WesWorld

Wednesday 25th September

The white launch from the battlecruiser Derfflinger slowly approached the side of the carrier HMS Eagle. Aboard the launch were the German inspection party; Rear-Admiral Lütjens, Captain Langsdorff and Captain Lindemann along with a couple of younger officers including Lieutenant Wolfgang von Zeschwitz, the Derfflinger’s senior air officer. The looked up at the tower mass of steel towering above them. Waiting at the top of the ladder was Rear-Admiral Rhoderick Robert McGrigor, the commanding officer of the 3rd Carrier Squadron, Captain Terence Howarth the captain of the Eagle, Commander Horace Wilkes the Eagle’s Air Officer and Lieutenant Rolland, Admiral Forbe’s Flag Lieutenant. After the customary piping aboard, introductions and hand-shakes the party made their way from through a series or narrow corridors and steel doors into the dark interior of the lower hangar. Captain Howarth explained the function of the lower hangar; “This space is five hundred and fifty-eight feet long, sixty feet wide and seventeen and-a-half feet high. It serves as the main maintenance space for the aircraft as well as normal stowage. At the moment we only have around forty percent of the airgroup aboard. The rest is ashore for larger maintenance jobs and flight training.” Nearby were three Gloster Skippers and one Fairey Firefly each under some form of repair with panels missing and cowlings open. On a stand to their left was a fresh Rolls-Royce Griffon V-12 engine which caught Lieutenant Wolfgang von Zeschwitz’s eye. Commander Wilkes outlined the basic specs and performance of the engine to von Zeschwitz and Langsdorff. The group moved on to inspect a Gloster Skipper FSN.Mk.II strike-fighter. “This is a British-built Canadian design. Gloster took the innovative wing design which makes carrier operation far safer than any other contemporary type and made it into the world’s first strike fighter. It mixes the speed and armament of a fighter with the offensive punch of a torpedo bomber.” Commander Wilkes was in his element, von Zeschwitz and Lindemann both sat in the cockpit while Rear-Admiral McGrigor walked Lütjens and Langsdorff around the plane and they discussed the tactical implications of a mixed fighter-bomber aircraft wing and the flexibility of such a unit to switch between roles while reducing the need for spares for separate types. Lieutenant Wolfgang von Zeschwitz noted too that the Firefly could carry two 1,000lb bombs. There was no such thing as a single-use plane on a British carrier and he recognised that the Germans had some way to go towards matching the quality of the British naval aircraft. He had one question though, “Commander why do your Skippers not have a navigator like your Barracuda? Surely one man cannot navigate over long distances at sea on his own? Even by dead-reckoning he may miss the target and surely it saps his concentration and alertness over several hours?” “Well the RAF has those same concerns too but I’m sure you appreciate that excellent training and practice makes perfect. Our pilots must master navigational principles early in their flight training to qualify for their wings. Of course formation flying relieves some of the pressures and we have homing beacons aboard our carriers with a forty nautical mile range to help them home. The weight and space saved however is paramount to get more range and equipment in the airframe.”

Rear-Admiral McGrigor led them onto the after lift, Captain Howarth continuing his technical commentary, “this lift is one of two which serve both hangars, it is forty feet by thirty-three feet and can lift 20,000 pounds which should give us some future expansion as aircraft get bigger.” They went through the upper hangar which was well lit with several aircraft parked in neat rows, and then they were surrounded by daylight as they came up onto the flight deck. Astern three Fairey Firefly were parked with their wings unfolded and with technicians crawling over them making adjustments. Lined up were forty pilots for inspection and several rows of sailors. McGrigor and Lütjens led the inspection of the smartly turned out sailors and airmen in their tropical whites. The Germans were impressed by the turn-out of the crew which matched their own standards. It was obvious that the flightdeck had been recently scrubbed and repainted as well. Captain Howarth pointed out the ship’s homing beacon atop the foremast and Lindemann smiled to himself that this time no attempt was made to hide the ship’s radio-location sets which although encased in their ‘lighthouses’ were not ignored in Howarth’s commentary. The main director also had a dipole array which he assumed must have been the Type 285. Captain Howarth led them over towards the two AA gun mounts ahead of the island. Langsdorff had wanted to see the 6pdr semi-automatic gun for himself but so far had not had the chance (even aboard the refitting Inflexible). The Germans scrambled into the gun tub and Lieutenant Rolland began explaining how the gun worked and its theoretical rate of fire and Lindemann sat in the gunner’s seat and tried the gunsight for himself. He noted the series of dials beside him and the stencilled lettering R.P.C. Mk. I* on a nearby control box. He agreed with Langsdorff that the sight wasn’t anything special in itself but noted how sturdily it was attached to the mount and the efforts made to absorb the obvious tremendous recoil and vibration from the two guns. Lindemann pointed to the electronic box, “what is R.P.C Lieutenant?” “It’s Remote Power Control Sir. A director used to transit orders to the gun crew via dials or pointers to direct their fire, but as aircraft speeds have grown such a system is too slow. In 1928 we tested the first Magslip and we’ve since allied that to a hydraulic servo which it controls. The Magslip controls the throttle on the hydraulic pump, another version controls the liquid in a closed loop with a swash-plate pump. The RPC both controls the gun and stabilises it. The Type 282 RDF is now linked into the system. We are working on lighter Magslip-controlled electric motor drives for the guns to reduce weight but of course that has a direct impact on generator capacity. I assume your new powerplant arrangements provide for more ample power than ours.” Behind them was an older octuple 2pdr mount, Lütjens was curious as to why the early ships with the 6pdr still had the 2pdr as well and he wondered how impressed the British were with their new weapon having heard rumours of its faults. Rear-Admiral McGrigor was pretty blunt, “Well the damn things have been constantly giving trouble, and the designers probably knew this so they fitted Eagle with both sets of guns for insurance.” Captain Howarth pointed out that newer Mark Two mounts would be fitted at the next big refit and that the older 2pdr was a high-volume weapon for close-in defence while the 6pdr was more of a medium-range anti-torpedo bomber gun. Captain Howarth led them forwards again towards the catapults in the bow.

