“On the contrary, it will almost certainly return,” Swing said, “and each time it does, it will be easier to surrender and more difficult and dangerous to stop. I hate war. No normal human being who has seen it for himself can feel any other way. But if this country is not willing to risk a small war now, as sure as God made little green apples, we will get a big one soon enough.”
“All right,” Curtis said. He scribbled something on the editorial. “This will run in tomorrow’s edition. Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” Swing answered. “I think it’s about time I put the ‘foreign’ back in foreign correspondent again. I want to take a long trip through the New German Empire in Eastern Europe, and file a series of stories from over there. I’ve been reading up on how they are making German the official language in Poland, the Ukraine, Lithuania, and so on, and outlawing the teaching of the native languages. The authorities in Berlin are also doing everything else they can to Germanize their new subjects, including locking up anybody who speaks or writes in favor of local autonomy or ethnic rights within the Empire. I think if people hear what the Germans are doing to their subject peoples over there, it might just open some eyes in this country.”
“O.K., fine,” Curtis said. “Just give me a rough idea of your itinerary and approximate expenses in advance. When do you think you’ll be going?”
Swing rose from the chair, preparatory to leaving the editor’s office. “Well, that’s not really up to me, is it, boss? It’s pretty much in the hands of Lowden and Kaiser Wilhelm.” He turned and left, closing the door behind him.
The Inquirer Building, Philadelphia
Chapter Ten
Off Martinique, May 16, 1923
When the call to the bridge came, Captain Claude Bloch was at his desk, catching up on his paperwork, writing efficiency reports of the officers serving under him in the Second Division of the Martinique Interdiction Task Force. Bloch’s Second Division consisted of eight destroyers divided into two squadrons, and two cruisers (so-called under the new terminology, formerly “second-class cruisers”), Milwaukee and St. Louis. Bloch was flying his flag in St. Louis, while the entire Interdiction Force was under the command of Rear Admiral Thomas Hart in the battleship North Dakota.
The Task Force had been patrolling off Martinique for eight days. In that time, Bloch’s command had stopped two ocean liners filled with French tourists, several coasters working the Antilles chain from the Windward Islands up to Key West and back, and a maru out of Yokohama via the Panama Canal stuffed with cheap Japanese trade goods. None of these vessels was carrying any of the heavy construction materials or machinery that were on the banned list. Since almost nothing of consequence had happened since the Task Force had taken up station covering the shipping lanes to the island, Bloch was finding it difficult to say much on the forms concerning the performance of his officers other than “Lieutenant Commander _____... “ (or “Commander____...” or “Lieutenant_____...”) “…has handled his assigned duties adequately.”
Although Bloch’s destroyers were comparatively up to date, all having been built in 1917 or later, his cruisers were, to put it politely, nearing the end of their useful service life or, to put it more bluntly, were about ready for the scrap yard. Both Milwaukee and St. Louis had been launched in 1905, and everything about them, from the outmoded coal-burning, triple-expansion, reciprocating engines (newer warships had the more powerful and efficient diesel-turbine engines), to the outmoded placement of the main batteries in swivel mounts along the hull (as opposed to the modern system where the guns were grouped in centerline turrets), showed the age of the two ships. The design was obsolete; it had been obsolete even before the keels of the ships had even been laid down. In point of fact, the entire class of warship to which St. Louis and Milwaukee belonged was obsolete: no first-class navy had built protected cruisers for at least 15 years. The United States Navy boasted battleships and destroyers that were as good as those in any navy in the world, but as yet it had no modern cruisers to match them.
On the other hand, the old girls were more than good enough for this blockade (no, we’re calling it an “interdiction”, Bloch mentally corrected himself). St. Louis and Milwaukee both were capable of twenty-two knot speeds for at least a short time, which was fast enough to run down any freighter ever built, and with their fourteen six-inch naval rifles, they could not only catch their quarry if it fled but also, if necessary, sink it with ease.
