[3:00 AM]
Mr. Midshipman Owen Tudor was struggling to stay awake, as time seemed to stop. His junior position, having only joined HMS Nottingham a week ago, ensured that he was stuck with the middle watch. He knew that his uncle had called in a few favors to get him a prime assignment with the best command in the North Sea, and he wanted to make a good impression and not just be thought “another Admiral’s scion” by his shipmates. Yet he was still adjusting to sea duty, and staying up for half the bloody night was not easy. Still, he did admit that the penalties that officers who fell asleep on watch faced were enough to keep any man’s eyes open.
HMS Nottingham was the third ship in line of the 2nd Light Cruiser Squadrons. Previously, this had been the flag squadron of the Harwich Force, as then Commodore Tyrwhitt had flown his flag from HMS Southampton. However, Admiral Tyrwhitt now flew his flag from HMS Invincible, as the 4th Battlecruiser Squadron had been reassigned to the Harwich Force and was now based at Sheerness. HMS Southampton’s function now was to carry Admiral Tyrwhitt from their headquarters at Harwich until they formed with the battlecruisers, at which point he and his staff would transfer over.
On this dark night, HMS Nottingham was in formation, following HMS Birmingham, with the 4th Battlecruiser Squadron off to their side. Their function now was to act as support for the battlecruisers, though if they should chance upon any German light cruisers, they were under standing orders to break of and engage. While the Harwich Force might have battlecruisers, their primary function had not changed, and the new ships were there simply to add a bit of heft. After all, it was much better to engage German light forces with the far more nimble cruisers and destroyers, while letting the capital ships stand off and blast away.
As the clock struck 3:00, Owen was leaning over a stanchion, massaging his temples. He could feel a headache forming, and was hoping to ward it off by trying to relax his head. The sleeplessness was aggravating it, and he wished nothing more than to be able to go to bed, but he still had another hour before he could turn in, and even then, he’d have to be up four hours later. He’d have liked to do nothing more than to light up a smoke: the nicotine would help him stay away, but standing regulations issued by the captain forbade smoking while on night watch. Though Owen seriously doubted it, the skipper did not want enemy lookouts to spot a lit match, and so he went without a smoke.
A noise in the distance snapped his attention back to the sea. The lookouts were already scanning the dark horizon, trying to find the source of the noise. Owen hoped fervently that Mr. Crenshaw, the lieutenant of the watch, would appear soon: he had taken sick, and gone to head only a few minutes before, and without him there, Own felt quite in over his head. Soon, one of the lookouts called out “I can see muzzle flashes in the distance Sir! Straight ahead!”
Owen thought for a moment. The 5th Light Cruiser Squadron was up ahead, scouting for the Harwich Force. That meant the muzzle flashes had to either be from their guns, or from whatever they had engaged, and that meant they had found the Germans. Owen knew what he should do. He walked over to a panel, and started the Action Stations alarm.
The rattlers woke the ship and men bounded up out of hatchways. Some ran for the gun mounts, pulling flash hoods over their heads while they moved. Others milled about near the hatchways and bulkheads: ammunition passers forming the chain that passed shells and power charges from the magazines to the guns. Still, many were still below decks, manning the engine room, magazines, in the sick berth, or simply waiting for the need fro damage repair parties to begin their work.
Mr. Crenshaw appeared before any of the other officers, looking decidedly pale. The Captain and Mr. Urquhart, the ships’ 1st Lieutenant, were right behind him. The Captain looked at Owen and Crenshaw and asked, “What’s going on?”
“Sir,” Owen said. “Muzzle flashes and gunfire ahead. No report from the 5th yet, but I thought that they must have found Germans,”
The Captain nodded then he said “Mr. Crenshaw?”
“I was walking aft when the gunfire started, and I was on my way here to see what was going on when the rattlers went off,”
Owen made no reaction to Crenshaw’s lie: he wouldn’t have wanted to say ‘I was in the head due to the wardroom curry’ any more than the next man. At any rate, the Captain took charge of things, and Owen was relieved from the watch to report to his action station with Mr. Lewis on the starboard battery. By the time he got there, he could already feel the Nottingham picking up speed. When he reached his station, the jovial face of Mr. Lewis greeted him.
