CHAPTER FIVE
MONTEVIDEO HARBOR, URUGUAY
FOUR DAYS LATER
17 DECEMBER 1939
MAX STOOD AT THE GANGWAY, EYES ON THE APPROACHING LAUNCH carrying Dr. Alberto Guani, the Uruguayan foreign minister, and his deputy. Just that morning the Uruguayan technical commission had finished their inspection and returned ashore to inform the foreign minister how much time would be required to render Spee seaworthy again. Langsdorff had asked for fourteen days. The chief engineer and two German civilian contractors from Argentina believed it would take that long to fully repair the ship, but Max doubted they would get so much time. The British government was strongly pressuring the Uruguayans to force Graf Spee out of Montevideo harbor and into the arms of the British fleet, now assembling like a pack of hyenas off the mouth of the Rio Plata.
Article XI of the Hague Convention of 1907, to which Uruguay—like Germany and Great Britain—was a signatory, forbade belligerent warships from staying more than twenty-four hours in the territorial waters of a neutral power. However, Article XIV of the same treaty stipulated that the stay could be extended only if the ship in question was badly damaged—but it was the right of the neutral government to decide how long the necessary repairs should take, and under the treaty, the only permissible repairs were the minimum required to make the vessel seaworthy; any repairs to damaged guns or any other equipment affecting the combat capabilities of the ship were not allowed. No doubt the British were arguing that Graf Spee was seaworthy already, having already steamed more than three hundred kilometers to reach Montevideo after her battle with the Royal Navy squadron.
But seaworthy was hardly the same as battleworthy. To escape into the broad Atlantic, Spee would have to fight her way through a mighty squadron of Royal Navy ships now standing off the mouth of the Rio Plata. To have any chance, they must have at least seven or eight days to prepare. And it wasn’t one major repair—that would be easier—but a laundry list of damages large and small. Radio aerials had been shot away; water mains shattered; electrical wires severed by enemy shell splinters that had cut power in key areas of the ship; several anti-aircraft guns were out of commission, along with the forward AA command post, which had suffered a direct hit; ammunition hoists were out; searchlights smashed; voice tubes cut; telephones broken; hatches jammed; plating bent; the lenses in the main rangefinder damaged beyond repair. Even the galley had been blown up—a significant problem with so many men to feed—and the ship’s entire store of flour contaminated by seawater. Worst of all, Max knew, as if it wasn’t bad enough already, the high-pressure steam system that purified the diesel fuel had also been destroyed, and all the diesel engines had cracked motor mounts; the diesels might actually shear off their beds if heavy strain were put on them. Langsdorff had concealed that damage from the inspectors by barring them from the engine room, knowing the Uruguayan inspectors would gossip like old women at a tea party the moment they stepped ashore and tell all to the British.
All around Max, the many skilled craftsmen among the crew caulked and hammered, welded and rewired. If only the work could be done in the builder’s yard in Wilhelmshaven, instead of in this South American backwater sweating the starch out of their uniforms, swatting flies and waiting to find out if they would be thrown like scraps of meat to the waiting British dogs.
At length the launch drew up to the gangway. The foreign minister and his deputy came up the side to the twitter of the bosun’s pipe. Both men wore black swallow-tailed coats and striped cravats, sartorial code for a formal diplomatic call. Only if they we wearing spats would they look more ridiculous, Max thought. But he came to stiff attention and saluted them all the same.
“Bienvenido a Graf Spee,” he said, botching the pronunciation, feeling very foolish. He’d taken an introductory Spanish course at the Marineschule Mürwik years ago but hadn’t spoken it since then. Fortunately, the foreign minister and his man spoke fluent English, the only language they had in common with the Germans. They conducted all of their meetings with Captain Langsdorff in English, an irony they all remarked on.
Guani seemed nonetheless to appreciate the gesture. He smiled and said, “Gracias, mein Herr.”
