WesWorld

Marinestützpunkt Kiel, Saturday, 5 February 1949

There was much activity aboard the artillery training ship Brummer, and Oberleutnant zur See Wolfgang Benzino, her assistant information officer, was in the thick of it. A new crop of cadets was coming aboard even before the last of the prior class had cleared their bunk spaces. Benzino was the officer to whom questions were directed, small problems referred, and briefings assigned. In groups of four or five, ten or twelve, he would advise the new cadets were they were to eat, sleep, and study. What struck him as unusual was the age of some of the cadets, and their apparent familiarity with naval procedures. Some quick questions established what he suspected; these older ‘cadets’ were, in fact, petty officers newly promoted to officer status. He had heard about the strains the recommissioning of destroyers from the reserve was having on manpower, and this, he reasoned, was one means to answer the challenge. No doubt it would be easier for him in dealing with ‘cadets’ with a sound understanding of what it meant to be at sea, even if they lacked the polish of the younger men fresh from naval schools.

Danziger Echo, Saturday, 12 February 1949

Elements of the German Kriegsmarine’s Fourth Minehunter Squadron recently joined that service’s Thirty-First Destroyer Squadron in a series of exercises in the lower Baltic to test the latter’s proficiency and operational readiness. Units of the Thirteenth Destroyer Flotilla of the Russian Federation Navy also participated. Here the minesweeper Dummersee leads a pair of her sisters in an evolution in the Gulf of Danzig.

Marinestützpunkt Warnemünde, Thursday, 17 February 1949

Kapitän zur See Hermann Lüdke, recently reassigned to command of Zerstörergeschwader 31, examined the orders that a yeoman had delivered but a few minutes before. His ships had spent that last weeks in intensive training, bringing their crews to an acceptable level of proficiency. He had hoped that his squadron might have a few days of rest and relaxation in port but the orders were quite clear.

“From Commander, Lehrdivision to Commander, Zerstörergeschwader 31. Your command is deemed ready for active employment with the fleet. You are hereby assigned to Befehlshaber der Sicherung der Nordsee and shall report to him details of anticipated arrival at Wilhelmshaven. Glaser.”

Lüdke had mixed feelings. On the one hand a sense of pride that his crews were ready for active duty in such a relatively short period of time; on the other, knowledge that in too many departments there were green recruits that still needed time to learn their duties properly. Nevertheless he began to draft a message for transmission to BdS Nordsee acknowledging his assignments, advising his date of probable arrival, and requesting appropriate instructions.

Marinestützpunkt Warnemünde, Monday, 21 February 1949

Konteradmiral Maximilian Glaser read the report concerning the arrival on station of Zerstörergeschwader 32. The ships were fresh from the yards – which was supposed to have prepared them for active service – yet the squadron’s commander reported that many of his ships had developed faults on their short voyage to the Baltic – and requested the opportunity to carry out repairs before entering the intensive training programme laid out. Glaser read through the list of defects reported with increasing impatience.

“Either the yards are not doing their work properly or the crews are not properly trained.”

The two options left him angry. The haste with which the destroyers taken from the reserve could account for the yards overlooking *some* things, but the first batch of destroyers had arrived with much shorter lists of shortcomings. As for crews, the reservists and recruits now manning the ships had even longer periods of refresher training under his own direction, and any fault in them would ultimately fall upon his shoulders. Glaser made a decision, and then summoned his chief of staff.

“Notify commander Zerstörergeschwader 32 that I shall personally inspect his ships for readiness on Wednesday, 23 February.”

Marinestützpunkt Warnemünde, Thursday, 24 February 1949

The anger Glaser felt after his inspection of the ships and crews of Zerstörergeschwader 32 still burned as he wrote up the formal orders relieving several of its officers of their duties.

Liedig, the commander of the squadron, he found to be timid to the point of fearfulness. The man was unwilling to take responsibility for the minor shortcomings in the mechanical state of the vessels under his command and insisted that they have dock time for even the smallest of repairs, one’s well within his crew’s capacity to put right. His attitude was punctilious to a fault – the ships had been refitted in shipyards and they needed to go there to have faults put right. Glaser has asked what steps he would have taken in wartime and was met with a blank stare. The Kriegsmarine of the past might have been able to deal with such a commander – now he was fit only to command a desk in a backwater naval station, such as Wien.