“There you are Owen!” He said. “Here, put this on,” Mr. Lewis handed him a helmet. At Admiral Rowley’s request, the Royal Navy had adopted the Army’s Brodie helmet for naval service. However, the supply was still limited, as the Army received the vast majority of those produced. The light cruisers and destroyers had been given priority when it came to doling out those helmets that made it to the fleet: after all, a gun crew in a dreadnought’s turret hardly needed them, but the exposed gunners of the light forces did.
The firing grew even louder, and before long, Owen saw a British cruiser go limping away to the southwest: he could not identify her, but he could tell that she was severely damaged. As she passed by, the gun crews on Nottingham broke out in cheers, shouting “well done!” and “we’ll get them back!” to which their comrades across the water shouted “to bloody right!” and “Don’t bother, we already did them in!” Owen smiled, they might be shot to pieces, but the their morale was still excellent.
Before long, there was an awful silence, as the 5th Light Cruiser Squadron had apparently been forced back. Owen stood next to Mr. Lewis, waiting for any news. The night was pretty dark, and visibility was not good. However, a shape appeared in the distance, and Mr. Lewis reported it to the bridge. Before they could get any word back on what to do, the shaped opened fire at them.
“Action starboard! Open fire!” Mr. Lewis shouted into a speaking trumpet.
The world went mad as the starboard battery opened fire. The rest of the 2nd Light Cruisers joined in. The first shells missed, but that was hardly unexpected. Shortly thereafter, several explosions erupted on the German cruiser: telltale signs of a hit. Owen wondered just who had made them. While he’d have liked to think that his ship did, he had to admit it was more likely that HMS Southampton had been the ships: her gunners were the definition of crack gun crews.
More explosions bellowed out as the port battery opened fire, and as the starboard battery continued to blast away. Before long, the German ship that the starboard battery had fired on was bracketed, and the cry of “hit!” registering. The German caught fire and went dead in the water. As they sailed by, a massive shell went over the Nottingham and exploded well to port. Owen looked at Mr. Lewis
“That must be the battlecruisers,” Mr. Lewis said. “They must’ve engaged whatever it is that’s to port of us,” A great explosion roared, and Mr. Lewis flinched. “I think that they just got a hit. Poor bloody Huns! I don’t want to image what a light cruiser looks like after taking a twelve inch shell,”
The 2nd Light Cruisers shot past the burning wreckage of the German cruisers, confident in the knowledge that it had helped bag two enemy cruisers. Owen watched them burn as the Harwich Force reformed and came about to head for home. They were far to close to Emden for anyone’s peace of mind. This allowed for a slightly relaxed posture, and Mr. Lewis sent Owen to each of the gun mounts to check on them, and allow a few men from each one to go and bring back a bucket of water for the men to drink. Upon his return to Mr. Lewis, the two began to chat.
“Well Owen,” Lewis said. “What did you think of your first action?”
“Well Sir,” Owen began. “It was a lot more confused than I had imagined, and a lot closer too,”
Lewis laughed. “Well my boy, night engagements are something we tend to avoid precisely because they are so confusing. Not that fighting in daylight doesn’t have the odd mishap, but it’s much harder to coordinate at night,”
“Also, I was surprised by how little damage we took,” Owen added.
“Now don’t get used to that,” Leis replied. “We’ve been pretty lucky, and I’d wager that the 5th took it in the teeth. We were already in line and we were able to bring superior fire to bear. The 5th was in scouting line, so they probably went in against the Germans one at a time and got shot up. We had eight other cruisers with us, plus the battlecruisers,”
Owen looked very pale at the prospect of Nottingham getting mauled, and Lewis laughed again. “Don’t worry too much Owen. When we sank those three battleships, we gave them 60 shell hits for not one in return. We’ve got ourselves a lucky ship, and she’ll see us through all right. Now, I’d like you to go down below and see if that villain of a butcher is up. If we’re going to be up much longer, he damned well better start making sandwiches!”