After a quick inspection of the catapults, Captain Howarth led the way into the island and the group made their way down to the Tactical Plot Room deeper in the hull. This room was the nerve centre of the entire ship, it was quite small and dimly lit, and at the centre was a large table with a Perspex gridded top mounted in it. A door forward led to the main radio-location office (which was kept shut), a door aft led to the main radio room. Two large stand-alone Perspex sheets stood at one end of the room and also served as plotting tables for aerial interceptions. The Anti-Aircraft Fire Control Room was also next door. It would be here that the carrier would plan her strikes and plan defensive manoeuvres for her fleet. Rear-Admiral McGrigor explained how the raw data from aircraft, escort ships, look-outs and radio-location came together in this room. Lütjens was impressed, the Royal Navy only twenty-five years ago had built the first purpose-built carrier and had been the first to use them in action, develop aircraft for them, equipment to help them operate and now the kind of command and control features that would make them highly effective Flagships. Discussion inevitably moved onto tactics and future development. Rear-Admiral McGrigor was sure that carriers would replace battleships as the main capital units and that carriers made far better Flagships. Captain Howarth outlined fleet tactics with two large carriers and hinted at much larger future carrier fleets with large and small carriers. The Italian fighter-carrier had made some impact on thinking as well. Overall the German officers weren’t carrier experts but they could see the potential of their own small carrier fleet and the new planned 30,000 ton carrier in power projection across the globe to support the fleet. Langsdorff felt that in wartime such a force as Derfflinger and Seydlitz operating far from home without a carrier in support would be open to attack and unable to effectively scout for itself.

The party then made their way to the officer’s mess where the Germans met the rest of the officers of the ship who were aboard and then they sat down to Dinner with more informal talk.
The Chief Steward came in with the menu; Vegetable Soup for starters, Straight Rush with Babies Heads for the main course (Roast meat on Potatoes with Bisto Gravy and Dumplings) with Chinese Wedding Cake (Rice Pudding) or Apple Charlotte and Custard Sauce for desert. As the sun was well over the yardarm the drinks cabinet was open with with Gopher (Soft Drink) for those who did not take alcoholic drinks. It was the Germans first taste of traditional Royal Navy fare and was somewhat unlike their own cooking.

Thursday, 26 September 1940

“Time and tide wait for no man,” muttered Ernst Lindemann.

“Pardon Herr Kapitän? “said the officer of the watch.

“The British may feel we are slinking away departing so early. However the state of the tide here and the tide tables for Batavia require we weigh anchor now.”

A bridge chronometer indicated the local time as 0630 – time on a warship meant little, but to the ordinary resident of Singapore the signal guns that would soon boom out would be most unwelcome. But protocol could not be avoided, even for a lazy colonial Saturday – where such early risers as there were would be heading to the golf course at Changi.

The deep brown waters of the Johore strait were churned as the bronze propellers of Seydlitz began to turn, responding to the engine telegraph’s directive for maneuvering power. Seydlitz eased into her accustomed position behind the flagship Derfflinger and headed seaward down the channel. The tanker Altmark, low in the water with her tanks full of bunker fuel, followed in Seydlitz’s wake.

“BANG” came the sound of the first saluting gun from Derfflinger. “BOOM” came the responding report from shore. Huzzahs arose from the ranks of German sailors who manned the starboard railing. Moments later Seydlitz too fired its first saluting gun in acknowledgement of British hospitality.

The warships slowly built up speed as they maneuvered clear of the merchant shipping that was the life blood of this British bastion in the East. Thirty four hours steaming would see them to Batavia, capital of the Dutch East Indies – a far older outpost of European power in these waters.

The drone of the escorting Sunderland flying boat was quite audible now. The care that the Royal Air Force had shown to the squadron’s progress had no doubt pleased Admiral Forbes and the other senior officers of the Royal Navy. If in fact hostilities broke out between the Chinese and the Filipinos, as was greatly feared, Ernst Lindemann wished them good fortune – as he knew the aerial eyes of the British would be quite busy.

Thursday, 26 September 1940

The journey of the Fourth Cruiser Squadron of the Deutsches Kriegsmarine south from Singapore was uneventful. The ships sailed at a steady fifteen knots through the wide waters of the South China Sea towards the Karimata Strait, the point where the China Sea gives way to the Java Sea; it was there that the first aircraft of the Royal Netherlands Indies Air Force took watch over their progress, the Royal Air Force giving place to its Dutch neighbors.