Niesmann, commander of the Zerstörer 227, showed himself to be a martinet who brow-beat his crew for the slightest infraction, but lacked imagination to take his raw crew in hand and encourage them to do their best. Rather than building a fire inside them he lit fires under them in the misguided belief that fear would accomplish what intelligence could not. Leibbrandt, the captain of the Zerstörer 231, was just the opposite. Lackadaisical to a fault his crew seemed out of control, and Liebbrandt failed to support his junior officers when they sought to instil discipline. Glaser had relieved the three of them on the spot to await reassignment. He could but hope that their replacements would be able to take the squadron in hand in order that the training programme would not fall too far behind.

Marinestützpunkt Pillau, Monday, 28 February 1949

Captain First Rank Kozyukhin had shepherded the ships of Zerstörergeschwader 32 with the Thirteenth Destroyer Flotilla from Warnemünde across the Gulf of Danzig to their temporary station at Pillau. Thankfully, he found that the changes Admiral Glaser had made to its commander staff seemed to have had their proper effect. As he himself suspected, replacing reservist officers with younger men would allow ability to rise to the top as it were; instructions were followed promptly and properly, though basic ship-handling was not that great a challenge. That would begin in the following weeks – gunnery drills, anti-submarine exercises, and torpedo attacks were all in prospect. Today however he would spend time briefing the officers of his training task group – his own officers as well as those of the ships of Zerstörergeschwader 32 on what was to come.

Tallinn, Estonia, Wednesday, 2 March 1949

The Kriegsmarine training ship Roon lay at anchor in Tallinn harbour, her officers and crew mustered expectantly at their stations. Fresh from her builders’ trials the Roon had arrived in the Russian port that morning, a first stop in a cruise scheduled as part of her operational training. Approaching her was a launch bearing a small delegation of Russian officers who had been invited aboard to examine the ship as part of the growing cooperation between Germany and the Russian Federation.

Captain Second Rank Vladimir Konstantinovich Konovalov led the delegation, and was the first to step from the launch to the Roon’s waiting gangway. With measured steps he climbed to the frigate’s deck as his head appeared above the level of the deck he heard the whistle of boatswain’s pipes announce his arrival.

Fregattenkapitän Johann Mohr, the Roon’s captain, and his officers saluted in unison as Konovalov stepped aboard. Formal introductions were made, after which the senior officers repaired to the wardroom for refreshments before the Russian delegation was shown the ship.

As he was led from compartment to compartment Konovalov noted the care that had been taken in the ship’s construction. Bridge positions had been duplicated, allowing instruction of cadets in ship-handling. The same situation prevailed in the gunnery stations – he noted that the Roon carried both the modern 12.8 and 5.5cm guns that were the Kriegsmarine’s most modern weapons but also the tried and true 3.7 and 2cm weapons. Mohr explained that the older guns were still in service aboard many of the older ships of the Kriegsmarine, and would provide cadets with a good grounding.

The spacious engine room contained the powerful diesel engines that gave the Roon an excellent turn of speed, and here too Konovalov saw the attention paid duplicate control systems. The ship was expected to cruise with up to fifty cadets, none of which had reported as yet, but the accommodation for them seemed comfortable enough with steel bunks and not old-style hammocks. The provision of recreation spaces seemed an extravagance, but Mohr explained that it could, if necessary supplement the formal classroom space.

What impressed the Russian officer most was the compartment bearing the ship’s underwater detection equipment – duplicated in full. Not only was the equipment state of the art, but provided on a lavish scale. He considered that Mohr could take justifiable pride in his command.

Marinestützpunkt Warnemünde, Thursday, 10 March 1949

The Kapitan Kazarsky-class large amphibious ship Stepan Novikov had arrived in the harbour the previous evening, and today would be inspected by Konteradmiral Glaser and his guest, Vize-admiral August Becker, chief of the Kriegsmarine’s expeditionary forces. Both men were eager to see the Novikov, though for different reasons.

