1901 (44 page)

“I agree with our admiral,” Holstein said finally. “Your proposal is indeed quite interesting and contains many possibilities. But first things first. The convoy must make it to New York. Admiral, I sincerely hope the young men you have chosen for these coming tasks possess the wisdom and talent to prevail.”

Tirpitz bowed slightly, acknowledging the fact that his and his navy’s futures were on the line. “I have every confidence in their abilities.”

In the spacious stateroom aboard his flagship, Admiral Diedrichs stared at the orders in his hand. He was confused but dared not show it. The orders were quite specific: he was to send a strong part of his fleet to escort the convoy as it neared the American coast, while maintaining the greater portion of it in New York harbor. The order, which came from Tirpitz and had been concurred with by the kaiser, was detailed. It specifically named the ships to be used for each purpose. Not for the first time, he cursed the transatlantic cable that sped messages from Berlin to him. He handed the sheet of paper to his aide, Captain Paschwitz, who read the orders and was equally puzzled.

“Admiral, it would be folly to split our forces. We could be defeated in detail by the American fleet.”

“I agree,” said Diedrichs. He dropped his voice even though he and Paschwitz were alone. “However, there was a second and private message. Berlin has information that Yankee spies will falsely say that the Americans are going to attack the convoy with their entire fleet. They will not. It will be a feint. The Americans want us to rush out with our entire fleet, which will give them the opportunity to attack the harbor and close it off. It would not take too many ships in the harbor to seal the Narrows and turn it into a gauntlet we would have to run. Without the harbor, the convoy would have no place to land. We could retake it, but that would be both time-consuming and costly, since the Americans would reinforce their batteries on Staten Island and move in army units to help them.

“However, we are ordered to do just the reverse. Much of our fleet will remain here while a strong force steams to the convoy to help it beat off the feint. After defeating the American feint, it is hoped that the reinforced convoy escort can join with us in smashing the American fleet as it does battle with us.”

Paschwitz retrieved the order and read it a second time. “But what if they are wrong, Admiral? This seems too incredible.”

Admiral Diedrichs walked to the window of his stateroom. He could see the ruins of Manhattan in the distance. “We have our orders, Captain Paschwitz, and we will obey them.”

Several days after the departure of the High Seas Fleet, Hipper and others had cheered lustily when the picket ships announced the arrival of the reinforcement squadron from New York. He’d exulted when he’d first spied the masts of the line of mighty ships as they came across the horizon. But his exultation had turned to dismay when the ships came close enough to be counted and identified. Where was the North Atlantic Fleet and its capital ships? Certainly a portion of it was coming to meet him, six battleships to be exact—and under the command of his friend and rival Maximilian von Spee. But where was the remainder? Instead, he had another six cruisers, and light ones at that, to flesh out his escort. Where the hell was the rest of the fleet?

The trip across the Atlantic had been the epitome of misery. Squalls and high seas continually threatened to scatter Hipper’s ships as they plowed with exquisite slowness in the general direction of North America. The escort crews were exhausted and the machinery was fatigued by the need to chase down strays and return them to the dubious bosom of the convoy, and too damn much coal had been burned while they steamed at such inefficiently slow speeds.

Of the 146 ships in the original convoy, 7 had turned back because of mechanical failures and 4 had simply disappeared. Although they might have sunk unnoticed in a night squall, there were more sinister possibilities. Perhaps the sailors sent as guards had been overpowered and killed, and the ships had escaped. If Hipper ever found them, he would hang their crews.

Now, with the battleship squadron ahead and Spee, as senior admiral, clearly in charge, Hipper thought about the surprising change in the military situation of which Spee had managed to advise him via signal lamp. Both ships had wireless, but the
Furst Bismarck
’s had quit working the day before.