Admiral Lütjens took the opportunity to compose a formal report of the squadron’s visit to Singapore, which he would send home from Batavia via the consular diplomatic pouch. He weighed his words carefully – noting the division of opinion between the more senior officers of the Royal Navy – those who had seen service in the Great War, and the more junior officers, who bore less open resentment towards their presence in Eastern waters and the Kriegsmarine in general. He recorded the technical points made by each of the officers who had visited both the British warships and their dockyard, and was too truthful to fail to mention the several points at which German equipment and technique were deficient in comparison to the Royal Navy. Of course he also mentioned the deficiencies observed aboard the Royal Navy’s ships.

As night came on they continued south, passing the tin-rich island of Billiton to starboard. In the distance the running lights of the inter-island steamers Koninklijke Paketvaart-Maatschappij could be seen – some heading north to Singapore, others eastward towards Borneo and Indochina. The threat of war between China and the Philippines hung heavy over such traffic, and Lütjens was thankful that his ships had passed through the narrow waters of the Spratleys before the two nations decided to stake national honour on a collection of sandbanks and reefs.


Friday, 27 September 1940

Morning comes early to the tropics, and the sun rose blood red in the eastern sky.

“Red sky at morning, sailor take warning”, said Hans Langsdorff as he stood on the bridge of the Derfflinger, listening to the throb of her engines. The weather report received the night before confirmed the ancient adage, suggesting that a storm would sweep into the Java Sea from the west before nightfall. He hoped that the squadron would have reached Batavia well for its predicted arrival, as he had no wish to see their voyage further delayed.

The voyage of the Fourth Cruiser Squadron was unusual for the Kriegsmarine – for many years after the Great War it had kept to the home waters of the Baltic or the North Sea, with only an occasional foray by a training cruiser into distant waters. He was proud that his ship had performed as well as it had thus far – but the Derfflinger had many more miles to sail before she would anchor in the waters of the Jade.

Re-entering the bridge he sat in the small chair reserved for his use. He turned to the officer of the watch and ordered,

“Have the Chief Engineer report to the bridge immediately”.

Langsdorff would take these last few hours before arriving in Batavia to have his chief engineer check all the ship’s systems to ascertain any defects that should be put right.


Jan Pieterszoon Coen had founded Batavia more than three hundred years before, and Johannes van Damme occupied an office that represented the unbroken line of Dutch rule stretching back to that hard-headed merchant. He read the report that his naval counterpart, admiral of the Far East Fleet Lodewijk van Kinsbergen had brought.

“They are expected to arrive this afternoon?” he said with a questioning voice.

“Yes Governor,” van Kinsbergen replied. “Our air reports suggest that they should arrive at five in the afternoon, well before sunset, assuming that they do not change course or speed.”

“All the arrangements have been prepared?”

“I can only speak for the Fleet Governor, but we are ready for our guests.”

Van Damme nodded. He would have to check with his deputy to assure that the evening’s reception had been arranged according to his directive. He did not want the visiting German squadron to think that Netherlanders would treat guests with less courtesy than the French or the British.

“Rijsttafel,” he thought. “That should do it.” He scribbled a note to check on arrangements.

“Now,” asked the Governor, “about this latest report from Tarakan…”


That evening the lookouts on the Derfflinger reported sighting the coast of Java some five miles ahead. The German squadron slowed and signaled for pilots. Soon they were being escorted to their anchorage in the roadstead, a few cables-lengths from the cruiser Breda, flagship of Admiraal van Kinsbergen. With a rattle anchors plumbed the depths of the harbour and bit deep in the sediment below. Propellers ceased to turn and the Fourth Cruiser Squadron took its place in a foreign harbour – honoured guests – again.

Below decks the crews of the Derfflinger, Seytlitz and Altmark wondered what new discoveries they might make ashore once liberty was declared. Through the scuttles they could see the flickering lights ashore, and the stories told by older hands – those who claimed to have visited before – fired the imagination of the younger seamen.

Monday, 30 September 1940

Kapitän zur See Ernst Lindemann looked back at the squadron’s sojourn at Batavia as one of the highlights of their entire journey thus far. The concern of potentially offending French sensibilities or the occasional manifestation of British hauteur was absent here among their Dutch cousins. The parade of dignitaries that had come aboard the Seydlitz and the other ships of the Fourth Cruiser Squadron had been open, friendly and disingenuous. The visits ashore, whether the formal calls in company with Admiral Lütjens, or the unofficial visits to the restaurants and coffeehouses of Batavia, were truly relaxing; Lindemann had even taken the opportunity to acquire some antique porcelain as a gift for Frau Lindemann. All in all he would miss Batavia.

“Signal from the flagship Herr Kapitän,” said the officer of the watch, awakening Lindemann from his private reverie. “Prepare to weigh anchor.”

“Make it so,” replied Lindemann laconically. He walked across the bridge and checked the course plotted for them. He felt reassured by the presence of the latest chart of the Sunda Strait provided by their hosts. Lindemann was concerned that the squadron might risk grounding on the sandbanks and shoals that made the Sunda Strait dangerous to large ships, but, he felt, with the latest information they should avoid mishap. Lütjens had also planned the time of their departure well; at an easy ten knots the squadron would transit the strait in daylight, and once clear they would have open ocean before them for thousands of miles.

