However, his orders from Washington made it absolutely clear that he did not have the authority to give such an order, unless the Germans fired upon and actually scored a hit on an American ship. Unless these conditions were met, the Americans were not to offer violence to the Germans, even in self-defense.
On the other hand, they were permitted to put on as unfriendly a show of force as they could without actually shooting at the Germans. As they had ignored all his previous warnings to change their heading, which had been sent by radio, signal flag and blinker, Rodman decided that it was time to transmit one final message before playing his last and, he hoped, winning card.
“Take a new message to radio,” Rodman told the runner. “‘To S.M.S. Rheinland: the merchant ships you are escorting are entering a forbidden zone by order of the government of the United States. They are not permitted to continue to Martinique without inspection and approval by U.S. Naval personnel. You are ordered to reverse course immediately. I am authorized to take any steps necessary to enforce the interdiction. This is your final warning.’ Send it immediately, son.”
The runner scampered away, message in hand.
“What’s your prediction, Luby?” Rodman asked the Nevada’s Captain as they waited for the German response. “What would you do if you were in command of that expedition?” He motioned with his chin in the direction of the Rheinland and her two charges.
“I don’t know, Admiral,” Luby said. “He’d have to be one cool customer to keep going. Even if he thinks we’re bluffing, how could he possibly be sure enough to risk it? If the whole Battle Group opened up at once, that battleship would be blown clean out of the water, and the merchantmen…” He shook his head at the thought of what high caliber shellfire would do to the unprotected cargo vessels.
Rodman studied the big German battleship as they waited for an answer to the latest warning. Rheinland’s keel had been laid down in 1907, in a hasty response to the launching of the revolutionary Dreadnought one year earlier, and thus had some of the design peculiarities common to the earliest generation of the new super-battleships. Her main battery of twelve eleven-inch Krupp rifles disposed in six double turrets arranged in an unusual hexagonal configuration gave Rheinland the ability to fire as many as ten of the big guns forward or aft in salvo (although four of the ten would have very limited fields of fire), but only eight in broadside. This eccentric arrangement was not repeated in subsequent designs, and was unique to the Nassau class dreadnoughts of which Rheinland was a member. Rodman far preferred the centerline triple-gun turret design of Nevada and her sisters.
Although the Nassau class was built to meet the challenge laid down by Lord Fisher’s Dreadnought, they were in a sense compromises, retaining some of the characteristics of older warships. In addition to the strange design of the main battery, the designers of Nassau had continued to use the older triple-expansion reciprocating engines, instead of switching to the marine turbines that powered all British capital ships built after 1906. Of course, the Kaiserliche Marine was not the only navy to shy away from the fuel-gulping turbine in its early dreadnoughts; two-shaft vertical triple-expansion engines also powered the first modern American types, the South Carolina class, which were laid down in 1906. The U.S. Navy did not build turbine-powered battleships until 1909, Florida and Utah being the first.
After fifteen minutes had passed, there was no reply to the radio message, indeed no response of any kind from the Germans. This of course, was a reply of sorts, Rodman thought. Put into words, it was something like: “Yeah? And if we don’t, what are you going to do about it?”
“Enemy column maintaining same course and speed, sir,” reported Lieutenant Sprague.
“Captain Luby, I want ‘A’ turret…” (this was the forward turret) “…to fire a salvo of high explosive across the bow of that battleship at a range of 14,000 yards.”
The order was echoed by the Captain, who repeated it to his gunnery officer, a Lieutenant Willis Lee. The gunnery officer immediately took readings from the range finder, a complex optical device mounted on a pivot on the bridge. Lieutenant Lee then repeated Rodman’s order through a speaking tube to the plotting room below, along with the range and an exact time taken from his stopwatch. In a few seconds, the plotting room responded with the details of the target’s course and speed. The gunnery officer now made some hurried calculations, and then picked up the tube again to pass his range and deflection readings on to the plotting room, which plotted them and sent the range and elevation figures to the guns.
Less than thirty seconds later, word came back from below that the guns were set at the proper range and elevation. Lieutenant Lee, still keeping the German ship centered in the range finder, pressed a button that produced a loud buzz. The buzz, which meant “stand by to fire” sounded at the same time inside “A” turret.
The gunnery officer waited, moved his thumb towards a large red button, hesitated, and then pressed the button, causing a deafening bell to ring in the turret. This was the signal to fire.
There was a tremendous blast, and three simultaneous sheets of flame stabbed out to starboard from the Mark II 14-inch guns in Nevada’s forward turret. The recoil from the discharge caused Nevada to pitch suddenly to port, but the veteran bridge crew was prepared for this motion and not one of them lost his balance or even so much as acknowledged the sudden lurch.
Admiral Rodman, who had focused his field glasses on the approaching German dreadnought, grunted in satisfaction as three huge geysers leapt out of the sea three hundred yards ahead of the big German battleship.
“You have to know that miss was deliberate,” he said, speaking to the German skipper. “Now turn your ships around before we get serious, Captain.”
