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25 April 1941

Unlike the thunderous ovation given to other ships departing Wilhelmshaven for deployment abroad no grand review sent the First Scouting Group to sea. With the light cruiser Leipzig in the van the nine slim destroyers slowly made their way down the channel from the calm waters of the Jade. The solitude suited the man standing on the bridge of the Leipzig, Kapitän zur See Ralf von der Marwitz, Kommodore, commanding. He was happy his command had been selected for the mission, one that in its own way would help to nudge the course of history forward, but he was a man who shunned the limelight. “Deeds, not words” was his motto.

“Minsener Oog off the port bow,” reported the officer of the deck.

“Port twenty,” ordered von der Marwitz. “Signal the squadron to follow.“

“Yes Herr Kommodore,” came the reply.

The skies were not clear, but filled with low clouds that occasionally dropped their cargo of rain. Nevertheless there was sufficient visibility for the line of destroyers to maneuver in safety. Clear of the harbour channel they began to shape a course to the westward, passing first the German and then the Dutch coast to port. Von der Marwitz bent over the chart table and checked their course. At a normal pace they would make their first destination by Sunday afternoon.

“One can hope that the weather will improve by then,” thought von der Marwitz. “A storm in the English Channel is something I would prefer not to face.”

Another cruise! Where are they bound this time? Icy northern seas, or sunny southern oceans? Dun dun dun.

Quoted

Originally posted by Brockpaine
Another cruise! Where are they bound this time? Icy northern seas, or sunny southern oceans? Dun dun dun.

All in good time.

Quoted

Originally posted by Brockpaine
Another cruise! Where are they bound this time? Icy northern seas, or sunny southern oceans? Dun dun dun.

Well, where can you go in 3 days at ~14kts that involves going through the English Channel?

Quoted

Originally posted by Sachmle

Quoted

Originally posted by Brockpaine
Another cruise! Where are they bound this time? Icy northern seas, or sunny southern oceans? Dun dun dun.

Well, where can you go in 3 days at ~14kts that involves going through the English Channel?

You can get most of the way to Portugal or the Isle of Skye on that, actually. Well, not as far as Skye - Islay, maybe.

Well, wasn't there a news snippet saying something about German/Iberian relations..maybe he's heading there. Just a guess mind you, but guessing is fun.

Quoted

Originally posted by Sachmle
Well, wasn't there a news snippet saying something about German/Iberian relations..maybe he's heading there. Just a guess mind you, but guessing is fun.

Well, I can't guess because I know too many of the answers.

Touché

Quoted

Well, I can't guess because I know too many of the answers.

*looks around*
... so maybe you can answer the question where Manzo just went with that cruise missile armed B-52.

Quoted

Originally posted by Rooijen10

Quoted

Well, I can't guess because I know too many of the answers.

*looks around*
... so maybe you can answer the question where Manzo just went with that cruise missile armed B-52.

So that's where Johannesburg went. I wondered...

Quoted

Originally posted by Brockpaine

Quoted

Originally posted by Rooijen10

Quoted

Well, I can't guess because I know too many of the answers.

*looks around*
... so maybe you can answer the question where Manzo just went with that cruise missile armed B-52.

So that's where Johannesburg went. I wondered...

Wait, the SAE Capital is gone? FREE URUGUAY!!!!!

Is Johannesburg the SAE's capital? That's never been entirely clear to me.

**Warning. This thread has now been hijacked. Situation normal...**

But as an aside, I always thought the capital of SAE was Pretoria.

10 bugs for you. ;o)

27 April 1941

Under the guidance of the harbour pilots the Leipzig and her consorts had glided into Plymouth Sound and dropped anchor in the lee of Mount Batten, within sight of the Great Western Docks. Kapitän von der Marwitz was not surprised that the Royal Navy had kept them at arms length and well away from the dockyards at Devonport. Their easy transit down the Channel had been under the constant observation of the Royal Air Force, whose Coastal Command aircraft seemed to enjoy the opportunity to shadow the German squadron.

