Kirov Saga: Devil's Garden (Kirov Series) (38 page)

In 1904 a brigand, the Raisuli of the Rif of Morocco, had
kidnapped citizens of the United States from their home in Tangiers, a man
named Perdicaris and his son. With an election looming Roosevelt made a strong
protest and declared “this government wants Perdicaris alive or Raisuli dead!”
The catchphrase galvanized the electorate and helped carry him to a second
term, even though the ”gunboat diplomacy” he exercised in sending seven
warships to Tangiers was more theater than anything else.

“Are there any details, sir?” Mahan leaned in, eying the dispatch
with some interest.

“The details are plain enough, Mister Mahan. Some crazy Russian
sea Captain has been taking pot shots at shipping in the Sea of Japan. Here….it
says he has sunk a Japanese steamer, engaged the Japanese Navy, then slipped
away to fire on a Canadian ship and kill three American citizens. I spent a good
bit of political capital negotiating that damn treaty in Portsmouth, and the
Russians got off easy. The Japanese wanted the whole of Sakhalin Island and we
talked them out of that to save a little face for the Russians. Now where do
they get off re-lighting that old powder keg?”

“Does it name the ship involved, sir? The Russians had very little
seaworthy in Vladivostok after that war.”

“Which is why this makes so little sense. They were beaten to the
canvas with two black eyes, a bloody nose, and a broken jaw! The Japanese
inflicted a crushing defeat on them at Tsushima. Now they get up off the deck
after the final bell has rung and take a sucker punch at the other fellow. That’s
very unsportsman-like.”

“And it’s also very unwise, sir. Russia can ill afford another
conflict erupting with the Japanese.”

“Yes… well they just hit the referee with this little swipe,
Mister Mahan. Perhaps we need to let them know just how unwise that sucker
punch was! You there!” The President turned to a staffer attending the
campfire. “Take a message to Sperry on the Great White Fleet. Tell them I want
them to make short work of that port call in Hawaii and get the fleet to
Yokohama instead of Manila first. I want them there as soon as possible.”

Mahan raised his eyebrows at that. “You’re going to change the
fleet’s itinerary? Might we be overreacting just a tad at this incident, sir?”

“Overreacting? That’s a thing for children and women, Mister
Mahan. The President of the United States doesn’t overreact. He does precisely
what he intends. I think a little restructuring of the fleet’s itinerary will
be all that’s required here. The Russians will certainly take notice. The fleet
wasn’t due to visit Japan until October, but I want it in Japanese home waters
at the earliest possible opportunity. We’ll send another message to the Japanese
Ambassador and tell them we are shocked to hear of this incident and will make
every effort to set the matter right. If Russia and Japan decide to get into
the ring again, this time our referee will be the sixteen battleships of the Great
White Fleet!”

Chapter 33

Vice
Admiral Hedworth Lambton-Meux put down the day’s copy of the
London Gazette, pleased to have it so soon after publication. It was now being
sent by wire to most of the important stations, and China Station was
important, as he was, recently installed here to replace Vice-Admiral Moore. He
had taken an interest in the stories out of London earlier that month,
concerning the strange midnight glow in the sky. Most unusual.

“Well,” he said, to the sea Captain before him,” we may have something
more to do this week than loll about in the heat.” He read the notice from the
paper aloud now: “Buckingham Palace, July 21, 1908. His Excellency Count
Komura, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary from his Majesty the
Emperor of Japan is now to take leave of His Majesty on the termination of his
Mission.”

He looked at Captain Lewis Clinton-Baker over his reading glasses.
“It appears they are changing shoes again there, which will mean we’ll probably
receive a formal visit here as well. It’s a pity we have to pay all this lip
service to the Japanese these days, but things have certainly changed, have
they not?”

“They have indeed sir, and this is precisely the occasion of my
visit this morning.”

“Oh? What is it now, Captain Baker?”