For his part, the Novikov’s captain, Pavel Efimovich Dybenko, was proud to show his ship to his visitors, as was Konstantin Khrenov, the Russian naval attaché in Berlin who had arrived that morning. The inspection of the ship took several hours, Becker in particular paying attention to the layout of the Novikov’s tank deck and bow doors.

“So, she can be beached to unload her cargo?”

Dybenko nodded emphatically. “Not only can he beach himself, but his engines are powerful enough to pull him off.”

Khrenov imagined he could see the wheels spinning inside Becker’s mind. For all the effort the Kriegsmarine had lavished on its own landing vessels, not one of them exhibited all the features of the Novikov and her brothers. From what he had heard the new Höllpass class would be a near equal – but they were a year away from completion. He had suggested to Glaser that the Novikov might participate in landing exercises with the Kriegsmarine – and at this point expected Becker to agree to the idea.

Brunsbüttel, Monday, 14 March 1949

There were many disgruntled merchant captains awaiting their turn to enter the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal that morning, their normal transit delayed by the stubby line of naval landing ships that had been given priority. The dock-like Wettin was first in line, then the Barbe, Brasse, Karpfen, and Muräne – they rode high in the water, indicating that they were not laden. There followed a clutch of smaller craft – tank lighters – escorted by a pair of tugs. The big aviation tender Tanga brought up the rear. Such naval movements brought much disruption to commercial traffic – the canal authorities indicated that it would be unavailable to them for at least twenty-four hours. Aboard the British-flag freighter Baltanglia the master took this news sourly, and ordered his radio operator to advise their London office that their arrival in Gdynia would be delayed.

Marinestützpunkt Warnemünde, Thursday, 17 March 1949

The Stepan Novikov rode easily at anchor alongside the German landing ship Wettin several hundred metres seaward of the Westmole. Both sat heavy in the water, their holds packed with the vehicles and heavy equipment of Marine-Panzerabteilung 201 and other elements of Marine-Schützen Brigade 3. Captain First Rank Dybenko swung his glasses shoreward where he saw the German tank lighters Barbe, Brasse, Karpfen, and Muräne lay beached on the strand – busily engaged in the loading of other vehicles and equipment. Despite a brisk wind the work proceeded methodically – the loading of an amphibious vessel was no matter to be rushed or taken for granted. Given that they were preparing for an exercise, speed was not required.

The Prorer Wiek, Saturday, 16 March 1949

The latest of the Kriegsmarine’s amphibious exercises was in full progress, and though present, the escorting destroyers were not called upon for simulated naval gunfire support. The purpose of the exercise was to demonstrate the ability of the Kriegsmarine and its Russian allies to operate together in effecting a landing – even if unopposed, such operations were not to be taken for granted.

Aboard the landing ship Wettin a number of senior officers had taken over as much of the bridge space not absolutely required to navigate the ship itself. Vize-admiral Becker, under whose direction the Kriegsmarine had developed its doctrine and its amphibious shipping, was flanked by Konteradmiral Glaser, the senior officer responsible for operational training of fleet units in the Baltic. They had been joined by Captain First Rank Khrenov of the Russian Federation Navy, who, besides his official duties as naval attaché in Berlin was de facto commander of those Russian vessels participating in some capacity in Unternehmen Wachsame Entschlossenheit.

Becker turned his glasses shoreward, and watched with interest as the Russian landing ship Stepan Novikov finished disgorging her load of vehicles and equipment and began to raise her bow ramp and kedge away from the shore.

“Dybenko’s done his job smartly. For a ship and crew still working up the Novikov landed her contingent in less than an hour.”

“Thank you Admiral. I will convey your remarks to Captain Dybenko when we return to Warnemünde.”

The smaller German landing lighters continued to shuttle to-and-fro, while the larger landing ships Karpfen and Muräne made their way shoreward to take the place of the departing Novikov.

“Admiral, if I might be permitted a question.” Becker nodded and turned his attention to the Russian officer.

“The Kriegsmarine has developed a number of vessels to conduct amphibious warfare, most of which are smaller than the Novikov. Why disperse available resources over a larger number of small vessels rather than concentrate on a smaller number of ships with greater capability? The Kriegsmarine is presently building four different classes of landing ship, in addition to small craft.”

