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Post by cv10 on Jun 11, 2022 13:01:16 GMT -6
Steam heating kept the USS Michigan’s wardroom a comfortable temperature as the ship rode at anchor. While still nominally attached to the Atlantic Fleet, Battleship Division 2 and its screening elements were warped out in Boston Harbor. Magazines stood filled, fuel bunkers regularly topped off by harbor oilers, and galley stores replenished nearly. Every man in the American Naval Expeditionary Force knew this meant one thing. Their sailing date was imminent. Jack Malinowski sat opposite Robert Fitzgerald, nursing a nasty hangover. For his part, Robert was enjoying the time-honored schadenfreude that went with not having a throbbing head and a stomach in the process of suing its owner for divorce on the grounds of cruel and barbarous treatment while one’s friend did. Jack had a mound of hash-browns before him, trying to choke something down. Robert smiled smugly as he polished off the last of his eggs. “Shut up!” Jack snapped. “I didn’t say anything,” Robert shot back. “You were thinking it,” Jack replied. “Well…” Robert said. “Fair enough,” “Some of us,” Jack started. “Didn’t get the opportunity to spend their thanksgiving with their own family.” Robert’s smile widened. “God bless the War Department for ordering us to Boston just in time for the holidays. And what are you complaining about? You had a cheery night!” “So I did,” Jack said. “I had the best night that Boston’s Polish-American community could provide…with all the krupnik I could drink. I feel like the Marine Band is playing a Sousa march in my head.” “You should have accepted my folks’ invitation,” Robert said. “It wouldn’t have been as…ah…lively, but you’d have got off without a sore head.” “My hosts couldn’t help themselves,” Jack replied. “Since we’re at war with the Russians, at least by sea, nothing’s too good for us leathernecks and the bluejackets.” “I image I’d have had much the same fate, but with whiskey, if we’d put in at New York.” Robert said. “Some of the old folks back in the neighborhood were positively ecstatic that we’re at war with the limeys. Plenty can remember fleeing the old country after being evicted or crossing into Canada during the fenian raids. Outside of us Irish, there are a few old codgers who lived through the British bombardment in the 60s. I’m sure still left would have forced me to share a bottle or two.” Jack laughed. “I’m sure the same thing would have happened if I were back home in Detroit. My granddad fought in the January Uprising in 1863. Fled the country when the Tsar’s bastards crushed it and started deporting everyone they could find to Siberia. Hell, he’d probably have been the one forcing booze on me.” A clattering of plates from a nearby table caused Jack to wince. “Thank God for Colonel Fuller and harbor watches,” He said. “He took one look at me when he came into the wardroom this morning and issued me with a two-day pass. So I’m going to sit here and drink coffee until it pours out of my ears.” “This too shall pass,” Robert joked. “Like a kidney stone,” “Is there anything in the paper about the Pacific?” Jack asked. Robert had since opened a copy of the Boston Globe. “Nothing aside from what we already know,” Robert replied. “Admiral Fletcher caught the Combined Fleet trying to cover the evacuation of their Army from Aparri and flayed it. Apparently, he caught the Japanese to port with the sun rising in the east and a favorable wind blowing the smoke clear of his battleships. It wasn’t quite a Tsushima in reverse, but pretty bad for the Japanese. Fletcher bagged all of their old battleships, their three Kawachi-class dreadnoughts, and the whole damn transport fleet. It looks like the Fusos and Ises got shot up but escaped to fight another day. Their damned Kongo-class never engaged. It turns out to be somewhere else, and the Japanese commander told them to run for home.” “That would give them six battlecruisers and six dreadnoughts left?” Jack said. “I think so,” Robert answered. “It’s a solid core fleet, but it seems that their civilian government is in a panic. The bulk of their Army is now trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea both in China and the Philippines. The rumor mill is that they may ask us for an armistice.” “Just like that?” Jack asked, incredulous. “As I said, their civilian government is terrified.” Robert answered. “We’re in a position to blockade their home islands. Our battle fleet is still superior to what they have left.” “Have we admitted any losses?” Jack asked. “None so far,” Robert said. “Some of Fletcher’s ships are pretty heavily damaged and will need a few months in Manila before they’ll be fit for service. At any rate, he’d have enough to occupy a few of the outlying islands. Once we do that, it would just be a matter of bringing in the submarine tenders and ammunition ships. We could sit our submarines right off of their major naval bases and torpedo any warship that tries to come out.” Jack nodded. “Anything else?” “Yes,” Robert answered. “Fletcher’s already steamed to the rescue of the Germans at Tsingtao. The Japanese are pinned between the city, our fleet, and the Chinese Army.” “Makes for nice headlines,” Jack said. “I can’t imagine the Kaiser’ll be too pleased though. The city’s all he’ll have. Somehow, I don’t see President Sun handing the Shantung peninsula back to the Germans, and it’s not like there’s anything the Kaiser can do to make them.” “Particularly when Chinese pressure hurts the Japanese, French, and British so much more than it hurts us,” Robert replied. “That’s why we spent so much to help them build up their army right after their revolution. They can menace French Indochina, and Hong Kong. Moreover, I think the prospect of a resurgent China would also be driving any Japanese attempt to get out of the war. If they try to make a fight of it, we can cut their forces in Korea off from the Home Islands and let the Chinese invade. Hell, with Theodore Roosevelt as the Secretary of War, I can imagine him suggesting that we offer to put Chinese troops ashore on Kyushu or Hokkaido. At any rate, we can always give the Kaiser something to replace Shandong province if we win the war.” “One headache at a time,” Jack said. “Besides, the Chinese just want their country back, at least that’s all they want for now. It’d take them long enough to build a navy to match ours or Kaiser Bill’s. Let them have Shandong, Hong Kong, and all the rest back. Trying to stop them would be like ordering the tide not to change,” “Damn right,” Robert said. “Besides, they’ll have enough internal problems to settle, like dragging their economy into this century. Mind you, when they do, we should all watch out because they’ll be the big fellows in Asia.” “They’ll have the Russkies to deal with,” Jack said. “Though that’s what everyone said about Japan before ‘05. Speaking of European enemies, anything in that paper on them?” “Nothing of interest,” Robert replied. “The German battlecruiser force attacked Hartlepool about a month ago, and the British just admitted the loss of two light cruisers. The Imperial Navy Office denied rumors that one of their battlecruisers needed reconstruction after being torpedoed during the action. Reports to the contrary are merely the rankest lies told to cover the astonishing incompetence of a navy whose present state must make Admiral Nelson roll in his tomb. Though, the fact that for the longest time, paintwork and brass work counted more for a British officer’s prospects than the state of his ship’s gunnery likely made the immortal Nelson’s corpse turn quite some time ago.” Jack smiled. “I give the propaganda people credit for tweaking the lion’s tale in print. However, that last bit comes far too close to tempting fate for my liking. That runs the risk of tempting lady luck and madam fortune.” “There’s something in what you say,” Robert said thoughtfully. “I’ll have to mark this down in my journal… ‘27 November 1914. Lt. Malinowski had an idea…no, several interesting ideas… and did not rupture anything in the process. For the first time, I have direct evidence of the existence of a divine being.” Jack chuckled. “You’re lucky we’re in the wardroom or I’d fling this plate at your head!”