“Signal from the flagship,” reported the officer of the watch. “Weigh anchor!”


Tuesday, 1 October 1940

Fregattenkapitän Heinrich Drau of the tanker Altmark stood on her bridge, eyes on the Derfflinger, alert for any warning that the charts they had were in error. Thankfully there was little merchant traffic today; the big battlecruisers and Altmark, deep in the water with a full fuel load, were able to maneuver without worry of potential collision. Those small Javanese bankas that neared them sheered away quickly.

Hartmann, the ship’s navigator, checked his charts and called out, “Herr Kapitän, we are nearing the final marker…”

Ahead Drau could see that the Derfflinger had shifted course to starboard; Seydlitz now began to follow her. Drau held on a moment… “Starboard twenty!” he commanded. Altmark’s helmsman swung his wheel and deep below the rudder bit, swinging the tanker onto its new course.

Drau looked at the waters ahead, and thought that they looked a deeper blue. It was perhaps his imagination, but in any case the Sunda Strait was behind them.

“Signal from the flagship Herr Kapitän. Set speed fifteen knots.”


Sunday, 6 October 1940

The Fourth Cruiser Squadron had enjoyed pleasant weather on its voyage across the Indian Ocean. Save for the passing merchantman – most of which were Dutch or German – it had been uneventful. In the circumstances Admiral Lütjens had thought it reasonable to maintain an air search during the daylight hours – this would be the last opportunity for the ships to exercise their air observation units, for here in the open ocean there was much less concern for potential violations of sovereign air space.

“Good afternoon Herr Admiral,” said Langsdorff as Lütjens stepped on to the bridge of Derfflinger.

“Good day Langsdorff,” replied the admiral. “What is our position?”

Langsdorff indicated on the plot. The German battlecruisers were nearing the half-way point on their voyage to the Red Sea; the Bharati-held Maldives were to their north, the Chagos Archipelago to their south.

“Good,” Lütjens concluded.

The wireless officer entered the bridge in haste. “Herr Kapitän,” he reported. “Scout Two has sighted a flotilla of at least four ships. Composition uncertain.”

“Give me the report,” Langsdorff replied, and took the paper flimsy. He quickly marked the coordinates of the ships the scout reported. “Eighty miles north of us, sailing south south-west at twelve knots.”

Lütjens gave half-a-frown. “On that bearing it is likely a squadron of the Bharati Navy. No doubt to keep watch on us.”

“No doubt Herr Admiral,” Langsdorff agreed.

“Order the scout to maintain contact; signal the Seydlitz to launch a relief aircraft. Maintain a strict watch on Seetakt. Fleet Command has not given us any reason to be concerned with potential Bharati reaction to our presence but there is no reason to be complacent.”

Wednesday, 9 October 1940

The Bharati flotilla that had assumed a distant escort position had followed the Fourth Cruiser Squadron for several days. It made no hostile move, and its presence served to keep the German crews on their toes as the squadron cruised across the Indian Ocean. Konteradmiral Lütjens sat in his day cabin bring his personal logbook up to date when a knock at the door broke his train of thought. “Enter!” he ordered.

It was Kramer, his flag lieutenant. “Kapitän Langsdorff’s compliments Herr Admiral; our scout plane reports that the Bharati task force has reversed course and is headed towards Diego Garcia.”

Lütjens nodded. “Excellent. Please tell Kapitän Langsdorff I will join him on the bridge directly.”

“Yes Herr Admiral,” Kramer replied.

Lütjens finished the paragraph he had begun, commenting on the tentativeness of the Bharati shadowing effort.


Hans Langsdorff seemed to never leave the bridge of Derfflinger. He noted with some satisfaction that this was the squadron’s one hundredth day since leaving Wilhelmshaven and all three German vessels had held up to the challenge of so much time at sea. Admiral Lütjens stepped onto the bridge and Langsdorff saluted.

“Good afternoon Herr Admiral,” he said.

“Good afternoon Langsdorff,” the admiral replied. “Our Bharati friends have departed?”

“Yes Herr Admiral.”

“Very well,” said Lütjens with a wry smile. “Alter course to the north northwest. It is time we revealed our proper destination.”


Sunday, 13 October 1940

The island of Socotra lay off the port bow of the battlecruiser Seydlitz, over the horizon.

“Air contact!” came the cry from the Seetakt station. “Forty kilometers, bearing 010 relative, height 4,000 metres.”

Ernst Lindemann was not surprised. At this distance it most likely a patrol aircraft from the British base at Aden, their destination. Then again it might be a French scout from Djibouti or even a Dane from Berbera. “Advise the flagship and continue to track the unknown.”

Moments seemed to tick by. The unknown aircraft continued to close until it reached a distance of ten kilometers, at which point it began to circle the squadron.

“We have a visual sighting Herr Kapitän,” the antiaircraft officer reported. “Four engine flying boat of what appears to be the Sunderland type.”

“A patrol aircraft of the Royal Air Force,” thought Lindemann. “Our constant companions.”


