WesWorld

Placeholder for the events of Exercise Prijateljstvo (Friendship)

Bar, Monday, 12 February 1940

He sat in his day cabin, contemplating the orders he had just received from the Naval Staff. Captain Anton Lokar of the destroyer Pristina felt a surge of pride tempered with concern. His command was one of the Royal Yugoslav Navy’s newest ships, fresh from her builders and still working up, but the orders offered an opportunity to show his ship, and the Royal Yugoslav Navy, to the world. “Pass the word for the Executive Officer,” Lokar called to the yeoman in the outer cabin.

Commander Ivan Babic appeared in a few moments. “Reporting as ordered sir,” he said, after saluting.

“Sit down Number One”, Lokar replied, “and take a look at these”. He passed the Naval Staff’s orders to Babic for his perusal. After quickly skimming them Babic emitted a low whistle. “They repost utmost confidence in us,” he quoted, and shook his head. “If all goes well, it’s promotions for certain, what with the new ships coming off the ways. If we have trouble…” his words trailed off.

“Yeoman,” called Captain Lokar, summoning his clerk. “Take a signal to Podgorica. My compliments to Commander Petrovic. Have him report aboard Pristina as soon as possible.”

Lokar and Babic spent the next half-hour poring over charts and making calculations. A knock at the cabin door and the yeoman’s words, “Podgorica arriving”, announced the entry of Commander Vladimir Petrovic, captain of the destroyer Podgorica. “Sir,” he spoke; Petrovic tended to be sparing with words.

“We have orders,” Lokar announced. “As part of our working up the Naval Staff wants to show us off to the world.” He passed a copy of the orders to Petrovic. “We are ordered to sail for Malta on Saturday, the seventeenth.” Petrovic raised an eyebrow. “Only five days…”

“From Malta we sail to Crete, and thence to Byzantium. Truly showing the flag.” Lokar’s voice expressed the thoughts of all three officers – anticipation mixed with concern. The Royal Yugoslav Navy had never made so ambitious a cruise.

“At least we have the easy part,” Petrovic observed. “We are sailing to meet friends.”


Bar, Saturday, 17 February 1940

Lokar stood on the bridge of the Pristina and gave one last look about. The past five days of hurried preparation had called for the best from his crews, and they had given it willingly. Tons of supplies filled every store room and locker. A draft of replacements had brought his watch bills up to full strength. “Number One,” he called, “Cast off and set course for our rendezvous point.” To his signals officer he simply said, “Make to Podgorica – Execute Prijateljstvo.”

Monday, 19 February 1940 – 35.92 North, 14.55 East

Anton Lokar sat in his sea cabin, reading the morning’s routine wireless traffic. There was very little of it addressed to Pristina, or Podgorica, or to the First Destroyer Flotilla; most of it was plain language traffic from merchantmen in the area. Many captains eschewed reviewing routine messages, but Lokar found it useful, if for no reason than to keep up his foreign language skills.

A knock at the cabin door signaled a change, “Grand Harbour off the port bow sir,” the midshipman announced. “Commander Babic asks if you will come to the bridge.”

“I’ll come,” Lokar replied. “Now it begins,” he thought.” It took him scant seconds to make his way from his sea cabin to the bridge. After arriving there he scanned the horizon and confirmed their arrival at their first port of call. “Heave to” he ordered “and signal Podgorica to do likewise.”

The bells of the speed indicator rang sharply. “All stop” the quartermaster acknowledged.

Lokar turned to his executive officer “Now we wait patiently and hope that our hosts are not surprised. Please signal for a pilot.”

“Aye, aye sir” Babic replied. “Hoist Flag GEE” he ordered in turn. A signalman raced to the halyards to run up the blue and yellow signal flag. Lokar noted with satisfaction that Petrovic on the Podgorica had followed suit. “Better prepare the crew for our arrival” he added.