“Shuffling some personnel about here too, Admiral. I’ve had an
officer go down with fever and will need to fill out the bridge crew on
King
Alfred
for the planned training exercises.” He handed a thin brown file to
the Admiral now, obviously the candidate he had in mind for the new posting.

“How is the ship, Captain?”

“In good trim, sir. Fit as a fiddle.”

King Alfred
was the current flagship of the British Pacific Squadron
operating out of the China Station at Weihaiwei harbor. Situated on the long
western peninsula of Shandong Province, it sat right at the edge of the gateway
to the Yellow sea, and only Hong Kong superseded it in strategic importance
from the British perspective. From Weihaiwei the Royal Navy could keep a quiet
watch on all the sea traffic flowing into the Yellow Sea, mostly bound for Port
Arthur and Dailan, which had been the scene of much conflict in recent years as
the gateway to Manchuria.

‘The Old Man of Asia,’ China, had been ailing again after his
defeat by Japan before the turn of the century, and the meddling of many
European powers in Manchuko. Now it was the Japanese, still flush with their
great victory over Russia in the Russo-Japanese war of 1904-05. Yet through all
that strife and turmoil the British had kept their watch, moving ships and men
in and out of Hong Kong and Weihaiwei.

King Alfred
was the largest British ship presently in Asian waters,
classified as an armored cruiser, the ship was the size of most older
battleships in the Japanese fleet. The IJN flagship
Mikasa
, weighed in
at 15,380 tons fully loaded, and was only 432 feet long, while King Alfred was
nearly as heavy at 14,150 tons, and actually a hundred feet longer. As a
cruiser she did not match the 12 inch guns on the Japanese battleships. Her
main armament was sixteen 6 inch guns, with two larger 9.2 inch guns mounted in
bigger turrets fore and aft. She was one of four
Drake
class armored
cruisers, and at 23 knots she was faster than any other ship of her size in the
region. She also had new fire control fitted and electric hoists for all her 6
inch guns to speed loading and rate of fire.

Admiral Meux looked over the file, again reading aloud as was his
habit: “Passed navigation and pilotage. Passed gunnery 8 September ‘05; passed
torpedo 13 October ‘05. Well the gentleman certainly seems properly trained.”

He flipped to the reports section, where young aspiring officers
would be rated by their commanding officers on a regular basis. “Captain
Bradford has him with good professional knowledge, zealous and diligent, and
then look here, a year later Captain Browning reports him as painstaking and
steady, but stupid. Vice Admiral Douglas wasn’t impressed with the man
either—says his manner was bad with the men.”

“I believe that was back in ’03, sir. In recent years you’ll see
marked improvement.”

“Watchkeeping Certificate received May ’06… Well he won’t do as a
navigator. The man failed the eyesight test last year.”

“I’ll be keeping Mister Graves at navigation, sir.”

“See that you do. I think I do recall this young man now that
we’re discussing him. A bit headstrong in his early years. Served on
Exmouth
when she was the fleet flagship and got the bit between his teeth. I seem to remember
an incident when the man was hoisting boats when his commander came up behind
him and began issuing orders. The cheeky young lad simply removed his gloves,
unbuckled his sword, and handed both to the commander before retiring below
decks!”

Captain Baker laughed at that. “Yes, sir, that’s my man. He was
just a tad prickly back in ‘05, but we’ve smoothed out the rough edges since
then.”

“Painstaking… Steadily improving…Keen and zealous…reliable and strongly
recommended for executive appointment. Why, that last bit was your remark,
Captain Baker.”

“It was, sir. The young man is rather new to the China Station. He
just arrived here last May shortly after the turnover of command. I’ve had my
eye on him below decks and think he may rotate up to the bridge crew well
enough.”

“That isn’t much time below decks for an officer this new, but if
you say you’ve had your eye on the man I will certainly defer to your
judgment.” The admiral took notice of the young officer’s name for the first
time now, flipping the attached reports down to read it on page one.

