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Post by cwemyss on Oct 14, 2022 10:49:45 GMT -6
The Windward Passage – April 11, 1901, 1500 Local Captain Harold McLeod stood on the MacDonough’s bridge wing and downed the remains of the too-cool mug in his hand. He’d come south to the Caribbean in early March aboard Truxtun escorting a convoy to Guantanamo, but there really hadn’t been space aboard for he and his command Signalman. While still small this Bainbridge-class destroyer was just slightly roomier, and he’d be better able to control his charges from here. This ship’s staff also made better coffee. That first mission of the war had brought an additional Army regiment to Cuba and the French had sent a destroyer division of their own to intercept. McLeod had led two divisions, six destroyers total, in fending off the French sortie. In spite of marginal weather, with high-running seas and occasional squalls, it had been more a merry chase than a naval engagement. Preble had taken one particularly rough hit, but otherwise very little damage was inflicted on either side and the troopships got through unscathed while McLeod’s destroyers chased the French across sixty miles. Today looked to be something quite a lot different. Ahead of his ship as they pushed through the afternoon’s four-foot swells he could see a lot of larger ships and also a lot of confusion. Intermixed in a disorderly gaggle were four big battleships, three cruisers, and his second destroyer division. The battleship Maine, a thousand yards ahead, towered over the rest of the collection. Maine had just turned to the northwest and hoisted a series of signal flags, firing a light gun in the centuries old signal that ‘thou shalt pay attention now.’ The rest of the fleet was slowly unwinding itself, hindered by unfamiliarity with one another and by the fatigue of patrolling on and off for nearly a week. They had received notice that the French were moving a major force into the Caribbean and the Squadron had sortied. Unfortunately, thought McLeod, they were under the command of the doddering Admiral David Howe, newly arrived with the North Atlantic Squadron ships. Admiral Newberry, nominally the commander of the Caribbean Squadron but fifteen years Howe’s junior, had been relegated to command of the Cruiser Division. Just as the fleet was starting to untangle another shot rang out, this time from St Louis. The speedy protected cruiser was turning north and belching clouds of black smoke, and her signals indicated unknown contacts. McLeod turned to Lieutenant Commander Charles Whittier, who had just joined him on the bridge wing. “I’d suggest full battle stations, something’s afoot. And if you could send Mister Watson to me, I’d appreciate it.” The younger officer ducked back into the bridge and ordered increased steam, and McLeod heard the moan of air through the ship’s four stacks increase. Petty Officer Arthur Watson appeared just minutes later, a fresh mug of coffee in hand, and surveyed the scene. “A bit of a mob, wouldn’t ya say, sir” he opined. McLeod smiled slightly, and silently took the offered cup. “Please signal the destroyers to prepare for action. Instruct Second Division to fall in on Saratoga, we’ll stay with Maine”. Several minutes later the Squadron had shaken out into some semblance of order, with St Louis several thousand yards ahead of the battleship line, and those followed by the two heavier cruisers. All ships were heading generally northeast and the picture was becoming clearer. St Louis had signaled contact with two scouts trailed by the French main body. And a few minutes after that the formation was a shambles again, with Perry leading the Second Destroyer Division northwest, and Saratoga and Baltimore inexplicably following them. He’d speak to Commander Forrester when he had the opportunity. Had the Perry’s commander seen something, or had those ships all misread the fleet’s signals? As McLeod and Watson moved back into MacDonough’s bridge, they watched the Maine’s signal lantern start blinking furiously. While McLeod waited for his signalman to complete the full transcription, he caught enough to be extremely disappointed. Not surprised, really, but not what he’d hoped for. “Sir, he’s signaling a general withdrawal, covered by the destroyers,” reported Petty Officer Watson. “Well, there’s nothing for it then. Signal Second Division to fall in on us at full speed. Commander Whittier, best speed for their battleships, please.” The bridge crew, disciplined as they were, said not a word as the orders were passed. Six destroyers were preparing to charge what appeared to be five French battleships. Smoke poured from twenty-four stacks and the sea started frothing at the stern of the small ships. They turned toward danger and within minutes McLeod