The small pilot boat pulled along side and deposited not one but two figures at the foot of Pristina’s ladder – a grizzled Maltese civilian, who immediately began to consult with Babic on their approach, and a British naval officer.

“Lieutenant Henry Heskith-Jones”, he said by way of introduction. “Admiral’s compliments sir, I’m to show you to your anchorage.”

“Thank you Lieutenant,” Lokar replied, in the best English he could muster. “Commander Babic, get under way when you are ready. Signal Podgorica to follow us.”


Under the pilot’s guidance Pristina and Podgorica slowly made their way up the channel into Malta’s Grand Harbour. “Fort Ricasoli on the starboard bow sir” Babic announced.

“Render honors” Lokar ordered. Boatswain’s pipes whistled over the ship’s tannoy and hundreds of feet responded as the Pristina’s crew manned the ship’s side in a sea of while. Pristina dipped her colours in salute, while acknowledging with her own signal gun the salute fired from the British bastion. From the corner of his eye Lokar kept watch on Heskith-Jones to see if there was any reaction on his part. But the British officer maintained a professional mien and gave no clue to his inner thoughts. Following the exchange of salutes the Pristina, with the Podgorica in her wake, made their way into the inner harbour and dropped anchor.

Friday, 23 February 1940 – Grand Harbour, Valetta, Malta

Captain Anton Lokar stood on the bridge of His Yugoslav Majesty’s destroyer Pristina carefully watching as she began to make her way to seaward on the next leg of her cruise. While nothing in his mien betrayed it inwardly he was quite please with the First Destroyer Flotilla’s visit to Malta. From the courtesy call on the C-in-C Malta, Vice-Admiral D’Oyley-Lyon, to the moment they had dropped the pilot at the harbour mouth his British hosts had shown themselves unfailingly welcoming. Lokar had particularly liked the liaison officer the Admiral had assigned, a Commander Louis Mountbatten. Despite being the quintessential British aristocrat Mountbatten had been quite sensitive to the mission Pristina and Podgorica had been assigned. Lokar wanted to show his ships in the best possible light; in the visits to the Royal Navy’s destroyers Mountbatten had not tried to play the game of one-up-manship. The Royal Navy officers and sailors who visited the Yugoslav vessels acknowledged their workmanlike qualities and made no untoward comparisons to their own ships.

Lokar had particularly enjoyed the open day where members of the Maltese populace and other foreign visitors to Malta were allowed aboard for tours. Some of the British merchant seamen, recalling their days in the Royal Navy of the Great War, had looked enviously at the steel bunks of the Pristina’s crew, as opposed to their hammocks slung from the ceiling of their mess decks. The performance of the ship’s choir on Thursday evening had made a great and favourable impression on all concerned.

“Passing the outer buoy sir.” It was the executive officer, Commander Babic.

“Very well Number One,” said Lokar, “Set course for Souda Bay, speed twelve knots.”

Part Four – Wednesday, 28 February 1940 – Souda Bay, Crete

Commander Ivan Babic considered himself most fortunate. The passage of Pristina and Podgorica from Malta to Souda Bay had been uneventful, broken only by gunnery drills as ordered by Captain Lokar. Daily gunnery drills, Babic thought, were good for both officers and crew, keeping all on their toes. But now the Yugoslav flotilla lay safely under the guns of the Greek naval base, and Babic, along with other senior Yugoslav officers, were touring the cruiser Crna Gora as she lay fitting out.

There had been some restlessness in the fleet with the big armoured ship Kornilov had been sold; even more so when the Government had contracted the Crna Gora and her sister Srbija out to Greek yards. But looking over her fine lines Babic now realised that a pair of fast flotilla cruisers was preferable to a stodgy coast defence ship.
“Come now Commander,” cried his Greek guide, “I show you the bridge layout” as he started up the stairway; Babic followed. Both officers conversed in English as a linqua franca, though neither was very good at it. Babic did not let on that he was quite conversant in Greek – a skill learned perforce as a refugee in Salonika during the Great War.