“ John….A good Christian name, I suppose.”

“Yes sir. He goes by the nickname Jack with the men, and they seem
to have taken a liking to him.”

“Very good, Captain. You may move your Lieutenant to the bridge.
Who knows, the experience may do him some good. See how he does when we take
the squadron out for maneuvers.”

“I have every confidence in the man Admiral. In fact, I think he
may work out quite well. He seems very ambitious and determined.”

“Yes, well every young Lieutenant like this one thinks they’ll end
up First Sea Lord or Admiral of the Fleet one day, don’t they?”

“This young Lieutenant may very well surprise you, sir.”

Captain Baker was a bit of a profit, it seemed. For the man they
were discussing that morning was Lieutenant John Cronyn “Jack” Tovey, a
determined young man indeed, and fated to live up to his every aspiration.

*
* *

“Step
lively, mates,” said Tovey. “Can’t you see that old
Kent
out there has already got up steam?” The Lieutenant pointed across the anchorage
to the three stack
Monmouth
Class cruiser lying at anchor. Word had come
down to make ready for the scheduled exercises, and Tovey had his blood up for
the outing, eager to get away from the sweltering harbor heat and out to sea
where at least they could make their own wind if they got up a good head of
steam.

“They’ve only got one stack puffing, Lieutenant,” said a
midshipman.

“Well, that’s one more than we’ve got fired up at the moment.”

“But we’ve got four stacks, sir. How do you suppose we’ll be up
and ready before a smaller ship like
Kent?”

“With grit and elbow grease, gentlemen. Now step to it! If we
aren’t ready to weigh anchor in another hour they’ll be out in front and waving
their backside at us the whole way out of the harbor. Let’s get the lead out,
eh?” They had orders to make steam, and by God, that was what they would do,
and well before HMS
Kent
blew smoke from all three stacks. And showed
them up yet again.

“Mister Tovey, sir!”

The young officer turned, his eyes narrowing on another seaman who
had come up behind him as he urged his mates on.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Message from Captain Baker, sir. You’re to leave off here and
head to the bridge straight away.”

“The bridge?”

“What have you gone and done this time, Lieutenant?”

Tovey looked for the man who had called that out, but he was
already down through the hatch and gone. The last time the Lieutenant received
such a notice it was to receive a good tongue lashing from the Captain over a
discussion between officers the previous evening. Perhaps the Captain had
something further to say.

“See what I mean?” Tovey put his arms on his hips, head cocked as
he called after the men on the ladder down. “The Captain has eyes too, and he
can damn well see that stack charring up on
Kent
as plain as day. Now
you men press on and get down to the boiler room to see about it.”

He shook his head, wondering what the Captain really wanted this
time, and worried that it might indeed be something to do with his remarks in
the officer’s mess the previous evening. A few of the men had been discussing
tactics and the general consensus was that a good broadside at range was the
best possible play in a sudden one-on-one engagement. Armored cruisers were
often used in scouting roles, and would often find themselves in small groups,
or even alone when they might happen on an enemy ship.

“What? A broadside with six inch guns?” Tovey put in.
King
Alfred
had eight such guns on each side, but she could rotate both her
forward and aft turrets as well to bring the two larger 9.2 inch guns into the
mix.

“Well we’d have to be damn close to hit anything,” said Tovey.
“Those casement guns can theoretically range out over 15,000 yards with a heavy
charge, but good luck hitting anything that far out. No gentlemen, I’m an
advocate of speed at the outset. I’d show the enemy my bow and put on a full
head of steam to squeeze every knot out of those boilers I possibly could.
Harass them with all our forward facing guns as we come in, then swing round
and give them the old broadside well inside 10,000 yards. 8,000 yards would
even be better—ideal I should think.” It was a strategy he would put to use in
the future, though the ranges involved would change as gun size increased.
Tovey would one day end up leading more than one good fight at sea.