saw the first yellow-white flashes as the French opened fire with their heavy guns. Helpless to fire back at this distance, their own 2- and 3-inch guns far outranged by the French batteries, they were saved by the generally terrible gunnery of the French ships. Looking aft McLeod could see St Louis shadowing the destroyers, almost certainly in defiance of orders, and as the two forces drew closer her own 6-inch guns started a rapid return fire. The French secondary batteries were now joining the fight as well, and soon enough the destroyers were able to bring their guns to bear. A truly monumental quantity of shells were ripping between the fleets with, so far to almost no effect. Their luck couldn’t possibly last though, as shell splashes drew closer to the American ships and then finally started hitting home. Paul Jones was first, a 6-inch shell completely wrecking her boiler room before the ship reached torpedo position, and she stopped dead in the water. In short order all six racing destroyers were hit to varying degrees. Then suddenly they were on top of the French, nearly mixed in with the enemy formation, but that was exactly what they needed. As the Dale joined Paul Jones in drifting to a halt, severely mauled, the squadron loosed a couple fish at the French who had belatedly recognized their perilous situation. McLeod saw a flash and a column of water near one of the heavy French battleships as he saw Hull disappear behind a burst of angry orange. And then he was knocked to the deck as MacDonough herself took another hit, toppling one of the ship’s four stacks and immediately inducing a 15-degree list. McLeod tried to push himself upright but was greeted by a searing pain in his shoulder. He struggled to his feet and when he rose he saw the French turning away with one of their number visibly falling behind. Whittier was directing damage control efforts on MacDonough, but the ship was still upright and still moving. Hull was gone, in her place a column of smoke, and Dale was nearly capsized. Paul Jones was under way again but not healthy. Hopkins and Perry were also damaged heavily. His force was spent. He also saw his own heavy fleet far to the south, nearly out of view, and with the sun sinking toward the horizon he decided he’d had enough of valor for this evening. “Mister Watson,” McLeod ordered, “signal all destroyers to fall in on us. Mister Whittier, south at best speed if you please. Make for Port de Paix.” St Louis came alongside at a distance of about a thousand yards, and her lamp started blinking. “Sir,” reported Watson, “St Louis says the French ship foundered.” Cold comfort, thought McLeod, he’d probably lost 400 or more men today. “Send back our thanks for their support.” McLeod’s mood was dark as a ships corpsman wrapped a sling around his left arm. The destroyers limped south, with Paul Jones and then Hopkins shuddering to a halt in succession, succumbing to grievous injury. St Louis and the two surviving greyhounds picked up their crews and all retired to Port de Paix, following the heavies who had given up the field hours before.
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Post by cwemyss on Oct 15, 2022 20:47:11 GMT -6
South China Sea – May 10, 1901, 0900 Local Mindoro loomed through the morning haze to the east, a jumble of verdant peaks coming down to the edge of the South China Sea. The sun was already beating down and combined with the still air to promise a hot, muggy day. A tramp steamer wallowed lazily along the coast, just visible through the tropical mist. Commodore Roger Matthewsen resigned himself to another day of sweating but allowed himself a few more minutes reverie, thinking wistfully of his youth on the cool waters of Puget Sound. The dolphins cavorting in Iowa’s bow wave were a far cry from the orca he used to see off Port Townsend. In March he’d been a mere captain, responsible for the lone US battleship in the Pacific. He still had that duty but with the onset of war he’d been made an acting Commodore and assigned to lead a squadron to Manila, bringing with him the cruiser Tacoma and a pair of Bainbridge-class destroyers to reinforce the Navy’s meager presence in Asia. It had taken a month of hard steaming to reach Manila, with stops for coal at Pearl and Wake. Since then they had patrolled around the northern Philippines, and occasionally farther afield, with very little contact beyond the innumerable fishing junks seen in these waters. The French were known to have a presence in the area, a couple cruisers and at least one battleship reported in Indochina. But the American intelligence network in the area was thin, and most of the Asiatic Squadron’s effort still involved pushing back Philippine rebel activity. He’d hoped for a more active role, maybe shelling French bases to draw