Playing Musical Turrets
Ezekiel Schmitt of the Bethlehem Steel Corporation felt satisfied as he stepped off the boat in New York. In fact, he was returning from the Netherlands feeling more than just satisfied, he felt like a million bucks. In no small part thanks to his wheedling, he’d just secured an order worth far more than that.
The declarations of war in Europe had made one of his firm’s contracts, for four twin turrets, impossible to fulfil; even though the weapons were intended for a Greek ship, a neutral nation, just like the USA. However, the ship was being built in Germany, and the guns would have had to cross 4,000 miles of Royal-Navy-infested ocean to get there. Even on a neutral American ship, he’d been told that wasn’t ever going to happen.
His bosses had kicked up a fuss at the State Department, and had met with support from other American businesses, who’d seen their links with Germany and Austria cut off. Even foodstuffs and non-military stores were being stopped, but as one official had put it informally; ‘The Limeys control the oceans and what goes over them. You might not like it, but it’s a fact.’
Nevertheless, grievances had been placed before the British, and Bethlehem Steel had benefitted. The guns and turrets had been bought by the British, and delivery was now underway.
What made Schmitt so pleased was that he’d just completed the sale of another set of identical turrets, intended for the same ship. The Hamburg yard couldn’t complete the ship, and once the Greeks realised that, they’d cancelled the contract, whereupon the Germans sold the ship to the Dutch. Schmitt suspected there’d been a few back-room deals somewhere in there, but even as he’d boarded an American steamer in Holland, they had towed the incomplete hull to Amsterdam, where they planned to complete it themselves. His trip had been a success; they’d ordered another set of guns, turrets and ammunition, which his company confirmed they could deliver in 1916. This would be neutral to neutral, so there should be no problems.
Schmitt had no liking for the English, but he had to admit they’d done his career a power of good. Over in Europe, he’d learned the Dutch had wanted their own battlefleet for some years, but had chosen to act following the violation of their neutrality in the Indies a few months ago. He’d seen the pictures of the wreck of the Blucher, lying just a few yards off some Dutch island, and the stories in the press of how the German Admiral said that he was seeking internment when the Limeys had opened fire.
The Dutch had bought the ship and were talking about buying more; supposedly to protect their colonies, although Schmitt suspected they’d also got a pretty good deal for the purchase of the incomplete ship. Like many of his fellow Americans, their traders obviously saw the promise of war profits. He wondered if they secretly planned to sell her on to the Greeks, at a profit, or maybe even back to the Germans. Good for them, he thought.
A few months later, Schmitt was feeling the benefits of his good fortune. Promotion and the accompanying pay rise had made his family’s life easier. Nevertheless, seniority carried its burdens; he’d been charged with a new overseas mission, this time to England. He wasn’t overjoyed to be dealing with those people, but when he’d hinted that, it had been made clear to him that his recent promotion could always be reversed. He was well acquainted with the 14” turrets that had been re-sold to the British Navy, and he was needed over there to supervise their erection and checkout after they were shipped, and to act as liaison between Bethlehem Steel and the British shipyards.
Even so, it wasn’t all bad. The company was giving him a generous allowance for the trip, and a first-class ticket aboard the fast and luxurious Lusitania.