“Old beliefs die hard,” thought von der Marwitz. “I do not blame them.”

Under improving weather the ships of the squadron had rigged out awnings and prepared for the inevitable round of visits and visitors. That afternoon von der Marwitz would call on the port captain and other senior officers of the Royal Navy, and on the morrow he expected that his ships would be visited in turn. Insofar as he was aware this would be the first opportunity the British would have to see the new heavy destroyers of the Kriegsmarine up close, and his officers would to their best to make a good impression of their fighting ability.


28 April 1941

In the cabin of the motor launch bearing them homeward Lieutenants William Parkins and Richard Bishop, RN, compared notes on their observations made aboard the visiting German vessels.

“They have their strong points,” said Parkins. “Six fifteen-centimetre guns are quite enough to overwhelm a destroyer or two, notwithstanding their torpedoes.”

“That’s true, but they are quite vulnerable to air attack. The main guns are all low angle, and compared with later German construction, as well as our own, four 88mm and a light AA outfit is rather out of date,” responded Bishop.

“I think Jerry intended them for hit-and-run raids out of Heligoland on coastal traffic,” Parkins added. “Nip out at dusk, dash across to attack a coastal convoy and run back before sun up.”

“They would do for that,” Bishop noted, “but they haven’t got RDF. They would be at a severe disadvantage.”

Parkins nodded. “I read that Jerry has been busy refitting his older vessels with ‘Seetakt’, what they call their RDF. It wouldn’t surprise me if these ships were on the short list for a refit.”

“They would be far more formidable with it,” Bishop agreed. “And it would help control their antiaircraft fire”. Bishop, it seemed, was an air enthusiast.

“Well, at least we’ll have decent reports to file with the First Officer,” concluded Parkins. “Too bad we couldn’t take photographs.”

Bishop snorted. “I saw a shore boat carrying a photographer taking all sorts of snaps. They should be enough to keep the boffins happy for a bit.”

Aha. Plymouth!

(And just for OOC purposes - neither the Armee de l'Aire nor the Aeronavale feel a particularly compelling need to imitate Coastal Command's shadowing practices. An overflight or two just to sniff out who it is, but no need to add to the claustraphobia.)

Tuesday, 29 April 1941

It was late afternoon when the tide changed and the German squadron weighed anchor to depart Plymouth harbour. For Kapitän von der Marwitz he was happy to be departing. Unlike many of the officers of the Kriegsmarine, he found playing diplomat difficult, but he had forced himself to avoid puncturing the balloons of British self-assurance. Too many of the Royal Navy’s officers, he found, were overly condescending, particularly those of middle and upper rank. Granted, Britain was among the victors in the Great War, but as a young officer von der Marwitz had seen with his own eyes the destruction of British battlecruisers at the Skagerrakschlacht.

The freshening sea breeze drove such thoughts from his mind as the Leipzig and her consorts made their way to sea, heading westward. They had sortied by divisions – the first division, comprising the Paul Jacobi under Fregattenkapitän Gadow with the Georg Thiele and the Bruno Heinemann; the second division, comprising the Leberecht Maas under Fregattenkapitän Pönitz with the Richard Beitzen and the Hermann Schoeman; and the third division, comprising the Wolfgang Zenker under Fregattenkapitän Karl Schmidt with the Max Schultz and the Theodor Riedel. Now the sleek destroyers fell into line astern with their cruiser flagship in the lead. Signals and salutes were exchanged with the harbour fortresses and with white wakes at their stern the German squadron edged towards the setting sun.

-----

Night had fallen by the time the First Scouting Group neared Ushant and entered the open Atlantic. Von der Marwitz checked their position with his navigator.

“Herr Kommodore,” said the latter, “we have reached Point Anton.”

Von der Marwitz nodded. “Very good,” he acknowledged. “Signals officer – make to Wolfgang Zenker. Execute breakaway.”

