1901

by Robert Conroy

  Lieutenant Walsh was presently chasing and gaining on his prey, the heavily rusted freighter Astrid out of Hamburg. At the same time he was keeping an eye out for the telltale signs of other ships in the area. If spotted by a German cruiser, he would flee immediately, and he had already decided to throw everything overboard, including the guns and ammunition, in order to regain some of that lost speed. He would not even think of fighting a real warship. First flight, then surrender, if it came to that.

  It wouldn’t be long now, he thought. They had gained rapidly on their target and were within hailing range of the Astrid. He guessed her at about two thousand tons. From the fact that her Plimsoll line was well out of the water, it was evident she was running home empty. Although some German transports were returning with plunder, such as bullion from the banks and artwork from the museums-these sailed in convoys and were protected by warships-the majority, such as the Astrid, were empty. The Germans had decided that the Astrid and others like her could travel alone in safety.

  Bad idea.

  In a burst of logic and cunning, Admiral Remey, who commanded the American navy’s efforts off the East Coast, had decided that a ship sunk on the way back to Germany would be unable to return again with another cargo. It wasn’t as effective or desirable as sinking one with a full load of supplies or ammunition, but it would work. And that was why the Chesapeake and other small craft like her had started prowling the sea-lanes off New York looking for strays like the Astrid, whereas the larger warships tried to interdict the incoming convoys.

  “Signal her to heave to and that her crew has ten minutes to leave.”

  It was done and there was no response. Perhaps no one understood Morse. They were closing rapidly on her, and Walsh was concerned that she might be armed. Although sturdily built, the Chesapeake was a wooden ship, and even one machine gun could cause substantial damage.

  “Forward pom-pom, fire one round in front of her bridge.”

  The order was repeated and the front gun barked angrily. That brought a burst of activity from the Astrid as her crew exploded onto the deck and started lowering lifeboats. Midshipman William Halsey laughed. He was nineteen and had just completed his second year at Annapolis. The war had given him a temporary commission. “I think they’ll all be gone well within your ten minutes, Captain. Are you going to send over a boarding party? They could open the sea cocks and we wouldn’t have to expend any more ammunition.”

  It was tempting. The Chesapeake simply didn’t have room for many shells, and each round of ammunition was precious. “No, Halsey, not this time. It would take more than an hour to get there, do the job, and get back. Remember, we scoot if we see something we can’t handle coming over the horizon. I wouldn’t want to have to run and leave you there to explain to the German navy just what you’re doing trying to sink one of their ships.”

  As soon as the lifeboats were clear, Walsh ordered the pom-poms to each fire three rounds into her hull below the waterline. When Halsey asked if such a small weapon would penetrate, Walsh said the ship was so rusted that a pair of scissors would probably work. The guns fired in rapid succession and raised small splashes by her hull.

  “Sir, the 3-inch crew wants to fire.”

  “William, how many 3-inch rounds do we have?”

  “Thirty, sir.”

  “Well, then, we shouldn’t waste them when the pom-poms can do the job, now should we?”

  “Just a reminder, sir, the men in that crew have trained on the gun, but they’ve only had dry runs; they’ve never fired it. It might be good experience for them.”

  Walsh saw the logic and reluctantly gave permission for one round. He heard the gun crew whoop; seconds later, the larger gun fired with a racket that made the pom-poms sound like dogs yipping. Walsh was gratified that the deck supports held. The Astrid was little more than a hundred yards away, so missing was almost impossible, and the ship was nicely holed, with a secondary explosion following quickly. They must have hit a boiler.

  “Sir, the machine gunners would like a chance to fire as well.”

  Walsh rubbed his eyes. “Oh, what the hell. One short burst each. Then check and see if the cook would like to throw some garbage at her before she sinks.” Warriors all, he thought, but maybe the experience of actually shooting at another ship might be helpful someday.

  As he continued to watch, the Astrid started to settle lower in the water. A shouted voice from one of the lifeboats attracted his attention.

  “Captain, will you not take us aboard?” The caller, an older man with a short white beard, appeared to be the captain of the Astrid. There were almost a score of men in two boats, and not all were German, as some very dark and swarthy faces attested. Not all were men, either; many were scarcely boys. But could Walsh take them on board? If he did, how would he keep them secure while he sought out other ships? What about his mission? If he took them, he would have to feed them out of his meager stores. And what about crews from future ships? It was certainly not intended that he should return to Norfolk every time he sank a rusting freighter.

  The voice from the lifeboat continued, a small note of fear evident. “Captain, we have taken what food and water we could, but it cannot sustain us for very long. We are three hundred miles from shore, and the prevailing currents will take us in the wrong direction. You must help us.”

  A gurgling, rumbling sound emanated from the stricken Astrid. She was sinking much faster than Walsh would have thought.

  “Engines, one-third ahead.”

  Halsey was pale. “Aren’t you going to help them?”

  “No.”

  The voice from the lifeboat was desperate and fading slightly as the Chesapeake pulled away. “Captain, if you leave us, you are condemning us to die.”