out the Marine Nationale’s own Asian squadron, but their orders were explicitly defensive. “Sir, Tacoma is reporting a contact, southwest,” reported the duty officer. Matthewsen could see nothing, though the haze that direction looked a bit thinner. “Very good,” he replied. He knew Tacoma would turn to investigate. “Continue our course northwest and signal Barry to move to a support position.” Barry had drifted out of position over the past 30 minutes and appeared to need constant reminders. Lieutenant Commander Roberts was an inexperienced skipper, aggressive almost to a fault but not terribly practiced with fleet communications. Over the following several minutes, Tacoma reported that the ship was a French Bouvet-class battleship and that she was alone. Matthewsen couldn’t believe their good fortune. The French ship outclassed his own by a thousand tons, and was faster, but if she were alone this could present a golden opportunity. “Flank speed, please. Instruct Tacoma to stay ahead of her, perhaps we can force her to turn toward us,” Matthewsen ordered. Tacoma maneuvered beautifully, crossing in front of the larger ship as its heavy shots went wide, and opening fire at maximum range with a broadside of five 6-inch guns. None of the first shots struck home, but the Bouvet responded exactly as Matthewsen hoped, and Iowa bored in toward the French ship as her captain ordered several course changes to try to bring Tacoma under fire. As the French shells began landing close to Tacoma Matthewsen ordered her to fall back into line with Iowa, now running north in parallel with the French ship and steadily sending 12-inch shells toward her, occasionally rewarded with a flash as one struck home. He signaled Barry to commence a torpedo run and the destroyer initially responded well. Just as she appeared to be gaining a position to launch, and with the enemy preoccupied firing on Iowa and Tacoma, Barry wheeled hard to the north and took herself completely out of position. The Bouvet turned south, and a fleeting chance was missed. Matthewsen swore. At least Barry had speed enough to catch up and make another run. “Bring us about, and please send for Mister Roberts to bring his ship back around and set up again.” Tacoma surged ahead of Iowa, maintaining a steady rain of largely ineffective 6-inch fire. She was taking constant hits, with little to show for it, and he didn’t want to sacrifice his only fast cruiser in Asia in order to get to grips with the French ship. As Matthewsen watched another burst of orange-black in Tacoma’s superstructure Barry made another errant turn, now sprinting due west. This was starting to be a problem that would endanger the other ships in the squadron. A running battle developed as morning passed into a stifling early afternoon. The Bouvet was attempting to disengage to the west-southwest, harried by the Tacoma and eventually the Barry, while the Iowa lumbered in their wake attempting to stay in contact. Matthewsen watched as Commander Roberts guided his ship through a storm of small-and medium-caliber fire to finally launch his two fish at the French ship. Barry was pounded, taking visible damage to her bridge and funnels, and riding noticeably lower in the water when she turned away from their quarry. “Signal Barry ‘Well Done’ and order them back to Manila,” Matthewsen directed. Someone on board the Bouvet must have been keeping a sharp lookout, and Matthewsen saw the battleship heel over as she turned away from the torpedoes. None of them struck home, but now the big French ship was between Tacoma to the south and Iowa to the north. She turned back toward the weaker of the Americans, and Tacoma was forced to turn away or accept heavy-caliber fire at point-blank range. The engagement settled into a stalemate: the French ship continuing to the southwest, Iowa following but losing speed as her stokers tired and her grates became fouled. Tacoma would make a charge, only to be beaten back by withering fire from the Bouvet’s secondaries. Both Iowa and Tacoma landed multiple hits, but none caused enough damage to slow the Bouvet and change the situation. Matthewsen watched the sun sink to the western horizon with a deep sense of frustration. Neither of his remaining ships was damaged to any major degree, but they weren’t catching the French ship either And they were approaching a very treacherous section of waters, with countless reefs and shoals hiding just under the darkening turquoise waters He ordered a turn for home and called Tacoma back into position on his flank.
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Post by cwemyss on Oct 15, 2022 20:50:00 GMT -6
Ed note: FIVE.
Five times, "US Destroyer Division 6 signals misunderstood"
There's a reason the narrator chose to have the Barry's bridge get blown away.
