CSS Appomattox: A Thomas Devareaux Alternative History Military Adventure (The Thomas Sumter Devareaux Series Book 1)

by Chris Stoesen

  On the other side of the thin bulkhead, the port Winans gun was barking away as well. Michel Petain was the gunner there. Petain was trying to hit one of the transports. The Appomattox had moved a bit closer to the transports and Petain’s fire arced down and actually hit one of the search lights on top of the closest troop transport.

  “Prenez ce que vous les bâtards allemands sales.”

  The two gunners kept their repeaters on and the two often had a running commentary.

  “What? Michel speak English damn it.”

  Below the Appomatox, the German fleet started to sort itself out and attempt to defend itself. Several weapons from the German naval vessels reached upwards at the Appy. Tracers arced upwards from German Gatling guns that did not reach high enough. A couple of heavier guns fired as well, but the angles were all wrong and none of the rounds could even come close. Peterson sneered at their efforts through the rebreather and shouted down at the enemy.

  “Not even close Herman! You can’t touch us.”

  “Herman? Who is Herman?”

  “Tell you later, buddy”

  After that, he fired more shots down at the fleet below.

  …

  Devareaux pushed the throttle to full. The Appy slowly pulled away from the German fleet. The burning wreckage of the Charlemagne was now fully involved. The whole area was brightly lit as if it was high noon. The remaining ammunition on board the Charlemagne began to explode. Each explosion lit the night with a flash as the Appy continued to claw away from the wreckage of the German fleet.

  Devareaux spoke into the repeater.

  “Cease Fire, all weapons cease fire. Well done men. Well done.”

  With that, the bosun relit the lamp and removed the red cover. With another push of a lever, the airship responded and began to lose altitude. Devareaux shouted at the bosun.

  “Take us down to standard altitude. Adjust course to West-North-West. We head straight on to Florida.”

  Devareaux left the bridge and headed straight for his quarters. Once in his cabin he lit the lamp by feel. He seated himself at his small desk. Taking a pen in hand and opening his last pot of ink, he began to write in his log.

  “April 27, 1880 – At Sea. Met the German Fleet. Destroyed two Dessauer class airships. Some surface ships were damaged. Unknown enemy losses.”

  He felt the airship level out and he took off his mask. Stripping out of his coat and boots, he turned off his lamp and lay down for a snug and slightly smug night's sleep.

  …

  Michel Petain was waiting in the corridor for Jimmy Peterson to emerge. He was holding his mask in his left hand now that they were low enough not to require them. The two assistant gunners from Jimmy’s crew smiled at Michel as they walked past him heading to their quarters. Finally, Jimmy emerged.

  “Well? What does Herman mean?”

  Jimmy smiled at his friend. It was a rare treat to know something Michel did not know.

  “It’s from history. Does that help?”

  Michel’s face knit in concentration.

  “No, that does not help. I can think of no one named Herman. Well, there was a fellow in the Legion back in Mexico. He died of dysentery. That can’t be what you are talking about.”

  Jimmy grimaced at the thought.

  “Er, no. Definitely not what I was thinking about. Think back to Augustus Cesar and the battle in the Teutonburg Forest. The German who betrayed the legions was called Herman the German.”

  Michel smacked himself on the forehead.

  “I cannot believe it. That is what you chose to call them? That is weak, my friend, very weak.”

  Jimmy threw his arms wide and had a shocked look on his face.

  “What? How is that weak? That was a great name.”

  “We had better names for the Bosche in the Legion. Why, I remember back in Vera Cruz, there was this massive sergeant from Berlin. The man was a giant of a man. This would have been before the battle of Camarón in early 1863. Actually, this would be not too long before I walked to Texas. He was called Sergent Schleu by the French, Casque à pointe by others, the few Poles in our unit called him something… what was it now? Ah, yes, Szkop. It means a castrated ram. And you thought Herman was clever.”