As the metal risers of the ladder squeaked under his weight as he ascended to the bridge, Bloch reflected that mere age did not necessarily mean that a ship was ready for the breaker’s yard, or a man either, for that matter. Bloch had joined the Navy back in 1899, six years before his two cruisers had been commissioned, and he personally felt far from obsolescent and not the least bit ready for the scrap heap.
The Captain of St. Louis, Commander William Leahy, was on the bridge when Bloch arrived. He would have been surprised if Leahy had not been there before him; during their relatively brief association, Bloch had gotten the impression that Leahy made a habit of being in the right place at the right time. “What is the situation, Captain?” he asked (the officer in command of the ship is always addressed as “Captain” while on board, even if his actual rank is lower). “Have we spotted our pigeons?”
“Sir, Commander Halsey, DesRon Two…” (Lt. Commander William Halsey, who was in command of the four destroyers that comprised Destroyer Squadron 2) “…reports two freighters flying the German flag, bearing one-eight-six, at a speed of ten knots,” Leahy answered. He pointed. “You can just about make out their smoke on the horizon, Commodore.” (As there could be only one Captain, that is, one commanding officer on a ship, an officer who held the rank of Captain, like Bloch, had to be addressed by the courtesy rank of “Commodore”.)
Bloch aimed his field glasses in the direction Leahy indicated, and was rewarded with the sight of two faint plumes off to the northeast.
Leahy continued. “The ships have not been identified as yet, but…” He broke off as a messenger from the radio room rushed onto the bridge and saluted.
“Sir,” he said, extending a paper to Leahy, “the radioman just transcribed this message.”
Leahy took the folded sheet and handed it on the Bloch, who opened it and scanned the contents. “It’s from Halsey,” he said. “The ships have been positively identified as Orlanda and Ambria, out of Hamburg. They’re the ones we’ve been waiting for.”
Bloch gestured to a waiting sailor. “Take down a message to Admiral Hart: ‘At approximately 09:12 hours freighters Orlanda and Ambria sighted, heading 186, approximately 45 miles northeast of Basse Pointe…” (the northeastern corner of Martinique) “… presumed destination La Trinitie. Vessels will be stopped and searched per standing orders.’ Get that over to the radio room on the double,” he said.
Leahy was issuing orders at the same time. “Sound general quarters.” He continued over the sudden din of bells and the slap of running feet on the metal deck. “Helm, steer course zero-one-zero, all engines at one-half.”
Bloch raised his field glasses again, following Halsey’s destroyers as they attempted to stop and board the two German merchantmen. The process was taking longer than usual.
Until today, all of the Martinique-bound ships had responded promptly to radio requests from the Task Force to stop and allow naval personnel to board and inspect them. The presence of all those guns tended to make the typical merchant captain understandably nervous. But the skippers of Orlanda and Ambria seemed to be less impressionable than their colleagues. The destroyers ordered the two vessels to “stop engines and prepare to be boarded”, first with semaphore flags, then in Morse code with Aldis lamps, but the German freighters continued to plow stolidly ahead as if the American destroyers flanking them did not exist.
Commander Leahy watched the slow-motion chase with growing amazement. “What do those two clowns think they’re doing?” he demanded. His next remark made it clear that the
“two clowns” to whom he referred were the captains of the German ships. “Do they think they’re going to outrun four Wickes-class destroyers? Neither of those tubs could make fifteen knots if you threw them off the 12th floor of the Dixie Hotel,” he said, disgusted at the inexplicable stupidity of the German captains.
Bloch suppressed a splutter of laughter at his subordinate’s outrage. “They know exactly what they’re doing, Bill,” he said, his field glasses still raised to his eyes. “They don’t think they can get away from 35-knot destroyers. They’re just playing the game out to the last move, exactly the way their bosses in Berlin want them to. There,” he said, “Halsey is tired of horsing around.”
The latter remark was prompted by a pair of sharp reports. Two of the destroyers had fired four-inch shells across the bows of the German ships. The obvious implication was that the next two shots would not be warnings. The freighters slowed and came to a dead stop in the glassy smooth seas, as a destroyer approached each, and tied up alongside.