There was more merchant traffic now – every hour brought them closer to Aden and the gateway to the Red Sea; beyond that was the Suez Canal, the artery through which the lifeblood of empires poured. Lindemann reflected on the fact that here so many nations faced one another across such an important trade route. The British in Aden faced Italy, France and Denmark on the opposite shore. Bharat’s satrapy of the Hedjaz sat uneasily beyond the straits. Should real war ever break out in the Far East between the major powers, these waters would see the clash of arms and the thunder of guns unimaginable.


Monday, 14 October 1940

The Fourth Cruiser Squadron slowed to ten knots as it neared its next port of call. In the distance the tops of the headlands that marked the British colony could be seen, the barren rocks of Aden.

but very informative as to naval tradition and proceedure.

Thank you!

You are quite welcome!

Monday October 14th

Aden was in an unsual hubub. Perhaps the most most exciting event to happen for several years was about to break upon the port. Since the previous week efforts had been made to smarten the dockyard, decorate the streets, and stock the cellars with German beers.

In the harbour the grandly named Aden Harbour Defence Detachment was at anchor. It's sole vessel, the brand new gunboat HMS Aden armed with two 4.5in guns, was at anchor keeping a watchful eye on the merchant ships coming to and fro. The destroyer HMS Diamond was on detachment from Malta and was tied up at the quayside.

Rumours of an inspection had kept the crew of the HMS Aden busy and Leading Seaman Frank Knowles was keeping the men busy scrubbing the decks and paintwork.
"Watch it you bunch of hamfisted wets! Don't go slopping it about all over the deck! Blimey Craddock be careful or you'll bloody well drown yourself in it!"
"Hey Frank, any truth we might get a bit of shore leave?"
"Leave! Shame on a lad like you even thinking about such things. Get back to work or the Number One will have yer guts for garters."

Ashore the Port Captain was busy making preperations for the German fleet, making sure the anchorages were suitable and that there were no sailing hazards around them. He had little time to prepare a formal greeting, which was entrusted to Colonel Erskine who commanded the Army troops stationed in Aden. When the launches arrived at the qauyside four companies of infantry would be lined up in smart order and the Governor of Aden, Sir John Hathorn Hall would greet Rear Admiral Lutjens and they would dine as his guests.

Leading Seaman Frank Knowles was just going aft to check on the four boy seamen he'd left to polish the after gun. 'Puncher' Roberts (Med Fleet middleweight champion 1937 and 1938) was polishing the name plate and he turned round and jumped in front of Frank. "Cor look at those big ships!" "Christ that'll be the bloody Germans! You'd better cut aft and tell those lads to finish that gun in double time and report below." "Blimey they ain't half big ships Frank. Reckon we might run into them ashore tonight?" "You'd better lay off that stuff Puncher, you know what happened last time." "Dunno what you mean, I ain't touched a drop since we left Alex six months ago. You know it interferes with me system som'at rotten." "Yeah so does the old man. Blimey I'd better report to Skipper." As Frank ran up the deck forcing a cook's assistant to leap out of the way the First Officer was already shouting down to the sailors to smarten up and to line up for the salute. Frank tutted and mumbled under his breath as a local Arab steward tossed the ship's cat into the lifeboat out of sight, "blimey its gonna' be a long bloddy day."

Ha! Fun fun.

The pilot boat from Aden had made its rendezvous some distance from the mole. Under the guidance of a sun-burned Scotsman the Derfflinger led the column of the Fourth Cruiser Squadron up the harbour channel and under the guns of the fortress.

A signal gun boomed from the afterdeck of the battlecruiser, and answered from shore. Ensigns dipped in salute and sailors manned the sides of all three German vessels as they made their formal entrance to this, another bastion of the British Empire.

“Aye, here’s yer anchorage Captain,” said the pilot, MacDuff by name, “There’s good holding ground here. These ships should have no trouble should a storm kick up.”

“Thank you Mister MacDuff,” replied Langsdorff carefully. “All engines stop!” he ordered. “Drop anchor.”

Engines ceased their throb and valves hissed with the release of steam. Almost immediately the crews of the German ships rigged out their canvas awnings to try and gain some relief from the harsh equatorial sun. Thankfully the harbour of Aden was sufficiently open to admit a bit of breeze; otherwise the sweltering heat might have brought casualties.

Langsdorff looked about the busy harbour. A destroyer was tied up at a dock inshore, and a small gunboat swung lazily at anchor. But there was much merchant traffic – the mail packets of the Peninsular and Oriental Line en route to Australia or Singapore; freighters of many flags. Langsdorff raised his glasses and focused on a large freighter in the middle of the commercial harbour; he recognised it as the HAPAG steamer Tacoma, the supply ship dispatched by the Etappendienst to replenish the squadron on its homeward voyage. He felt relief at the sight of her.

An hour later a motor launch bearing the senior officers of the German squadron was slowing making its way across the harbour. Yet again there would be a round of formal port calls. The music of a military band wafted across the harbour – as they neared the sally port Langsdorff could hear it clearly – the boom of the great bass drum keeping time, the blare of trumpets. Much to his surprise the musicians wore khaki of the British Army rather than the white of the Royal Navy.