  Jimmy stood there with his mouth open for a moment.

  “You and the damn Legion. You know you could always go back you know.”

  To show he was just teasing his friend, he patted Michel on the back and they headed back to their crew quarters.

  Chapter 7: Land Fall

  It was not till noon the next day that the Appomattox made landfall in Florida. The Appomattox was still slowly losing altitude. The advantage was that the rebreathers were not needed any longer. The sail tenders were able to climb the airbag and repaired a tear that had formed in the airbag along one of the new patches. The new Spanish sailors did rather well for themselves. Or at least no one fell from the rigging.

  They made landfall closer to the center of the state and kept moving up north along the coast. Devareaux spotted the outline of Saint Augustine before the other watch standing officers. He made the small adjustments to turn the airship towards the airfield that was south of the town. The Appy reached the landing field and was tied down four hours later. Once the airship was secured, Devareaux watched the ground crew rush forward to begin their work. He directed his crew to help the ground crew.

  The process began to implement the long term repairs to the damages from the first encounter with the German fleet. Devareaux watched in fascination as large panels of cloth were expertly stripped from the sides of his beloved airship and exposed the subordinate airbags and the skeletal framework within. He could see that several of the internal airbags were still damaged and not yet repaired. Devareaux’s heart ached for his airship and her wounds.

  He looked from the windows on the bridge down towards the tarmac. He saw the carriage pull up and a rather flamboyant officer leapt from the door once the driver opened it. The officer placed his dress hat on top of his head at a jaunty angle. The man had a sword! Regulations had removed the necessity of wearing a sword with the dress uniform ten years ago or more. Yet this pompous wastrel not only had his sword, but was wearing his full medals and not just a ribbon bar. There were not that many. Four awards that he could spot. None were for bravery or combat. Mostly the typical ones you get for just managing to not tick off your senior officer in the course of normal duty.

  The man’s face was not clean shaven. Instead, he had an immaculately cared for pencil thin mustachio. His jet black hair was cut in a smart, short haircut. He looked like the model for recruiting posters. He spotted the rank tabs and saw that the man was just a naval junior officer, a Master. He lacked the decorations for normal duty service – air or sea. He did have a qualification badge for airship service, but without the star signifying command. Instead, his collar tabs identified him as part of the General Staff. Instantly the hairs on the back of Devareaux’s neck stiffened. Such visits rarely were good news.

  In a matter of minutes the man was announced aboard the Appy. Upon entering the bridge, he came to a crisp position of attention and saluted.

  “Master Alexander Almond requesting permission to enter the bridge.”

  Devareaux’s eyebrow raised and gave his permission.

  “Granted.”

  “I assume, that you, sir, are Lieutenant Thomas Sumter Devareaux of Charleston?”

  The man’s back remained ramrod straight as he asked the question.

  Devareaux grew cautious and nodded in the affirmative.

  The slight nod was enough to activate the young officer. Reaching into his coat, he produced an envelope with a large official looking seal on it and handed it to Devareaux.

  “Sir, I have been ordered to present you with these orders to return with me to Savannah at your earliest convenience to report to Flag Officer Stephen Jennings Porter. He wishes to speak to you as soon as possible.”

  Taking the envelope, Devareaux tore th
e letter open. Pulling the letter he began to read. An official summons could hardly be good news. Yet how on earth could he be in trouble for disobeying the spirit of his last orders when he had just arrived and there was no one able to contradict his version of events yet. What did he do that he could be in trouble for now?

  “Thank you, I will be with you directly.”

  The man nodded and left the room. Calling into the repeater Devareaux called out.

  “Midshipman Sykes report to the bridge.”

  He readied his crew for his departure. In the brief time it took to give those orders, he did not notice that Whytherspoon had left the ship and boarded a different carriage that had arrived shortly after Almonds carriage. It sped Whytherspoon away from the Appomattox before anyone aboard had known he had left.