“I see,” Leahy said. “They just wanted to know if we’re serious about this interdiction.”
“I think they knew that well enough, Bill,” Bloch said. “A lot of this business is just a little drama to establish a legal position for the record, and I predict that the show is far from over.”
They watched and waited as boarding parties went aboard the freighters. Twenty minutes later, another message came in from the radio room. Bloch read it.
“It’s from the Mahan…” (Halsey’s flagship) Bloch said. “Captains Lutjens and Marschall do not consent to inspections of cargo. Will not voluntarily allow review of cargo manifests. Demand audience with chief of ‘pirates’ who have detained them.”
Bloch looked at the young sailor who had brought the message from the radio room. “Take down a reply to Commander Halsey, son.” He waited as the young sailor whipped a small pad of paper and a pencil from his pocket. “Send merchant captains to St. Louis by fastest available motor launch. Pirate chief will grant them an audience.” He surveyed the bridge crew with his eyebrows raised in mock surprise at the ensuing snorts of laughter.
Forty minutes later, the two German captains were escorted into the wardroom of the St. Louis. Bloch was seated at the dining table, cradling a cup of coffee.
Captain Gunther Lutjens had short, light brown hair, light blue eyes and a slender build, while his colleague, Captain Wilhelm Marschall was shorter and stockier, had darker hair and brown eyes. From the moment they entered the room, Bloch saw by the way they carried themselves that these two men were no more merchant captains than they were ballet dancers. He had no doubt that both were veteran officers in the Kaiserliche Marine, the Imperial German Navy.
Nor was he surprised. Certainly, if he had been in charge of the operation from the German side, Bloch would never have assigned such a job to civilian captains. The part played by the skippers of the two freighters was an important one, requiring nerve and intelligence, a role that required officers to remain calm when confronted by hostile warships and gunfire. Not many merchant captains were prepared for that kind of work. Bloch could see by their faces that both of these men were ready to carry out their orders at all hazards, even at the risk of having their ships shot out from under them.
He rose. “Captain Lutjens, Captain Marschall, please make yourselves comfortable,” he said. “Would you like some coffee?”
The interpreters assigned to the Germans immediately began to translate. Before they got out more than a few words, however, Lutjens interrupted. “We will communicate in English. We do not require interpreters.” His English was accented but perfectly understandable. Lutjens looked at his companion, who nodded in agreement.
“Fine,” Bloch said. “You interpreters are dismissed.” He returned his attention to his visitors. “Now, do either of you want…”
“We do not require refreshment, Captain, and we are quite comfortable standing,” Lutjens said harshly.
“Suit yourselves, gentlemen” Bloch shrugged, resumed his chair and took a sip from his coffee cup. “You wanted to see me. What would you like to talk about?”
“I should think that would be obvious,” Marschall said, speaking for the first time. “We demand to know why you believe that the American Navy have the right to stop and board a German ship, carrying German goods, from Germany, to a German possession in the German Empire. Your actions, Captain Bloch, are nothing short of piracy.”
“That does not even include the most provocative act of all: firing on ships of the Imperial Merchant Service while engaged in official business,” Lutjens added.
“So you admit you are acting on orders from your government,” Bloch said.
“We admit nothing of the kind,” Lutjens answered. “Neither our cargos nor our orders are your concern. Rather than worrying about them, you should be considering the consequences of your blatant violation of international maritime law.”
Bloch suppressed at smile at the German’s simulated show of outrage. It was apparent to him that Lutjens was in complete control of his emotions, as cool as a riverboat gambler betting his entire pile on a busted flush.
“I hope our actions are a great deal short of piracy. We do not intend to take or damage any of your cargo. We have no intention of interfering with your ships any more than is absolutely necessary, Captain,” Bloch said. “You have your orders and I have mine, and I intend to carry mine out. At the moment, the island of Martinique is under a limited interdiction by order of the President of the United States. Until further notice, no construction materials or equipment may be unloaded there.” He extended a sheet of paper with a typewritten list of the banned items under the interdiction. Lutjens made no move to take it.