The launch shivered slightly as they touched the fenders at the sally port. With Admiral Lütjens at their head the German officers ascended the stairs before them, moving from relative shade to blazing sunlight; and then the bagpipes began their terrible wailing…

(and now back to you Herr Hood!)

Finally! A bass drum player who can keep in time! Why didn't they invent this earlier?

Tuesday October 15

The dawn heradled another day of heat, as the sun's rays broke the horizon the temprature began to rise and the heat shimmer began in the distance.

At 6 o'clock a bugle sounded over the still waters followed by bosun's pipes. It wasn't long before the soliders were out of barracks marching into breakfast, sailors were stowing their hammocks and the dockyard workers began to descend on the merchant ships.

The previous night's dinner at the Governor's Residence had gone very well, Sir John Hathorn Hall had managed to get together an interesting guest list including some shipping agents, business men connected to the oil industry and many of these were from across Europe, including some Germans. The German crews had a night's liberty in the town and the locals had enjoyed the extra money and the novelty of newcomers in such large numbers.

At ten o'clock a launch from the Derfflinger smartly swept across the basin towards the gunboat HMS Aden. Although only a small vessel Admiral Lutjens insisted that the German Navy should pay proper courtsey and pay a visit to the ship. The launch pulled up alongside and as Lutjens followed by Langsdorff nimbly stepped up the gangplank both men were piped aboard and they face aft and saluted the flag. Captain Martin Dyer led the Admiral on a brief inspection of the crew and then the small party of Germans stepped inside the superstructure where they went to the officers wardroom. After an informal chat (without alcohol as the sun was not over the yardarm!) they went on an inspection of the newly build gunboat. They went up to the bridge, then inspected the forward 4.5in gun before heading aft and stopping off to inspect the galley and seamens mess. As a new ship the Aden showed some signs of improvement in habitability over older designs and great care had been taken in her design to keep her internal decks ventilated in hotter climes.

After an hour or so the Germans departed with their duty done and the British had played willing hosts. Captain Dyer wished them luck on their homeward leg and gave each German officer a bottle of fine Malt Whiskey.

Admiral Lütjens and his officers here happy that their official tour of inspection ended in the early afternoon; the oppressive heat of Aden was somewhat mitigated by the breeze that stirred the air around the German vessels. Every scuttle in the ship was open and the ventilators worked double time to keep the temperatures tolerable. There was much to do before the squadron departed on the morning tide – the last necessary stores taken aboard from the freighter Tacoma, repairs to essential machinery, the topping off of fuel tanks.

Lütjens took the opportunity to bring his personal log of the voyage up to date; he noted with some pleasure the rather frank and friendly welcome he and his men had received. Despite its importance as a guardian of the routes to and from Suez the British had left Aden somewhat of a backwater, its fixed defences of Great War vintage and the resident naval force quite small. This, he thought, was perhaps one reason the presence of his squadron provoked far less reaction than that shown by Admiral Forbes at Singapore; the British officials here seemed much more aware of the latent threat of Bharati expansion in the region. He had taken the opportunity to speak with some of the officials and business leaders at the prior evening’s dinner hosted by the Governor; many of them understood quite well the German Government’s concern and expressed their happiness that Germany had reversed its policy of fueling Bharati expansionism and had taken a firm stand against further encroachments. Politics was not Lütjens’ field, but he was well aware that the situation in Arabia was of great strategic interest to the Fatherland.


Tuesday evening found Hans Langsdorff on the bridge of the Derfflinger. With the ship at anchor there was a minimal watch on duty, and Langsdorff found it more comfortable to sit on the bridge than in his own cabin; while it was spacious, it was also an interior cabin, without its own scuttles, and the forced ventilation of the ship could do only so much. Unlike the small gunboat they had visited earlier in the day, the Derfflinger had not been built with extended stays in tropical waters in mind; the ship and his crew had held up, but Langsdorff looked forward to returning to home waters. He smiled and thought of the little Aden – to his mind only a nation such as Britain would have lavished the money to build such ships; small and lightly armed they could certainly overawe the Arab seamen of the Red Sea or Persian Gulf. If they were faced with other ships of force however, Langsdorff thought them questionable investments. Certainly they were not the sort of vessel Germany required.

“Herr Kapitän, a signal from Fleet Command,” announced the lieutenant of the watch.

Langsdorff opened the flimsy and saw it was a priority message addressed to all ships and commands.

“FILIPINO ULTIMATUM TO CHINA RE EVACUATION OF SPRATLEY ISLANDS EXPIRES MIDNIGHT 15 OCT 40. THERE IS NO INDICATION OF MOVEMENT ON THE PART OF CHINESE FORCES. OUTBREAK OF ACTIVE HOSTILITIES CAN OCCUR AT ANY TIME. GOVERN YOURSELF ACCORDINGLY; FURTHER ORDERS TO FOLLOW.”

“Has the Admiral been informed?” Langsdorff asked.

“Yes Herr Kapitän,” the lieutenant replied.


The following morning the German squadron got underway, anchors pulled from the harbour mud and stowed. As they cleared the harbour observers noted that the Germans did not set course in the direction of the Red Sea; their course was almost due south. Several hours later ever-vigilant Sunderlands of the Royal Air Force reported that the three German ships were on course for Berbera in Danish Somaliland.