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Post by cv10 on Jun 12, 2022 12:23:04 GMT -6
The Icelandic winter was milder than one might expect. The Berufjörður fjord’s temperature rarely dipped below twenty-two degrees Fahrenheit. The sailors and marines aboard Battleship Division 2’s ships and their escorts were thankful for this. It made their work a bit easier to bear, though the danger of ice underfoot was still considerable. As Robert Fitzgerald discovered the hard way. He sat up in bed, right arm still in a cast, trying to eat oatmeal with his left arm. Chester Nimitz and a rather smug Jack Malinowski sat in chairs next to him. While on bed rest and restricted from duty (what use was an aide short an arm?), his relative mobility meant that Robert was not confined to the sickbay. Instead, he was laid up in the cabin he shared with Jack. Nimitz had stopped by to drop off some paperwork that needed Jack’s signature and, being off duty, ended up staying to shoot the breeze. He was finishing his explanation of Admiral Fiske’s cold. “And I’d count myself lucky if I could get bed rest due to a broken arm,” Nimitz said. “I’ve never seen the old man like this. He’s usually as cheerful as the prizewinning bronco buster at the state fair, but with this cold, he’s ladling it like boiling pitch. Colonel Feland’s making an inspection of the Fleet’s marine units to avoid the old man. He’s even got Captain de Steiguer terrified, and I didn’t think there was anything short of the devil incarnate that could accomplish that! I’m just glad he decided to take a nap. It spared me from having to go in. “Great Goggerty,” Robert said back. “I’d never thought I’d be grateful to have my arm in a cast, but I sure am now. That must’ve been terrifying. I think I’d rather face a broadside from one of those British super-dreadnoughts. At least that’d only kill me. By the way, has my absence been commented upon?” Nimitz smiled at the nervous trepidation in Robert’s voice. “Only once. He did throw out a comment about you having ‘fallen down and wrenched your arm like a goddamned lubber. But that he should have expected no less from a mere leatherneck, and that when he was a younker, he’d always been told that a sailor had to bang his head on a low beam hard at least three times before they’d shown the level of intelligence needed to be a marine.’ Believe me when I say that you got off easy.” “He’s never been sick since I took over as his confidential aide. I wonder if he’s always so snappish when he’s ill.” Robert said. “I think that’s a part of it,” Nimitz replied. “I think our position has him stressed out. We’re anchored and taking on coal and fuel for the final run. We’ve also got the local Danish administration to abide by a sort of hostile neutrality. You wouldn’t have noticed, but they’ve moved a cannon, a damned old muzzle-loader that fires solid shot, up to the mouth of the fjord. They fire wide at whatever passes by. Yet we’re not that far from Scapa Flow and I don’t think the Danes would cry foul if a British fleet turned up and dug us out of here. If that occurs to me, it must occur to him. It’s not even the most dangerous part of all this. That’s going to be running right past the whole Grand Fleet.” “How’s the planning for that going?” Robert asked. “I’m not sure I should discuss that here,” Nimitz replied. “No offense Lieutenant Malinowski, but it’s safer to say nothing rather than risk letting something slip. I don’t think you’re a security risk, and no one is allowed to go ashore, but.” “None taken Mister Nimitz,” Jack replied. “It is so nice to hear someone say that to Rob. He’s hit me with that stick before!” “I suppose I can say,” Nimitz began. “That the Germans have been very active along the southeast coast of England. We have the latest dispatches cleared for publication. The Germans sent a force down into the Straits of Dover and hammered the French and the Brits there.” “They hit anything big?” Jack asked. “No such luck,” Nimitz said. “They shot the Dunkirk batteries to pieces and then shelled Dover. The harbor facilities got hit pretty good, and the few shore batteries. The he cruisers and destroyers bagged a few coaster transports.” “The British send anything out?” Robert asked. “They had the Harwich Force out and about. The Germans ran into it while heading home and managed to put a few eleven-inchers into one of those Arethusa-class cruisers. They’re pretty confident that she sank.” “Well,” Robert said. “That should even things up a bit, cruiser-wise.” “Hopefully it will pull a few units from the Grand Fleet down to help defend the English coast,” Jack added. “I don’t think that will happen,” Nimitz said. “The British have to know that their blockade is most important to beating the Germans. They also know how crucial it is for them to keep us from linking up with the Germans. Now that Japan’s been mauled, we could deploy a huge portion of our own fleet to the Atlantic. That’s been the dream since the ‘90s. Smash our way through the enemy to operate the Atlantic Fleet side-by-side with the High Seas Fleet.” “And the Stars-and-Stripes flying over Whitehall!” Robert interjected. “Damn right!” Jack said. “Exactly,” Nimitz replied with a chuckle and a nod of agreement. “The Germans also hit Sunderland a few weeks later but didn’t manage to find anything. They shot up the shore batteries and some industrial targets.” Before Robert or Jack could say anything, a marine burst into the room. He looked a Nimitz while catching his breath. “Sir,” He said. “The Admiral says if you’re not in his cabin within the next five minutes, you may consider yourself under arrest.” “Good God!” Nimitz said. “He must have woken up. If you’ll excuse me gentlemen!” he finished as he darted from the room. Robert and Jack looked at each other. “Perhaps,” Robert said, “it would be for the best if I was still excused duties for a while….”
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Post by garrisonchisholm on Jun 12, 2022 14:31:43 GMT -6
No pre-dreds at Harwich in this universe? That would have been a tasty prize.
