Does Anyone Know How to Use This Thing? - An RTW3 AAR featuring Imperial Germany

[cwemyss]

19 March 1894 – Flemish Cap, 300 nm east of St Johns, Newfoundland



Fregattenkapitän Theodor Korn looked across the blue-gray water at Ariadne, pitching a bit as she pushed through the moderate seas, bits of fog drifting through the space between them. Beyond the Ariadne, and in fact in all directions around Korn’s own Medusa, were dozens of fishing boats of various sizes, from a half dozen nations. The two German ships, far bigger than the dories and their shepherding schooners, cruised slowly south, picking through the working fisherman.

A storm south of Iceland had pushed them well west of their planned path, and now they were in the thick of this gaggle of boats. Most of them were staying out of the path of two cruisers, but occasionally one would be slow to move and their deck officers were having a devil of a time avoiding them.

“Give us another two knots,” Korn ordered with a shake of his head. It appeared Ariadne was attempting to push through faster. Korn thought it was a terrible idea, but this wasn’t the first time that Fregattenkapitän Behrendt had made what he thought a poor decision. Seniority had its advantages, and Behrendt had a few months on him in rank.

The two ships were en-route to the West Indies at Danish request, their own small Navy being tied up in the Baltic approaches keeping a wary eye on the Russians. Korn understood Behrendt’s rush, they were only halfway to Christiensted and already almost certain to be overdue thanks to the uncooperative weather. But a charge through the North Atlantic cod fleet seemed a reckless way to meet their appointed timetable.

“Sir,” broke in Vize-Feldwebel Feldmann, standing behind the helmsman, “It won’t be a problem for us, this ship handles well.” Medusa had only been in commission for two months, but her workup period had shown her to be exceptionally nimble for her 5600 tons. “I can’t say the same for Ariadne though,” he continued. “I was on her in ninety-one. She’s a tub, sir.”

Sure enough, as the sky darkened and the sun began settling into the cloud bank to the west, Korn heard Ariadne’s horn blare. He stepped to the bridge wing raised his binoculars just in time to see one of the ungainly fishing boats swamped by the Ariadne’s bow wave. It went end-over-end, oars, men and equipment flying into the icy water, and the dory was smashed to kindling.

“All stop!” Korn called, as Ariadne kept plowing straight ahead. He knew they could use Medusa’s speed to catch up once they were through the fishing fleet. “Lower one of our boats and we’ll see if we can pull anyone out.”

[cwemyss]

Ed note: I just couldn't come up with a vaguely believable way US fishermen would have straggled into a German live-fire exercise. And this fit with a "Below Average Speed Enthusiast".

[varsovie]

Ed note: I just couldn't come up with a vaguely believable way US fishermen would have straggled into a German live-fire exercise. And this fit with a "Below Average Speed Enthusiast".

Yeah this even is incredible when not at war.

wikipedia.org/wiki/Dogger_Bank_incident

Just sligthly less improbable that the scallop war though.

wikipedia.org/wiki/English_Channel_scallop_fishing_dispute
wikipedia.org/wiki/1993_Cherbourg_incident

It could have happen in a low visibility live fire exercise, the navies used to trawl barges as targets that could be miss identified with a fishing boat.

But the Kaiser's officers aren't a bunch of drunken fools...
Still a war with early USA that is already at war with Spain isn't the worse thing that could happen.

Now if only you could develop those nice death traps that can discretely protect your fisheries from the Yankees poachers...
https://www.usni.org/magazines/proceedi ... -fisheries

[cwemyss]

Yeah this even is incredible when not at war.

wikipedia.org/wiki/Dogger_Bank_incident

Just sligthly less improbable that the scallop war though.

wikipedia.org/wiki/English_Channel_scallop_fishing_dispute
wikipedia.org/wiki/1993_Cherbourg_incident

It could have happen in a low visibility live fire exercise, the navies used to trawl barges as targets that could be miss identified with a fishing boat.

But the Kaiser's officers aren't a bunch of drunken fools...
Still a war with early USA that is already at war with Spain isn't the worse thing that could happen.

Now if only you could develop those nice death traps that can discretely protect your fisheries from the Yankees poachers...
https://www.usni.org/magazines/proceedi ... -fisheries

Dogger Bank I knew about (thanks Drach!!). The others are pretty amazing to me... but with the state of the north Atlantic cod fishery, it's not too surprising, I suppose. Pretty creative solution by the Canadians.

