I am indebted to Avalanche Press, Ltd for their game by a similar name, which provided the simulation of some of the naval combats in this scenario. What follows is a story of a fictitious war in the Caribbean in the 1920s. I have spent quite some time constructing the timeline, but welcome thoughts and feedback, as I am certain it's possible I have missed something. Hope you enjoy!
-KRH
~~~~
Chapter 1 – The Incident at Midnight
June 11, 1922
Slicing through the warm, still waters of the midsummer Caribbean under the midnight sky, the near 390-foot glimmering pride of the new, modern Mexican navy, the battleship Bravo approached her target in the dark. Formerly the FS Bouvet in the Great War, the 13,000-ton craft felt a bit meager in comparison to the dreadnoughts of the great navies with her two smokestacks and slight 305mm guns, but to the world’s latest accidental naval power, she was a gem of the sea. Her captain, adorned with bright epaulettes and brand new gold-trim uniform befitting the ship’s namesake scanned the black horizon for the big prize rumored to be near. To the port side, the more amply outfitted Lopez de Santa Anna, formerly FS Condorcet steamed along with a new tricolor fluttering in the wind at her back. Though many of the latest battleships in the United States Navy outclassed her, she still sported a significant battery of guns.
No matter, anyway, the captain thought. Tonight, the element of surprise would work in Mexico’s favor. Under this beautiful, painted Caribbean sky in the middle of June, the journey back to empire would begin. As he studied the horizon, eyes fixed in the direction where his charts told him the adversary would stumble into his path, echoes of his last briefings ashore danced through the back of his head.
Arizona. Nuevo Mexico. California.
We were a great nation once, a nation that could shake the confidence of one of the greatest powers in the world.
Strike hard and send the telegrams quickly.
Attacked by Yanqui ships in Gulf!
Withdraw with all possible speed. Draw away the American fleet – bring them deep into the Caribbean and force them to chase you.
The men nervously shuffled on deck below. All of them knew the risks associated with this operation. The Americans’ gunnery far surpassed theirs, and few among the Mexican crews had seen any action in the Great War. Their hasty training from the attaches of the High Seas Fleet meant that there could be mistakes aplenty – but the fervor that animated their work was evident in the men rushing to their stations, all gazing in the distance for their first strike at history.
Shouts rang out as overeager, untested Mexican sailors gestured into the distance, leaping with joy and waving their caps, which, like so much of their equipment, came from the surpluses of someone else’s navy. The starlight bounced off of a large, glistening object standing tall above the waters in the distance – an object that appeared to be steaming directly to the Bravo and the Lopez de Santa Anna.
Contact.
Aboard the pre-dreadnought USS Minnesota, discipline was lacking. Several days into its westward trek to the Canal Zone and Pacific bases beyond, the men had barely performed their duties, lazily having conversations long into the evening. On deck, a man was belting out in song:
“My little Margie…
I’m always thinking of you….
Margie…I’ll tell the world I love you…”
“Damn it, be quiet down there!”
The Minnesota and her partners in this excursion, South Carolina and Michigan, had been warned by the Naval Department to keep an eye clear for the two new Mexican “battleships” during the southward trek to the canal. Vague cables had been intercepted suggesting a sortie was imminent, most likely in an attempt to interfere with French commercial shipping. Few took these threats seriously, apart from the muttered conversations among sailors cursing the decision of the United States to ever accept the crooked “sale” of the creaky half-dreadnoughts to their southern neighbors in the first place. The Mexican “navy” was a farce, a collection of seasick farmers who knew as much about sailing as the Phillies knew about winning ballgames. The real threat laid much farther westward – the rising sun of Japan.
“My little Margie…
I’ll tell the world I love you…Maaar-gie.”
“I will not say it again – quiet down there!”
