The Emporers Men

by Dirk van den Boom

  The guard protecting the gate to the deck of the Saarbrücken came to attention when he recognized Rheinberg. The first officer had already been a first lieutenant aboard the cruiser and had, as executive officer, commanded some squadron exercises in the North Sea. Nevertheless, the ship spent most of its time in the harbor, and Rheinberg had been busy with courses or dealing with administrative matters. It was a positive sign that the guard only allowed access to the ship after checking the ID of the approaching officer. Rheinberg nodded approvingly then stood on the wet steel deck and closed his eyes for a moment. All the anger, all the musings, fell away from him. He forgot about Karl and his sister and the fact that he had received this rank and position two years later than other comrades of his year. It was here where he was now, and he was where he belonged.

  “Commander?”

  Rheinberg opened his eyes and looked into the round face of Navy Medical Dr. Hans Neumann, the ship’s chief physician. Neumann was the opposite to Rheinberg in every respect. Where Rheinberg was tall and wiry, he tended toward chubbiness. Where Rheinberg had a narrow face and a sharp, thin nose, radiating an aura of austerity – sometimes even without intending to – Neumann exuded comfort and joviality. And where Rheinberg fit into his uniform as if it were perfectly tailored, Neumann’s was always either too big or too small.

  Rheinberg owed this man a lot. He wasn’t only a good doctor but had become a friend during the last six months. He had helped Rheinberg learn when rigidity came to an end and where a kind word in dealing with the crew, helped much more – something they didn’t teach in naval school. Most didn’t even learn it as young officers. Some covered their insecurities by being the martinet. When Lieutenant Rheinberg was on the wrong track, Dr. Neumann had saved him just in time, and Jan was eternally grateful to him for this assistance.

  “Hans,” replied Rheinberg. “You’ve been on board a long time?”

  “For three days now. I’ve heard that we take a bunch of mud-eaters to Cameroon.”

  “News spreads quickly.”

  Dr. Neumann grinned and tugged at his not too well fitting uniform jacket.

  “The big vomit will not be long in coming,” he croaked. “This is a great ride.”

  “You’ll handle that. Who else has been reporting in already?”

  “Klasewitz is on the bridge.”

  Johann Freiherr von Klasewitz, a commander like Rheinberg, albeit with fewer years of service, and second officer, was exactly the sort of person with whom Rheinberg had always had trouble because of his middle-class background. Twice they’ve clashed seriously, and it had taken some time before the nobleman had recognized Rheinberg’s authority, although with recognizable reluctance.

  “Then I’d better let him be alone,” Rheinberg said with a faint smile. “Are the new crewmembers on board?”

  “So far as I’ve noticed, yes. I’ve examined already half of them.”

  “Did they get all of their assignments?”

  “Right after embarkation. The crew must first get used to the ship. This time we have around 20 percent new staff. I suggest that we begin soon with the skirmish drill.”

  Rheinberg looked at his clock. “I want lunch according to the normal routine. After lunch, leisure is limited to one o’clock. Instead of a small service, I want to damage control drills per division, up until dinner. After dinner, I want to talk all the division heads in the mess.”

  “Not all heads probably are available,” Neumann said. “We still wait for some deck officers and NCOs. All in all, we’ve assembled quite a new crew. I understand that some men will arrive, together with the captain, day after tomorrow.”

  “The drills are taking place anyway. Where no division heads are present, take the alternate or we let experienced NCOs lead. When Captain von Krautz comes on board, I don’t want to have to answer for a potentially poorly experienced crew without at least having tried to do something about it.”

  “Talk to Klasewitz about it. He will be pleased.”

  Rheinberg sighed. The second officer had never met someone like Dr. Neumann in his early career. The baron was like a martinet and would use each drill for merciless punishment, if he was not kept under control. Rheinberg wanted to postpone the conversation with the man as long as possible.

  “We load coal on Thursday and on Sunday we have orders to sail. Not much time left. Housing the infantry is my biggest problem. We need to create additional space for hammocks. It will be even tighter than we already had it. We also need to ensure that peace prevails among the men.”