Max ushered the Uruguayans quickly through the ship, past the busy sailors and into the captain’s formal day cabin. Langsdorff stood as they entered, rigid in his white dress uniform, sword buckled around him, two of the ship’s other senior officers at his back. Max had been ordered to remain as the captain’s adjutant, so he shut the door and stood at the back of the room as the diplomats advanced.
“Captain Langsdorff,” Dr. Guani said, bowing deeply.
Langsdorff bowed in return.
“My deputy, Señor Diaz.”
“Señor.”
Langsdorff exchanged bows with the deputy as well, then turned to indicate the men behind him. “My second in command, Commander Kay, and my senior gunnery officer, Commander Ascher.” He gestured toward a leather settee. “Gentlemen, please sit.” The captain took a seat himself, as did Kay and Ascher. Graf Spee had no air-conditioning and the cabin was very hot. The temperature hovered somewhere over a hundred degrees throughout the ship’s interior; in the engine room it was closer to a hundred and forty. Max could feel the sweat running down his back, soaking his uniform.
Langsdorff’s steward, Jak, appeared with a silver tray and served each man coffee. Then Max offered around a cigar box filled with Havanas. All five of the seated men took a cigar and the cabin filled with the scent of rich tobacco.
“I trust you gentlemen had a pleasant ride across the harbor?” Langsdorff said.
“Most pleasant, Captain, most pleasant,” replied the foreign minister. “The weather is particularly fine this time of year for a boat ride.”
“I have found it so,” the captain said.
“Your wounded are ashore?” Señor Diaz asked.
“Yes, yes they are. Receiving excellent care from your countrymen, I am told. I am most grateful for your kind attention to them and for your assistance in the burial of our comrades killed in battle.”
This had taken place the previous morning, when thirty-six coffins, each draped in the German naval ensign, a blood red flag with black stripes and a swastika in the center, had been lowered from Graf Spee to the deck of a tugboat for transfer to the cemetery. Langsdorff mustered what sailors he could spare for the funeral ceremony, with Max detailed as one of the officers. They were joined by Langmann, the German ambassador, and even two of the British merchant captains who had been captives on Spee until she reached Montevideo. The British captains—Dove and Captain Brown of Huntsman—contributed a wreath inscribed: “To the memory of brave men of the sea from their comrades of the British merchant service.” They had not forgotten the deference shown to them by Langsdorff and his crew during their time of imprisonment on Graf Spee.
Now a charged silence settled onto the captain’s cabin. Langsdorff smoked while Guani examined the bulkheads with utmost care, like a detective looking for a clue. When his eyes had completed a full circuit of the room, he straightened his gray cravat and spoke. “The technical experts from our navy have, have, ah, how do you say, examined your ship, Captain, and it is my job to present you with their findings. I am here to perform that service con permisso… with your permission.”
Langsdorff stared.
“Captain Langsdorff, as you know, we sent several of our best naval officers, several of our most industrious and intelligent officers, to look upon your gallant ship, and they have made a report which I assure you is very factual and sound because they are, as I’ve said, our most experienced experts on matters such as this.”
Max gritted his teeth. He doubted the Uruguayan navy had even one warship, let alone one so complex as Graf Spee. Probably their “experts” had never worked on anything more complex than the beat-up patrol boats he had seen in the harbor.
Langsdorff removed the cigar from his mouth. “I look forward to Your Excellency’s report.”
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p; Guani looked straight at the captain. “We grant you seventy-two hours.”
Max felt his heart plunge.
Langsdorff stood from his chair, straightened his coat, and adjusted his sword. “That is not enough time, Herr Minister. It’s impossible. International law stipulates that a man-of-war may remain in neutral harbor for as long as necessary to effect repairs. This is our right under the Hague Convention.”
“As you know, Captain, the Hague Convention stipulates that a neutral power must allow a man-of-war to remain in port only as long as required to make the vessel seaworthy. We are not obligated under the treaty to do more, and indeed, Captain, we are specifically abjured by the Hague Convention from allowing you any time to restore the fighting power of your ship in any way.”