War was as far from the men’s minds as the images of island women were close to them. Peace was the policy of the United States. Peace had kept the Americans out of the Great War. Peace had kept the conflagrations far on the other side of the Atlantic. Peace told the Japanese that they had little to fear from a nation willing to share the Pacific with them. Hell, Cox and Roosevelt had campaigned as Wilson had campaigned – they kept us out of war – and won on the simple premise that the world’s problems needn’t have been the United States’s own. This miniature fleet seemed destined to drop anchors at one paradise after another.
“Don’t forget your promise to me…
I have bought a home and ring and everything for….
MAAR-GIE!”
“That is ENOUGH, damn you. I am coming down there, and I’ll be damned if you aren’t drowned in fifteen minutes!”
The storm of loud clanging feet – a large officer – drowned out the sounds of the few men milling about abovedecks- until the cry came out:
“CONTACT OFF THE PORT BOW, SIR!”
Men nervously readied themselves, standing and squinting against the blackened night sky for even the slightest sign of a warship on the horizon. Few could see anything.
Then came a muzzle flash and a blast. Whatever flag these ships had flown, their intentions were now clear.
The wires were hot with messages aboard the Bravo, which, though her size was smaller, had the greater mission at the outset. Before battle had even been joined, blame was assigned – American ships, in a show of naked aggression, had fired upon the fledgling Mexican Navy without warning. Now the men flung themselves to their aged French armaments, turning their guns to face the three – they had been told to expect two – ships before them.
All had gone to plan in that initial phase, with the Mexicans spotting American ships long before being spotted – aggression being an advantage in an era weak in nighttime surveillance abilities – and nearly crossing the T of the American force. Lopez de Santa Anna fired first, one its first shells connecting with brilliant light against the Minnesota. Bodies and debris flung in the air, but the ship did not appear to slip beneath the surface. Now the Americans began to turn in haste, preparing to return fire. Another hit struck Minnesota - this one fired by Bravo – and the ship seemed to tremor against the surface of the water. The captain of the Bravo, inexperienced as all those he commanded, believed the Minnesota sunk and ordered the following telegram sent ashore:
USS MINNESOTA STRUCK TWICE HEAVY DAMAGE SUSTAINED SHIP CERTAINLY SUNK
It would be the last message received from the Bravo that evening.
It was to the everlasting credit of the American naval officers involved in the midnight engagement that they reacted quickly, spotting muzzle flashes and determining their source. Michigan, improbably given her size, turned the fastest and trained her fire on Bravo. The first blasts fell short of the mark, but then the ship scored a beautiful hit, smashing into the bridge and almost certainly annihilating her commanding officers. South Carolina pivoted next, and her volleys were lethal – hit after hit walloped Bravo, one finally thumping the hull so hard the ship began to sink. Her superstructure was strong, but rather than counterflood or otherwise attempt to restore her balance, the panicked Mexican sailors leapt into the warm waters of the Caribbean.
The engagement had just begun, and one of the prizes of the Mexican fleet had been reduced to a fireball.
Furious that the element of surprise had failed the Mexican force on this evening, Lopez de Santa Anna now turned to face Minnesota, at the far left of the American line of ships, and trained her 305mms on the wounded American’s hull, sensing the kill was imminent. With a fatal volley, the Minnesota was nearly obliterated in a flash of light. Yet the move had been shortsighted; a pivoted Lopez de Santa Anna now found herself nearly crossed by Michigan and South Carolina, which promptly opened fire. With war-whoops and rebel yells, the gunners of the American ships were now well out of their slumber, hastily loading rounds into chambers and sending high-powered explosives in the direction of the enemy. Many shots flopped to the left and to the right, but one strike severely damaged a battery of Lopez de Santa Anna’s, and her skittish captain, evidently not wishing for the battle to end in total disaster, popped a few errant rounds in the direction of the American battleships and steamed away, executing the next phase of the Mexican plan.
Though Michigan and South Carolina could easily match the speed of Lopez de Santa Anna, their captains had been shaken by the loss of Minnesota, the remainder of which was a twisted, burning hulk and screaming not-yet-corpses bobbing about in the Caribbean. The ships turned, attempting to rescue the few Navy men who had survived the carnage, and to send their account – the true account – of what had happened that evening.