“Berbera?” Sir John Hall was heard to exclaim when he received the report. “What the devil would they be doing in Berbera?”

They're in a Den of Danes!

Quoted

Originally posted by Brockpaine
They're in a Den of Danes!

Lo, praise of the prowess of people-kings of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped, we have heard, and what honor the athelings won! Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes, from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore, awing the earls. Since erst he lay friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him: for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve, till before him the folk, both far and near, who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate, gave him gifts: a good king he!

"Sir, signal from our scout aircraft. German squadron sighted", said the signals officer, holding out a sheet of paper to the Admiral.
"Thank you, Sejr. Please see to it that the Qadi Yusaf is made aware of their estimated arrival time."
replied the Admiral, folding the paper and placing it to one side on his desk.
"Now Gentlemen", asked the Admiral, turning back to his squadron's captains,
"We are prepared for the visit of the German squadron on the civilian side due to the good work of the Qadi and his staff,
but can I say the same of the Squadron?"
"Yes Sir" chorused the assembled Captains.

Wednesday, 16 October 1940

The Danish colony of Berbera appeared on the horizon late Wednesday afternoon. Berbera is the only safe harbour on the southern shore of the Gulf of Aden, French-held Djibouti and Italian-held Massawa being within the Red Sea itself. Four of the great colonial powers faced each other in this small corner of the world, and aboard the battlecruiser Seydlitz Ernst Lindemann wondered why the Fourth Cruiser Squadron was calling there.

The order to divert to Berbera had come from Fleet Command shortly after receipt of the all-ships warning message about the outbreak of hostilities between China and the Philippines; perhaps, Lindemann mused, Fleet Command wanted to delay their homeward movement until the situation clarified.

As the two German battlecruisers made their way into the roadstead Lindemann could see that here the Danes had turned their colony into a true bastion, in contrast to the sleepy backwater of British-held Aden. He could see the upper works of one of the Danes’ coast-defence ships, together with those of a heavy cruiser; among the smaller ships four cruisers and a half-dozen destroyers lay at anchor. Danish patrol aircraft had accompanied them half-way from Aden. The harbour bustled with activity, most of it naval in nature.


Though the arrival of the German squadron was expected, the short-notice invitation by the Danish government had left the Danish naval staff in Berbera little time to prepare. Fortunately the Germans were not expected to remain long – their visit was more a courtesy call – but still arrangements needed to be made. Formal salutes, formal port calls, introductions.

Thankfully, the Danes discovered, the Germans had become well versed in handling such matters and all went smoothly. It was just as well that the Qadi Yusaf had stepped forward to offer a feast for the entertainment of the prestigious visitors.


The naval guests of both nations – the Danish ‘hosts’ and the Germans – arrived at the palace of the Qadi not long after sunset, when the heat of the day moderated. Turbaned dragomen escorted them to the majlis or reception hall, where the formal introductions were made; the Qadi was in his elder years – and his company included many younger sons and cousins – all of whom were ushered in by name; their number matched those of the combined Danes and Germans – for reasons that soon became apparent.

In the courtyard of the palace had been laid out a feast in the traditional fashion, with great metal salvers holding mounds of rice, steamed vegetables and roasted mutton laid out on mats on the courtyard itself. Pillows were provided and the guests were expected to sit upon their haunches; the Danes found this less-surprising than their German guests, but in short order all sorted themselves out – one European seated next to a Somali – the latter obviously there to acquaint the visitor with the customs of the land and deal with any unexpected problems.

Ernst Lindemann found this all quite interesting. The roasted mutton was surprisingly tender – tearing easily away from the bone and the rice was fragrant and sweet. The vegetable dishes were rather spicy but not unpalatably so; and the dates were far the sweetest Lindemann had ever encountered. The coffee served to them was also different in is flavour – cardamom he discovered. It was, he thought, something he could grow to like.


Thursday, 17 October 1940

Konteradmiral Günther Lütjens looked upon his squadron’s call at Berbera as a success. It demonstrated German-Danish friendship in a most concrete manner; indeed, Lütjens considered the good will his squadron had built up during its cruise to be the greatest benefit of the whole exercise; which, he imagined, was the view of the Cabinet in Berlin. However, the news from the South China Sea was troubling; there were reports of open hostilities between the Filipinos and Chinese. Nevertheless Fleet Command had ordered that he resume the squadron’s homeward voyage.

As had happened more than a dozen times before the great ships weighed anchor and slowly got under way. Guns boomed in salute and flags fluttered. Derfflinger, Seydlitz and Altmark resumed their formation in line ahead as their course now took them toward the Bab-el-Mandeb.


It was nearly two in the afternoon, some six hours after the ships had left Berbera. Heinz Brinker, the duty operator of the Derfflinger’s Seetakt D/T search unit noticed that the small lines on his display screen had suddenly begun to grow – in number and in intensity. “Seetakt contact dead ahead,” he announced to the officer of the watch. “Large Seetakt contact dead ahead!”

Wimmer, the lieutenant on watch, stepped into the Seetakt compartment to see for himself. “Lieber Gott!” he muttered, taking one look at the display. He quickly reached for the bridge telephone. “Captain to the bridge!”