“Yes Herr Kommodore,” replied the signals officer, as he noted the content of the order and stepped to the bridge wing, where a signalman began to flash his powerful light in Morse.


Aboard the destroyer Wolfgang Zenker Fregattenkapitän Karl Schmidt also paced the bridge. The progress his ship had made since leaving Plymouth was neatly plotted on the chart and he was well aware that they had reached the planned point of separation.

“Message from the flagship Herr Kapitän,” the officer of the deck announced. “Execute breakaway!”

“Acknowledge the Kommodore’s order,” Schmidt ordered. “Then make to Max Schultz and Theodor Riedel – Execute breakaway.”

The order was passed to the other two ships of the Third Division, and the three destroyers at the rear of the German column gracefully altered course to starboard, while the rest of the First Scouting Group continued on its original course. Schmidt regretted that he would not continue with the rest of the squadron on its mission, but the opportunity to exercise an independent command eased that sense of loss.

“Set course 330 degrees, speed 15 knots,” he ordered. “Pass the same to Max Schultz and Theodor Riedel.”

April 30, 1941
Leifteanant-Cheannasaí James Touhey rapped his knuckles a few times on the bridge rail as the Ulster rode through the light swell of the Celtic Sea. It was an odd feeling for Touhey - he'd commanded the Ulster for nearly a month now, and this was the first time he'd actually taken the ship to sea. The Irish decision to participate in the Afghanistan Field Force had hit the Naval Service hard, as it could not contribute to a land war. There'd been fears within the INS that the entire service might be disbanded, but the worst that had happened was the slashing of the naval construction budget, and a few smaller ships swapped to the English in exchange for tanks and rifles. The Naval Service's own commanders decreased their at-sea training time in order to save money and stave off more radical measures. The entire Naval Service of course knew it had been necessary, but that didn't make it easy to accept.

"Left standard rudder," the officer of the watch ordered, his voice interrupting Touhey's private musings. "Helm, make your course zero-six-zero."

Ulster came about and steadied down on her new course. Though the sea was unusually calm, weather conditions weren't cooperating. A low-hanging fog limited visibility to under a thousand meters, sometimes less, and a double lookout was set and ship's horn shrieking a few times every minute. Ulster carried one of the new-fangled British RDF sets - installed after the ship took hurricane damage in the NATO exercise six months prior - but neither Touhey nor any of the Irish technicians had had the chance to use it at sea before, and it seemed terribly cavalier to go tearing through a fogbank with nothing but the word of a machine and the British technician running it to tell them it was safe.

Not to mention that we're tracking at least a half dozen ships already. This whole 'welcome the German ships to Ireland' idea is just thick - they're either lying doggo waiting for the fog to clear, or they passed me in the fog and are already off Cobh, Touhey thought to himself. "Lieutenant, back off a knot and let's keep a bit more distance between ourselves and this next fellow." On the other hand, it gives me a good excuse to exercise the lads a bit at sea.

"Yes sir."

"I hear their fog-horn, sir," one of the lookouts piped up.

"Already? Must be a big one."

A few minutes ticked off as the Ulster moved along, occasionally sounding her own shrill horn in response to the other vessel's deeper, more regular bellow. Then, as the destroyer slid out of a particularly dense bank of fog -

"Ship two points off the port bow, range one mile!" a lookout shouted unnecessarily. The ship was a White Star liner, lit up like a burning fireworks factory - the lookouts would have to have been blind to miss her, even in the fog.

"Should I take evasive action, sir?" the officer of the deck asked.

"No need - she's making eighteen knots, and we'll pass well to stern of her. Mr. O'Brien, give her a salute with the horn if you please." Ulster's horn shrieked, and the liner - Touhey couldn't tell if she was Olympic or Oceanic - promptly overpowered it with her own fog horn.

"Well, that was entertaining, but that's not one of the ships we're looking for, gentlemen," Touhey said. "Mr. Carter? Let's sniff out the next RDF contact, if you please."

"Yes sir. Helm, make your course three-four-five true."

