed ahead,
splashing roughly about where the mutilated dreadnought would have been without
the turn north. Balzer was not in a
position to appreciate that bit of good fortune, though his position made the
flame and debris blasting out of the ragged gash forward all too visible.
OhGod-OhGod, he half-sobbed, as he waited for his
vision to return. Where was
Warspite? Wait! The unmistakable silhouette of Agincourt was
just abaft the beam. He blinked at her
through the rain. She looked closer than
she should be, he thought, totally unaware of LT Bohemia’s earlier
adventures. He was trying to look ahead
of her when she fired a broadside back at the Germans. That was heartening, though it blinded him
afresh. Line of sight blockages had
forced Agincourt’s gunnery officer to shift targets with almost every
salvo. Marlborough’s non-regulation
proximity had aggravated matters significantly for her gunner, but Captain
Hawke had run out of expletives shortly after Marlborough lost her forward
superstructure. The fourteen shells in
this salvo splashed just short and ahead of Konig Albert, drenching Kapitain
Aurich to the skin even as it nearly scared him out of it, especially since he
had no idea where the shells had come from.
He had seen both 15-inch monsters turn, ceasing fire as they did so, and
then ... the sea had erupted alongside and onto the bridge.
Whannng!
Kronprinz and Friedrich der Große had shifted their aim to the oncoming
British light, but Posen and Helgoland continued to shoot at Marlborough,
though Helgoland had few secondaries and no turrets on her port side. The aft wing turret had been gutted by a
Warspite shell earlier. The forward one
had been evacuated and its magazine flooded when it was discovered that the
barbette had become hot to the touch.
Helgoland still had her forward and stern turret, but she wasn’t hitting
anything with either. This hit was from
Posen, and had holed the bow five feet above the waterline and 30 feet from the
stem. The shell did not detonate, but
passed entirely though the hull, gyration making its exit thrice the size of
its entrance.
Balzer’s vision returned enough to let him spot St.
Vincent, which he knew was supposed to be ahead of Agincourt and astern of
Warspite. He looked ahead of St.
Vincent, but Warspite wasn’t there. Or,
at least he couldn’t see her if she were.
What was happening? His thoughts
seemed clearer, mostly because the bruising barrage of 88 and 150 mm shells had
lightened. It now eased some more as
Helgoland’s gunnery officer – her kaptain remained unconscious - finally lost
sight of Marlborough and ordered what guns he had left to shift to the
advancing British light.
Balzer looked again at St. Vincent and realized that
she had put her rudder over hard. She
must be at her column’s turning point, he realized. But, but, Balzer thought, she was AHEAD of
them. Marlborough must be hopelessly out
of formation, making the very senior captains commanding Colossus and Vanguard
just astern even more so.
“Omigawd!” The
many orders dictating proper station-keeping were Holy Writ in His Majesty’s
Royal Navy! “Ha! They’ll break me down to recruit, throw me in
the brig, and deep-six the keys!” He
started to laugh then when he thought about just how many senior officers must
be cursing him right now. “OhGod, that’s
so … Gulp, cough-cough!” A mouthful of
cordite-flavored brine brought on a coughing fit.
Down below, LT Bohemia and his men had discovered
that the hydraulics must have been damaged and were struggling with Marlborough’s
rudders. Balzer had ordered full rudder
and they had not gotten half that.
Meanwhile, Marlborough had slowed to 14 knots. Bohemia had been trying to confess to LT
Balzer for several minutes, but his senior officer would not answer! What was he doing up there? It was just as well that the earnest junior
officer did not know the answer to his unvoiced question, namely that Balzer
was somewhere between giggling like a first former schoolgirl and coughing his
lungs out.
When Balzer finally came out of it and looked again
to port, he saw that Agincourt had already begun her own turn. But where was St. Vincent? Hell, she wasn’t even in sight anymore! That made TWO disappearing dread … oh, of
course! Agincourt must be in the
way. And Warspite ahead of HER! Either the Admiral had sped up or Marlborough
must have slowed. Or both. In any case, the fleet seemed to have turned
north and, despite their turning, they were rapidly becoming in danger of being
left behind. With the bloody Huns!
“Rudder amidships!”
The voice came out of the tube sounding oddly hoarse, thought Bohemia.
“Aye, aye, sir,” Bohemia answered this personally,
once he gave the order. “We’re having a
spot of trouble down here,” Bohemia drew a breath, then paused at the odd
sounds coming down the tube.
Laughter? It couldn’t be! “The rudders aren’t responding properly.” He listened carefully, but Balzer did not
reply for a full minute.
“Mark this heading,” Balzer shouted once that strange
noise abated. “What was it? That bearing?” Balzer had no compass nearby, or at least
none down at deck level. He was not
about to stand up and start a search for one.
He fought down another round of laughter at the notion.
“357, sir.”
“That doesn’t, oh, very well. Bring the rudder back – Oh, Bloody Hell! -
steer due north, man!”
“Due north, um, after-steering, aye.”