The homeward course of the Third Cruiser Squadron first took them parallel to the Venezuelan coast, skirting the Isla de Margarita and following the track of commercial oil tankers past Trinidad and into the open Atlantic. From thence their bows turned to the northeast.
Thursday, 28 November 1940
Admiral Fricke stepped onto the bridge of the Köln, and the bridge watch snapped to attention. With a nod he acknowledged them and walked over to Captain Rogge.
“How progresses the fueling?” he asked.
“Breslau has just completed her second breakaway and is returning to the column. Kiel is maneuvering to take her fueling station and should commence her first approach in fifteen minutes or so. Fueling should be complete within an hour,” Rogge replied.
“It is fortunate we still have good weather. The closer we return to the Fatherland the more likely we will loose such calm seas. What is the latest weather forecast from Fleet Command?” Fricke asked.
“They predict a period of disturbed weather Herr Admiral,” Rogge noted with a frown.
Sunday, 1 December 1940
For the crew of the cruiser Breslau, and for the crews of the other German cruisers, this Sunday was different. The day was Totensonntag, the official day to remember the dead, and in particular to remember the fallen of the Navy. Whereas Sundays were often treated as a time of relaxation today attendance at divine services on the foredeck was obligatory. Throughout the ship there was a sense of sadness. In their wardroom the junior officers speculated over the widening war between China and the Philippines, and what impact it might have on their careers. On the mess decks the seamen of the Breslau speculated in similar fashion, but were more thankful that the war was far away.
Monday, 2 December 1940
Despite the poor weather conditions the ships of the squadron were forced to fuel again. The Azores were off to their south and the full force of the North Atlantic in late autumn churned the waters around the ships. Admiral Fricke had ordered the squadron to slow while each ship in turn carefully maneuvered in dance alongside the wallowing Westerwald. With part of her fuel already transferred to the squadron some days ago the tanker was riding perceptibly higher in the water, making her livelier in the waves. Yet careful ship-handling seemed equal to the challenge. The Köln, the Bremen and the Breslau had successfully completed topping off their bunkers for the final leg of the voyage back to Germany, and the Kiel was nearly finished too, and was preparing for breakaway. No one could foresee what happened next.
The hawsers and fuel lines between Kiel and Westerwald were stretched tight as the maneuvered in close company at ten knots, the sea roiling between them. Then a swell passed between them, causing Westerwald to roll to port, stretching some of the lines past their breaking point. Two line-handlers on the Kiel failed to react in time and the snapping hawser pulled them into the sea between the cruiser and the tanker.
“MAN OVERBOARD!” came the cry from the scrambling fueling party, as they tried to deal with spurting hoses and whipping ropes.
Kiel and Westerwald effected an emergency breakaway, opening the gap between them.
“All Stop!” ordered Robert Eyssen, captain of the Kiel. “Notify the flagship that we have an emergency. Get a boat over the side immediately.”
Unfortunately the swift action of the part of the crew of the Kiel and Westerwald were to no avail. While the bodies of the two sailors were recovered from the cold waters of the Atlantic their life had been snuffed out in one of the tragic consequences of keeping a warship at sea.
Thursday, 5 December 1940
“Ushant off the starboard bow, Herr Kapitän,” Schwaffer reported to Captain Rogge.
“Very good; notify the Admiral,” he replied.
Rogge paced the bridge of his ship deep in thought. The latest information relayed from Fleet Command indicated that soon after her return to Wilhelmshaven the Köln would enter the dockyard for an extensive refit. Left unsaid was whether he would be retained in command of her or be reassigned to new duties.
“Herr Kapitän,” intruded Schwaffer, “the lookouts report an aircraft sighting. A large flying boat with what appear to be French markings.”
Rogge nodded, but said nothing. Such was to be expected in these waters.
As Köln led the column of German ships into the narrow sea between France and England the waves seemed to moderate, marking the change from open ocean to one of the world’s busiest shipping channels.
“Double the lookouts,” Rogge ordered. He wished that Köln was equipped with Seetakt, which would make the task of avoiding collision with a merchantman so much easier.
Saturday, 7 December 1940
The returning ships of the Third Cruiser Squadron were escorted into Wilhelmshaven with as much pomp as they had received at their departure. Despite the blowing sleet the crews of the assembled ships manned the side to shout their huzzahs, and guns boomed across the harbour. Yet there was no joy in Bernhard Rogge’s heart. Orders had reached the squadron; its ships were to be detached for refit prior to reassignment, and in their place would be four of the new Karlsruhe class cruisers. Rogge himself was to be detached for further service.
Once the Köln had reached her anchorage and her engines secured, Rogge returned to his cabin and began to gather up his personal log and other papers. There was a knock at the door, which announced the admiral’s flag lieutenant.
“Herr Kapitän, the Admiral requests that you join him in his cabin.”
Rogge wondered what this now meant. Fricke himself was being relieved and would retire within the month; yet when an admiral calls, one goes.
“Come in Rogge,” Fricke ordered in response to the knock on the door of his day cabin. “Please sit down.”
Rogge did as he was ordered.
“In the last three years we have accomplished much Rogge,” he reflected, “Sonnenschein was merely the capstone.”
“Yes Herr Admiral,” Rogge replied, somewhat mystified at the admiral’s pensive tone.
“A messenger from Fleet Command brought orders aboard a few minutes ago. They include the formal orders regarding the reorganisation of the squadron. They also include your new assignment,” he paused.
Rogge saw a smile seem to form on Fricke’s face. “Fleet Command seems to share the high opinion of you that I have formed in our service together. A military and naval mission is being sent to Brazil to discuss that nation’s future requirements. You have been selected as the senior naval officer of the mission.”
“I am not a diplomat Herr Admiral,” Rogge protested. “I would much prefer an assignment at sea.”
“I know you would,” Fricke replied. “But Germany’s growing interests in South America requires us to apply our best minds to the questions that arise there. And I have no doubt that upon conclusion of your assignment to Brazil that Fleet Command will have further work for you.” With that he handed Rogge the formal orders for the latter’s perusal.
The missive formally acknowledged his detachment from command of the cruiser Köln and ordered him to Berlin where he would take up duties as senior naval officer of the Military and Naval Technical Mission to Brazil. It further advised him that he had been designated ‘captain-promotable’, meaning he would be promoted to rear admiral at the earliest opportunity.
Fricke read his facial expression and smiled. “Yes,” he chuckled. “There are many new ships building in our shipyards; by the time you return from Brazil they will be ready for sea and will need commanders to lead them. You will be one of them Rogge.”
Rogge was uncertain what to say; he could but stammer “Thank you Herr Admiral.”
This post has been edited 1 times, last edit by "BruceDuncan" (Jul 18th 2011, 5:02pm)
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Wednesday, May 22nd 2024, 7:54am
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