  “We will manage, if we make good progress. But the autumn storms are expected. It would have been better if we would have sailed two months ago.”

  Rheinberg shrugged and tapped the bundle with the orders in his breast pocket. “It’s the way it is.”

  Neumann nodded. He cast a searching look at the sky. The clouds began to tear in some places. Hesitant sunlight danced across the brackish water of the harbor.

  “I’d fancy a beautiful and sunny fall,” muttered the doctor.

  “Me too. We’ll see. Seen my boy somewhere?”

  “He is waiting for you but now …”

  Neumann turned. “Chief Petty Officer!”

  The massive, ponderous form thatslid down the ladder was well known to Rheinberg. Chief Petty Officer Harald Köhler was the senior NCO on board the Saarbrücken, just 50 years old. His beard was trimmed as impressively as the rest of his massive frame, and no one would’ve guessed his age. Köhler bristled not only from power, but as an elder of the NCOs, he was also the official spokesman for all NCOs and men. All complaints, all the problems, came to him first. The fact that everyone actually spoke frankly to him said much about the respect he commanded as well as his popularity. Rheinberg had learned to rely blindly on the older man during the last few weeks. If he remembered correctly, it was Neumann who had pointed him toward the importance of veteran NCOs.

  Köhler saluted smartly.

  Rheinberg looked around and grinned. “See von Klasewitz somewhere, Köhler?”

  “No, sir, Lieutenant Commander.”

  “Then stop the motions. Tell my boy that I’m on board and he should lay out a fresh uniform for me. I want to conduct a survey by noon, and I don’t want to fail myself.”

  Köhler returned the grin. “I’ll gather him personally. Surely playing cards somewhere …”

  “Fine. Any news?”

  The question sounded casual, but was not meant that way. Köhler’s judgment had weight for Rheinberg. “Everything in order so far. A fine ship, but you knew that. The crew is still a little bit confused and must grow to know each other; we have plenty of newcomers. They abuse us a bit as a training ship, I guess. We’ll make it, though. I would suggest that we start with battle drills, at the latest, after the coal.”

  “Better even before, but that won’t work. We have to deal with our guests from the infantry first.”

  Köhler grimaced. “Would be easier if they would’ve sent our comrades.”

  Rheinberg knew that the NCO was referring to the Marines. He shrugged. “No, it will be the infantry. Treat them well. It would be a good idea if you could become friends with one of their senior sergeants, drink a few beers with him, and gather ideas in regard to the needs of his men. I can’t use surprises on an already overcrowded ship.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rheinberg dismissed him. Köhler tapped his index finger against his forehead and turned away.

  Rheinberg sighed and glanced at the bridge.

  Neumann patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

  “Now you should go.”

  “Yes, now I’ll have to. See you later.” Neumann nodded and disappeared.

  Rheinberg proceeded without further hesitation to the bridge. It was not too far. When he entered the spacious command center with the all dominating wheel, he found only two men present. Quartermaster Börnsen stood behind the steering gear like the Saarbrücken was already on a grand voyage against the En
glish. He fixed the slightly agitated water of the port with an intensity as if at any time the appearance of a torpedo was to be expected. Rheinberg rolled his eyes. The second officer was the other person on the bridge, a symbol of the perfect imperial officer, tall and muscular and with his angular face sporting a magnificent beard trim comparable to that of the Highest Majesty. This was not unusual among the officer corps, and the mere fact that Rheinberg preferred his face clean-shaven had been already enough to encourage von Klasewitz’s contempt toward him. The second officer, who also held the position of the artillery officer, smiled maliciously. Although he ranked lower than Rheinberg, his promotions had not been postponed, and his noble rank made him a better person anyway. Rheinberg’s father had taught him unconditional respect for the nobility from the cradle, but the young man hadn’t lost his mind before entering the military academy. Von Klasewitz was a pompous puppet, trying to compensate for his inability with unnecessary rigor and disciplinary arbitrariness. In fact, the only thing he was really familiar with was his artillery; with everything else, especially with people, he was not familiar at all.