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Post by cv10 on Jun 12, 2022 14:43:16 GMT -6
No pre-dreds at Harwich in this universe? That would have been a tasty prize. IRL, I don't think 3rd Battle Squadron moved to Sheerness until 1916. I might have actually deleted them from the game to make room for more modern ships (There's a hard limit on how many divisions the game can support)
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Post by cv10 on Jun 20, 2022 16:54:34 GMT -6
Battleship Division 2 (BatDiv2) steamed in line east southeast. Double lookouts in the masts and other stations kept a constant watch on the dark horizon. The Division would need the soonest possible warning to escape should columns of smoke or the shapes of enemy ships suddenly dart into sight. Of course, it helped that it was night. The darkness offered some hope of escape. In daylight, all the American ships could hope to do if caught would give a good account of themselves. The High Seas Fleet and the German Scouting Force were somewhere to the south. Robert Fitzgerald understood the basic plan from the staff meetings. The High Seas Fleet was acting as a distant covering force. By steaming in its present location, it would draw English attention away from BatDiv 2’s projected course while being near enough to BatDiv 2 to come to the rescue in case a Royal Navy patrol or an unfriendly Norwegian spotted the American force and reported it. Lt. Robert Fitzgerald and Lt. Chester Nimitz napped on the deck of the flag bridge. Within fifty miles of the Northern Patrol’s usual sweeping areas, BatDiv 2 had gone to general quarters and maintained a heightened state of readiness ever since. So far, little of note had happened. Baton Rouge, one of the light scout cruisers, had wandered off and was God only knew where. Aside from that, BatDiv 2 and its supporting elements made good progress on a course south southeast. It was now very early in the morning, and Admiral Fiske had given orders to allow the men to sleep at their battle stations. Admiral Fiske was resting in his sea cabin a few feet away, while Captain Niblack had been gracious enough to order up extra cots to his sea cabin for Captain de Steiguer and Colonel Feland. Junior officers were left to shift for themselves. A loud ringing woke both of them up. Robert's arm was just out of the newfangled plaster cast, and he was slower in getting up. By the time he was standing, Nimitz had already answered the telephone connecting the flag bridge with the rest of the USS Michigan. Robert stretched as he watched Nimitz talk on the phone. “I see,” Nimitz said. “I will inform the Admiral at once." Nimitz rushed by Robert to the door to Admiral Fiske’s cabin. Nimitz knocked on the door, and before he could enter, it flung open, and Admiral Fiske stepped onto the bridge. “Yes, Mister Nimitz?” Fiske said crisply. “Sir, we intercepted a coded wireless signal from Admiral Hipper,” Nimitz said, avoiding the unnecessary apology for having “woken” the admiral. “He’s engaged enemy capital ships near Little Fisher Bank.” “If we’ve received it,” Fiske said after a moment, “then surely Admiral von Pohl must have received it as well. We better wake up Captain de Steiguer. Stand fast Mister Nimitz, I will not send you into the lion’s den. You may telephone down to the bridge and ask the officer of the watch to have both Captain de Steiguer and Captain Niblack join us. I expect a few more reports will come in. If I remember right, the Germans went crackers over the potential for naval wireless in coordinating units at night. We might be able to follow what’s happening.” The telephone rang again, and Nimitz answered it. “Flag bridge,” he said. “Sir, a general wireless signal from Admiral Hipper to all destroyers. ‘Execute Flotilla attack on enemy capital ships,’” “Very good,” Fiske said. Nimitz remained on the line, waiting for more news. Both Captain de Steiguer and Captain Niblack arrived shortly after the last message. Admiral Fiske briefly filled them both in on what had happened. Quite some time went by before Nimitz broke in again. “Sir, a Signal from Hipper to Destroyer Flotilla. ‘Detach escort for Von Der Tann,’” Nimitz read. “Sir,” Niblack started. “Should we alter course to close with Admiral Hipper?” “I wish we could,” Fiske said. “Our orders are non-discretionary. We are not to deviate from sailing to Wilhelmshaven unless it is to flee from a superior force. I know it’s agonizing, but we know that the Grand Fleet is elsewhere. We must trust Admiral Hipper to disengage if he needs to and Admiral von Pohl to assist Hipper.” After this, there was further silence. It stretched on for an interminable period. Finally, Nimitz spoke again. “A Signal from Hipper to Seydlitz. ‘Prepare wounded and crew for transfer. There's an additional one from Hipper to Light Cruiser Flotilla. Standby to take on casualties and crew from Seydlitz. Then a final one from Hipper to Scouting Force. Reform and Execute Case 2,” Nimitz said. “Case 2?” Fiske asked. “I believe that’s one of the prearranged maneuver orders that can be transmitted via code sir,” Steiguer answered. “I cannot speak to exactly what it means without the signal book we received, but I think that’s the one for the force to reform and return to port.” “Damn,” Fiske said. “Germany doesn’t have enough battlecruisers to go about losing them. First the Goeben gets trapped in the Med, now the Seydlitz is gone, and the Von Der Tann too for all we know! And not a word about losses inflicted on the enemy! All just to help us sneak by the British! I tell you gentlemen. We will have a substantial blood debt to repay.” They all quietly nodded. It had been a damned bad turn of events. Even allowing for the communications difficulties, it sounded like Hipper’s force got mauled. Robert could understand Fiske’s dejection. After all, the Germans had gotten off nearly scot-free thus far. Now, on their first cooperative mission with the US Navy, they’d lost a good battlecruiser, maybe even two, and all without inflicting any losses of their own. “I suggest that we all get some rest.” Fiske said. “Captain Niblack, we will maintain our present readiness for now. However, I think that the men should have a hot breakfast come morning. I’m inclined to think that Jellicoe will return to Scapa Flow to take on ammunition and deal with whatever damage he suffered. Besides, he has to know that Admiral von Pohl is about. He’ll want to full magazines if he runs into the High Seas Fleet. That will be all gentlemen,” “Very good sir,” Niblack said. “I’ll have the signal passed to the rest of the division via signal lamp. Good night sir,” He and Captain de Steiguer left. “As for you two,” Fiske said, eyeing his two junior aides. “I think we should have someone keeping watch, just in case new signals filter in. I think only one of you need stand watch at a time. The other should find a warmer place to sleep.” “Very good sir,” Nimitz said. Fiske turned and walked back into his sea cabin. Nimitz turned to Robert and said, “I’ll take the first watch and you can take over in 2 hours.” “Sounds good to me,” Robert said. “I’ll head down to the wardroom on my way to my cabin, and I’ll ask one of the stewards to run up with some coffee.” “Much obliged to you Rob,” Nimitz replied. Robert made his way down to the wardroom, placed his order for coffee. He then made his way to his cabin and threw himself on his rack. Within minutes he was asleep. “Sir,” Someone said, shaking him. “Sir, I’m afraid I must ask you to wake up.” “Wha,” Robert sputtered. “What is it?” “Message from Mister Nimitz sir,” the sailor said. “Please report to