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Post by cwemyss on Oct 16, 2022 21:37:20 GMT -6
July 3, 1901 – Brooklyn, New York The St Louis eased up to the pier with hardly a bump and the bridge telegraph rang ‘All Stop’. Lieutenant Douglas Snyder began the process of shutting down the ship’s powerplant. They’d be pierside for a month, repairing petty damages from their last engagement in the Caribbean and performing minor overhauls on most of the ships systems. She and her sister, Cleveland, had caught a French light cruiser off Guadaloupe in June and pounded her to dust, and dealt heavy damage to a quartet of French destroyers in the bargain. And upon returning to San Juan they’d discovered that peace had broken out. The Secretary of State, over the objections of most of the rest of the cabinet, had negotiated an end to hostilities and a return to status quo ante bellum. It was a few hours before Snyder was able to leave the ship, after overseeing the procedures securing the boilers and writing up a list of gripes for the shipyard workers to look at. He’d be back in a week after a train ride to western Pennsylvania to visit family. He wasn’t about to let a group of strangers tear into his pride and joy unsupervised. The Navy Yard was oddly quiet as Snyder descended the gangplank. He could see several new ships frozen in various stages of construction, including the battleship Missouri and two of the new Paul Jones-class destroyers. Most of what was visible lay at least partially covered in tarpaulins, and the din and bustle of a wartime shipyard was nonexistent. The St Louis wardroom had talked over the war’s end in depth on the journey north, in between conversations about family, food, and the wives or girlfriends they expected to see. Their war had started hot with the Battle of Great Inagua in April. Commander Coffman had been heavily reprimanded by Admiral Howe for St Louis’ role in that action, then had been honored with a Navy Cross by Admiral Newberry when Howe was recalled to Norfolk. After that it had settled down to fairly routine patrol duty, occasionally shelling a telegraph station or colonial outpost, and very rarely cornering a gunboat or lone merchantman. Coffman himself had summed up the war best: “It started over just about nothing, it accomplished just about nothing, and in six months it will be forgotten by all but the families of a thousand or so French and American sailors.”
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Post by prophetinreverse on Oct 17, 2022 12:50:35 GMT -6
I think we can safely call this the Second Quasi-War. Even though a formal declaration of war proceeded it this time, it was still enough of a polite farce that no historian can really take it seriously.
At least the USN gave better than it got. That counts for something
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Post by garrisonchisholm on Oct 18, 2022 5:41:19 GMT -6
I think we can safely call this the Second Quasi-War. Even though a formal declaration of war proceeded it this time, it was still enough of a polite farce that no historian can really take it seriously. At least the USN gave better than it got. That counts for something Indeed, & I love your use of scene-setting photos, a nice touch.
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Post by cwemyss on Oct 19, 2022 21:57:42 GMT -6
January 6, 1902 – Department of the Navy, Washington, DC “Pardon, sir,” called the Chairman’s aide. “Admiral Waller is here.” “What?” the Chairman looked up from the papers in front of him, his train of thought noticeably derailing. “Oh, right. Come in, Fred, good afternoon. Roger, please bring us some brandy and two glasses.” Rear Admiral Frederick Waller entered The Chairman’s large office and took an offered seat overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue. It was a foggy, dreary afternoon, but he could just see the statue in Washington Square. The Chairman’s aide returned with drinks and left the room, closing the door behind him. “Well, George. We have some choices to make,” Waller started once the assistant had left. “We have a President who wants a world-beating Navy, and we have a Senate that thinks the world ends at the Atlantic beaches.” The two men had entered the Annapolis just two years apart and had crossed paths again in the Mediterranean in the late 1850s, finding along the way that they shared a love of horseback riding and of female companionship. Both men also had served in the West Gulf blockade during the Civil War, though their career paths had diverged after that. The Chairman, having distinguished himself at New Orleans in ’62 and again at Fort Fisher in ’65, had gone on to successively loftier commands. Waller had followed his natural inclination as a tinkerer and creator, leaving the unrestricted line