  Chapter 8: Savannah

  Wet. The first feeling that occurred to Devareaux was he was wet. The second thought was that he was blind. Moving his head slightly as he realized that he could see from his left eye, it was just pressed against the ground earlier. His head throbbed to the beat of his heart. A steady pounding that made him lay his head back down in the puddle again. His right hand slowly rose up to feel his face. His right eye was swollen shut. He did not remember how that happened. The puddle was his own drool, fortunately and not some other questionable liquid.

  Rolling onto his back caused his entire body to scream in pain. He felt as if he had a number of bruises. Clearly there had been a fight last some point. His head swam and he nearly lost consciousness again. He managed to roll over and lay still on his back. He tried in vain to wait until the drums in his head took on a slower beat. He opened his left eye again to figure out where he was. The first thing he noticed was that he was indoors. That was promising at least. Next, there was a ceiling fan moving slowly above him. He looked to his left. Lying nearby was a bottle of whiskey. No label adorned the bottle and it had that appearance of cheap but strong liquor that one only consumes after you have already been drinking for some time.

  To the other side was a bed. No less than three short feet away. ‘Well, damn. Did I almost make it?’ was the thought that came in through his fuzzy senses. He lay there a moment longer taking further inventory. The Spartan furnishings were familiar somehow. Ah, they were from the bachelor officers’ quarters of the Savannah Naval Base. Were he spent the last few days. Besides his swollen eye, his ribs ached on his left side. Certainly there had been a fight.

  The loud, cheery voice of a man obviously not hungover rang out in his ears.

  "Rise and shine sleepy head."

  Devareaux turned towards the speaker. It was that officer who took him away from his airship. The name was fuzzy at the moment, but the man was too happy at this point to be a friend.

  Devareax sat up slowly and the room spun about him.

  The realization of what had transpired before he ran off on his bender began to niggle at the corner of his mind. What he remembered was the meeting the previous day.

  …

  The meeting was not only with the Savannah Naval Commander, but also with the Chief of Naval Operations, and the head of airship development. The meeting was grueling five hours on the function of airships in naval operations. The interrogation, for Devareaux it felt like nothing less, was led by the elderly admiral James Early Doolan, the current Chief of Naval Operations. The Savanah Naval Commander was Flag Officer Jefferson. He was the lone voice that seemed friendly from the start of the meeting. The head of airship development was a civilian by the name of James Ellison Patrick. He was miffed with Devareaux for some unknown reason that was never explained to him.

  Devareaux’s reports of the battle were examined in depth. The meeting was interrupted by messengers no less than seven times. The minutia of his report was examined and reexamined. His undershirt was soaked in sweat by the end of the meeting. But he did learn a few things.

  First was that the German fleet turned around and was proceeding to New York for a refit following the second engagement. None of the three airships are presently with the fleet. When he inquired about how this was discovered, they actually asked him to leave the room for a few minutes in order to decide if they should tell him. When he re-entered, Whytherspoon was there and he handed Devareaux a state secrets form. After signing the form, he had to gulp at the severity of the punishments if he were to violate the agreement; they began to fill him in.

  The Chief of Naval operations turned to Whytherspoon. The young man still wore his goggles. Devareaux realized that the man had turned the goggles into his everyday glasses as a matter of efficiency back on the ship. He never imagined that the man would wear them even in this company. The man adjusted his goggles self-consciously and began his lecture.

  "Doubtlessly you are familiar with the work of James Maxwell of King's College on Electromagnetism and its applicability to communications."

  Devareaux did his best to maintain a poker face from this exchange. He had no clue who Maxwell was and no idea what electrowhatever is. Whytherspoon kept on talking without a break.