  Walsh leaned over the railing and yelled back angrily. “I believe your kaiser shares at least some of the blame for your predicament, and I find it likely you came to a war zone voluntarily and in search of profit.” He turned and confronted Halsey and others in the crew. The stunned expressions on their young and eager faces told him that what had been a lark had just turned deadly. Most were only students with some knowledge of sailing who’d enlisted for the duration.

  “War is hell, Mr. Halsey. I’ll be in my cabin. Let me know if anything important happens.”

  Ian Gordon had recovered from the minor wounds he’d suffered in the raid with Heinz. He looked fit and sounded ebullient as he relaxed in a folding chair in Patrick’s headquarters tent. “Patrick, my lad, how was your love tryst with the fair maiden Katrina?”

  “We both survived. I met her father. A very interesting man.”

  “The truly wealthy often are.”

  “Trina and I will be getting married.” In response to that announcement, the dark-haired Scot jumped up and began pounding him on the back.

  “Wonderful, or as your beloved president says, bully!” He allowed Patrick to recover his breath. “When will the sacred event take place?”

  “Soon. Very soon. She’ll be back here in a couple of days with her father, and it’ll take place as quickly after that as possible.”

  “Such a hurry,” he teased. “Either you want her in the sack real bad, or you’re afraid she’ll awaken from whatever trance she’s in and see you for what you really are.”

  “A little of both,” Patrick responded, whacking Ian on the back with enough force to drive his breath out. “Now, what vile things have you been up to while I was gone?”

  “Been to Ottawa.”

  “Oh?”

  “To see the king. Well, almost the king. The prime minister, Lord Salisbury, who, as you doubtless are not aware, is also serving as foreign secretary, along with the colonial secretary, Joseph Chamberlain.”

  Patrick was impressed. “That is exalted company.”

  “Indeed, although they also brought Joseph’s son Neville and that fatuous, stammering ninny Winston Churchill. The reason for the meetings with me and others is not a total secret, although I would
appreciate not seeing it in the newspapers. Britain is very concerned that Germany might prevail over here and win the war.”

  “Concerned enough to get involved, say, with your marvelous navy?”

  Gordon coughed. The Royal Navy could sweep the seas clean of the Germans without breaking a sweat.

  “No, we are not quite ready to do that, although the entire war is causing changes in how we do business. For starters, every German convoy that steams through the Channel is now shadowed by elements of our Home Fleet as well as your nasty cruisers. Having seen how suddenly they fell upon your shores, we have no intention of inviting one of their convoys to make a sudden right turn and disembark an army at Portsmouth or Dover.”

  “You really think they’d do that?”

  He shrugged. “Anything’s possible. Their intelligence services are not as inept as we would like. They are now well aware of what aid you are receiving from us, and of the fact that your fleet is in our waters and under our protection. They are angry and potentially capable of almost anything. We are also returning a large portion of our army from South Africa in order to further discourage any sudden thrusts on their part. That, sad to say, is resulting in an armistice with the Boers and terms for them that are far better than they deserve or could otherwise have hoped for.”

  His face flushed and he became uncharacteristically angry. “Damnit, Patrick, we fought the Boers for more than three years, and we finally had those dirty farmers on the run. We were on the verge of wrapping up that war on our terms. Now the Boers get almost everything they wanted in the first place, just so we can pull our army out and protect the United Kingdom. All the deaths we suffered are in vain.”

  “How do you think we feel about the deaths we are suffering?”

  “Touche,” Ian said sadly. “It isn’t fair and it isn’t just. Of course, it never is.” He took a deep breath and recovered his poise. “Well, some good might come from it. The prime minister told me there would be more money for the military. More new ships and some bright new regiments, with modern weapons for all. All to ensure that the mad Hun doesn’t do unto us what he’ll do unto you if you lose. Should you win, wisdom says he will be so disgraced that he won’t try anything like this for a very long time.” He paused thoughtfully. “However, I believe he is perfectly capable of doing something truly evil just for vengeance and the sheer devil of it.”

  “And you lack confidence in our ability to win?”

  “Until you actually do win, there will always be the possibility of loss. To be frank, I am not convinced you can win on the ground. When the Germans decide to come out, I do not think you can stop them. Right now you have a wonderful stalemate, and that’s all. One side or the other will soon grow tired of it and attempt something precipitous. If you attack them, you will surely lose. If they attack you, you stand only a slightly better chance of not losing. No, you cannot hope to defeat a fully equipped and supplied German army in the field. If they explode from their fortifications, defeat your army, and move on to take Hartford and Boston, you will have to sue for terms. You will have no other choice unless you wish to have them remain on your soil until you can construct a new army and try again. In the meantime, they will be in control of several of your ports and a large number of your citizens. Your papers indicate that a growing number of Americans are already tired of the war, and that number will certainly increase if the Germans defeat you and take more cities.”

  Patrick had to agree. If the Germans did win and began a rampage as Ian described, there would be no recourse. Another army could not be formed, and there would be the new possibility that all American land east of the Hudson would fall under German control. If that were to happen, what terms would they want then? With such an important prize, would they want to give it back at all? Perhaps greedy minds in Berlin were right now envisioning the possibility of New England as a German colony.