The fog curled back around the destroyer and once again enveloped them in a damp and claustrophobic gray blanket. Ulster steamed slowly onward, and Touhey waited impatiently - he should have just hovered a few miles off Cobh like he'd intended, rather than mucking about near Labadle Bank like the Commodore had suggested. I'm nearly of a mind to just steam back to Cobh anyway, Touhey thought peevishly. If this next contact isn't the Germans, then that's what I'll do. He heard the horn of the next contact, and some odd echo - or was it another horn? Impossible to tell yet.

"Ship three points to starboard bow," the lookout announced. "Ship is... it's a warship, can't see her ensign."

Touhey raised his binoculars. "Don't need to see the ensign - I recognize the stern. German Schwere Zerstörer."

"They look bigger than they do in Janes..." someone said uncertainly.

Touhey ignored the comment. "Helm, one point to port. Render honors. Signalman, please prepare to signal the German squadron commander - well, whenever we overtake them - with this." Touhey scribbled down a short message, and the enlisted seaman had the gall to snicker when he read it.

Ulster took her time creeping up along the line of German ships, which despite the fog had maintained a loose formation with Teutonic precision. The Irish destroyer dipped her ensign in turn to each of them, and received their salute in turn; and finally Ulster came abreast of the flagship. The signalman uncovered his light and got busy:

"FANCY MEETING YOU HERE. LOVELY WEATHER WE HAVE TODAY. ARE YOU GOING MY WAY?"

Wednesday, 30 April 1941

The morning hours found the Third Division of the First Scouting Group carefully making their way across the Celtic Sea, as eddies of fog drifted across their path.

“This is when I wish we had Seetakt,” muttered Fregattenkapitän Karl Schmidt. “Crossing one of the busiest shipping channels in fog without it is like crossing the Under den Linden blindfolded.”

From a distance came the basso profundo sound of a fog horn, a low tone that pierced the fog to announce the presence of a large vessel.

“Make to all vessels – slow to five knots, sound fog horns at thirty second intervals,” Schmidt ordered. The three heavy destroyers began to sound their own tenor horns in a slow roll, announcing to all that there were several vessels maneuvering. Schmidt noted that the pitch of the horn on the other vessel suggested that it was moving away from them.

“Signal from Theodor Riedel Herr Kapitän,” reported the officer of the deck. “Have sighted Irish warship astern of us and closing on parallel track.”

Schmidt nodded in acknowledgement. “Sent out to greet us, no doubt,” he thought. “And welcome in this weather.”

He ordered the three ships of his division to maintain course and speed and prepare to salute what he presumed to be their host. As the foreign warship neared he could see the Irish ensign at her mast and he watched her grow closer in his glasses. A destroyer, one of the new Province class ships – the twin turrets forward distinguishing her from the smaller rebuilt County class the Irish had inherited from the Royal Navy. She was somewhat smaller than his own vessel but Schmidt appreciated her lines and her dual purpose armament.

The Irish vessel, which could be now recognised as the Ulster, came abreast of the Wolfgang Zenker and the two exchanged salutes. On the bridge wing of the Irish vessel a blinker light began to flash and in a few moments Schmidt’s signal officer handed him a message that to former was almost gibberish.

"FANCY MEETING YOU HERE. LOVELY WEATHER WE HAVE TODAY. ARE YOU GOING MY WAY?"

Schmidt read it and laughed, to the signalman’s dismay. As a young ensign Karl Schmidt had wooed and married an Irish girl from Dublin, and had learned his English in an Irish manner. It was the sort of humor that Frau Schmidt still punctuated her speech with.

He set down on a message flimsy his reply and told the signal officer to send it.

“Yes Herr Kapitän,” was the only appropriate reply. The Wolfgang Zenker’s portside blinker soon flashed in response.

“QUITE. WONDERFUL WEATHER. INDEED I AM AND WOULD WELCOME A GUIDE. THESE WATERS ARE RATHER BUSY.”