[cwemyss]

July 1894 – Kaiserliches Oberkommando der Marine, Kiel, Deutsches Kaiserreich



“We have the chance to do what?” asked Vitzeadmiral Karl Diedrichs, unable to keep the note of disbelief from his voice.

“We have been offered the opportunity to purchase the Danish West Indies,” answered Konteradmiral Gustav von Senden-Bibran, with a hint of disapproval in his own. “We feel that Charlotte Amalie or Christiansted would make an excellent coaling station, and elements within the Danish parliament would rather we own it than the Americans.”



Diedrichs knew who von Senden-Bibran referred to when he spoke of ‘we’, and felt a flush in his cheeks, irritated by the Naval Cabinet head’s name-dropping implication. He took a breath, letting the silence draw out uncomfortably, then calmly leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk.

“First,” he began icily, “Those islands are a stone’s throw from Spanish Puerto Rico. The Spanish have suffered Danish rule there because they know the Danes have no wider ambitions. The Kaiser’s repeated speeches about our place in the sun leave no such illusions where we are concerned.”

“Second,” he continued, warming to the topic, “The Americans. Herr Cleveland just fought a war against Spain with the particular intent of evicting them from the western hemisphere. Do you think they’d respond kindly to us taking up the Danish islands? And in any case, there’s likely just as large a contingent in the Danish parliament who’d sell them to America.”

von Senden-Bibran reddened, unused to facing contradiction. He broke in, “Neither America or Spain is our concern. We’re in the process of building a Navy that will rival any in the world, and you’re worried about an upstart child and a doddering, decrepit empire far past its prime. And both exhausted from their war.”

“Once we’ve built that navy, maybe we should speak again,” Diedrichs shot back. “I wouldn’t say either one is exhausted, from what few reports I’ve seen it was hardly a war at all, and now over. And if you haven’t noticed, the French and the English are much closer to our shores, they’re so tight they may as well be treaty allies, and they out-number our fleet four to one.”

[cwemyss]

September 1895 – Kaiserliches Oberkommando der Marine, Kiel, Deutsches Kaiserreich



Vitzeadmiral Karl Diedrichs absently tapped the folder on his desk, then laid it down and set his glasses on top. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood, walking to his sideboard to pour a drink. He’d been at the office since before dawn and fourteen hours later he felt a whisky was appropriate. The English might be a pressing problem, but their northern countrymen knew how to make libations.

He saw the rain running down his office window and the dark harbor beyond that. To the left, bright lights showed steady activity around the new cruiser Breslau, fresh off her commissioning cruise in the Baltic. He took a sip of the warm liquor, wishing it were late enough in the year for ice.



The battleship Sedan would be joining the fleet in a couple months, filling out the Second Kampfgeschwader, but he knew it wasn’t enough. Across the North Sea the Royal Navy’s Channel Squadron alone could bring more hulls to the fight than the entire Kaiserliche Marine. To be sure, it was a motley assortment of ironclads and citadel ships, with the most modern ships a pair of Andromeda-class cruisers that outweighed Breslau by six thousand tons. But there were disturbing intelligence reports that the Brits were building up Scapa, and given their warm relations with both France and the US they could relocate major forces from Plymouth, their North American station, or even the Mediterranean, effectively bottling up the North Sea.



And on top of all that, his officer corps was in need of brutal cleansing. A few months ago he’d lost his best gunnery officer to industry, and he’d chosen to turn a blind eye to Kapitän Zenker’s work with Zeiss. It could potentially have benefits in the long run, but with the Navy’s payroll reflecting the same reality as the shipbuilding budget Diedrichs wondered how many of his officers had similar side arrangements.



This summer Konteradmiral Wilhelm Schuerlen had made an offhand remark at a party and it had made its way to the Kaiser. Within a couple days Diedrichs had received a note from the Kaiser’s minion, von Senden-Bibran, full of veiled threats and an open demand that he match English deployments. That stipulation unfortunately ignored the fact that the entire German Navy outside of Northern Europe consisted of a half dozen colonial gunboats and exactly two protected cruisers. There was simply nothing with which to counter the English.