The bridge stations were laid out in typical Yugoslav manner, though there were more of them compared with Pristina – as befit a cruiser. Looking forward he could see Captain Lokar and his guide examining the half-complete gun turrets – “A” turret completely installed, “B” turret awaiting the arrival of its guns. “She be complete on time” his guide assured him”.

“Yes. Finished on time.” Babic’s eyes lit upon a small alcove at the rear of the bridge which bore a warning sign in large red letters. “KEEP OUT” it read.

“What is that for?” Babic asked innocently.

His guide looked at the sign, and consulted a sketch book containing the ship’s plans. “Radio room” he answered. Yet Babic could see a station fitted with the standard wireless arrangement of the Royal Yugoslav Navy. Something about the other station suggested other uses. He was about to ask a question when his guide spoke hastily.

“You like to see engines yes? We go, now.”

Part Five – Saturday, 2 March 1940 – 39.96 North, 26.08 East

Commander Ivan Petrovic, captain of the destroyer Podgorica, had so far regarded the cruise of the First Destroyer Flotilla as a professional exercise, yet as his ship lay in the lee of Tenedos, waiting for the tide to turn he could not ignore the weight of history that bore down upon him. Ahead lay the Dardanelles, still scarred by reminders of the Great War. The shores ahead were lined by castles – Ottoman, Venetian, Crusader and Byzantine in origin; somewhere ahead Alexander the Great had crossed from Europe to Asia; if the archaeologists were right, the fabled city of Troy lay off his starboard bow. Now Podgorica and her sister Pristina were making their own history – showing the flag of Yugoslavia where it was rarely seen.

His reverie was broken, “Signal from Pristina sir,” said the watch officer, “Prepare to get under way”.

Petrovic nodded. “Make it so.” He walked over to the chart table where the navigator updated the plot. The destroyer’s captain looked back over the course Podgorica had taken so far – from Bar to Malta, then to Souda Bay, and thence carefully through the island-studded Aegean. Now his navigator marked the next stage with his dividers.

Podgorica’s turbines whined and her screws churned the waters of the immortal wine-dark sea. As she followed in Pristina’s wake Petrovic wondered what awaited them in Byzantium. He felt very much like Jason of the Argo, bound for Colchis in search of the Golden Fleece. The ever-laconic Petrovic kept his thoughts to himself and merely resumed his silent reverie.

Part Six – Sunday, 3 March 1940 – The Sea of Marmora

Captain Anton Lokar and his first officer, Commander Ivan Babic, were both on the bridge in anticipation of their arrival at their destination. The small Turkish gunboat that had shepherded them since their passage of the Dardanelles had been joined by its Byzantine counterpart, and both now guided the two Yugoslav destroyers towards the Golden Horn. The clear afternoon sunlight bathed the city in color, picking out the spires and domes of the great buildings.

“Quite a lot of shipping sir,” said Babic, “warships too”.

“Yes,” Lokar replied. “Byzantine and Turkish I am not surprised by. But I think I see ships flying Bulgarian colors – and is that Romanian on that far destroyer?”

Babic adjusted his gaze. “I am not sure sir. It’s certainly a silhouette I’ve not seen before.”

“No doubt we will soon find out, once we finish the formalities of the port calls. You have the bridge Number One – I will be in my cabin.”

Turning to depart Lokar thought to himself. “God knows how many formalities; and I hate full dress.”

Part Seven – Saturday, 9 March 1940

The destroyer Podgorica swung lightly at her anchor in the harbour of Constantinople. Commander Ivan Petrovic stood on her bridge, awaiting a signal from the flagship, Pristina, to begin their homeward journey. He looked across the prospect of the harbour and considered with pride the performance of his ship and his crew in the festivities of the last several days.