He watched in silence as the minutes went by and the Germans did not alter their speed by a single knot, or their course by so much as a degree.
“Shall we fire another salvo, Admiral Rodman?” Captain Luby asked.
Rodman lowered his binoculars, looked at the Captain and shook his head. “I don’t really see the point,” he said bleakly. “They obviously don’t believe that we are going to actually fire on their ships. The Germans have called our bluff, Captain, and there is absolutely nothing we can do about it.”
He grimaced. “Signal the Task Force to return to base,” he told the radio room messenger. “I’ll be in my quarters. Carry on.”
Well, Rodman thought as he walked through the passageway, we didn’t start a war, today at least. But what happens next time?
Chapter Fifteen
Berlin, June 10, 1923
The All-Highest, His Imperial Majesty Kaiser Wilhelm Hohenzollern, the Second of that name, Emperor of Germany and King of Prussia, was hard enough to abide when he was in a bad mood, Crown Prince Rupprecht thought. But when he was in a mood like this, exulting in victory and enthusiastically contrasting his clever boldness with his cabinet’s dull-witted timidity, he was very nearly unbearable. Not for the first time since he had accepted Wilhelm’s offer to join his cabinet as the Minister of War, Rupprecht considered the potential pleasures of an early retirement to his estates in Bavaria.
“Really, gentlemen, you should apply for positions in the American government,” a jovial Wilhelm twitted the Crown Prince and Chancellor Michaelis. “I’m certain that you would get along splendidly with President Lowden, as all three of you seem to think alike. You were just as much afraid of war as the Americans, and thus unable to see when opportunity beckoned, whereas I was capable of taking matters into my own hands and making history, instead of…”
He broke off as a messenger rushed into the room and delivered a folded sheet of paper to the Chancellor.
“My humble pardon for interrupting, Your Majesty,” Michaelis said, “but this is from the Foreign Office, and is marked ‘Urgent-Top Priority’.” He opened the paper and scanned it quickly.
“I am afraid I have bad news, Your Majesty,” he said, raising his eyes to meet the Kaiser's. “It seems that our c
elebration of victory in Martinique is a bit premature.”
“What are you talking about?” Wilhelm snarled. “The American curs have been whipped back into their kennels, and the day belongs to Germany.”
By way of answer, Michaelis handed the paper to the Kaiser. As he read, his eyes began to bulge from his head.
“As you can see, Your Majesty,” Michaelis said, “the Americans were not the only ones with an interest in our new naval base. The English…”
“My bastard English cousins are trying to snatch victory away from me!” Wilhelm shrieked, purpling. He crumpled the Foreign Office paper in his fist. “This is intolerable! They cannot get away with it!”
Prince Rupprecht retrieved the balled paper from where his sovereign had hurled it in his rage, and tried to smooth it out enough to make it legible.
“The British say that His Majesty’s Government considers the base at La Trinity as touching on vital imperial interests, and they…” Michaelis began to explain.
“They say that they will send their Bermuda Squadron to Martinique to ‘neutralize’ La Trinitie unless we begin immediate negotiations with the Americans,” the Crown Prince cut in, examining the British Note, and silently translating the diplomatese of the document into everyday German.
The Kaiser half-rose from his seat as he brought both fists thumping down on the table. “I will not tolerate this interference! We will send our own fleet; we will declare war and smash them! We will…” He broke off his tirade to glare at his two chief ministers, who were shaking their heads.
“What?!” Wilhelm demanded in exasperation.
“Your Majesty,” Rupprecht said patiently, “if a naval war against the United States is hopeless, surely one against Great Britain promises even worse prospects. The British have by far the biggest and best navy in the world, as you well know, and…”
“…and a contemptible little army that my army could crush in a week, in a day,” Wilhelm interrupted.
“If we could come to grips with it, Your Majesty,” the Chancellor said. “Unless we were able to overcome the Royal Navy, any war with Great Britain would of necessity be a naval war. And, as Crown Prince Rupprecht points out, we cannot hope to win such a war. Indeed, we cannot even prevent the British from carrying out their threat to invade Martinique and ‘neutralize’ La Trinitie, whatever that may entail. We do not possess anything like the means to stop them from taking whatever actions they like in the Caribbean. And I do not think that the British are… what was the American term? ‘Bluffing’, yes. I do not believe that Mr. Churchill is the bluffing kind.”
The Kaiser made no reply to Michaelis’ observations, as their truth was so self-evident that he could think of nothing to say. He sat in silence for a long time, trembling with suppressed rage, his lips pulled back from his teeth, his gloved hands clenched in anger.
At length, an apparently happier thought occurred to him. Slowly, his hands relaxed and his features settled back to a more ordinary configuration.
“It occurs to me that I have still not dealt with the individuals who are responsible for placing me in such an embarrassing position,” he said. “I have just now thought of an appropriate reward for my faithful servants, His Excellency, Gottlieb von Jagow and Grand Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz.”
“The firing squad, Your Majesty?” Rupprecht asked interestedly. “It would be no less than they deserve.”
