There was little that could beat a naval squadron going into action for sheer spectacle, noise and display. Captain Alexander Kolchak watched from the bridge of Bayan as two torpedo boats nosed their way into the anchorage. The shore was alive with people now, native fishermen come out of their hutches and throngs of holidaymakers who had come to the island on the pretty, white-painted excursion steamers from Hamburg or Cuxhaven. They had certainly chosen a bad day to enjoy the seaside. Landing parties from Izumrud and Apraxin were headed for the main pier, an impressive wooden construction that allowed the tourists to make landfall dry and comfortable, while the guns of the rest of the squadron pointed ouwtwards, scannning the horizon for an avenging fleet out of Wilhelmshaven. They had planned with the assumption of surprise, and it seemed to have worked. If the Germans really took the estimated 36 hours to sortie an adequate number of ships, Kolchak would have won the first round. How foolish a decision not to fortify this Heligoland! In his ridiculous Anglophilia, the German emperor had handed his enemy a dagger pointed stzraight at the jugular of Germany's seabourne commerce.
The first officer stepped back onto the bridge. Lieutenant Commander Petrov was old for his rank - a highly skilled expert in mine warfare with few connections or influential friends whom Kolchak had selected himself. “Sir,” he reported, “we are ready to go. Section A and B can move out on signal, C is loading. How do we stand on the Southern approaches?”
It would be a bad idea to mine the route they had taken and still depended on before they knew they would not be fighting a sea battle today. Then again, doing so too late would give the Germans a clear route of approach. “I'll signal the admiral.” Kolchak replied. “Have the boats ready to go.”
Flags went up on Bayan, sending the question to the flagship. Admiral Essen would probably trake the risk, Kolchak figured, after he was finished with Ensign Hoffmaer. The captain was still fuming. Stupid kids from the academy could do more damage in a minute than experienced gunners in a n hour sometimes. What did he have to go and shoot that fisherman for? Yes, he had not answered his hail and headed back to shore. But what was he supposed to do, alert the island's three policemen twenty minutes earlier than they would otherwise find out? Not to mention that the young fellow mangled his German something horrible. Kolchak was half sure he had been assigned to this job because of his supposed linguistic ability, but he certainly would not want to rely on him to communicate with any real German. Especially not one who spoke a dialect as thick and incomprehensible as the Heligoland one. Two people shouting at each other from bobbing boats in what each insisted was German – the scene would be funny if it hadn't been so bloody tragic.Of course the German press would make a big fuss about it.
Kolchak could see the landing party swarming over the jetty and up the stairs to the mainland now. Some of the spectators began running – where to? What was the point? The island was tiny, and in a matter of hours everyone on it would be herded into the village square and locked up. Admiral Essen planned to put them on the tourist steamers and send them off to neutral ports in England or the Netherlands, and Kolchak approved of the idea. You didn't need civilans underfoot for what was coming..
“Lookout reports smoke heading this way, Sir!” The voice of his adjutant brought him back to the task at hand. was this it? Would the German battleships now rush in and end their well-laid plans in a maelstrtom of fire and steel?
“How many ships?”
The question was relayed back and forth. Just like the sailor in the crow's nest to forget the most salient details.
“One, Sir. Looks like a small steamer.”
Kolchak sighed with relief. That would be the daily tourist ship. Well, they would certainly get some sights to see. The young ensign stood quietly for moment, an expectant look on his face.
“What?”, Captain Kolchak asked.
“I was wondering, Sir. What are we supposed to do when warships show up?”
“Depends if they're German, French or English, doesn't it.”, the captain tried to sound flippant. “If it's the French, we open the champagne and hand over the island. With their fleet, they can hold it indefinitely.If it's German, we sink as many as we can. This place is easy to defend and hard to approach if you know what you're doing.”
The ensign's face mirrored a blend of patriotic resolve and fear. At his age, he could not possibly have seen a gun fired in anger. “What if they are English?”
Kolchak shrugged. “Then we die for the Czar like heroes.”