Thankfully, an elegant solution had presented itself for at least part of the problem. After many years turning cadets into midshipmen, Albrecht von Stoch was stepping down as Kommandant of the Marineakademie. While it did nothing to solve the balance of power, Schuerlen’s excessively verbose social life wasn’t his first misstep, and shuffling him off to head the academy would buff the admiral’s ego while removing him from Diedrich’s command.



That had opened a host of other moves within the officer corps. He’d worked with the Reichsmarineamt to create a new Inspectorate of Shipyards, nicely excising another hapless bumbler from the operational command and hopefully moving him to a more appropriate bureaucratic role.

Diedrichs returned to the desk and opened the folder, Kapitän zur See Oskar Gerlach’s service record. He’d spent the last four years commanding the coastal monitor Brandenburg, a diminutive, slow relic of a smaller navy. He’d had little opportunity to distinguish himself during that time, but he’d been a promising middle-grade officer and had managed to avoid stepping on his own toes while in command. And that, in the climate of a growing Navy, was enough to recommend him for a newer ship. Diedrichs picked up his pen and countersigned Konteradmiral Karpf’s endorsement, ordering Gerlach to AG Vulcan to take command of the Sedan.



Diedrichs swirled the remains of the amber whisky and considered one final action for the night. The shipwrights at Kiel had developed something with potential a few months ago, and he had their latest report in yet another folder. They’d made several attempts so far to develop a small ship that could both carry a torpedo or two and enough light guns to fight off an opponent’s similar boats. He drained the last of his glass and decided it would wait for another day.

[cwemyss]

Sorry folks... bit of a delay. We had a contractor cut my internet line, it's been slow going. Hopefully back to a bit quicker pace soon.

[cwemyss]

The state of the fleet as of September 1895:

[cwemyss]

24 April 1896 – Kaiser Wilhelm Kanal, outside Kiel, Deutsches Kaiserreich



Kapitänleutnant Felix Hintze watched the banks of the canal drift by and the high Levensauer rail bridge slide astern as Dresden passed east at a very leisurely six knots. He was nearing the end of an uneventful rotation as watch officer and passing the time by sightseeing. He’d never been through the canal, and in fact had never seen this part of Germany beyond Kiel’s naval base, having grown up among the steep valleys of the Black Forest.

The cruiser, so new the smell of linseed oil overwhelmed the aroma of the dairy farms on the north bank, was out of the Baltic for the first time as well. She was slated to join the cruiser Niobe at Wilhelmshaven to shore up the under strength First Scouting Squadron, taking the place of two Gefion-class ships deployed overseas.

Hintze turned as Fregattenkapitän Rudolf entered the bridge from his cabin. Hintze saluted, saying “Nothing to report, sir. We’re held up by an ore steamer ahead of us, the engines are ticking over nicely, and boilers are normal. While we have time, Ludenhoff has torn down the entire starboard eighty-eight battery. He thinks he has a better way to arrange shell storage that will improve access to the starboard fifteen-centimeter magazine.”



Rudolf raised an eyebrow but said, “Very good. If it appears promising, we’ll change the portside to match. In any case we’ll need it fully back up by the time we join Niobe. It looks like the passage is going to be slow enough that we’ll be immediately putting to sea for exercises.”

“Yes, sir. Will this be strictly formation cruising, or will there be some gunnery too?”

“Both, ideally,” answered Rudolf. “I’m not sure what Brauecker intends, but unless he says otherwise we’ll take the opportunity to exercise all batteries.”

Rudolf looked around the bridge, satisfied, then walked out to the starboard bridge wing, gesturing for Hintze to follow. He turned to the junior officer, saying “You’re from Stuttgart, if I recall correctly?”

“Near enough, sir. Pforzheim,” Hintze responded.

“Even closer to the border,” Rudolf answered. “Do you have family caught up in the mobilization?”

“Yes, sir. My younger brother is a Gefreiter with the Thirtysixth Füsiliers, and I have a cousin who was called up to serve aboard the Hela when she reactivated.”

“I wish them well, Leutnant. I fear we’re all going to be in the thick of things before too long. The French supposedly have a fifty thousand troops in Verdun and Nancy, and another couple divisions at Besançon.”

“I’ve read some news, sir,” answered Hintze, “but couldn’t it just as likely be Italy? I read that they’re accusing us of supporting rebels in Africa.”