Becker smiled. “There is an old Bohemian proverb, ‘Legen Sie nicht alle Eier in einen Korb'- Do not put all your eggs in one basket. Have you studied our landings in the Moonsund archipelago during the Great War - Unternehmen Albion?”

Khrenov had to admit that he had not studied that aspect of the Great War in great detail.

“Your Baltic Fleet and coast artillery played havoc with our ships, even though few were sunk, but damage to the transports upset our plans and delayed execution of the operation for more than a week. Imagine if you will the impact that the loss of the Novikov might have on tactical flexibility or the ability to follow-up with subsequent landings? Employing more vessels of smaller size spreads the risk of loss and lessens the impact of damage.”

“Your point is well taken Admiral.”

“Besides, the different designs permit us to make best use of our shipbuilding resources – a ship the size of the Höllpass could never be constructed on the Danube, while the yards there can turn out many Nordstrands.”

Khrenov made no immediate rejoinder; he was well aware of the extent of Germany’s construction programme of amphibious vessels – eight small vessels – the Nordstrands – at Vienna. Eight slightly larger vessels were reported to be built at Memel. At dozen utility landing ships – similar to the Karpfen and Muräne – were due to be built as well as four vehicle landing ships of the Höllpass class, ships equivalent in size and capability to the Novikov. Thirty-two ships all told.

Marinestützpunkt Warnemünde, Friday, 25 March 1949

Most of the ships that had assembled for the recent amphibious exercise had been released to return to their regular duties; the Stepan Novikov lay in the outer harbour preparing for his own return to Kronstadt when Captain Dybenko noticed the arrival of three cargo ships – or at least they looked like cargo ships until the Russian officer swung his binoculars to take a second look at them. Their heavy cargo handling gear could have meant many things, but the landing craft carried in the ships’ davits and the pontoons hanging from the sides of one of them betrayed their military purposes.

That evening, at a gathering in his honour held at the naval officers’ club ashore, Dybenko found that the new arrivals were the naval transports Pfälzerwald and Bramwald, and the landing ship Doggerbank. The first two, he was told, were intended to carry and land the supplies required to sustain a landing force once it had made its lodgement ashore; the Doggerbank was equipped to transport and land engineer and construction troops to support the assault forces. He regretted that he would not have the opportunity to inspect them in any detail but he would mention to Khrenov their existence.

Marinestützpunkt Pillau, Monday, 28 March 1949

“All Ahead Slow.”

The screws of the cruiser Marseillaise began to churn the muddy waters of Pillau Harbour as she gathered way; Capitaine D'Estienne d'Orves looked aft to confirm that the Suffren was following in the Marseillaise’s wake. He then looked forward towards the harbour entrance where two long lines of moored vessels ceremonially marked the homeward course of the two French cruisers.

To starboard lay the Russian rocket cruiser Admiral Kolchak and the ships of the 13th Destroyer Flotilla; to port were ships of the Kriegsmarine’s Lehrdivision – the Nürnberg, the Leipzig, the Heligoland, the Höchstädt, the Wesel, the Apolda, the Spandau, and the Blankenburg. Flags fluttered from every masthead, and white-uniformed crews crammed the decks. For months they had trained together – many had even participated in the Pegasos exercise the previous autumn. Now it was time for the French cruisers to return home, their place scheduled to be taken by the cruisers Lafayette and LaTouche-Treville.

“Dress Ship!”

The order brought corresponding French tricolours to the mastheads of the cruisers, and their crews manned the railings to port and to starboard. Cheers went up from thousands of throats as D'Estienne d'Orves and his charges made their way deeper into the Gulf of Danzig. There was no need for haste. They soon left the moored vessels behind them and picked up a pair of Kriegsmarine corvettes who would escort them as far as Kiel, the entrance to the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal.

Marinestützpunkt Warnemünde, Wednesday, 6 April 1949

The comparative bulk of the aircraft carriers Westfalen and Pommern lay to the west of the harbour mole as Captain First Rank Pavel Kozyukhin rode in the gig that would return him to his flagship, the Pylkiy. The Kriegsmarine vessels had just been assigned to Admiral Glaser’s Lehrdivision, and were still in their initial phase of training. It would be some weeks before the ships would begin training manoeuvres with his 13th Destroyer Flotilla. He had asked for, and received permission to visit the vessels to inspect and form his own impression of their capabilities.

