Deleted member 94680
Didn’t seem to be much in the HSF’s favour OTL, did it?
Dread Nought but the Fury of the Seas
- Thread starter sts-200
- Start date
Didn’t seem to be much in the HSF’s favour OTL, did it?
they say Seyditz would not have made it if they had had to go to a British base.
Certainly does.
In the scenario, thanks to the various forms of signals intelligence the GF/BCF sailed at much the same time as the Germans, although they didn;t have the whole picture and so had to cover the possibility of a Norway-area raid or an attempted breakout (the most important reason for the GF's presence at Scapa - to prevent the Germans leaving the North Sea) .
However, that means they couldn't come south immediately.
Perhaps it also offers some potential pointers for future requirements - R&R were both put in a vulnerable position, but on the other hand the ships that engaged were the faster ones...
No it didn't. They had the safety of easy retreat, but what they really needed was an exit to the open sea.
That's about the only practical example I can immediately think of.
Ramontxo
Donor
One book I love a lot. And it made me discover Tennyson
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield
Der Grosse Graf-Entgehen
Der Grosse Graf-Entgehen
The summer of 1917 would see yet more war heroes paraded through the newspapers. There were daring infantrymen who had risked, or lost, life and limb for their country and comrades, and glamorous flying aces who had survived their deadly aerial ballets. In Britain, the exploits of those who landed on the Belgian coast provided a new source of inspirational war stories.
In Germany, it was an epic escape that caught the headlines, an event that was also followed in every paper in the world.
Ever since his flagship Blucher had been battered to a wreck on the north coast of New Guinea in 1914, Vice-Admiral Maximilian Graf von Spee had enjoyed a comfortable, if rather dull existence. Interned at the hands of the Dutch, honour demanded that he not give his parole to his captors, and so he had lived along with several of his officers in a guarded villa near Batavia. So far from home, their chances of escape were few and they seemed content, and so through 1915 and ‘16, they became less and less closely guarded.
One night, shortly before Christmas 1916, the Admiral and two of his Lieutenants took their chance. They merely had to walk out of the villa, but it was only by outrageous bluff that they were able to talk their way onto a cargo ship bound for the American Philippines. According to the ship’s Captain, they posed as South American wine merchants, seeking new markets away from war-ravaged Europe. The Captain was, however, known to be sympathetic to the German cause, and in truth, he probably carried von Spee knowingly.
By coastal tramp steamer they eventually reached Manilla, where the German consul was able to arrange passage to the United States; which was then undoubtedly their swiftest and safest way home. The voyage had been slow, but their luck was riding high, as it was not until the middle of March that the Dutch finally admitted that they had lost their most famous German internee. Word had finally reached home from other officers interned at Batavia that von Spee had escaped, and the German press soon splashed the good news across their front pages.
The story was taken up around the world. The Admiral had repeatedly outfoxed the British early in the war, perhaps now he would do so again?
Until the 8th April, the American press showed little interest, but on that day, von Spee became their enemy. America had declared war, and it seemed more than likely that he was at large somewhere in US territory. The abrupt change of circumstance almost wrecked the three German officers’ plans. The world was now looking for them together, and they were out of uniform in enemy territory. They therefore decided to split up, and on the 11th, von Spee left Honolulu alone.
Over the next month, speculation ran riot, particularly in America. Having just joined the war, rumours of spies and saboteurs operating across the nation were further fuelled by the certainty that von Spee was somewhere at large. He was spotted in locations as far and wide as Panama, Seattle and Hawaii, besides a dozen other less likely places. On the 18th, a tall German was arrested trying to board a Colombian steamer in San Francisco, although he was later found to be Swiss. Suspicious-looking men with naval beards were searched on board transcontinental trains, which resulting in endless misunderstandings and two shootings, as ordinary criminals who weren’t German Admirals in disguise were caught unawares.
In Germany, von Spee soon became a hero; a man who had fought to the end and lost his ship, but was still causing havoc with the enemy, particularly among the supposedly weak, disorganised Americans. To neutrals, his daring escape helped suggest that Germany was still a force to reckoned with, and even the Allies gave him some grudging praise. He had fought with determination and ruthlessness, but accounts from among the men he had captured during his raids in 1914 showed a man of considerable courtesy; far removed from the ‘brutal Hun’ of propaganda.
He was unquestionably still the enemy, but even the British press was prepared to offer distant praise, referring to him as ‘one of the gallant gentleman of this war’.