“No, since they risked so much to further our overseas empire, it is only fair that they be permitted to continue to serve that empire in some fashion,” the Kaiser said. His lips were curled in a smile, if one could call it that, one which would have sent small children running for their mothers, had any been there to see it. “I will make certain that they are offered positions where they will be able to provide such service.”
The Kaiser’s “smile” vanished. “And if they reject that offer,” Wilhelm said grimly, “then the firing squad.”
Chapter Sixteen
From The Philadelphia Inquirer, June 18, 1923
By Raymond Swing, Foreign Affairs Editor
…The agreement between the two nations that brought the crisis over Martinique to a close was widely seen as a major diplomatic setback for Germany. The base, which had been intended to be the home for a new German Caribbean Fleet at La Trinitie, was sold to the United States Government for $1 million. In a statement released by the State Department yesterday, it was revealed that the government has already reached an agreement with a consortium of American and British steamship lines to develop the partially completed site as a new tourist destination and base for passenger liners in the Caribbean.
There has been no official explanation of the reason for the unexpectedly sudden resolution of the crisis, and both the American and German governments have refused to comment. It is widely speculated that the deadlock was broken by British intervention. Mr. Churchill’s government has also declined to comment on this matter. However, the announcement today that Secretary of State Leonard Wood would travel to London next month for meetings with his counterpart Sir Edward Grey and Prime Minister Winston Churchill lends credence to this rumor.
Ultimately, the Martinique crisis may result in causing the United States and Great Britain to lay the foundation for an eventual agreement that will provide mutual security from future German attempts to expand in this part of the world.
In the view of this reporter, it is vital that the government of the United States and its citizens realize the potential threat posed by the German Empire, and begin to form relationships with other powers to control German aggression. It is hoped that the recently resolved crisis will serve to awaken Americans to the reality that, in this era, the oceans no longer constitute complete protection from the rest of the world, and may in fact now be highways for foreign powers who wish to extend their reach to this hemisphere. A mutual defensive treaty with Great Britain would be an essential first step in ensuring the future security of the United States, and such a treaty should be reached and approved by the Senate as soon as possible.
Chapter Seventeen
September 23, 1923,
Wilhelmshaven, Martinique
As he walked down the wharf along after debarking with the other 150-odd passengers from the newly arrived S.S. Dolphin out of Tampa, Raymond Spruance stooped to peek under the brim of his wife’s enormous white straw hat, to see how she was faring in the island’s combination of 95 percent humidity and 85 degree heat under a blazing, bright sun. She was an Indiana native, and he was certain that she was not accustomed to these tropical conditions.
As he suspected, Margaret was already sweating profusely, although they had left the shade of the ship behind only a few moments earlier. Before he could say anything, she snapped, “There is no need to look at me that way, Raymond, and no call to ask me if I am sorry I made you take me to Martinique for vacation. I am quite comfortable, thank you.”
He straightened again until he was certain that Margaret’s hat blocked her view of his face before he allowed a grin to spread across his lips. “I was just going to point out the Martinique customs shed to you, and warn you that we’ll probably be standing out here in the sun for a good long while, waiting for them to pass this crowd through. The last time I was here…”
“I remember your story about the two customs men very well, Raymond,” Margaret replied, stiffly “and I am quite prepared to stand in line for as long as necessary.”
As they grew nearer to the shed, Spruance saw that the customs officials he had encountered during his visit in April were gone, replaced by two new men. In this case, the change was most definitely an improvement.
Neither one of the new customs agents gave the luggage anything more than the most casual glance. Indeed, they scarcely even took the time to look up at the tourists to confirm that the photographs in their passports matched the faces of the persons standing before them, so briskly did the two men ply the rubber stamps that imprinted the visas.
“Actually
, they seem to be moving quite rapidly,” Margaret remarked, as the line advanced.
Spruance did not reply. He was studying the two sweating customs officials closely. One of them was a short man, with a small, neatly trimmed mustache and a thinning hairline. He looked out of place in his dark blue customs uniform. Spruance got the impression that the man would have been more at home in an expensively tailored suit. He also looked vaguely familiar, as if Spruance had seen his picture in the newspaper, although that hardly seemed likely.
As he got close to the counter, Spruance saw that the second official was a huge man, whose bald head was balanced by an impressive display of snow-white whiskers. In the climate of Martinique, the long beard must have been a torment to him. What was particularly notable was the unusual shape of the beard: it forked just below his chin, and the ends were neatly trimmed in points, like inverted horns. The normally unflappable Spruance goggled at the man, rooted in place.
The bearded agent stamped Spruance’s passport without looking up at the American. When he noticed that Spruance was still standing in front of him, he did look up, then motioned impatiently for Spruance to move along with his hand, grunting, “Weitergehen!”
“Come along dear,” Margaret said, tugging at her husband’s sleeve. “The porter is taking our luggage to the taxi stand.”
Tidal Effects (Gray Tide In The East Book 2) Page 9