How fortunate that German intelligence had found out about the American plans. What a wonderful opportunity! The Yanks were going to send only a small force of four capital ships as a decoy against the convoy while the remainder attacked New York harbor and tried to retake it. How diabolical. If they succeeded, the convoy would be rendered useless because it would have no place to go, and the army would be trapped. But now Diedrichs, with the rest of the battle fleet and the cruisers, lay in ambush for the Americans at New York. Hipper wished that he and Admiral Spee would arrive so they could crush the arrogant Yanks between their two forces—after, of course, defeating the token Yank force sent to distract them.

“How far to New York now?” Hipper asked.

“Just over two hundred miles, sir,” the navigator answered quickly. Hipper knew that it was an estimate but it would do. A couple of days and they would be safe.

Distant signals from a ship in the advance screen caught his eye: “enemy ships in sight.” He sucked in his breath and heard others on the bridge gasp as well. It was time. They had sailed long and far for this moment. He would not fail Tirpitz, his kaiser, or the Reich.

High in his perch on the
Alabama
, Ens. Terry Schuyler contemplated several things. First, it was his birthday and there was a good possibility that it would be his last. Second, he was going to be a witness to history.

The lookout post was jammed with Schuyler, another lieutenant, named James Sloan, and four seamen. All were constantly yelling information into the phones and speaking tubes, trying desperately to keep the men on the bridge informed of what they saw.

And what they could see was stunning. The
Alabama
was fourth in the long line of battleships steaming in a basically southerly direction. First was the
Iowa,
which was serving as Dewey’s flagship. It was followed by the
Oregon
and
Indiana
and then the
Alabama
. Behind the
Alabama
in a stately line came the
Illinois, Kentucky, Massachusetts, Wisconsin, Kearsarge,
and
Texas
. They were followed by the armored cruisers
New York
and
Brooklyn
and the protected cruiser
Olympia
of Manila Bay fame. The American navy considered all of these capital ships.

In a separate squadron slightly behind the main battle line came three monitors. Slow and unseaworthy, they had been designed for coastal defense and took the waves poorly. But they did have heavy guns and could be a force in the coming battle.

To either side were scores of smaller ships—cruisers and gunboats primarily, although there was a handful of torpedo boat destroyers. These latter had been towed by the monitors to conserve fuel. There was even a score or so of armed yachts. If it could float and carry a gun, it was out there.

“Schuyler, did you say something?” asked Lieutenant Sloan.

Terry realized he must have been thinking out loud. “No, sir.”

“Captain wants a confirmed count on the German big ships.”

Terry nodded and took a telescope from one of the seamen. Many of the German ships were not yet in view, but, as happened so often, their presence was given away by the feather of smoke caused by their coal-burning engines. In this case, the number of such smoky feathers was almost beyond count. If they were all warships, then the American navy, signaling its presence with its own smoke, was in deep trouble.

Terry tried to focus on the line of dark shapes that seemed to be coming directly at them. He could almost imagine them to be giant beetles. What were they, battleships or cruisers? The answer could bear directly on whether he saw another birthday.

Lieutenant Sloan was new to the
Alabama
. He had been serving on the steam tug
Triton
at Norfolk and had been transferred to the battleship as the navy made frantic attempts to make up the officer shortage on the all-important capital ships. Terry had spent many long nights memorizing the shapes of German ships, and he knew that Lieutenant Sloan would defer to his expertise. He also knew that the captain must have already received some information regarding the advancing enemy from Dewey, who was much closer to the Germans in the
Oregon,
and doubtless wanted a second opinion.

“Lieutenant,” Terry said, trying to be formal and also to keep the quiver from his voice. Off duty, Sloan was a very good guy and insisted Terry call him Jim, but this was for history. “I count nine in a line. They’re all over the horizon now and, if there are others, they’re not in this battle line.”

He heard Sloan relay the information into the phone and then into the speaking tube. Already Terry felt better. If that was all there were, they might be in good shape. He squinted and tried to make specific identifications.

“Who are they?” asked Sloan, his voice almost a yell. Terry waved him off and held the ships in focus. He was trying to remember. He smiled and put down the telescope.

“Six battleships and three heavies.”