Rudolf waved a hand dismissively, saying “It’ll be France. Italy and Austria are fighting again, the Italians are too focused on the Adriatic to start a fight with us right now. The only question is whether the English come into it with the French, in which case things become a whole lot more difficult.”

[cwemyss]

19 May 1896 – North Sea, 90 nm west of Bergen, Norway



“Ahead full,” called Fregattenkapitän Max Hellriegel and the Gefion’s deck surged, vibrating with nine thousand horsepower as she accelerated to eighteen knots. “Sound ready stations and prepare for action.”

He raised his binoculars to follow the lookout’s call, and to starboard he could see Thetis flying the signal for unknown ships in sight. He scanned the horizon to the north, seeing nothing, then continued sweeping until he came to rest on the Undine, and Hellriegel could see a smudge of smoke beyond her that had to be the Ariadne. He saw no signals hoisted aboard the division flagship, but Kapitän Davidson and his officers had drilled enough and discussed enough situations that they all knew what to do.

Or at least, the other three captains in the squadron had. Hellriegel had been in command exactly eleven days, thrust into the position when Fregattenkapitän Rumpfel had been plucked from the squadron and moved with absolute secrecy to a new posting. With the Fürst Bismarck fully worked up and in fine fighting trim, the High Command had deemed her executive officer competent to take charge of Gefion. Hellriegel missed the bigger ship but he was coming to appreciate the compact Gefion’s better handling. He’d taken her out with the Ariadne for a short reconnaissance of the Dutch and Belgian coasts, and then the night before last they’d sortied with most of the Nordseeflotte’s cruisers to patrol the North Sea.



“Contact,” shouted the lookout from his position in the crosstrees. Within a few minutes he’d called out three more ships, and the entire search line was surging north to investigate. Now Undine raised a signal and Hellriegel ordered the helmsman to fall in line with the rest of the squadron. Gefion followed as Undine turned first east to allow the heavier armored cruisers time to catch up, then north to maintain contact with the interlopers, now positively identified as a French cruiser flotilla.



Thetis drifted further east, missing the turn, and quickly fell behind the rest of the squadron. Hellriegel turned to Korvettenkapitän Stefan Küsel, his executive officer. “I’ve not operated long with Kapitän Davidson, though from what I’ve seen he’s admirably zealous. Will he wait for Thetis or charge in?”

“I’d expect we’ll continue in, sir” Küsel answered. “This squadron has never shied away from a challenge.”

“I would never expect otherwise,” Hellriegel said, inwardly sighing. He and his second in command had gotten off to a rather poor start, and while with time and effort it could be fixed, it appeared they had less than an hour of the former before they’d be in action. “What’s the status of our batteries?”

“As ever, sir,” Küsel responded stiffly, “Forty ready rounds for each ten-centimeter gun, and eighty ready rounds for each of the five-centimeter guns. As you know, the starboard aft ten has been jamming, but the gunners are confident it will serve.”

“Very good,” Hellriegel said, turning back to the ships on the northern horizon.

The squadron closed and engaged the Undine opened fire first with her 15-cm guns, followed by Ariadne and Gefion as their lighter guns could join. Hellriegel had found an incredibly well-trained crew when he came aboard and it paid off now with a blistering rate of fire, engaged on both sides of the ship as the scout force cut through the French units.

Shots struck home on both sides, one large French cruiser in particular being hammered by all three ships. Gefion shrugged off a medium caliber hit, but Hellriegel watched the Undine receive concentrated fire from all five Frenchmen. He saw a massive flare amidships and a few seconds later a stream of reddish brown smoke started pouring from the area. Then there was another white flash in Undine’s aft section, and she visibly slowed.

Moments later the rest of the German ships came up, and Undine had a reprieve as the two French armored cruisers shifted focus to their German counterparts. Kapitän Davidson, aboard Undine, signaled for Ariadne to take the division lead as the larger ship sagged to port. The fleet flag aboard Hertha signaled for the scout division to focus on a heavily damaged French cruiser while the rest of the group pursued the French to the northwest.