Langsdorff fixed his blue eyes on the men as if he could change their minds with his will. Yet Max knew Dr. Guani was right, and so did the captain. Langsdorff had even understated his case by not disclosing the damage to the fuel purification system or the cracked engine mounts.
“Our naval experts have examined your ship most thoroughly, Captain Langsdorff. They are unanimous in their agreement that she can be rendered seaworthy in seventy-two hours. It is our right under the Hague Convention to determine the length of time required to make repairs and we have done so with our most talented men. I give you my firmest assurance on that point, Captain. Two of the inspecting officers are graduates of the Annapolis Naval Academy in the United States.”
Max shifted his feet. He would never get home. He would be stuck in this godforsaken hinterland forever—or else killed in a sea battle in a few days.
“I must protest, Herr Minister,” Langsdorff said, “I must protest most strongly. With all due respect to the Uruguayan navy, I must submit, Your Excellency, that the men who inspected our ship do not understand the complexities involved in repairing a sophisticated warship like Graf Spee. One cannot simply hammer and weld as if one were repairing a motorcar. One must cut plates and weld them perfectly. Men of great skill are required to do this work—men who are presently being summoned from German communities all over South America.”
The foreign minister recoiled and stayed silent for long moments. Finally he said, “You will find excellent riveters here in Montevideo, Captain.”
Langsdorff flushed bright red in the face. “Riveters! Riveters! Mein Gott, there isn’t a single rivet in this entire ship! Herr Minister, I must say again that Graf Spee is a very, very complex vessel. She is welded together, and only expert craftsmen can repair her.
She is like a fine Swiss watch, not a cheap alarm clock. Your Excellency must understand this. Anyone of competence who visits the ship will know she cannot be made seaworthy in seventy-two hours.”
“I am truly sorry, Captain Langsdorff—grievously sorry to be the one required to impart these facts. I was loath to come and do so, was I not, Señor Diaz?”
Diaz nodded solemnly.
Guani held his hand up. “This is a most delicate moment in the history of our nation, Captain Langsdorff. Most delicate. I beg you to understand our dilemma. We are a very small country and very far from Europe, but even here world tensions have an effect. I feel most unfortunate to be the bearer of this news which is so distressing to you.”
Langsdorff turned away from the Uruguayans, then wheeled back around, left hand tight around his sword hilt. “I shall instruct our ambassador to protest.”
Guani puffed his cigar till he was almost hidden in a cloud of smoke, like an escaping battleship. “Your ambassador has already presented us with a most eloquent protest, Captain. He is a personal friend of mine, a man of intelligence and charm, and his letter has received careful attention at the very highest levels of my government, I can assure you. But I fear we are under instructions from the president and the cabinet to answer it in the negative.”
Langsdorff stepped toward the diplomats. Max thought he might draw his sword and strike them. “Have you no pride that you must succumb to the British like dogs?” he said, seething beneath his spotless white coat.
That brought the foreign minister to his feet. “You are one German ship! At this moment three Royal Navy battleships are steaming for the Rio Plata. An aircraft carrier and three cruisers are at the river’s mouth as we speak. We did not ask you to come here, and I can only say to you now, Captain Langsdorff, that your presence in Montevideo harbor is a grave embarrassment to the Uruguayan government. We are acting fully within our rights under the Hague Convention. Every nation in the Americas supports our position, Captain, including the United States of America and their illustrious president, His Excellency Señor Franklin Delano Roosevelt, with whom our president had the honor of speaking yesterday. The Royal Navy will not be deterred by diplomacy. I can only tell you, sir, and I’m sure you will understand, that a naval battle in Montevideo harbor would be a catastrophe for Uruguay. Seventy-two hours. Good day, Captain Langsdorff.”
Dr. Guani turned and strode from the cabin, followed by Señor Diaz. Max stayed at attention; one of the sentries outside the door would escort the Uruguayans to their launch. Langsdorff, silent with rage, stood stock still in the center of the room. Kay and Ascher remained uneasily in their chairs. Max stood rigid for a full five minutes before Langsdorff noticed and told him to stand easy. “Ask the senior officers to assemble here at noon,” the captain ordered. “Dismissed.”