By this time the Admiral was in mid-Pacific, aboard the Santa Maria, an empty Portuguese-owned sailing collier bound for Valpariso. According von Spee’s later account, she was ‘the filthiest, most ill-kept ship in which I have ever sailed’. However, that made her ideal cover. Although Portugal was by now an enemy of Germany, her mixed crew of Chinese and Philippinos spoke no German, and he was able to convince her Master, ‘an ugly little Chilean with a temper to match, and a tendency to drink’, that he was Dutch. Sailing short-handed, the Master had been unwilling to take a passenger, but von Spee had acquired a genuine set of seaman’s papers off a German ship sheltering at Manilla, and so one of Germany’s leading naval officers was able to sign on as Second Mate aboard a brigantine that looked like it should have been rotting on a mudflat.
The Santa Maria was a slow ship, but that turned out to be to the Admiral’s advantage as on the 8th June, just to the East of Christmas Island, she was intercepted by one of the last and most unusual German raiders, the three-masted barque Seeadler.
She had rounded the Horn only seven weeks earlier, having sunk or captured a dozen ships in the Atlantic. She easily caught the unsuspecting Santa Maria, and after a few shouts and shoves as the captured crew were brought aboard, a sailor told Commander von Luckner that one of the prisoners spoke German and wanted to speak to him.
Von Luckner was stunned to be saluted and then addressed in a cultured German voice by a man who appeared to be a dirty, lower-class Portuguese sailor. Happily however, von Luckner had known the Admiral before the war (indeed they had first met at Cowes as guests of the Royal Yacht Squadron) but even so, it took a few moments for him to recognise the beardless von Spee.
Even before he captured the Santa Maria, von Luckner had known that his time was running out. The British were aware of the existence of a sailing raider, his ship’s hull was foul, and his auxiliary engine was wearing out.
The rescue of von Spee gave Seeadler a definite purpose. Although the Admiral gave von Luckner carte blanche to continue his raiding mission, they both agreed that returning to Germany was the wise choice.
It was not until September that the Seeadler was able to sneak back home, once again disguised as a Norwegian ship. Von Spee received a rapturous welcome back to his homeland, and the daring and success of his escape was trumpeted across the world.
However, the nation that the Admiral saw when he returned was terribly different to the one he had left almost five years earlier, and his return would be the last good news that Germany would have for a long time.
The summer of 1917 would see yet more war heroes paraded through the newspapers. There were daring infantrymen who had risked, or lost, life and limb for their country and comrades, and glamorous flying aces who had survived their deadly aerial ballets. In Britain, the exploits of those who landed on the Belgian coast provided a new source of inspirational war stories.
In Germany, it was an epic escape that caught the headlines, an event that was also followed in every paper in the world.
Ever since his flagship Blucher had been battered to a wreck on the north coast of New Guinea in 1914, Vice-Admiral Maximilian Graf von Spee had enjoyed a comfortable, if rather dull existence. Interned at the hands of the Dutch, honour demanded that he not give his parole to his captors, and so he had lived along with several of his officers in a guarded villa near Batavia. So far from home, their chances of escape were few and they seemed content, and so through 1915 and ‘16, they became less and less closely guarded.
One night, shortly before Christmas 1916, the Admiral and two of his Lieutenants took their chance. They merely had to walk out of the villa, but it was only by outrageous bluff that they were able to talk their way onto a cargo ship bound for the American Philippines. According to the ship’s Captain, they posed as South American wine merchants, seeking new markets away from war-ravaged Europe. The Captain was, however, known to be sympathetic to the German cause, and in truth, he probably carried von Spee knowingly.
By coastal tramp steamer they eventually reached Manilla, where the German consul was able to arrange passage to the United States; which was then undoubtedly their swiftest and safest way home. The voyage had been slow, but their luck was riding high, as it was not until the middle of March that the Dutch finally admitted that they had lost their most famous German internee. Word had finally reached home from other officers interned at Batavia that von Spee had escaped, and the German press soon splashed the good news across their front pages.
The story was taken up around the world. The Admiral had repeatedly outfoxed the British early in the war, perhaps now he would do so again?
Until the 8th April, the American press showed little interest, but on that day, von Spee became their enemy. America had declared war, and it seemed more than likely that he was at large somewhere in US territory. The abrupt change of circumstance almost wrecked the three German officers’ plans. The world was now looking for them together, and they were out of uniform in enemy territory. They therefore decided to split up, and on the 11th, von Spee left Honolulu alone.