BATTLESHIPS ATTACKED MINNESOTA SUNK MANY FEARED DEAD BELIEVED TO BE MEX CRAFT WARNED ABOUT ONE MEX SHIP STRUCK AND SUNK
A war had certainly begun, but the rage felt by millions who awoke to the news of the Minnesota’s demise the next morning was matched by puzzlement:
Why had puny Mexico, with her “navy” of improvised old French ships and miniature gunboats decided to assault the mighty United States Navy without warning?
Just who did the Mexicans think would come to protect them?
-KRH
~~~~
Chapter 1 – The Incident at Midnight
June 11, 1922
Slicing through the warm, still waters of the midsummer Caribbean under the midnight sky, the near 390-foot glimmering pride of the new, modern Mexican navy, the battleship Bravo approached her target in the dark. Formerly the FS Bouvet in the Great War, the 13,000-ton craft felt a bit meager in comparison to the dreadnoughts of the great navies with her two smokestacks and slight 305mm guns, but to the world’s latest accidental naval power, she was a gem of the sea. Her captain, adorned with bright epaulettes and brand new gold-trim uniform befitting the ship’s namesake scanned the black horizon for the big prize rumored to be near. To the port side, the more amply outfitted Lopez de Santa Anna, formerly FS Condorcet steamed along with a new tricolor fluttering in the wind at her back. Though many of the latest battleships in the United States Navy outclassed her, she still sported a significant battery of guns.
No matter, anyway, the captain thought. Tonight, the element of surprise would work in Mexico’s favor. Under this beautiful, painted Caribbean sky in the middle of June, the journey back to empire would begin. As he studied the horizon, eyes fixed in the direction where his charts told him the adversary would stumble into his path, echoes of his last briefings ashore danced through the back of his head.
Arizona. Nuevo Mexico. California.
We were a great nation once, a nation that could shake the confidence of one of the greatest powers in the world.
Strike hard and send the telegrams quickly.
Attacked by Yanqui ships in Gulf!
Withdraw with all possible speed. Draw away the American fleet – bring them deep into the Caribbean and force them to chase you.
The men nervously shuffled on deck below. All of them knew the risks associated with this operation. The Americans’ gunnery far surpassed theirs, and few among the Mexican crews had seen any action in the Great War. Their hasty training from the attaches of the High Seas Fleet meant that there could be mistakes aplenty – but the fervor that animated their work was evident in the men rushing to their stations, all gazing in the distance for their first strike at history.
Shouts rang out as overeager, untested Mexican sailors gestured into the distance, leaping with joy and waving their caps, which, like so much of their equipment, came from the surpluses of someone else’s navy. The starlight bounced off of a large, glistening object standing tall above the waters in the distance – an object that appeared to be steaming directly to the Bravo and the Lopez de Santa Anna.
Contact.
Aboard the pre-dreadnought USS Minnesota, discipline was lacking. Several days into its westward trek to the Canal Zone and Pacific bases beyond, the men had barely performed their duties, lazily having conversations long into the evening. On deck, a man was belting out in song:
“My little Margie…
I’m always thinking of you….
Margie…I’ll tell the world I love you…”
“Damn it, be quiet down there!”
The Minnesota and her partners in this excursion, South Carolina and Michigan, had been warned by the Naval Department to keep an eye clear for the two new Mexican “battleships” during the southward trek to the canal. Vague cables had been intercepted suggesting a sortie was imminent, most likely in an attempt to interfere with French commercial shipping. Few took these threats seriously, apart from the muttered conversations among sailors cursing the decision of the United States to ever accept the crooked “sale” of the creaky half-dreadnoughts to their southern neighbors in the first place. The Mexican “navy” was a farce, a collection of seasick farmers who knew as much about sailing as the Phillies knew about winning ballgames. The real threat laid much farther westward – the rising sun of Japan.
“My little Margie…
I’ll tell the world I love you…Maaar-gie.”