Undine still had a great deal of fight fight remaining and from short range added a torpedo to the stream gunfire pouring into their quarry. The French Galilee-class ship shook as a tremendous column of water rose, about a third of the way along her length. Hellriegel watched as her bow shuddered, twisted, and then tore completely away from the rest of the ship. The larger portion of the ship, charging forward at upwards of fifteen knots, dug into the swells then plowed into the separated bow. Moments later she was gone, but for a handful of sailors and scattered debris.



Most of the Gefion’s crew had never seen combat and silence descended on the bridge, the spectacle of a ship twice as large simply disappearing in a matter of minutes unsettling everyone. Hellriegel took a deep breath and called, “Helm, form on Ariadne and proceed west, we’ll be rejoining the rest of the fleet. Herr Küsel, please report on our damage.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Küsel, visibly shaking off his shock. “We’re fully operational. We took one minor hit aft that destroyed the cutter, and a larger hit amidships that was mainly absorbed by a coal bunker. No fires, engines operating, and all weapons ready, sir.”

“Excellent,” answered Hellriegel, noting a subtle change in his executive officer’s demeanor. Close action apparently had a marvelous way of bring a crew together, he mused.

As midmorning turned to early afternoon the weather worsened, with rain squalls rolling through and the breeze freshening. Undine was detached for home after fishing a number of French sailors out of the cold, choppy sea, while the fleet continued pursuing the surviving French ships. After several hours of inconclusive action, with all ships damaged to some degree and ammunition running low, Konteradmiral Martin Berger signaled the fleet to retire.

[cwemyss]

16 July 1896 – Southern North Sea, 50 nm north of Vlieland, Netherlands



SMS Weissenburg churned southwest through the smooth, grey-green sea, trailed by her two sisters and two Hertha-class armored cruisers. On the formation’s flanks, a number of lighter cruisers formed a search line, and well ahead Vitzeadmiral Helmuth Sträter could see two more of the speedy Herthas.



The German fleet had been largely bottled up in port since May, the French keeping an insurmountable battle squadron on patrol in Heligoland Bight. They were always in sight of the coastal batteries at Cuxhaven, Wangerooge, or on Heligoland itself, but just out of reach. The French had so far not even bothered risking a bombardment mission, preferring to simply shut off all shipping to the German North Sea ports. They had other forces covering the Baltic approaches, and while those weren’t quite as watertight, the impact to the German economy had been crippling.

Fortune smiled on the Kaiserreich though, and three days of powerful storms from the north had pushed the French squadron off their southern station, damaging a few ships and forcing them to run three hundred miles to seek shelter in Dunkerque. Sträter hadn’t wasted the opportunity and as soon as the weather allowed he’d put to sea with a reasonable squadron of his own, intending to catch the French unaware as they returned.

Sträter calmly surveyed the ships under his command, still wondering if he shouldn’t have brought the division of Wörth-class battleships too. This whole operation was a calculated risk, given the French fleet’s advantage in numbers, and if it didn’t pay off he knew his successor would need those ships as the core of his remaining fleet.

Victoria Louise signaled first, followed shortly by Thetis, both sighting smoke on the horizon. Sträter ordered the leading cruiser division north and turned the main body west to close on the unidentified ship. Victoria Louise had the better aspect and she signaled that she thought it was a French cruiser. The French ship, if that’s what it was, bored straight on apparently unconcerned that the Germans might put up real resistance. A few minutes later Victoria Louise reported several additional ships trailing the first, these carrying the distinctive massive tops worn by all the French battleships.



Sträter watched, somewhat amazed, as the lead cruiser simply steamed into gun range. “Signal all ships, commence fire as you are able,” he called.

The Frenchman, now identified as a Jeanne d’Arc-class armored cruiser, opened fire at the same time as the German ships, but her support was too far behind. The entire French formation attempted to turn southwest but their lead cruiser was caught between two pincers and battered for twenty minutes. Accuracy was execrable, with no one able to identify their own shell splashes and adjust, but Sträter made no attempt to reign in the enthusiastic gun crews. And what they lacked in precision they more than made up for in volume. This was most of the fleet’s first combat action, and he would trade some gunpowder and wasted shots for the experience.





“All Back Full,” shouted Fregattenkapitän Otto Rudolf, “Hard to port, and all hands brace for impact!”

The grinding crash he expected never came, the Dresden saved from a collision only by the French cruiser’s own wild maneuvering and rapidly deceleration as she lost engine power. “Ahead flank, and maintain port rudder,” he called. “And for God’s sake hold fire, the rest of the fleet’s just on the other side of her.” The fleet was a mess, with ships moving in every possible direction and almost no coordination.