“Jesus,” said Sloan and repeated the figures. Even through the tinny and scratchy phone, they could hear the shouts from the bridge. Terry slumped against the railing of the tower. Ten American battleships, three heavy cruisers, and three monitors against six battleships and three cruisers. They just might pull it off.

As the
Furst Bismarck
took its place in line behind the last of Spee’s battleships, Admiral von Hipper knew a moment of deep dread. He looked at the faces of the others on the bridge and realized they felt it as well. This was no token force. This was the entire American navy! Diedrichs, Tirpitz, and the kaiser had all been fooled. Hipper could only trust that the remainder of the German fleet had realized the error, was now steaming to their rescue, and would come up behind the Americans and crush them in the vise he had hoped to see off New York. He also knew he was clutching at the proverbial straw. It was the German fleet and not the American fleet that was caught in the vise. The smaller warships guarding the convoy would have to be on their own until the American battleships were defeated—if they were defeated. There was no other choice.

Admiral von Hipper’s lookouts continued to provide him with information about the swarms of light cruisers, gunboats, and small ships now streaking toward the convoy like wolves toward fat sheep. Wolves, he thought. The smaller Yank ships were wolves and were attacking as wolf packs. They would overwhelm the flank escorts and the rear guard in detail and chew up the convoy, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The precious convoy he had sworn to protect was as good as lost. Even if relief came immediately, the American wolf packs would have sunk or damaged so many of the transports that the effort would be useless. It was already useless! Now his only alternative was to fight for survival. His survival and that of his ship and the Imperial Navy were at stake. The future of the Reich’s navy was going to be decided this day in the North Atlantic.

He and his ships had been betrayed and were outnumbered, he thought bitterly. It would take a heroic effort, hard and desperate fighting, to drive off the Americans. Could they do it?

“The Americans have opened fire!”

He nodded, having caught the winking of lights from the distant lead ships. Too far away. They were just barely in range. They were wasting ammunition. Automatically, he counted off the seconds and waited for the fall of shot. When it came, he was stunned to see how close the opening salvos were to the leading German ships.

“They’ve fired again.”

“Impossible!” he snapped, trying to refute the evidence of his eyes that beheld the line of lights again flashing from the still-distant but rapidly closing shapes. Experience told him ships cannot fire that fast. Yet they were. This time the first two German battleships were straddled by giant splashes that lifted dirty, wet towers into the sky. Bracketed, he moaned, bracketed already and we haven’t yet fired.

On board the
Alabama
, the opening salvos shook the ship and deafened Terry and the others despite the wads of cotton in their ears.

“My God,” said Sloan. “Look for splashes.”

Terry nodded and held the binoculars tightly against his face. The ships ahead had fired first and, as he looked, let off a quick second salvo. There were splashes ahead of the German line taller than the ships themselves. Soon, as the enemy steamed on, hits were scored on the lead ships. Within moments, all the American ships were firing away with their main batteries while the secondary batteries, with their shorter range, waited their turn. Terry could not believe the noise and vibration. It was beyond anything he had ever thought possible.

The Germans began returning fire with a vengeance as they found the range and scored repeated hits of their own on their tormentors. For salvo after salvo the ships closed the range and hurled tons of hot and angry metal at each other. Terry was buffeted and thrown to the deck of the tower several times by the impact of shells striking the
Alabama
, and once he was almost thrown over the side. He wondered if the ship would sink as clouds of smoke engulfed him.

As the battle reached full fury, the Germans continued to press closer while the Americans maneuvered to maintain more distance, trusting in their better long-range firing skills. As the two lines of ships passed starboard side to each other, the three monitors, armed with 10-and 12-inch guns, broke out of line and turned sharply starboard. The effect was to execute a crossing of the German T while still keeping the line of battle essentially intact. Caught between two fires, the lead German battleships were literally blown to pieces. One of the monitors exploded under return fire and sank quickly. Terry thought it was the
Puritan
. The monitors’ sudden maneuver broke the German line, and the remainder of the battle became a swirling melee as ships sought and battled each other, sometimes as pairs, sometimes as clusters of three or four.