the flag bridge,” “Thank you,” Robert said as he eased himself up. He stretched and made his way to the ladders leading up. It was dawn now, but a gale and a rainstorm made the weather miserable. After several other ladders and a few passageways, he was up in the superstructure and then in the flag bridge. Admiral Fiske and Captain de Steiguer were already there. “Sir,” Robert said as he entered. “Was there anything else in the message Chester?” Fiske asked Nimitz. “No, sir,” Nimitz replied. “Just the initial signal. Destroyer to Admiral von Pohl, Enemy Capital Ships in sight. It gives its position to the west southwest of the Great Fisher Bank. “What time is it now?” Fiske asked. “7:37 sir,” Steiguer replied, looking at his pocket watch. “Well,” There’s no sense in us all crowding around. We would all do well with a meal in us. The signal room can send messengers if something important arises. You may all stand down.” Nimitz and Robert returned to the wardroom. The corner where Robert had been sleeping was being swept, and the smell of the vast pots of coffee and containers of bacon, toast, and hashed potatoes filled the wardroom. The two sat down at a table and a steward brought them some food. They ate voraciously, having had little aside from cold corned beef sandwiches for the last day. After ten minutes, their plates were cleared. “Thank God that Captain Niblack released the cooks from battle stations. There’s nothing that saps the spirit more than cold food. Bad weather, kipping on the deck in a semi-exposed flag bridge, even enemy action I could cope with. But cold food on top of all that would have taken the cake.” Robert said. “Exactly,” Nimitz said. “Hot food and hot coffee are like bunker fuel. Go too long without ‘em and you run outta steam.” “Even with plenty of both,” Robert said. “I’m still beat.” “So am I,” Nimitz replied. “Neither of us have a watch, and I think I’ll turn in for a bit.” “I’ll do the same,” Robert said. They both rose and headed for their quarters in the junior officers’ berths. Robert entered his and found Jack Malinowski dead asleep. He quietly shucked off his greatcoat and tiptoed back to his rack, turning in fully clothed. About two hours later, a loud banging on the door woke him up. “Lt. Fitzgerald sir,” Robert shot up and bolted to the door. He opened it to find a marine private outside. A brief glance at his watch told him it was about twenty minutes until 11:00. “Sir,” The marine said, “Your presence is requested on the flag bridge.” “Thank you,” Robert said. Once again, he made his way up to the flag bridge. A driving rain was falling, and he had to step carefully to avoid slipping. One broken arm was enough. He reached the flag bridge to find Admiral Fiske, Nimitz, and Steiguer already there. This time, Steiguer had the phone. “Signal from High Seas Fleet scout cruisers to Admiral von Pohl. Enemy battlecruisers in sight.” Steiguer reported. “Followed by a signal from Admiral von Pohl to High Seas Fleet. Engage the enemy.” Tense moments went by. The High Seas Fleet would not report hits via the radio, and daylight likely meant that course change signals were being made with flags or signal lamps. There was nothing to do but wait. Time passed, and BatDiv 2 continued to steam on its course. “Signal from Admiral von Pohl to High Seas Fleet. Enemy retiring to port. Discontinue action.” Steiguer said. “I hope that means that Admiral von Pohl had better luck,” Fiske said quietly. “I’m sorry to have troubled all of you. I do not think there will be anything else of importance to us. I think that we can rest easy until we reach Wilhelmshaven. The enemy seem to be on the other side of the North Sea.” As Fiske said this, Robert noticed that the admiral leaned over and touched the wooden telephone box. The rest of the day passed quickly. The normal function of the ship resumed, which meant Robert had little to do. He enjoyed a shower, his first since sailing from Iceland, and the ham and bean soup served for lunch. He caught up some routine paperwork in the afternoon and beat Jack Malinowski in a chess game before supper. That night, everyone aboard except those stuck with the middle watch had a restful sleep. They were safely in the German Bight and would reach Wilhelmshaven before breakfast. Panic ensued at dawn when a puff of smoke was spotted on the horizon. However, it turned out to be a dispatch boat carrying a pilot to navigate BatDiv 2 through the minefields. The captain had also seen fit to bring along mail due to the squadron and some papers from Admiral von Pohl. This led to the staff being summoned. “Well gentlemen,” Fiske said. “I’m not sure what we make of this, but it seems that the Imperial Navy had a hard night’s fighting. Admiral Hipper got hurt pretty bad. It turned out that he had engaged the rear of Grand Fleet’s battle line. He shot up two of those old pre-dreadnought King Edward VIIs. His destroyers also managed to shoot up an enemy dreadnought, but they are not sure if it sank. However, he did lose the battlecruiser Seydlitz, and Von Der Tann will need quite some time in the yard before she’ll be seaworthy.” “What about the High Seas Fleet?” Steiguer asked. “It did pretty well. The British are down a pair of battlecruisers. It’s a bad rate of exchange for the Germans. Even at two-to-one they’ll run out of battlecruisers before the British do. Still, they got hurt pretty good and we’ve managed to slip through to Wilhelmshaven. Hopefully, we’ll be the first of many.”
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Post by garrisonchisholm on Jun 20, 2022 18:08:44 GMT -6
A united fleet will definitely help. How much control do you get of dispositions in SaI?
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Post by cv10 on Jun 20, 2022 18:16:41 GMT -6
A united fleet will definitely help. How much control do you get of dispositions in SaI? In terms of strategic control, I decide what ships and squadrons sortie, as well as the organization of my entire order of battle (which force screens what force, which force leads what force). I also control what objectives I pursue, but the AI can issue me required orders (for example, reach a given point with 4 BBs, or destroy coastal target at Sunderland) In terms of tactical control, I can't remember if I'm playing on Rear-Admiral or Captain mode, I think it is Rear-Admiral mode. I have control over all force flagship divisions (Scouting Force, High Seas Fleet, Reserve Fleet), and can take manual control of any division within sight of them. Rear-Admiral Mode is tolerable, though some AI decisions can be infuriating. I have a limited ability to issue force-wide orders. Flotilla attacks are one such order. I can also do one transfer of my lead division to a different division.
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Post by cv10 on Jul 2, 2022 23:30:26 GMT -6
Wine and convivial conversations flowed freely in the USS Michigan’s wardroom. The room was packed to capacity. Admiral Fiske had invited many German officers from both the Scouting Force and the High Seas Fleet to a dinner party. It was the first social event between BatDiv 2 and the German navy, and it was going quite well so far.
As Admiral Fiske’s confidential aide, Robert Fitzgerald met most of the senior German leadership. Fiske had introduced him to Admiral von Pohl and came away with a favorable impression of the man. Pohl had a reputation for being cautious, but he had turned up in time to bag a pair of British battlecruisers. Still, Robert thought that he looked ill: the admiral had a jaundiced look to him, and the hand he kept on his stomach seemed a clear sign of pain.