[7:23 AM]
The guns crews were stretched out on the deck, fast asleep. The Captain had kept them all at Action Stations, as there had been intermittent reports of enemy sightings for the last four hours. Corned beef sandwiches had been distributed and the men were waiting for the order to secure from Action Stations. Owen was sleeping against the superstructure while Mr. Lewis had kept watch.
The ship’s bugler blowing “Alarm” roused them all out of their sleep. Men scrambled from the spots they had been fast asleep on back to their guns. Owen jumped up and nearly fell into Mr. Lewis as the Nottingham came hard to starboard. The word was passed down from the bridge: enemy in sight.
The 2nd Light Cruisers bore down on this new target. Soon she became visible in the dawn light: she was a Königsberg-Class cruiser, and she was cleared for action. She opened fire at a greater than expected distance. Owen wondered for a moment if her gun crews had just been nervous, but then he felt it. A shell exploded on the stern of Nottingham, and he realized that the German had to have 6-inch guns as well.
In spite of the hit, Owen felt very confident. They were nine cruisers to the one German, and this time, he could clearly make out that Nottingham’s guns were getting their share of hits. Before long, the German was beginning to founder due to the sheer number of shells poured into it, and Nottingham began to approach the sinking ship.
“Lower away ropes and nets! Prepare to take on survivors!” A voice called out from the bridge. Just as quickly as they had returned to their guns, the sailors ran from their guns to the hatchways to pass along the ropes that the Germans would need to climb aboard. In addition, rifles, pistols, and even a cutlass were distributed to a few men so that the Germans did not try anything. Owen seriously doubted that they would: at this stage, they’d be too stunned by the battle and too happy that they were being rescued to do anything.
The Germans came aboard with their wounded being helped up by their uninjured comrades. First aid was administered, and the worst cases were sent directly to Surgeon-Lieutenant Albemarle in the sick berth. As the last of the Germans came aboard, Owen noticed a man in the distance who kept disappearing under the water and popping back up. It took Owen a moment to realize that the man was drowning. Without thinking, he kicked off his shoes and dove in. A few powerful strokes brought him over to the fellow, whom he grabbed by the collar. He dragged the man over to Nottingham’s hull, and two sailors aboard helped pull him up onto the deck.
“Well done Owen!” Mr. Lewis said approvingly. “That’s splend-” and he abruptly stopped talking. In the distance were a fair number very large plumes of smoke. The rest of the Harwich Force had already headed southwest, so they could only be Germans, and only big ships could make those.
“Dreadnoughts! Enemy dreadnoughts to starboard!” Mr. Lewis called out. It wasn’t needed, HMS Nottingham’s helmsman had already switched to All-ahead full and the ship was accelerating away. The question was could it outpace the Germans enough to get away.
Soon another cruiser was bearing down on them. While Owen was sure that Nottingham could take her single-handedly, the damage would slow her down enough get her within range of the German battleships on the horizon. In other words, dead. The Nottingham ran to the southwest, hoping beyond hope to slide along the edge of the Texel minefield and escape home to port. Three times the German cruiser closed; and three times she sheered off.
It took them three hours to get to the Texel minefield. A three-hour chase, Owen thought, is a distinctly unnerving experience. It’s drawn out agony wondering if we’ll be caught. Their German stalker was still with them, an ever-present reminder of what was chasing them, as if the clearly visible smoke was not enough. As they passed the Texel minefield, the German cruiser began to close into gun range, and Owen knew that they were done for. He’d been aboard her for only short time, yet Nottingham was going to be lost.
As the German closed, she was bracketed by a large number of shells. All eyes looked port, and a sailor climbed over top of the superstructure to take a look. He called out “it’s the rest of the squadron, and they’re charging at the German cruiser!” Silence followed, and then the man spoke again. “She’s breaking off and running for it!”
This was met with cheers, and soon the Germans were entirely out of sight. The Nottingham was treated the view of the rest of her squadron, plus the 3rd Light Cruisers, reforming into line with the Nottingham in her usual spot. Owen laughed as the rest of the crew cheered on their squadron mates for coming to the rescue just in the nick of time. He’d have a very interesting tale to tell his Uncle Frederick when they got back to Harwich.