The visit of the First Destroyer Flotilla to Constantinople had proved to be part of a rather unofficial fleet review of the Warsaw Pact nations; in addition to the resident Byzantine and neighboring Turkish navies there were ships from Bulgaria and Romania, as well as ships of other nations. There had been rounds of visits between the assembled warships, which Petrovic found interesting from a professional perspective, but Podgorica was his, and he took the most pride in the favourable impression she had made on her visitors.

Petrovic was more impressed with the ancient city itself. On Thursday evening nearly the entire ships company of Podgorica and Pristina had joined with their Byzantine hosts, and crews from the Bulgarian and Romanian navies in a service at the venerable Church of Hagia Sophia, built by the Emperor Justinian nearly fourteen hundred years before. Petrovic had walked the walls of the city from end to end, marveling at their construction. They had held the enemies of Byzantium at bay for more than a thousand years.

He wondered if the Warsaw Pact, fragile child of diplomacy, would do as much in these modern times; provide a bulwark behind which Yugoslavia, and her neighbors, could grow peacefully. He hoped it might be so.

“Signal from the flagship,” announced the officer of the deck. “Hoist anchor and proceed per orders.”

“Very well, make it so,” Petrovic ordered.

The anchor chain clanked and mud of the harbour hosed from the anchor. Podgorica’s engines began to throb and a small puff of smoke escaped from her funnels. Petrovic looked to see Pristina lead their way down the Golden Horn, back into the Sea of Marmara, eventually out into the Aegean. They would stop in Piraeus, near Athens, en route, but Podgorica was headed home. And Ivan Petrovic looked forward to that.

Part Eight - Tuesday, 12 March 1940

The rays of the rising sun glinted off the waters of the blue Saronic Gulf as the destroyer Pristina slowly made her way into the harbour of Piraeus. Captain Anton Lokar stood quietly as the pilot conned the ship up the channel toward the anchorage assigned to the Yugoslav vessels. The port was busy, as was usual – while much of Greece’s own merchant fleet was out on the high seas earning its keep the strategic location of Piraeus meant that ships from many nations called there. The hustle and bustle of small craft was the greatest danger – small motorboats and coasters were constantly darting to and fro. Nevertheless, some two hours after making landfall Pristina and Podgorica reached their assigned anchorage and came to rest.

Turning to his executive officer Lokar remarked, “Another port, another round of official calls.”

“Yes sir,” replied Babic. “At least this will be the last set.”

“True. If the Greeks are keeping to schedule the Srbija ought to be well along on her fitting out. I hope we have the opportunity to have a look at her.” Lokar spoke with more than a bit of anticipation in his voice.

Babic recognised the reason. The Srbija, and her sister the Crna Gora, were meant to serve as flotilla flagships. Once they were commissioned one of them would be assigned to the First Destroyer Flotilla, and Lokar would quite likely move up to command her. In that case Babic would likely be promoted to command Pristina.

“Yes sir,” Babic added. “She should be able nearly finished at this point. The authorities in Souda Bay had no difficulties in arranging a visit there; I am certain that we should be able to visit the Srbija.”

With their ship at anchor both officers focused on preparing for the official visits they would make, and to prepare the ship for visitors – which was part of their mission.

Part Nine – Wednesday, 13 March 1940

“What do you mean we cannot visit her?” demanded Captain Anton Lokar.

He was sitting in the office of Captain Cedomir Stanojlovic, naval attaché at the Yugoslav embassy in Athens. He had come to arrange a visit to the cruiser Srbija, then fitting out and completing her construction. Lokar had been surprised that Stanojlovic had informed him that the Srbija was off limits for the time being.

“Calm down Lokar,” Stanojlovic said in a best attempt at a soothing tone. “Sometimes things happen that prevent such inspections.”

“Have you been to the yards to see her? What’s gone wrong?” Lokar was not a man to be put off.

“Nothing has gone wrong with the construction. The British have merely requested that visitors be kept to a minimum while their technicians are working on the Srbija.”