Outside of Pohl, Robert also briefly (very briefly) met Admiral Hipper, commander of the Scouting Force, and Admiral Scheer, the senior of the High Seas Fleet squadron commanders. Hipper still had a bandage around his head, being wounded in action only days prior. Robert knew that Hipper had a reputation as an aggressive “fighting admiral” and that he’d commanded in most of the fighting up till now. Scheer was rumored to be a stern disciplinarian, and he had a hard and determined look to him that even the congenial atmosphere did nothing to soften. Still, he had nodded approvingly when he saw Robert’s medal for bravery in action against Redeemer terrorists.
Overall, Robert thought the dinner party had been quite a success. Fiske got along with Pohl, Hipper, and Scheer, which could only be helpful in future operations. At the other tables, Robert could see the officers of less exalted enjoying themselves in conversation and drinking, particularly drinking. The wine flowed freely, most of it the gift of the Imperial German Navy. Quite a few officers appeared to be to the point that a bosun’s chair would be needed for them to disembark. For his part, Robert already felt a bit muddled. He did not drink much. Since he was a junior officer, Fiske had been a practical teetotaler, and his staff took his example. Only Captain de Stieuger drank much, and even then, he only did so ashore.
Robert circulated among the junior officers and came across Chester Nimitz and a group of German officers. They were engaged in conversation, but Nimitz spotted Robert and gestured for him to join them. He sat down, and Nimitz passed him a full glass of wine.
“You turned up just in the nick of time Rob!” Nimitz said, unusually effusive. “These gentlemen have been asking me about detached service in the Supervisory States. Gentlemen, this is Lt. Robert Fitzgerald of the Marines. His last duty station was Charleston, wherin treason first loftly reared its head!”
The Germans nodded in welcome and shook his hand. One of them, an Oberleutnent, introduced each one of them. He finished with his own name. “Klaus Roth,” He said. “Late of the German East Asia Squadron.”
“Pleased to meet you sir,” Robert said. “If I may ask, how did you come to be here?”
“It is a long story,” Roth replied with a smile. “From Tsingtao through China to Afghanistan, then to Persia, and then through Turkish Mesopotamia and then from Baghdad to Berlin. I was assigned to carry dispatches home after your Admiral Fletcher defeated the Japanese.”
“That sounds like an adventure,” Robert said.
“Indeed, it was,” Roth replied with a laugh. “But one I would not wish to repeat.” Then, changing the subject, Roth said, “Before you arrived, we were speaking about shore detachments. I, and several of these other officers, served in China. Mister Nimitz told us that you have been fighting against these Redeemer fellows.”
“Yes,” Robert said to the implied question. “As Mister Nimitz said, I was assigned to the Charleston Flotilla. I spent a good deal of my time chasing Redeemers through the swamps and barrier islands around Charleston. The Constabulary has primary responsibility for patrolling the countryside, but the Corps likes to take an active role even in garrison duties. Most of the time, our patrols were fruitless, uncomfortable, and spent trying not to step on alligators or snakes.”
Some of the officers shuddered with the last sentence. Robert would have too. He’d gladly take enemy fire over swamp reptiles any day. He wasn’t sure if he resented the Redeemers more as traitors or for hiding out in places that forced Robert into contact with all of the unpleasant fauna alien to a New England urbanite.
One of the other officers spoke up, asking, “Why are these terrorists called Redeemers?”
“Their delusion is that they will be able to force the United States to abandon its southern states,” Robert explained. He became increasingly sarcastic as he went on. “They seek to overturn the Reunification settlement and establish the old southern rebellion as a nation, ‘redeeming” the south from the control of us damned Yankees and the African Americans.”
“But they have little hope of achieving that? No?” another German asked. “Not much. We’ve spent the last forty years sitting on them,” Robert replied. “Things are a bit better now. At least, most of the rebs understand that kicking at the government brings nothing but misery. For the first twenty, the occupation was…unpleasant. They obviously hated us for reunifying the country, casting down their false government, and liberating millions of enslaved people. For our part, we northerners and westerners hated them for bringing in foreign powers to destroy our government and nation. We’ve never forgiven them for that, even forty years on.”
“Just for securing foreign allies?” Roth asked.
“Yes,” Robert said. “I’m convinced that’s behind the lingering bitterness. Rebelling in and of itself was terrible, but we might have forgiven that in the end. Inviting foreign powers, our oldest enemy among them, to send troops and warships to our shores? There can be no forgiveness for that.”
“The foreign intervention was ironic in a way then,” Roth replied. “For it is what keeps them down today and it is what enabled you to find your best generals. I have studied both the Rebellion and the Reunification out of private interest. Up until the British and French joined, the southern rebels enjoyed immense success in the field. It was not until the French landed an army at New Orleans and Lee and British impaled themselves Washington’s fortifications that you started to win.”
“Well, no and yes,” Robert answered, “if you will pardon the expression. Grant had done well enough out in the West, but as far as the East goes, you are correct. Thank god for John Reynolds, the remnants of the poor Army of the Potomac, and the Army Corps of Engineers. Old Bobby Lee got his blood up and shattered his army against those forts. One of my neighbors growing up was an artilleryman on one of those big hundred pounder Parrott guns. He told me that you could have walked for a full mile on the rebel corpses.”
“Lee lost about a third of his army in the space of a single day, and then Grant annihilated the French at St. Francisville.” Roth replied. He clearly knew his history. “I have read Grant’s memoirs. Some of the routed soldiers were trapped in a marsh and were attacked by alligators. We have some of your alligators in the Berlin Zoological Garden, and I almost pitied the French after seeing them. Now, you have to worry about alligators when pursuing these terrorists.”
“Only for some of the time.” Robert said. “Pitchfork Ben himself is getting a bit long in the tooth and I doubt he camps out in the swamps. Still, some of his acolytes are young and spry enough to survive in those marshes, and we have to dig them out.”
“Out of the marsh and onto the scaffold?” One of the other Germans asked. “It is, how you say, out of the pan and into the fire?”
“Not quite,” Nimitz interjected. “Redeemers are not executed.”
“No?” Roth said, surprised.
“No,” Robert said, a bit surprised that the German did not know this. “That would make martyrs out of them. Our government subscribes to the idea that the best way of curbing the Redeemers is to make people afraid of being associated with them.” “Is death not the best way to do that?” One of the other officers asked.
“No,” Nimitz said. “Navassa Island is the best way to do that.”
“Navassa Island?” Roth asked. “In the Caribbean?”
“Yes,” Nimitz replied. “If found to be a Redeemer beyond a reasonable doubt, the accused will be deported to Culebra in Puerto Rico or we hand them over to the Aguinaldo government to do hard labor in the Philippines for their sentence. However, senior Redeemers or those captured in battle are sent to Navassa Island for life.”