Max saluted and withdrew.
At noon precisely Langsdorff entered his day cabin to face the senior officers of his ship, all of them crisp and ramrod straight in their starched summer uniforms.
Kay and Ascher were there again, along with two of Ascher’s gunnery officers; Max and the other two watch officers; Klepp, the chief engineer, and his two top men, including Dieter; Wattenberg, the senior navigation officer; the surgeon commander; the supply officer, the communications officer, and several others.
Hot coffee, which few wanted in this weather, had been served by Jak, who brewed it with water heated in the engine room.
Everyone stood to attention the moment Captain Langsdorff entered and remained standing until he seated himself, his ever-present cigar trailing its hazy blue cloud. Jak fetched him an ashtray and withdrew.
“Be seated, please, gentlemen,” the captain said.
Max could see the gloom on the faces of the other officers. Nothing evaporated faster than morale on a man-o’-war. These were the same men who had wreaked havoc on the British Merchant Navy for nearly three months, yet now they had become despondent.
Langsdorff rapped the table for attention, even though everyone was looking at him already. The captain’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy from lack of sleep, Max noticed.
“We must decide whether to fight or scuttle the ship,” the captain said. “I would like your opinions.”
Max’s mouth fell open. Scuttle the ship? Scuttle their own ship?
“Herr Kapitän,” Ascher said. He was a heavyset man near Langsdorff’s age, also a veteran of the Imperial Navy. “Herr Kapitän, to scuttle the ship… Sir, I, I was aboard Frederick the Great when we scuttled her in Scapa Flow after the First War. We had no choice then. The men would not fight and what else could we do? But I will never forget the sight of her going to the bottom, Herr Kapitän, and the whole fleet around her—all of them at our own hands. It haunts me still, sir. They called us heroes afterwards, some people did, but I never felt like a hero. It was the worst day of my life.” He spoke the words slowly, shaking his head back and forth, looking down at the table.
The High Seas Fleet had spent much of the First War behind a screen of protective mines in its harbors at Kiel and Wilhelms-haven, keeping a safe distance from the superior forces of the Royal Navy, allowing the British blockade to strangle Germany by methodically starving her out. In the waning days of the war the admiral commanding the fleet had ordered the ships to sea in a suicide mission to break the blockade, but their crews mutinied. They refused orders. Killed a number of officers. The Kiel mutiny spread like a fever
to other naval bases and led directly to the collapse of the imperial government, the abdication of the Kaiser, and Germany’s capitulation to the Allies. Once in captivity in the Royal Navy anchorage at Scapa Flow, the officers of the Imperial Navy schemed to save their honor by sinking the fleet.
Eight months after surrender, on a signal from the flagship, they opened the seacocks and scuttled their seventy-four ships, ending the darkest chapter in German naval history.
Max looked down at the table now, too, as did others. When Ascher spoke again, his voice trembled. He said, “It would be better to die than repeat this act, Herr Kapitän.”
Langsdorff sat silently, face slightly flushed. The cigar burned forgotten in his hand. Finally he said, “It will mean death, I can assure you of that. In our present condition, with the Royal Navy amassed to meet us, we will have no chance. You may choose this for yourself, Ascher, and I believe a captain’s fate cannot be separated from that of his ship, but we have given our lives to this navy already and we are no longer young men. What shall we tell this lot of boys under our command? When they ask why they are dying, what shall we say? I have already buried thirty-six of them half a world from home. I’ll be quite sure of my purpose before I bury a thousand more.”
Max glanced up at Dieter, whose face was drawn, eyes burning. It was not a characteristic expression. Dieter’s father had known the shame of the Kiel mutiny, had watched the ships go down at Scapa Flow; no doubt that terrible moment had been in his mind when he hanged himself. Dieter had entered the navy to avenge his father, not to suffer his plight all over again. Max could not hold his tongue.
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