  As he sat in his office in the War Department, Longstreet, for the first time since taking on the responsibility of command, felt every one of his eighty-two years. The hours had been too long and the challenges far greater than he had imagined. How naive he’d been. When he’d first become a Confederate general, he was opposed by another army that knew both as much and as little as he. Both sides had learned of war together; ultimately, as the skills of the North increased to match their abundant resources, the Confederacy had been worn down.

  But this was now no even match. In excess of a hundred thousand Germans were entrenched in their salient and more were on the way. They were opposed by an army that was months-years-removed from being their equivalent. Yet how could it be otherwise? The Germans had half a million of the best soldiers in the world and many others in reserve. The American army was less than one-fifth that size, and much of it had begun the war isolated in Cuba and the Philippines. No, the war would not be won by the army alone, regardless of the numbers involved. At least, Longstreet thought, both the press and the president would soon be off his back regarding the Springfield, Massachusetts, training site. That would start to fill up soon, although not with the expected recruits from the New England area. No, not that camp.

  “Penny for your thoughts, James.”

  Longstreet’s head jerked up. John Long, secretary of the navy, stood in his doorway. “John,” he said, rising, “what are you doing here?”

  “I believe you requested that someone give you a new perspective on the naval situation.”

  Longstreet laughed. “Indeed I did, but I expected some aging, redundant captain or admiral, not you.”

  Long found a chair and settled himself comfortably. “Well, nobody’s redundant anymore, and everybody else is busy. I seem to have done a wonderful job of delegating responsibility, and now I am the only one available to come and review matters with you.”

  “I’m truly honored.”

  If Long was giving himself a compliment, it was doubtless deserved. The man’s reputation as a skilled organizer and selector of talent had not diminished one whit since the commencement of the war.

  “John, I am compelled to admit that the situation with the army remains much the same. We will need the efforts of the navy even more than I had realized.”

  “Well, I can give you some new information, and not all of it is bad. Evans’s attempts to attack German transports were quite successful in the beginning. The Germans were slow to respond, and we gobbled up a number of single ships and small convoys. By small I mean six or seven transports protected by one or two escorts, usually small cruisers. These Evans simply overwhelmed. Then the Germans got smart and began forming larger convoys with stronger escorts. When that occurred, Evans changed his tactics. He would try to attack the escorts and, when they formed to meet him, send one of his fast ships into the convoy, like a wolf into the sheep herd, to cause some damage and run out. If the Germans split their force to chase that ship, then Evans would try to overwhelm the remaining escorts.”

  Longstreet found the vision exhilarating. “And has he continued to be successful?”

  “Yes, but at a price. While he has sunk or damaged up to fifty transports and several warships, he too has suffered casualties. What began as an even dozen cruisers is now only seven. Two have been sunk and three are in English ports too badly damaged to sortie. It may be months before they are repaired. Although we seem to be winning this phase of the war, the victor may well be the fleet with the last remaining ship.”

  The war at sea, Longstreet realized, had quietly escalated to an intensity that startled him.

  Long continued. “The war on this side of the ocean has had similar successes and failures. When a German convoy makes it to open waters, we usually lose sight of it until it is very near our coast. We’ve gotten lucky on occasion, but we cannot count on luck. Admiral Remey, therefore, has been using his squadrons to seek out those convoys and any single German warships. Again, we have had successes and failures although our successes to date outweigh our failures. I believe we simply have a better navy, ship
for ship, than they do. Remey has also commissioned a number of small yachts and such and instructed them where to seek out and destroy German transports on the return trip, which they usually make alone. In this, the converted yachts were very successful, and more than a score of those transports never made it back to the kaiser’s land. Now, the return ships are also required to form convoys and be escorted. This requires additional German warships to perform escort duties and puts a greater strain on their resources.”

  Longstreet gave him a tired smile. “Bully.”

  “On the other hand, we have not made up the difference in the size of our respective main fleets. They still have sixteen battleships and we have twelve. While we may be better on a ship to ship basis, Admiral Dewey still believes, and I concur, that we cannot hazard a major fleet action at this time.”

  And, Longstreet thought, until that fleet action is somehow won, the Germans will still be able to supply their army. As if reading his mind, Long again continued.

  “A large convoy is now approaching New York. When it left Germany, it consisted of about sixty transports and at least ten escorts. Both Evans and Remey have attacked it. They damaged it but were unable to stop it. The original sixty is now more like fifty. Some of them were hurt, and several of the escorts had to turn back for repairs. None of those were sunk. The convoy has met up with additional protection from Diedrichs’s fleet and will begin unloading in New York in a few days.”

  “Damn.”

  “James, we hurt them and we whittle them down, but they have so far managed to bull their way through. I’m afraid it may be a long time before we begin to make a material difference in their ability to wage war on us.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Blake Morris steadied himself before stepping into the small ship that bobbed in the dark, choppy waters by the half-ruined dock. The vessel had come to take him and the others back to the mainland. He wondered if his efforts on Long Island had been entirely too successful.