The Dresden slowly came back up to speed and swung in a smooth curve, extending the range from the now burning armored cruiser. Rudolf looked to the flagship, determined not to miss another signal, and saw the order to fall in trail with the Victoria Louise and Fürst Bismarck to pursue the quartet of French battleships fleeing to the south.



Sträter checked his pocket watch, glanced at the last of the day’s sun trying to break through the thin clouds to the west, and looked again at the pyre that had been a French warship. “Signal all three Scout divisions to fall in on Second Cruiser and all proceed at maximum speed to pursue the battleships. We’ll keep First Cruiser with the battleships and bring up the rear.” He wasn’t sure they’d be able to catch the big French ships before darkness fell, but this was exactly why he’d sortied the fleet.



Luck was with them again, and the French slower than he’d anticipated. Within an hour the cruisers had caught up the lumbering battleships and began a steady medium caliber fire, pouring it on as the range closed. Likely none of it had much effect against the ship’s thickly-armored citadels, but it wreaked havoc on their upper works and superstructure, all of them slowing appreciably before long.

The German battleships were able to join in as well as the sun touched the horizon, their 28-cm guns likely contributing little, firing at maximum elevation to reach over the line of cruisers. The French formation broke down, and Sträter decided it was time to turn loose his fleet. “Signal general attack by divisions, and turn this victory into a rout.”





Rudolf looked to starboard, seeing two big French battleships still distinct against the rapidly darkening sky. One was burning and riding so low in the water its deck was nearly awash, the other far healthier and fighting back hard. Glowing shells arced over the Dresden, off target and impacting beyond her wake.

“Shift fire to the one that’s putting up a fight,” Rudolf ordered, “and ready the torpedoes.”

Somehow Dresden had ended up the lead ship for the entire German formation, the rest of the ships a loose gaggle behind them. The fleet had left a Martel-class ship burning furiously, and the flag had detailed Second Scout Division to finish her off. Another French battleship was taking a severe drubbing, while Dresden led the pursuit of the last two, slamming shell after 15-cm shell into the bigger ships.



Rudolf ordered a turn to starboard, aiming to get ahead of their targets. The maneuver succeeded in bringing him into close contact with the wounded ship and his torpedomen didn’t hesitate. Their efforts were rewarded with a dirty flash in the twilight, and the Brennus-class ship started breaking apart. Moments later another flash lit the side of the Victoria Louise, five kilometers away, and she fell out of line.

Victoria Louise sent up a flare as full darkness settled over the fleet. Firing didn’t cease by order, so much as taper off as each German captain realized no one was firing at them any longer. The fleet gathered around the wounded cruiser, and the flagship ordered a slow withdrawal to the west.

[prophetinreverse]

Heck of a victory!

[LiamR]

Brutal for the French. I remember in RTW2 getting to the 40's for the first time and discovering with radar and night torpedo operations just how scary light cruisers and destroyers can be. I've noticed before you get rangefinders and central firing you have a similar vulnerability to torpedoes in the 1890's to early 1900's when gunnery is abysmal and every ship seems to have a submerged battery, that and nobody has TPS's or bulges yet.

[EwaldvonKleist]

Brutal defeat for the French. What are your aims in this war? If nothing else, decimating the fleet of Germany's natural rival is always useful.

[cwemyss]

Survival!! At the start of the war I had 1/4 (or less) of the tonnage and capital hulls of either France or England... and my tensions with England were at 9, wille Fra-Eng tension was 0.

Objective 1: keep my job
Objective 2: keep England out of the war
Objective 3: lose no Bs or CAs

I normally try to stretch out a war for budget/shipbuilding purposes, but this time that wasn't a consideration because there was no way I'd survive an allied Eng-Fra.

[cwemyss]

September 1896 – Schichau-Werke, Danzig, Deutsches Kaiserreich



The crowd roared in unison as the Prinz Wilhelm’s hull slid down the ways and into the Weichsel River. Prinz Wilhelm would be the third of her class, joining sisters Prinz Heinrich and Kapitän Otto Rudolf’s own SMS Prinz Adalbert, which was completing her fitting-out at the naval base downstream. The fourth ship, Prinz Waldemar was significantly behind the first three, thanks to steel mill delays and a shortage of workers driven by the Army’s enormous mobilization demands.