“Is that so terrible?” Another German asked.
“Yes,” Robert answered. “You see, to go to Navassa Island is to cease to exist. The government does not return anyone sent there, even after they die. No correspondence is permitted between the prisoners and the outside world. The Constabulary does not even inform surviving family members when a prisoner dies. Anyone sent there is wiped off the face of the earth as soon as they board the transport.”
“This is effective?” Roth said.
“Incredibly effective,” Robert said. “Even the diehard Redeemers are afraid of the place. Whenever we managed to take prisoners in our patrols, there were always a few who would offer to turn informer if they would be sent elsewhere.”
“Better that no one does know anything about the island,” Nimitz said with a shudder. “I was an officer on an escort for one of the transports and that island is pure-”
“Mister Nimitz!” A cold voice said. It was Captain de Steuiger. He’d snuck up on them and was now glaring at Nimitz. “Having visited Navassa Island, you should damn well know that commenting on the state of the colony there is forbidden! Yet here I find you about to break that rule, and in a casual conversation. What the devil are you about sir?”
“My apologies,” Nimitz said meekly. “I forgot myself sir,”
“You damn well did.” Steugier fired back. “You should have a care for what you say, lest you bandy confidential information about in public. I would not have expected this of you. I would have expected you to show more discretion. Given your heritage and your parentage, it would be best not to give the Navy any other reasons to question your soundness or to otherwise make yourself even more of a security risk. I-”
“Captain de Steiguer,” another voice said. This time, it was Captain Niblack. “I believe that Admiral von Pohl is about to depart for the night. Admiral Fiske asked for you to join him in seeing Admiral von Pohl to the side.”
Steiguer gave Nimitz one last withering look and walked off. Robert noticed that the German officers were glaring at Steiguer’s back as he walked away. Robert looked at Niblack. He seemed to be wincing. Steiguer’s interjection had not been loud enough for the whole wardroom to hear, but it must have attracted the attention of others. There was an awkward silence among the group of officers. Finally, Niblack nodded politely to each of them and walked off.
“Mister Nimitz,” Roth said. “Our line of questioning seems to have led you into trouble. For that, I do apologize.”
“It was my own fault.” Nimitz said calmly. “Captain de Steiguer was quite correct to stop me.”
“Yes,” Roth said, though his tone clearly registered displeasure. Robert was not quite sure why they seemed upset. It was an unpleasant scene, but Nimitz was right.
In time their conversation recovered. They discussed other postings, including Roth’s time with the East Asia Squadron. Finally, after several more hours, it was late enough for the party to end. Both Nimitz and Robert saw off Roth and his fellows. It had been a reasonably successful event, Robert thought. He certainly thought Roth to be a good fellow, and he hoped he’d receive his promotion so that the rank difference would not be too oppressive.
Before retiring, both Robert and Nimitz made their way up to the flag bridge to see if Fiske would need anything before turning in. Fiske was sitting at the desk in his sea cabin, with Captain de Steiguer and Colonel Feland present. The three men were drinking coffee.
“Gentlemen,” Fiske said. “Everything went off rather well. I must emphasize the need for proper socialization with our allies. We have little experience operating together by sea. We must do everything we can to establish a spirit of friendly cooperation.” Turning to Feland, he said, “Colonel, expedite the plans for detaching the marines as a land service battalion. I seriously doubt that a single ad-hoc battalion will be of much use to the German Army, but it would be best to prepare for all contingencies. It would also show our willingness to assist our allies by land as well as by sea.”
“Yes sir,” Feland replied. He took his leave and departed for his own cabin.
Fiske looked down at the papers on his desk. There was a brief moment of silence as he read one of them. Then Fiske looked to Nimitz. “Mister Nimitz,” he said in an easy voice. “I trust you will take more care in the future to avoid going down tracks which lead you to confidential subjects?”
“Yes sir,” Nimitz said firmly.
“Excellent,” Fiske said in the same relaxed tone. “Navassa Island is not, under the strict letter of regulations, classified. However, it is the immemorial custom that no information or opinion about the island is provided by those who have seen it.”
“Yes sir,” Nimitz said again. It was the safest answer.
“Then I’ll say no more about it aside from this.” Fiske said. “It is not outside the bounds of politeness to decline a second or third glass. For my part, I’ve found that avoiding drink for the last few decades of my life has been most beneficial.”
“Yes, sir,” Nimitz said for the third time.
“Very good them,” Fiske said. “Good night Chester,”
“Sir,” Nimitz said before exiting.
Once again, Fiske shifted his view back to his papers. A further moment of silence passed. Now, it was just Fiske, Robert, and the Chief of Staff in the office. Robert sensed a tenseness in Fiske and wished he had been dismissed too.
“I am sorry that we had to give Chester a wigging.” Fiske said to Steiguer. “Still, you were quite right in stopping the conversation on Navassa.”
“Yes sir,” Steiguer said evenly. Robert had the impression that, like him, Steiguer did not know where Fiske was going.
“However, I must tell you sir,” Fiske began with a tone of cold firmness in his voice. “that I am not at all happy with the manner in which you did so.”
“Sir?” Steiguer asked, surprised.
“First and foremost, your approach to the situation was lacking in the tact and discretion appropriate for the circumstances. A calm, orderly, and subtle handling of the situation would have sufficed. In broaching it as clumsily and nosily as you did, you caused a spectacle, and in front of three German admirals.”
Steiguer seemed like he wanted to interject. Robert could tell that much. He obviously wanted to defend his conduct. But, fortunately for him, his self-restraint held.
“Second,” Fiske continued. “It was foolish of you to imply that Nimitz might be a security risk due to his southern heritage. The man grew up in Iowa, he was thoroughly vetted by the Bureau of Investigation before he was accepted to the Academy, and he was even more thoroughly vetted before being assigned to my staff. Hinting that he might still be considered a security risk only makes our own counterintelligence precautions look laughably incompetent.”
“Sir,” Steiguer began. “I seriously doubt that the German officers present would know about-”
“Which brings me to my last point.” Fiske said, running clean over Steiguer’s interruption. “As you say, the Germans officers present would not know anything about his personal matters. They would not know that Nimitz’s family moved from Texas after we allied with Germany. Your comment about his heritage and parentage was particularly…unfortunate. To the German officers in earshot, you might have seemed to be attacking his German heritage, as if that factor made him untrustworthy.”
“Sir?” Steiguer said, surprised again. “My comments couldn’t be interp-”
“If you were a German officer who knew nothing about Nimitz’s family,” Fiske began. “how would you interpret your own comments? The only thing they know about him is that he is on my staff and has a German last name.”