“This is the list of interdicted goods,” Bloch said. “Once we have inspected your ships, and are certain that you are not carrying anything on this list, you will be free to continue on to Fort-de-France…”
“The name of the city is Wilhelmshaven. It was renamed in honor of the Emperor in 1916,” Marschall interrupted, genuine annoyance apparent in his voice.
“Oh yes, of course, my mistake,” said Bloch apologetically. He had intentionally called the colonial capital by its old name to provoke precisely this reaction from his adversary. The Germans were particularly sensitive to anything that appeared to be disrespectful to their Empire or to the Kaiser. Bloch hoped that one of the bogus merchant captains might get angry enough to say or do something foolish.
Lutjens shot a look at his colleague, and Marschall subsided. “As you have no right to stop our ships, you have no right to inspect our cargo, Captain Bloch,” he said. “What do you intend to do if we proceed to Martinique, as is our legal right?”
“In that case, Captain, if I were you I would make absolutely certain that your crews are familiar with their lifeboat drill,” Bloch answered, “because I can assure you that without that inspection, neither Orlanda nor Ambria will ever get any closer to Martinique than they are right at this moment. If you force my hand, I will sink both your ships.” He studied the faces of the two Germans, who returned his look impassively. “I would strongly advise you to take this warning seriously.”
“On the other hand,” Bloch continued, “if you refuse to allow us to carry out an inspection, you should feel free to offload anywhere other than Martinique. Castries on St. Lucia has an excellent deep-water harbor, and…”
“We did not come here to ask your advice, nor do we want it,” Lutjens snapped. He scowled. “Under the circumstances, we have no choice but to submit to your illegal actions. This is not the end of this affair. Please have us returned to our ships immediately.” He spun on his heel and, followed by his colleague, he marched out of the wardroom.
From the bridge, Bloch watched through his field glasses as the German freighters turned and lumbered off together in the general direction of Dominica, the next island north of Martinique in the Antilles chain. They were seen on their way by the four destroyers of DesRon Two.
> Leahy, who was standing at his side, asked quietly, “So, what do you think, Claude? Is that the end of it?”
Bloch did not answer immediately. “I don’t know, Bill,” he said at last. “Logic tells me that the game is over, but Lutjens didn’t act like a man who was ready to throw in the towel. He reminded me of something from when I was in grammar school.”
“Oh?” Leahy asked. “What was that?”
“He put me in mind,” Bloch said, lowering the binoculars, “of a kid who just got pushed around by the schoolyard bully and was going back home to fetch his big brother.”
USS St. Louis
USS Mahan
Chapter Eleven
Berlin, May 18, 1923
Admiral Reinhard Scheer had been summoned to another meeting of the War Cabinet. The subject under discussion was almost certainly going to be the response to the American blockade of Martinique. Scheer had a very strong premonition that he was not going to be very happy with the outcome of this meeting.
He entered the great hall followed by his aide, and took his seat at the long conference table next to the Minister of War, Crown Prince Rupprecht. Normally, this would be the place reserved for the Naval Minister, but under the current circumstances, Admiral Tirpitz was not welcome in the Cabinet Room. Scheer was, for all intents and purposes, the acting Naval Minister. It was an additional responsibility he would happily have done without.
The assembled Cabinet Ministers (and Scheer), all rose to their feet when the Kaiser entered. Wilhelm waved them down again impatiently as he allowed an aide to seat him.
“There is no time for nonsense,” he said. “The time has come to act, and to act decisively.” He gestured theatrically.
“The Americans have fired on our ships. Our Captain Lutjens reports that they would have sunk them if they had not turned back,” he said. He glared at his Chancellor accusingly. “Did you not tell me, Michaelis, that the Americans would not dare to fire on our ships for fear of starting a war?”
Tidal Effects (Gray Tide In The East Book 2) Page 7