These four would be the most modern ships in the Navy and among the best in the world and the German press had been touting them for months. Near copies of the Hertha class, from the outside, the Adalberts carried a quartet of a brand new model of 21-cm gun backed up by stout batteries of 15-cm and 88-mm guns, all pushed along by improved high-pressure water tube boilers. Given the terrible news coming the trench lines around Strasburg and Colmar, Rudolf knew the frenzy around these ships helped balance the public’s mood, and the Kaiser himself had been present for Prinz Adalbert’s launch. The publicity did have the unfortunate effect of eliminating any possibility of surprising the French in battle, though.

In any case Rudolf couldn’t bring himself to join in the crowd’s celebratory mood. He was still stung by the news he’d received yesterday, that his first command had gone down with nearly all hands in the North Sea. Dresden, in company with Breslau, had sortied from Wilhelmshaven just before midnight intending to slip through the ever-present French squadron to pursue shipping in the North Atlantic.

The story had come in pieces and fragments from sailors picked up by Danish fisherman, the lucky ones who weren’t in French prisons or entombed in their ships. The twin cruisers had made it all of six hours before the predicted foul weather had unfortunately cleared, and as dawn broke a line of French cruisers was on their northern horizon. Fregattenkapitän Hoffman, leading from aboard Breslau, had been wounded in the opening salvoes, as had Breslau's power plant. Rudolf’s replacement, Fregattenkapitän Klaus Zenker, had barely had time to realize he was now the senior officer before the Dresden’s bridge was shattered as well.

The crews of both ships, well-trained and led capably by the remaining officers, had done their best but they were simply overwhelmed. In three hours it was over, and Rudolf’s Dresden was gone along with her sister. All the survivors who’d made it home so far had been from the Breslau, and as they told it Dresden was lost very quickly so there wasn’t a lot of hope for his former crew.

[mikemike]

Just stumbled across this AAR. You have the German terminology of the time basically right. However, I have some corrections to make:
The term for Battle Squadron was simply Geschwader.
No cruiser squadrons, but Aufklärungsgruppen (Scouting Groups, abbreviated AG). At Jutland, the Battle Cruisers were First AG, for instance.
The term for armoured cruisers and the like was Grosse Kreuzer (literally Big Cruisers), everything else were Kleine Kreuzer (Small Cruisers), until 1918. Initially, Kleine Kreuzer had only an armour deck (=protected cruises), while Grosse Kreuzer had an armour belt. From about 1900, Kleine Kreuzer, too, acquired an armour belt, but until 1914 had a main armament of 4-in guns.
Reserveflotte is correct, but the term for "mothballed" would be "aufgelegt", a direct translation of "laid up in common", as the British term used to be.
Groups of ships on foreign stations would be called "Geschwader", with a geographic qualification, like "Fernostgechwader", what you called "Asiengeschwader".
Single ships in foreign waters would usually be called "Stationäre" - ships on station. This correspondends to British terminology, like Jamaica Station or India Station. A gunboat stationed in Daressalam would therefore be called "Der Stationär in Deutsch-Ostafrika"

[cwemyss]

17 November 1896 – Southern North Sea, 45 nm north of Texel, Netherlands



Vitzeadmiral Helmuth Sträter quietly seethed, the stiffness of his pose and the tight clench of his jaw the only outward betrayal of his irritation. This time he’d brought the full fleet, all seven of Kaiserliche Marine’s big battleships as well as three Grosse Kreuzer. Hertha was leading a scouting section, and Sträter could see them on the far horizon, neatly followed by a quartet of Kleine Kreuzer. The core of his fleet was the problem, and from his chosen place on the bridge of Weissenburg he had a prime seat to watch them try, yet again, to untangle themselves.

While the French blockade had broken for a few months after the Battle of Vlieland, they had regathered themselves and clamped down again. The press had been agitating for action, the Kaiser had dropped some not-so-subtle hints at the Kaiserliches Oberkommando der Marine, and Sträter had sortied at sunset looking for a fight.

The dismal grey dawn had found his ships a disorganized gaggle, and three hours later things hadn’t improved greatly. With almost every change of course Konteradmiral Wild led his two armored cruisers into a collision course with the 1st Geschwader, and Sträter had already spent far too much time ordering them back into formation.