Steiguer began to respond but closed his mouth. Robert could almost see the gears turning as the Chief of Staff pondered this point. Apparently, Steiguer could not think of an answer. He said nothing, merely returning Fiske’s gaze.
“Exactly,” Fiske said flatly. “Your comments very well could have offered a gratuitous insult to our German allies. From the looks on some of their faces, several of them certainly took it as such.” Then he switched to an easier tone. “I understand the necessity of a Chief of Staff having to adopt the persona of the Admiral’s hatchet man. However, you must also exercise the tact and discretion which goes with it.”
“Yes sir,” Steiguer replied.
“Good,” Fiske said. “These traits are integral to a good flag officer. Keep in mind that you are getting up in seniority on the captain’s list. You’ve commanded a dreadnought, and now you’re chief of staff to a fleet commander. The day is not far away when the War Department will give you stars for your shoulder boards. You should take care to do nothing which would delay that day.”
“Yes sir,” Steiguer said again, this time quite meekly.
“Then I’ll say no more about it,” Fiske said. “Good night.”
“Good night, sir,” Steiguer said. He managed to recover his nerve enough to make a good exit. Again, Fiske returned to his paperwork for several minutes. It was unnerving. Robert’s mind ran through his conduct in the last week, wondering what he’d done to displease the admiral. Good god, he thought, this is like being put through penance back at home. The examining of conscience. Eventually, Fiske looked back up at him.
“Ah,” He said. “I’m sorry Robert. I forgot that you were still here. You may stand down. I will see you in the morning.”
“Yes sir,” Robert said, trying not to allow the relief to show in his voice.
Fiske chuckled. “I imagine you were standing there wondering if you had done something to attract my ire. No, well…not tonight at any rate. You may go.”
Robert saluted and exited the cabin. He managed to make his way down to his cabin without falling down any hatchways. By the time Robert got back, Jack Malinowski was already dead asleep. Robert sighed a bit; Malinowski’s snoring resembled machinegun fire more than anything else. He changed, crawled into his own bunk, and allowed the several glasses of wine to do their work.
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Post by cv10 on Jul 2, 2022 23:41:32 GMT -6
BatDiv 2 steamed through the bitter cold of a North Sea winter’s night. The guns crews of the USS Michigan’s secondary batteries eased the cold of their casemates by drinking the coffee and tea which Captain Niblack had mercifully ordered brewed. High up in the cage masts, men wore their warmest clothes, with four weather gear over to protect from the icy spray. Those in the engine room blessed the heat, which usually added so much to the misery of their work. Once again, Robert Fitzgerald thanked his lucky stars for not having a formal watch aboard ship. At present, he only stood one if Admiral Fiske ordered him to, and Admiral Fiske didn’t feel the need to have a “damned useless leatherneck” (the admiral’s cold had returned when he made this declaration) cluttering up his flag bridge. Instead of spending his nights in a drafty open-air room, he basked in the warmth of the wardroom, daydreaming about being appointed to the Hawaii garrison. Somewhere ahead steamed the rest of the High Seas Fleet. The long-awaited dream of so many German and American officers, joint service in Europe, had finally come true. It had not been an easy transition for the American force. The High Seas Fleet had been on intensive training since August of 1914, and the Germans were considerably more proficient than the Americans. They could shoot better, keep station closer, and carry out complex fleet maneuvers far quicker. For the last few weeks, Admiral Fiske had been making BatDiv 2’s life a misery with an incessant schedule of drill that made even the German officers blanch. The whole fleet was deployed to escort the next batch of American ships through the British blockade. Somewhere far to the north, the USN’s only battlecruiser division was steaming down from Iceland. It would follow a course near the Norwegian coast, while the High Seas Fleet would cover a line near Edinburgh and Scapa Flow. Robert also knew from his staff position that a picket line of German submarines was out on the hunt for enemy warships. It was a calculated risk. There was the danger of friendly fire for both the surface ships and the submarines. Still, the battlecruisers had to be got in safely. Robert’s silent contemplation ended as Lt. Nimitz entered the wardroom. He sat down across from Robert, a mug of coffee in each hand. He drank eagerly, gulping the liquid down. Robert goggled at the spectacle. He was pretty sure the coffee was fresh from the pot. “Dying of hypothermia?” He asked in jest. “Go to the flag bridge and experience it for yourself!” Nimitz replied. “I’ve lived through blizzards, but this weather takes first prize for most miserably cold.” “I think the cooks have boiled up some beef broth. I’m sure we could have some run up here.” Robert replied. He liked Nimitz and didn’t want to practice his wit on the man too much. “Thankee,” Nimitz said, “Coffee will do for now.” “Any news?” Robert asked. “Oh god,” Nimitz said. “Yes. There’s a sigint report to all HSF ships. The British might have heavy warships out.” “Really?” Robert asked. “Battlecruiser Force or Grand Fleet?” “We don’t know,” Nimitz replied. “All it specified was large enemy warships. For the record, that includes larger cruisers. It could be nothing more than an old scrap heap cruiser out looking for blockade runners.” “I see,” Robert said. “Anything else?” “Yes,” Nimitz said with a grimace. “The damn-fool skipper of the Baton Rouge made a wrong course change and is now who the hell knows where!” “Again?” Robert asked. “I thought Admiral Fiske relieved him after he wandered off coming down from Iceland and ran right by the Shetland Islands. He sure blew a fuse when he read Captain de Stieuger’s report.” “Would it be that he did,” Nimitz said. “We’re short on captains, and it would set an unenforceable precedent regarding nighttime navigation and signals. However, I think the Admiral will give him the long drop this time. It’s the third time he’s does this.” As Nimitz finished his coffee, a messenger came running up. He handed Nimitz a note. Nimitz scanned it and then stood up. “You’d better come with me," Nimitz said. “I think we might be stood to in a moment.” Robert followed Nimitz up to the flag bridge. Captain de Steiguer was already there, and they could hear scrambling in Admiral Fiske’s sea cabin. The door flew open, and Fiske came out onto the bridge. “What’s happened?” Fiske asked. “Sir,” Captain de Steiguer said. “Report from Baton Rouge-” “That lamebrain!” Fiske said. “What’s he done now, run aground off Scapa Flow?” “No sir,” Steiguer responded. “He reports being under fire from enemy battleships to the north of our position.” “Sir,” Nimitz cut in. “Signal lamps are flashing out.” “It will be orders from the Flag,” Fiske said. “We’ll turn to the north.” This proved correct. Admiral von Pohl had received the distress signal, and the High Seas Fleet turned north at best cruising speed. All the while, the distress signals from the Baton Rouge poured in. First, ‘Heavy damage,” then “severe damage, have gone dead in the water,” and then “enemy at point-blank range.” As the High Seas Fleet steamed towards the