  He had come so far only because his father had found a sympathetic ear at the court and because the Admiralty rather preferred nobility in senior positions. In contrast, Rheinberg had to work laboriously for what fate had given von Klasewitz.

  “Commander!” The baron did not even move to attempt a half-hearted salute.

  Rheinberg pointed a finger on Börnsen. “Did we receive new instructions, Mr. von Klasewitz?”

  Incomprehension loomed on the picturesque face of the baron. “Why do you ask?”

  “Do we have to sail now?”

  “No, no … we don’t, don’t we?”

  Rheinberg suppressed a sigh. “What is the quartermaster doing here? The Saarbrücken will be moved early on Thursday, when we get to the take coal. Now the ship is moored, and we haven’t everyone on board, including the captain.”

  Von Klasewitz pressed his lips together. “I believe that we must be ready at all times. The enemy –”

  “Will most probably not attack today,” Rheinberg completed the sentence. “The only mate that we could use on the bridge would probably be for signals. I don’t see one. I only see Börnsen clutching the helm, as if it would fall off if he lets go.”

  Börnsen gave a nearly inaudible groan. Rheinberg admired him for his self-control. The mate was a good man; it was a shame that he was forced to this farce by his second officer.

  “Börnsen, you can go,” Rheinberg finally said.

  He didn’t wait for confirmation of the command but left the bridge together with the mate, leaving von Klasewitz alone.

  The baron stared after him. His hands were clenched into fists until the knuckles went white out.

  He said nothing.

  * * *

  Rheinberg had hoped to take infantry and coal on board separately. As always, it worked exactly not the way it was planned. Three things happened simultaneously: After the Saarbrücken had been transferred to the coal port and the filling up started, the signals mate on duty excitedly asked for him. The first officer was rushed to the bridge, in the suspicious expectation that something went wrong with the coal, causing an accident or a malfunction, which unfortunately occurred from time to time and sometimes could seriously injure someone. Fortunately, his assumption was not confirmed. The alternative wasn’t much more pleasant.

  “The infantry,” repeated the mate, pointing to the bank.

  Indeed. A day earlier than announced the army came marching and in full gear. Fortunately, they didn’t just storm aboard. As a short, stocky man broke from the pack and purposefully headed for the gangway, Rheinberg knew that this could only be Captain Becker. In his mind, he already saw how the coal dust-covered crew would guide the immaculate marching infantry with a big smile through the coal dust-covered ship, so that at the end they would look like they had done duty at the boilers.

  “Where is the duty officer?”

  “Lieutenant Joergensen is below, monitoring the storage of the coal together with the deputy engineer.”

  Rheinberg sighed. Who had not yet appeared, was the new engineer, Marine Chief Engineer Dahms, whose job this was supposed to be. He was about to leave the bridge to meet Becker, when he saw a car pull up. Rheinberg focused his eyes and immediately another deep sigh burst out. Climbing out of the car, a little shaky, came Captain Harald von Krautz, the commanding officer of the Saarbrücken, whose return had actually been announced for later in the evening. But he had probably not been able to put up with the care of the nurses anymore, and Rheinberg could not resent him for that. But his return was inopportune, actually quite so. In the corner of his eye he saw the grins of the bridge crew in anticipation that the simultaneous arrival of the three officers could develop into something amusing. Rheinberg held back any rebuke. Schadenfreude was still the sincerest pleasure of them all, even if he was the object of it.

  Rheinberg ran toward the men. Becker and Krautz had simultaneously reached the guard at the gangway, as he also jumped ashore. For a moment, the soldier on duty looked speechless at the three men. Becker opened his mouth, but von Krautz spoke first.

  “Gentlemen, it seems to me that we have a small party here.”

  “Captain,” replied Rheinberg. “It’s all a bit awkward …”

  Von Krautz smiled. “I hope you’re not talking about me?”

  Rheinberg’s face turned a little bit red. “Of course not, I –”

  “He refers to me,” interjected the infantryman with his deep voice. “And he’s right, we didn’t arrive at the planned time.”

  Now Rheinberg was a little bit embarrassed, because he had firmly resolved to provide their guests with a thoroughly warm welcome.