By the time Hans Langsdorff arrived on the bridge the Seetakt display had become filled with returns and the lookouts aloft were reporting the sighting of many ships off the port bow. Uncertain what ships might be heading in his direction and with no idea of their purpose Langsdorff chose to be cautious.

“Sound action stations,” he ordered. The order flashed throughout the ship and alarm bells began to ring. Langsdorff put a call through to Lütjens in his cabin.

“Herr Admiral,” he advised, “we have sighted a large force of heavy ships heading directly towards us. Identify unknown, number indeterminate. I have sent the crew to action stations.”

French Battlecruiser Paris - East of Djibouti
Afternoon of October 17th, 1940

Capitaine de Vaisseau Maurice Seyeux shaded his eyes and glanced out across the sun-drowned waters of the Gulf of Aden. After a week boiling in the harbour of Djibouti, the order to sail for Cam Rahn Bay finally had come through. Paris, the flagship of the Force de Raid, led the assembled task force out of Djibouti, with the slowest ships, the plodding Caimans in front - Paris or any one of the other warships could have overtaken them with a half-hour's speed run.

"Capitaine," the watch officer said. "Plot officer reports a DRBV-7 contact, large; bearing one-six-eight, at long range. We are additionally picking up interference on the 30cm band."

"I think we know who that is," Seyeux replied. "Inform the flagship immediately."

Lütjens and Langsdorff stood on the bridge of Derfflinger, now closed up at action stations. Lamps lit at the gunnery station indicating that the battlecruiser's guns were manned and ready – in case the oncoming unknown proved hostile. Reports of similar preparedness were coming in from Seydlitz and Altmark. Seetakt indicated at least thirty ships were rushing toward them; no, it seemed – not quite rushing – but certainly steaming purposefully.

“Slow to ten knots Langsdorff,” Lütjens ordered, “and alter course to starboard – let us give the unknowns a bit more sea room.”

The battlecruiser slowed and eased her way away from the oncoming vessels. They now appeared on a parallel course and closing; reports continued to come from the lookouts aloft.

“Lead vessel appears to be a capital ship… single turret forward…Identified as a battlecruiser of the Paris class. Vessels following are smaller… Aircraft carriers sighted…”

“A major force Herr Admiral,” Langsdorff began. “In these waters, it would suggest…”

“The latest reports from Fleet Command in Berlin advised that the French had deployed their Force de Raid from Marseille and it had transited the Suez Canal some days ago. I surmise that it is now en route for points eastward,” Lütjens said with an air of omniscience.

“Indochina sir?”

“It would be logical. You recall that Contre-Admiral de Vassoigne and his staff were quite concerned about the threat posed by China, and that the French have their own claim on the Spratley Islands though Indochina. It would seem that our neighbors have decided to respond to the situation out there in a vigorous manner.”

Langsdorff nodded. “Permission to secure from Action Stations?” he inquired.

“Quite so Langsdorff, quite so. But a good precaution based on the information available.”


The German vessels secured their guns and concentrated their watch on the approaching French squadron. In the lead was a battlecruiser – a far more formidable vessel than Derfflinger or Seydlitz; and then no fewer than eight of the amphibious ships the French were so proud of. Lütjens pondered what their presence meant. Each was capable of landing a battalion’s worth of troops – were the French so mad as to propose to intervene in the opening conflict? The four aircraft carriers and the escorting cruisers and destroyers surrounding them certainly suggested that the French meant business.

French Cruiser Volta (part of the Force de Raid)
"Signal from the flagship, sir; Volta to carry out independent maneuvers'."

"That's what we've been waiting for, gentlemen," Capitaine de Vaisseau Emile Montrelay said, a slight smirk turning up one edge of his grin. Montrelay nodded to the officer of the deck. "Right standard rudder - make your course one-eight-zero steady. Steam for thirty-four knots."

The Volta pirouetted about and picked up speed, departing from her position on the southern wing of the Force de Raid. The smooth seas were perfect for a speed run, Montrelay decided - and given that the Volta and her fellows would spend the next few weeks ambling along in the twelve-knot company of the Caimans, it felt truly glorious. The German battlecruisers loomed ahead - Montrelay ordered a slight course adjustment as they'd slowed. He'd always admired those big Hun battlecruisers - they were a bit on the slow side, didn't throw as much as a Dunkerque or a Paris - but they still looked well-balanced and impressive.

"Leading battlecruiser flies an admiral's flag, capitaine."

"That will be Derfflinger. Right standard rudder, make your course three-four-zero. Reduce steam to eighteen knots. We'll pass abeam of their tanker, then Seydlitz, then Derfflinger, and render honours in turn. Neatly, gentlemen - the Germans will be watching. None of this business like happened with the Roma." Montrelay turned to the signalman. "Join me on the bridge wing, ensign."

Volta again slewed around and turned northward, paralleling the slow-steaming German line. "Semaphore to Derfflinger," Montrelay said to the signalman, removing a slip of paper from his jacket pocket. "'Admiral Tessier's compliments; please await my boat.'" He turned to one of the bridge runners. "Have the boatswain ready the gig, and inform my steward to retrieve the Special Delivery."