  "In the past couple of years, the Italians have made some exciting developments in the usage of Maxwell's theories. Of particular importance is Calzecchi-Onesti's work at the Lombardi Institute. Well, the Germans hired Onesti to work with their golden boy Heinrich Hertz. Some claim he was kidnapped, but our intelligence seems to show that instead he is being well paid. The two had created the first wireless telegraph communications device. The Germans have one in their New York embassy and also have established a wireless receiver based on the Onesti-Hertz's design in their embassy as well. They have a huge metal sculpture on top of their building that is actually the antenna for the receiver. We have duplicated their receiver. It is a fascinating design. We believe that in the next few weeks, we should have a functioning transmitter as well. The problem is that we have not figured out a method to securely transmit data. Currently standard Morse Code can be used, but anyone can read that. That is how we read the German's... er... mail so to speak."

  Whytherspoon paused for a quick breath and soldiered on.

  "When we built the Appomattox, the intention was to build the ship with the ability to include both a wireless receiver and transmitter. You actually have most of the receiver in place. When we designed the boilers for the airship, we wrapped each boiler in spools of copper wire. This is the most important part of the receiver. In the last action, the copper wire actually served a secondary purpose and protected the boiler from damage. But its primary purpose was to be the receiver. The transmitter is slightly harder to determine how we would fit it and power it sufficiently to be practical. The Germans have and entire ironclad dedicated to wireless telegraphy. They used one of their older Preussen Class ships for that purpose. That is how they were able to transmit all the way to New York following the fight. They also have a string of fishing boats to repeat messages so messages can be sent from Germany to New York and back. They may be using repeating ships along the Confederate and US eastern seaboard."

  He nodded to the CNO to indicate he was done. Devareaux's head swam. He, like most officers, knew about the Telegraph. Telegraph wires had been in place since before the War for Southern Independence. They connected the west to the east. But they relied on wires, to work. Wireless communications would provide instant access to the battlefield for rear echelon commanders. It was bad enough to write reports after an action. Imagine having to report on a battle WHILE it was happening. But then again, think of the advantage if a fleet of airships could communicate while in the air without semaphore or heliograph. A fleet commander would have a fantastic tool.

  A memory came to him, the enemy airships were stationed directly over the German fleet. Each had some kind of light tether to the ship immediately below them. He screwed up his courage and asked a question.

  "Sirs, are the Germans using telegraph to communicate between their airships and their fleet below? Not wireless but standard wired communication?"

  The young enginee
r smiled broadly.

  "Ah, you noticed that, did you? I thought you would. Yes, we believe that they use a light wire that is wrapped around a cable. But their wireless is all ship based. Oh, we also figured out we can track wireless transmissions. We can determine the direction that they are being transmitted from. I want to install a direction finder on your bridge. That can help you find the German fleet the next time."

  Again, the possibilities were staggering. If he understood what was being said, he could not only listen into the Germans, but figure out where they were through this.

  The Chief of Naval Operations Doolan was an elderly man, but he had only gotten shrewder with age. His eyes were sunken into his head and his bald pate was dotted with liver spots. The ancient mariner opened a folded paper on his desk and glanced at it to remind himself of the details. He began speaking in his low gravelly voice.

  "You did excellent work on the enemy airships. All three were total losses. We have confirmed that the Charlemagne, the Blucher and the Hamburg were all destroyed. In addition, three of the lighter surface craft suffered some moderate damage from your attention. The Winans Guns are not effective against modern naval vessels, but your crew targeted some of their older ships. They managed to be set on fire, but little real damage occurred. The Charlemagne fell burning on top of one of the fleet coal ships as well as the dreadnought that you reported. This caused much more serious damage. The fire from the Charlemagne set the coaler on fire and they were not able to put out the flames. The coal ship was a total loss. Unfortunately, they were able to push the wreckage off of the dreadnought before the burning coal ship could damage it. They were able to recover several of the crew from the Charlemagne and the coal ship before both sunk."

  The CNO stood, as did everyone else in the room. Opening the drawer on his small borrowed desk, he pulled from it a small velvet box. He stood and rounded the desk. He handed the box to the Savannah Naval Commander and intoned.