to join the Bureau of Construction after the war. With all the well-earned grandeur and acclaim heaped on the Chairman, Waller was one of a very few men in the Navy who would still refer to him by his first name. A benefit of their longstanding friendship, and the natural result of many hours shared in waterfront dives and seaside private clubs throughout four decades. The Chairman took a sip of brandy and settled comfortably in his chair. “Yes. And the rest of the world hasn’t gone away. France is friendly enough since last year’s dustup, but Europe is still not on good footing. And one of Captain Sigsbee’s men was nabbed near Genoa in the fall, the age-old story. Apparently he said too much trying to impress a lady at a party, but the lady in question was sister to an Italian Contrammiraglio. At least they had the decency to give them the weekend in Sanremo before arresting him.” “Yes, I saw an article about him in the paper,” responded Waller. “I was surprised it was so public, and disappointed the fanfare didn’t come with more Congressional largess.” “I think that’s what Sigsbee was hoping for,” the Chairman agreed, “but all it’s really done is rile the Italian press.” He paused and looked at the darkening grey sky outside, and the gas lights coming on along the avenue. “So where do we go from here?” he asked the constructor. “Excellent question. We have four truly modern battleships in the fleet, the Maines, and two more building. The Missouri and Texas are a bit bigger than the Maines, with thicker hides, but otherwise about identical. That’s not nearly enough, but we don’t have enough good armored cruisers either. Pittsburgh launched last month and will commission in the spring, with three sisters coming through the year. Those are good cruisers, and competitive with the rest of the world’s, but they’re horribly expensive.” “I’m somewhat inclined to stop building the big cruisers,” answered the Chairman. “Our current pack of battleships was completely outclassed against France, I don’t know that we can wait to replace them. And the St Louis class can tackle most of the jobs we’d put to a cruiser.” “Interesting you say that. I spoke last month with Captain Marler, he received a note from one of his former engineers. The gentleman is apparently now on the St Louis and it looks to be a world-class ship. Marler didn’t think they’d be able to improve on it much.” “That’s good to know,” said the Chairman with a chuckle. “There’s not enough money to design something new anyway.”
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Post by cwemyss on Oct 19, 2022 22:06:03 GMT -6
Ed note (or armchair admiral note): My B's are 16-18 knots, everyone else is working on a 19 knot battle line. My CA's are largely non-existent, though as the story says the 4 in build are at least as good as everyone else's, or even a bit stronger in a lot of cases... problem is, there's only 4 of them (almanac pic shows 3 because one was held when I grabbed the screenie). I also have 600t destroyers cooking, the four building make up wartime losses, I'd actually like to add to that number.
Bottom line... there's not enough money for everything. Input welcome!
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Post by jeb94 on Oct 20, 2022 12:55:49 GMT -6
I'd take the slowest B's and either scrap or mothball them. Same with the worst of the CLs. Any of them that can't do 22kts without colonial support or 20kts with colonial support should just be scrapped and replaced with a St. Louis. Heck, the St. Louis has the colonial support feature so just get rid of any CL that can't do at least 21kts. With the current situation with the big cruisers you might want to build a couple more Pitts if you can swing the financing. Alternatively you could consider an enlarged St. Louis as a CA with a bit more armor and up-gunned with twin 8-in fore and aft. I'd use 8 single 4-in or 5-in as secondaries. Try to keep her speed up if possible. I'd imagine this would come in cheaper than the Pitts though the development cost might be hard to swing. You're going to need CAs to avoid the prestige hit that is coming your way. Italy appears to be the biggest threat at the moment so you might have to try and keep up with them. This would mean building another couple of Bs like Missouri and Texas. I hate doing it too but getting rid of as many older ships as you can stomach might be the best way to afford the future in this scenario. You might want to consider ridding the fleet of a number of the gunboats as well. Especially the older ones. They're a drain on finances with minimal contribution to the fleet. Each one could well be worth a new DD or two. It all depends on what you need for foreign support. I'm just spit-balling some ideas.
I'm enjoying what you're doing with this AAR. Thank you for doing it.