These thoughts occupied his mind as the gig slowly made its way back to the Pylkiy. Both were, of course, new – and a new ship always creates a good impression – if the shipyards knew their business – and in this case they did. It has been explained to him that the Westfalen and her sister were intended to serve as antisubmarine platforms in support of the larger fleet carriers of the Kriegsmarine as well as acting as mobile depots providing replacement aircraft for the air groups of carrier task forces. In some respects there were not unlike what he had heard of the Fidonisi class ships of his own service.

They were eggshells – other than their conning towers and the gunhouses of their 55mm guns there was not a ton of armour on them – though his hosts assured that their damage control and fire suppression systems had been enhanced to compensate for this potential risk. Their turbines would, in theory, drive them through the seas at twenty-six knots – on par with the Project 85 vessels. He had been informed that they could operate up to fifty aircraft, an adequate number for antisubmarine duties and self-protection, but he had been struck by the extensive aviation workshops and accommodation for additional personnel. In answer to his questions, his hosts informed him that the ships would, under normal circumstances, carry more than two dozen aircraft in component form which could be readily assembled and flown off as replacements for combat losses.

They were, as Kozyukhin mused, most interesting vessels.

Brunsbüttel Roads, Sunday, 10 April, 1949

The cruisers Lafayette and Latouche-Tréville lay anchored in the stream awaiting their turn to enter the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal, the transit of which would bring them to their operational area for the next several months – they were due to replace the Marseillaise and Suffren as part of the joint training squadron operating in the Baltic.

The voyage from Brest had been relatively uneventful – one took the near constant overflights by the Rosbifs for granted – and on the voyage up la Manche they also had the company of pairs of Ouragan fighters of the Armee de l’Air, who kept a watchful eye on the British patrol aircraft. Once past the Pas de Calais the Rosbifs were joined by the occasional patrol aircraft of the Belgian and Dutch navies who, it seemed, were more interested in snapping photographs than anything else. However, when they drew east of the Cleaver Bank these ‘escorts’ were replaced by long-range aircraft of the German Marineflieger which discouraged even the most persistent of their British shadowers.

They had called at Cuxhaven to take on water and provisions, and now waited. Their crews speculated at what their assignment might bring. Would it be a repetition of last spring’s Operation Pegase? Or would they be confined to routine though necessary training.

French cruiser Lafayette, near Rendsburg, The Kaiser Wilhelm Canal, Tuesday, 12 April 1949

Capitaine de vaisseau Philippe Delcroix paced the bridge of the Lafayette doing his best to suppress his desire to con his ship; for the present she was in the hands of an experienced canal pilot, who, Delcroix had discovered, was a veteran of the Great War and had, for a time, been a prisoner of war in a French camp. The irony of the present circumstances was not lost on either of them – the Lafayette, and her sister Latouche-Tréville, now sailed placidly towards the Baltic Sea where they would take up duties with the German Kriegsmarine’s training division – for France and Germany, once deadly enemies, were now allies.

Delcroix walked out onto the bridge wing and looked aft, where the Latouche-Tréville was rounding a bend while following in Lafayette’s wake. At their present speed their wakes spread out slowly and washed, rather than crashed, against the canal’s sides. According what the pilot had told him the Lafayette should exit the canal at Kiel an hour or so before sunset; all things considered, the time taken in their canal transit was far shorter than the Skagerrak, the Kattegat, and the Belt around Denmark. Even there the Lafayette would have been a pilot’s hands at some point.

Marinestützpunkt Warnemünde, Friday, 15 April 1949

The recently arrived French cruisers swung at anchor in the outer harbour. Aboard the Lafayette Capitaine de vaisseau Philippe Delcroix sat in his cabin with the Latouche-Tréville’s commander, Capitaine de vaisseau Alexis Boulanger, discussing the results of their morning briefing with Admiral Glaser and the other senior officers of the Alliance training squadron.

“So, we are to engage in air defence exercises with the German cruisers Nürnberg and Leipzig. This should be interesting.”

Delcroix found his counterpart’s tone a bit too diffident. “We should take nothing for granted. Captain Morozov of the Admiral Kolchak told me of a nasty surprise the Germans played on him during one of those drills.” He went on to relate how the Admiral Kolchak had been surprised by a low level simulated strike by jet bomber aircraft.