Over the next month, speculation ran riot, particularly in America. Having just joined the war, rumours of spies and saboteurs operating across the nation were further fuelled by the certainty that von Spee was somewhere at large. He was spotted in locations as far and wide as Panama, Seattle and Hawaii, besides a dozen other less likely places. On the 18th, a tall German was arrested trying to board a Colombian steamer in San Francisco, although he was later found to be Swiss. Suspicious-looking men with naval beards were searched on board transcontinental trains, which resulting in endless misunderstandings and two shootings, as ordinary criminals who weren’t German Admirals in disguise were caught unawares.
In Germany, von Spee soon became a hero; a man who had fought to the end and lost his ship, but was still causing havoc with the enemy, particularly among the supposedly weak, disorganised Americans. To neutrals, his daring escape helped suggest that Germany was still a force to reckoned with, and even the Allies gave him some grudging praise. He had fought with determination and ruthlessness, but accounts from among the men he had captured during his raids in 1914 showed a man of considerable courtesy; far removed from the ‘brutal Hun’ of propaganda.
He was unquestionably still the enemy, but even the British press was prepared to offer distant praise, referring to him as ‘one of the gallant gentleman of this war’.
By this time the Admiral was in mid-Pacific, aboard the Santa Maria, an empty Portuguese-owned sailing collier bound for Valpariso. According von Spee’s later account, she was ‘the filthiest, most ill-kept ship in which I have ever sailed’. However, that made her ideal cover. Although Portugal was by now an enemy of Germany, her mixed crew of Chinese and Philippinos spoke no German, and he was able to convince her Master, ‘an ugly little Chilean with a temper to match, and a tendency to drink’, that he was Dutch. Sailing short-handed, the Master had been unwilling to take a passenger, but von Spee had acquired a genuine set of seaman’s papers off a German ship sheltering at Manilla, and so one of Germany’s leading naval officers was able to sign on as Second Mate aboard a brigantine that looked like it should have been rotting on a mudflat.
The Santa Maria was a slow ship, but that turned out to be to the Admiral’s advantage as on the 8th June, just to the East of Christmas Island, she was intercepted by one of the last and most unusual German raiders, the three-masted barque Seeadler.
She had rounded the Horn only seven weeks earlier, having sunk or captured a dozen ships in the Atlantic. She easily caught the unsuspecting Santa Maria, and after a few shouts and shoves as the captured crew were brought aboard, a sailor told Commander von Luckner that one of the prisoners spoke German and wanted to speak to him.
Von Luckner was stunned to be saluted and then addressed in a cultured German voice by a man who appeared to be a dirty, lower-class Portuguese sailor. Happily however, von Luckner had known the Admiral before the war (indeed they had first met at Cowes as guests of the Royal Yacht Squadron) but even so, it took a few moments for him to recognise the beardless von Spee.
Even before he captured the Santa Maria, von Luckner had known that his time was running out. The British were aware of the existence of a sailing raider, his ship’s hull was foul, and his auxiliary engine was wearing out.
The rescue of von Spee gave Seeadler a definite purpose. Although the Admiral gave von Luckner carte blanche to continue his raiding mission, they both agreed that returning to Germany was the wise choice.
It was not until September that the Seeadler was able to sneak back home, once again disguised as a Norwegian ship. Von Spee received a rapturous welcome back to his homeland, and the daring and success of his escape was trumpeted across the world.
However, the nation that the Admiral saw when he returned was terribly different to the one he had left almost five years earlier, and his return would be the last good news that Germany would have for a long time.
So can I - Battle of the River Plate meets The Great Escape.
The real-life story would make a good film too - from either the British or German perspectives.
He's a hero, but completely out of the political game for the moment ... although we certainly haven't heard the last of him.
Has anyone else seen the cover for the Kindle version of HMS Ulysses on Amazon.....I think someone has got their warships a bit mixed up.
Wow. I can understand getting cruiser classes mixed up, or cruisers and destroyers and battleships confused, but how the hell does someone confuse a WW2 light cruiser (modified Dido class with 8 x 5.25" guns in 4 twin turrets), with a post war SSK or SSN? Unless they had no connection with the book at all and thought it was a story about a U class submarine?
As I remember it (having read the book some fifty years ago) that picture rather gives the ending away.
That would be a pretty good bet. The publisher probably won't be very interested, it isn't a recent or fashionable book. A graphic designer will have read the blurb and thought, 'It's about ships being attacked'.
Many years ago I kept coming across second-rate naval documentaries showing the battleship Szent Istvan sinking - clearly she was a remarkable ship; sunk in both wars, and by the Italians, and British, and Germans, and Americans, and in any battle you care to name.