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Post by cwemyss on Oct 20, 2022 17:58:14 GMT -6
Thanks for the suggestions! I'm pretty much mothballed to the extent I think I can get away with it... I may risk a bit more. I scrapped three B's (16-knot/short-range/low-freeboard) at the end of the war, I'll scrap more as the Missouri's build. I'm scrapping CL Newark (6" guns, 18 kts) and I scrapped the 1700- and 1500-ton KEs. I have a sneaking suspicion three Yorktown's ship names will come back in a much larger form in 20-25 years with flat decks that would look *very* weird to our cast. I haven't scrapped the 8" gun/17-knot Atlanta CL's because they're throwaway raiders for the next war, the 8" guns can sometimes allow them to survive interception... and in Mothballs they're only costing 10/month. The Montgomery CLs (2500t colonial, 19 kts, 6x5") are currently my main FS ships... they're about the same expense to keep overseas as a pair of the 1200t Lake Erie KEs.
Edit: and thanks for the kind words! Always good to know people are enjoying it.
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Post by garrisonchisholm on Oct 21, 2022 6:09:08 GMT -6
So your new CAs are 16,100 tons. That sounds like a ship that in 8 years you will be convincing yourself on reasons to keep them with the battlecruisers, which is a kind of ship I really like. A large fast cruiser can have a lot of success for about 8 years and then with care (in deployment, reconstruction) for another 25. If anything I'd like them 2000 tons heavier, but the die is cast.
Now in a not utterly Meta vein, the battleship concern is valid, and given your President may make decisions you'd rather he not I think the more important one. I would argue for slowing completion of the CAs and develop a new battleship class, unless you feel there would be some reason your leadership would have inklings of the dreadnought revolution that is still over the horizon, in which case I would simply build more Maines.
Given you've probably moved your clock already this advice is probably a day late and a dollar short, but there it is.
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Post by prophetinreverse on Oct 21, 2022 6:13:48 GMT -6
I might be biased, being from the Philadelphia area and a frequent visitor to the actual ship, but if you’re looking for a cheaper armored cruiser model, I’d use the Olympia as a starting point. Say 8-9,000 tons, four 8” guns, 23 knots, 4-5” armored belt, and if you need the weight, cut back on the torpedo tubes.
That should give you a fairly cheap class that can shred almost any light cruiser of the early game.
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Post by cwemyss on Oct 21, 2022 6:56:47 GMT -6
So your new CAs are 16,100 tons. Sadly no. I have ~10k tons in two small "CAs" being refit with fire control (original build was local only). The game doesn't account for rebuilds well in the Almanac. These two will be throwaway raiders as well, the rebuild and the mothball cost are dirt cheap. The Pittsburgh's are ~13.6k. I'd reached roughly the same conclusion... get Bs going. I'm also going to build a 5th Pitt, and load up on St Louis. That 24- knot surprise at commissioning means I'm probably a couple years from improving on it.
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Post by cwemyss on Oct 21, 2022 9:49:26 GMT -6
February 24, 1902 – Bath Iron Works, Maine A roar broke out among the shipfitters and iron workers gathered on the unfinished fantail of cruiser Jersey City. The destroyer Paul Jones steamed up the cold Kennebec River at full speed, smoke pouring from her three funnels and throwing a tremendous bow wave. She’d commissioned a week earlier, that ceremony itself a rarity in these days of slow shipbuilding and tight Navy budgets. Someone in the Bureau of Steam Engineering had been at Spithead for the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee and had seen Turbina darting among the ponderous ships of the British Home Fleet. The Bureau had spent considerable effort since, supported on the sly by the Office of Naval Intelligence, perfecting a similar engine. Tied to high-pressure boilers comparable to those on the St Louis class cruisers, the results had been spectacular. On her very first run she’d leaped ahead of the Paulding, sent along to maneuver with the Jones. Though only two knots faster once both ships got up to speed, the Jones accelerated like nothing in the fleet. The shipyard workers at Bath were justifiably proud of her, and her sister Hull tied up across the basin. Another was just starting to take shape one of Bath’s graving docks, and three more were in work at Cramp & Sons in Philadelphia.
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Post by cwemyss on Oct 21, 2022 9:50:16 GMT -6
Ed note: Jackpot!!!! I'm two for two on post-game-start ships exceeding design speed. Next month I'll see if the Pittsburgh does the same.
Edit: it didn't.
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