“What nonsense are you talking about Stanojlovic? Why in heaven’s name would British technicians be working on a Yugoslav cruiser being built in a Greek shipyard?”

“Please lower your voice,” Stanojlovic pleaded. “This is supposed to be a confidential matter.”

Lokar adopted a pose of disbelief but said nothing.

“You have heard of such things as radio-location devices?” Stanojlovic asked in a low tone.

Lokar nodded. “For detecting aircraft and such. I have read of such black arts.”

“The Government has arranged with Britain to obtain such equipment for our Navy. The Srbija and Crna Gora will be the first two units so equipped, and their technicians are working on the Srbija at the present time. They do not want a lot of people snooping around while they do so.”

“We’re not ‘snooping’,” Lokar responded. “We’ll be the ones using the equipment…”

“I know,” added Stanojlovic, “but this was one of their stipulations. For the advance it promises it is worth putting up with the inconvenience.”

Lokar thought. Radio-location, or radar as some nations called it, offered its possessors a great advantage. Yugoslavia needed every such advantage. “Very well; I see your point. My apologies.”

“No apologies required,” said Stanojlovic. “Now, I can arrange visits to several of the Royal Hellenic Navy’s latest ships…”

Part Ten – Monday, 18 March 1940

“Cape Matapan to starboard sir,” announced the watch officer.

Captain Anton Lokar of the destroyer Pristina nodded in acknowledgement. Instinctively he moved to the plot and watched as the navigator posted their progress. Since leaving port more than a month before the ships of the First Destroyer Flotilla had carried the flag of Yugoslavia across the eastern Mediterranean, from Malta in the west to the gates of Byzantium in the east. The ships and their crews had performed well, creating a favourable impression wherever they had gone. Lokar thought back to the warm welcome they had received in Piraeus, and the opportunity to actually sail the seas in which ancient Persia had gone down to defeat at Salamis.

But now his ships were homeward bound, passing from the Aegean to the Ionian Sea. His crew, he knew, was impatient to return to their families and friends; truth be told, so was he. In arranging their cruise the Foreign Office had, no doubt, its own expectations; the Naval Staff had its own. Lokar felt confident that he had fulfilled the latter, but could only hope that he had satisfied the gentlemen in frock coats.


Tuesday, 19 March 1940

Nearly every one of the officers of the destroyer Pristina had found an excuse to come up onto the bridge that afternoon, and sailors off watch too found excuse to claim some deck space. Pristina and her sister Podgorica were coming home. They had detoured well out to sea to avoid Italian inshore patrols – after a successful courtesy cruise there was no reason to risk an international incident at this point – and entered the waters of the Adriatic in the early morning hours. Now the two destroyers sailed beneath the warm skies of an Adriatic afternoon, making a brisk twenty knots. Eyes strained to catch the first glimpse of the mountains that rose behind the harbour of Bar.

Two hours later the wishes of all aboard the Pristina were granted as the tips of mountain peaks rose on the horizon.

“Aircraft approaching,” cried a lookout on the mainmast. “Two aircraft, twin engines… Hampden type.”

“A welcoming party from the Air Force,” Lokar said aloud to no one in particular. “Let them have their fun.” The Yugoslav bombers flew low over the destroyers, waggling their wings in greeting.

The ships continued their course, bounding over the waves. Moment by moment more of the coast came into view, until at last they caught sight of the naval signal station on the promontory that shelters the port of Bar. In the distance they could see its powerful signal lamp flashing.

A young midshipman brought the signal to Captain Lokar. He turned to Ivan Babic, his executive officer, and read the contents.

“From Flag Officer Commanding to First Destroyer Flotilla: Welcome home. Congratulations on a job well done.”

Nicely written, Bruce.

Quoted

Originally posted by Brockpaine
Nicely written, Bruce.

Thank you!

Bravo on your journey.