beleaguered cruiser, Robert and every man in the fleet knew that all they could hope for was to pick up survivors. This was confirmed when the Baton Rouge’s wireless signals ceased. By this point, the fleet had gone from sailing formation into line of battle. The hands were at their battle stations. Watertight doors sealed off vulnerable compartments, and the men in them, from the outside world. Lookouts scanned the darkness, looking for signs of the enemy or the poor Baton Rouge. “Sir,” Nimitz said. “Signal from the Flagship. Enemy in sight.” “Where?” Fiske said. He could make out the division ahead of them but could see little else. Then the night erupted into flames as the lead division of the High Seas Fleet opened fire. The muzzle blasts illuminated the horizon briefly. Then came the screaming crash of return fire as the unseen British answered the Flagship and the lead divisions. The suddenness of it all stunned Robert. As his mind returned, he thanked his lucky stars that he was essentially a spectator to this. He’d been under fire before, but never on this scale, and from an enemy miles away that he could not even see. Then an enormous fireball shot up in the distance. A ship must have exploded. It was too far in the distance to have been a part of the High Seas Fleet, at least, that’s what Robert thought. A quick glance at the three naval officers standing by him revealed the grim satisfaction on their faces. His initial judgment was correct. “Sir,” Nimitz said. “Orders from the flagship. Follow leading divisions. Enemy ships ahead and to port. Take evasive action as necessary. Engage enemy at discretion.” “I suppose that’s simple enough. Pass the signal to the division. Follow lead ship and open fire on enemy vessels at discretion.” Fiske said. “Take care to identify them as enemy vessels.” Despite these orders, twenty minutes was enough for Robert to know that the fleet’s organization would not hold. There were too many turns and deviations. Moreover, the divisions could not successfully discern all of the course signals coming from the flag. Still worse, it seemed that the High Seas Fleet had steamed right into the center of the Grand Fleet. Enemy ships kept popping in and out of sight. Then two massive white geysers of water shot up in the air. They looked like torpedo hits, but against whom Robert could not tell. Then another ship exploded in spectacular fashion, and Robert prayed it was a British ship. Admiral vol Pohl ordered a turn to the east southeast, and the formation came even more undone. Little destroyers and cruisers seemed to weave in between the larger ships. Robert was amazed that the fleet had not yet suffered any collisions. Most astonishingly, BatDiv 2 had not opened fire yet. While it was evident that the British fleet was out there, they had not come close enough for the gunnery officers to accurately point the guns. Moreover, the confused state of the fleet made firing a dangerous prospect. One could not be assured of a clear field of fire. The fleet made another turn, this time to the west-northwest. The battle line seemed to reorder itself a bit better. Then, a trio of British battleships came into clear view. Everyone had anticipated the order, but Admiral Fiske chose to add his own mark to it. “Signal to BatDiv 2. Aim at the largest one and open fire!” he said. BatDiv 2 opened fire for the fire time. The world seemed to go mad as the USS Michigan’s eight 12-inch guns screamed to life. The rest of the High Seas Fleet drew a bead on these new targets. For the third time that night, Robert witnessed a fireball rocket upward. Another battleship, this one British (he was sure of that), had blown up. “Sir,” Steiguer said. “I don’t think the flagship is at the head of the line. It looks like Admiral Scheer’s division.” “Where’s the flagship then?” Fiske asked. “I wonder if Admiral Scheer missed a signal. I hope to God one of those flash fires was not the flagship.” “Sir,” Nimitz said. “Another course change from Admiral Scheer. It looks like he’s found another enemy battle squadron.” “Excellent,” Fiske said. “Signal from the flag,” Nimitz said suddenly. “Have suffered heavy damage from enemy gunfire. Flooding heavy, fires heavy. Command HSF transferred to 5th Ship-of-the-Line Squadron. That’s Admiral Scheer. There’s a follow-up signal to SMS Danzig and SMS Stettin. Come alongside the flag.” “The flagship’s going down,” Fiske said. He seemed concerned, but Robert also noticed how he put it out of his mind. There were still enemy ships in sight. “Sir,” Nimitz interjected again. “Signal from Admiral Scheer. Fleet will reform line and turn west southwest. Continue to engage enemy vessels at discretion.” The fleet carried out these instructions. The line of battle seemed to sort itself out a bit. At least, it was more discernable as a line of battle. Gunfire still rippled through the night. An enormous crash echoed across the waves, and the tell-tale sign of a flash fire once again lit up the North Sea night. “Good God,” Robert heard Nimitz mutter. Then he recollected himself as a further signal came through. “Orders from Admiral Scheer. Fleet will turn east and make a course for home. Enemy suspected to be retiring to port.” “I should think so,” Fiske said. “I think we’ve done a good night’s work mauling each other. We’ve lost the Kurfurst at least. Maybe more, depending on who suffered all those flash fire losses. Then the Konig might still go down. Mr. Nimitz, signal to BatDiv 2; maintain ships at highest readiness but allow galleys to prepare hot breakfast.” “Aye sir,” Nimitz said. “The Grand Fleet or the Battlecruiser Force might still be out there somewhere.” Fiske said. “In the meantime, I think we can contemplate breakfast.” The remainder of the morning darkness was peaceful. The High Seas Fleet steamed to the east. Before long, it would make its turn to the south to run through the clearing in the defensive minefields in the Helgoland Bight. Dawn also brought the good news that, aside from the poor Kurfurst and the detached Konig, all of the High Seas Fleet’s dreadnoughts were still in line. However, the news was not all good. “Estimate no hits!” Fiske read angrily. Captain de Steiguer had compiled a list of the gunnery reports from BatDiv 2. The results had not been. None of the battleships reported a single hit on the enemy. “Good God! We’re sent all the way here at great cost and danger, and we don’t hit a goddamned thing! How the hell can we look the Germans and the Austrians in the eyes after all the causalities they’ve taken to get us here!” None of the staff spoke. It was not really something they could answer. Moreover, they all seethed just as much. Granted, BatDiv 2 itself had not been engaged for very long. Still, it was galling to have missed every shot. “We’ll be doing gunnery drills till next Christmas,” Fiske said more evenly. “We may not have been much of danger to the enemy this time around, but that will change.”
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Post by prophetinreverse on Jul 3, 2022 6:14:56 GMT -6
Still easily the greatest naval victory since Tsushima (if it happened in this universe), if not Trafalgar - I doubt the Germans will pay too much attention to the American woes in the midst of the epic parties that are going to be breaking out in Wilhelmshaven.
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Post by blarglol on Oct 30, 2022 19:37:14 GMT -6
I love this. I hope you can continue at some point.
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