Thetis was first to signal, spotting first one ship, then three, then a full column to the south. This was clearly a large French fleet. Sträter chose to simplify things, ordering the heavy divisions to fall into a line as he directed the flag division southeast. He signaled Hertha to come back east and maintain contact while bring the scouts in with the rest of the fleet.

The French fleet, initially in eager pursuit of the Hertha and her smaller consorts, showed caution upon spotting Sträter’s battle line. They too turned south of east and took up a course parallel to Sträter’s but well ahead. He contemplated for a few minutes as the two fleets charged toward the Dutch coast, forty nautical miles distant.



He thought about the weather, the coastline and sandy shallows lurking just beyond the horizon, and the French fleet. And most of all he debated whether his errant flotilla commanders could pull off what he had in mind.



Fregattenkapitän Oscar Trummler smiled when he saw the signal flags aboard Weissenberg falter then drop, replaced with a new set and emphasized with a signal gun. The old man was going to try it, he thought.

From his position in the fighting top of Wittelsbach, next in line, he had an outstanding view as Weissenberg, leading the 1st Geschwader, and Wörth, leading the 2nd, simultaneously turned through a semi-circle and reversed course, and he felt Wittelsbach heel as she followed suit. Within ten minutes the entire formation had reversed course.

The French didn’t react in unison, with much of their force continuing to the southeast for several more minutes. One division of lumbering Charles Martel-class battleships did respond immediately, and aggressively, turning north to match the Germans. By the time the rest of their fleet came about Sträter had hoisted a new set of signal flags and the German line turned west, neatly cutting in front of their force.

Wittelsbach’s guns trained to port and opened fire. Trummler watched the fall of shot then bent to a voice tube and called to his battery commanders. “Mains up five hundred yards. Seventeens down two hundred.”

As the Wittelsbach’s next salvo thundered downrange, Trummler saw a small ship break away from the line and race in toward the French, nimbly dodging waterspouts and taking advantage of the larger ships’ focus on one another. She made it into knife-fighting range before the French really awoke to the danger, the water around her suddenly turning frothy from a fusillade of small and medium-caliber shells.

The destroyer Rügen staggered, then stopped completely, smoking and listing. Trummler shook his head, marveling at the bravery and wondering at the foolhardy charge, when a flash and a tower of water rose above the leading Martel-class battleship. She fell out of line, gravely wounded.





Moments later Trummler watched a towering, dirty-yellow flame rise from the next Martel with a thunderous roar, the flame quickly replaced by a roiling cloud of black smoke climbing thousands of feet to merge with the clouds.

Trummler happened to shift his gaze at the right moment, and this time he saw it happen, quicker than a thought. One of his ship’s own 88-mm shells struck the third Martel in line, exploding against the face of the ship’s bridge. Fragments spattered in all directions including straight down into the unarmored top of the forward gun emplacement. Another miniature sun sprang up, glaring through the grey morning, as the ready powder for the ship’s 34-cm guns violently and completely burned. The flare grew immensely as it flashed into the powder room below, and then the ship tore herself apart as the deflagration reached the adjacent shell storage. As the dazzling flame faded, what was left was a burned out, shattered hulk and another looming cloud of smoke.





Vitzeadmiral Sträter lowered his binoculars and fixed the Weissenburg’s helmsman with a cold glare, reacting to the low whistle the man had let slip as the roaring boom of another French battleship’s demise faded away.

He watched, satisfied, as his ships calmly shifted fire to the next ship in line, a Montcalm-class armored cruiser. Much of the French fleet had caught up, again turning to parallel to the Germans, but their fire was ragged and inaccurate. Their maneuver did save the battered Montcalm, however, and prevented Sträter’s fleet from concentrating fire on any single ship.

The two sides, now evenly matched in numbers if not in morale, continued battering each other for several hours until ammunition began running low and the afternoon faded into early evening. Sträter ordered his fleet to the north and the French admiral was only too happy to disengage.

[prophetinreverse]

Two ammunition detonations on the same class in a matter of minutes. Heads are going to roll in the Marine Nationale headquarters.

[cwemyss]

Both from a 3" hit. Those German 88s are getting their reputation started about 40 years early in this world.