“At night? At mast head level?” Boulanger seemed shocked. “That doesn’t seem very German!”

“Our allies have apparently broken free of past practices. At least we will have the benefit of the destroyers Kassel and Trier for a few days.”

“Those Wiesbaden-class ships look to be very capable. Aren’t they due to complete their training? I overheard Wulle speaking of ‘graduation exercises’.”

Delcroix sipped his coffee. “It is apparently a tradition of the escadre d’ecole to formally mark a ship’s completion of operational training with a formal ceremony. No doubt we will be invited to participate.”

French cruiser Lafayette, The Gulf of Danzig, Wednesday, 20 April 1949

The ship steamed at an easy fifteen knots as she came alongside the small German tanker Leine to take on fuel. On the horizon Delcroix could see the cruiser Leipzig manoeuvring to do the same with the Leine’s sister ship Löcknitz. From his position on the cruiser’s bridge Delcroix could literally look down on the Leine – she was but a small support vessel, Einsatzgruppenversorgungsschiff in Kriegsmarine parlance – a ‘task force supply ship’. Under normal circumstances she would be employed in support of groups of smaller vessels such as corvettes – and he thought that she would do well in that role. A ship the size of the Leine could service the Lafayette in a pinch but for the training exercise that they were involved in nothing untoward was expected.

During his posting as attaché in Copenhagen Delcroix had learned much – despite the fact that Germany had the use of the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal its vessels were frequent users of the Belt and the Sound. Many times he had noted the large German fleet tankers sailing majestically past the city; and he had to credit his allies with the development of a significant auxiliary force that could maintain a fleet at sea.

With the exchange of signals the Lafayette executed a safe breakaway from the Leine, and looking astern Delcroix could see the Latouche-Tréville manoeuvring into position to take on fuel from the Leine.

Corvette Thetis, The Gulf of Pillau, Monday, 25 April 1949

Leytenant Gennady Alexandrov of the Russian Federation Navy walked the bridge of the corvette in an unfamiliar role – he was serving as an exercise observer, judging the crew of the Thetis as they pitted their skills against a German submarine – one of the new ‘Hai’ or Shark class boats. The eighteen months he had thus far spent as an exchange officer on numerous German vessels had given him great understanding of the methods of his allies and their capabilities.

He found the Amazone-class ships to be handy vessels for antisubmarine work – diesel-engined, thus able to get under way on short notice and keep up with a submarine either on the surface or submerged; good armament for their role; weatherly – the Thetis had been at sea throughout the winter working up without serious incident.

Suddenly a klaxon sounded, calling hands to their stations.

“We have made contact with an unknown” an officer advised him.

Alexandrov entered the ship’s command and control compartment to watch the Thetis track the unknown. Here orders were given in measured tones, the sensor officer providing range, speed, and course information that was shared with the crews of the corvette’s weapons.

The Thetis’s commander ordered launch of two of the ship’s stand-off depth charges rockets, and the ship shuddered slightly as they left their tubes. Seconds ticked by without confirmation of a ‘kill’ from the exercise umpires.

“Contact lost…”

Alexandrov made mental notes for his report. Perhaps in the next hour contact would be regained and the outcome different. Final examinations were never easy.

Marinestützpunkt Warnemünde, Friday, 29 April 1949

Konteradmiral Maximilian Glaser read the reports on the builders’ trials for the escort aircraft carriers Westfalen and Pommern. Completed only a month ago they had not yet formally entered the structured training program his Lehrdivision would provide; the complexities of an aircraft carrier demanded considerable testing of systems and sub-systems. But the reports indicated that the shipyards had done their work well, and there were no deficiencies that would require the return of either vessel for extensive rework.

“It will be good to give their crews some practical training.”

He wondered when the Marineflieger could provide the semblance of an air group for either ship so that they could begin working with the other vessels of the Lehrdivision. The current crop of escorts would soon be operational, while the next flight of ships – cruisers and destroyers – would be arriving before summer. Thankfully he would still have available Kozyukhin’s destroyers and Delcroix’s cruisers to provide steadiness and experience for the new ships coming forward.