  “Captain, I’ve certainly not meant it that way,” he answered lamely, and looked at the broad grin on the faces of both men and capitulated. “Gentlemen, welcome aboard the Saarbrücken. Captain, I –”

  Von Krautz raised his hands. “Nothing, Rheinberg! If you expect me to formally assume command, then you are in error. You have your fun with the comrades of the army, and I will disappear in my cabin until dinner.” He bowed to Becker. “Captain, I put the fate of your men in the capable hands of my Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Rheinberg. I would be pleased to welcome you this evening as my guest in the mess. The food at the Imperial Navy is much better than in the army, I can tell you.”

  Becker returned the gesture. “Captain, I thank you. We’ll see you tonight!”

  Without further ado, von Krautz waved off his servant. The boy had carried the luggage out of the car and tried to lift the first suitcase on board. Then von Krautz turned and nodded to Rheinberg with about the same grin that had been seen on the bridge, and squeezed past him to the guard holding out his badge. Shortly thereafter, he disappeared aboard the light cruiser.

  Rheinberg eyed Becker. The infantryman was a good four inches shorter than him but looked very strong. He had a healthy, ruddy complexion, and his wide, soft-looking face was covered with freckles. Rheinberg guessed him to be in his late 20s. His deep, dark voice did not fit the boyish appearance. When he took Rheinberg’s proffered right, he pressed it firmly, which hinted at the strength in his arms.

  “Commander, I really have to apologize for this mess. I myself had the intention to announce our arrival in time. It’s all gone upside down. I’ve got a new deputy, and then lacked half the men, because the train from Oldenburg had an engine-failure. My troop is brand new; I know no more than a third of them. I’m just so tired.”

  Becker’s smile was open and disarming. Rheinberg’s bad mood melted away. He immediately took to the captain and only shook his head. “We take it as it is,” he said. “I must ask you and your men to wait for another two hours before boarding. I want to finish with the coal before. It doesn’t look like rain, so let the men sit and smoke a pipe. We can also bring out coffee. But please let us do one thing after the other.”

  Becker did
n’t even discuss it. He called a young man with the rank of lieutenant and introduced him as his deputy. Lieutenant Klaus von Geeren listened attentively to the explanations of his superior, then he turned and barked some commands. A short time later, the soldiers were sitting on their backpacks, and tobacco made the rounds.

  Rheinberg threw a hard look at the cruiser. As expected, he saw Chief Petty Officer Köhler standing at the railing, like if he had just been waiting for the searching eye of the officer, and he gestured that they needed one-and-a-half hours. Rheinberg had calculated correctly. He raised his thumb and turned back to Becker.

  “You, sir, I can already bring on board. There is a lot going on, but I will take the opportunity to give you a little tour of the ship.”

  Becker nodded. “I’ve looked forward to this for a long time. You’ve got a beautiful old pot.”

  “You ever had the pleasure sailing with the fleet?” Rheinberg knew that he had, but he wanted to give the captain an opportunity to brag about his experiences a bit.

  “I already have had a stint in German South-West. I had been a substitute for a sick comrade and traveled with the cruiser on station, like now. It’s been a while; I was a fresh lieutenant and the ship was an old aviso.”

  “Long time,” confirmed Rheinberg. Those boats had been an ultimately very unreliable class of ships whose tasks were now taken over by the light cruisers. “Well, once again, welcome aboard!”

  And with that he led Becker up the gangway to the deck.

  “The Saarbrücken is one of the oldest ships in the fleet,” he began at once with his introduction and proceeded before Becker. “It was completed in 1902 as the second ship of the BREMEN-class, the first having ten 10.5-cm quick-loading cannons.” Rheinberg pointed toward the turret and passed on. “We have six of them now, and a 15-cm gun both in the bow and the stern. We needed the bigger punch.”

  “I suspect the conversion has affected the ship,” said Becker and knocked on the gun barrel covered with a tarp.

  “Some, yes. The foremast was put into the bridge due to safety considerations. The electrical system has been brought up to date. What we didn’t get were turbines. The Lübeck has them, but we still breathe in the traditional way.”