“I will not say it again – quiet down there!”
War was as far from the men’s minds as the images of island women were close to them. Peace was the policy of the United States. Peace had kept the Americans out of the Great War. Peace had kept the conflagrations far on the other side of the Atlantic. Peace told the Japanese that they had little to fear from a nation willing to share the Pacific with them. Hell, Cox and Roosevelt had campaigned as Wilson had campaigned – they kept us out of war – and won on the simple premise that the world’s problems needn’t have been the United States’s own. This miniature fleet seemed destined to drop anchors at one paradise after another.
“Don’t forget your promise to me…
I have bought a home and ring and everything for….
MAAR-GIE!”
“That is ENOUGH, damn you. I am coming down there, and I’ll be damned if you aren’t drowned in fifteen minutes!”
The storm of loud clanging feet – a large officer – drowned out the sounds of the few men milling about abovedecks- until the cry came out:
“CONTACT OFF THE PORT BOW, SIR!”
Men nervously readied themselves, standing and squinting against the blackened night sky for even the slightest sign of a warship on the horizon. Few could see anything.
Then came a muzzle flash and a blast. Whatever flag these ships had flown, their intentions were now clear.
The wires were hot with messages aboard the Bravo, which, though her size was smaller, had the greater mission at the outset. Before battle had even been joined, blame was assigned – American ships, in a show of naked aggression, had fired upon the fledgling Mexican Navy without warning. Now the men flung themselves to their aged French armaments, turning their guns to face the three – they had been told to expect two – ships before them.
All had gone to plan in that initial phase, with the Mexicans spotting American ships long before being spotted – aggression being an advantage in an era weak in nighttime surveillance abilities – and nearly crossing the T of the American force. Lopez de Santa Anna fired first, one its first shells connecting with brilliant light against the Minnesota. Bodies and debris flung in the air, but the ship did not appear to slip beneath the surface. Now the Americans began to turn in haste, preparing to return fire. Another hit struck Minnesota - this one fired by Bravo – and the ship seemed to tremor against the surface of the water. The captain of the Bravo, inexperienced as all those he commanded, believed the Minnesota sunk and ordered the following telegram sent ashore:
USS MINNESOTA STRUCK TWICE HEAVY DAMAGE SUSTAINED SHIP CERTAINLY SUNK
It would be the last message received from the Bravo that evening.
It was to the everlasting credit of the American naval officers involved in the midnight engagement that they reacted quickly, spotting muzzle flashes and determining their source. Michigan, improbably given her size, turned the fastest and trained her fire on Bravo. The first blasts fell short of the mark, but then the ship scored a beautiful hit, smashing into the bridge and almost certainly annihilating her commanding officers. South Carolina pivoted next, and her volleys were lethal – hit after hit walloped Bravo, one finally thumping the hull so hard the ship began to sink. Her superstructure was strong, but rather than counterflood or otherwise attempt to restore her balance, the panicked Mexican sailors leapt into the warm waters of the Caribbean.
The engagement had just begun, and one of the prizes of the Mexican fleet had been reduced to a fireball.
Furious that the element of surprise had failed the Mexican force on this evening, Lopez de Santa Anna now turned to face Minnesota, at the far left of the American line of ships, and trained her 305mms on the wounded American’s hull, sensing the kill was imminent. With a fatal volley, the Minnesota was nearly obliterated in a flash of light. Yet the move had been shortsighted; a pivoted Lopez de Santa Anna now found herself nearly crossed by Michigan and South Carolina, which promptly opened fire. With war-whoops and rebel yells, the gunners of the American ships were now well out of their slumber, hastily loading rounds into chambers and sending high-powered explosives in the direction of the enemy. Many shots flopped to the left and to the right, but one strike severely damaged a battery of Lopez de Santa Anna’s, and her skittish captain, evidently not wishing for the battle to end in total disaster, popped a few errant rounds in the direction of the American battleships and steamed away, executing the next phase of the Mexican plan.
Though Michigan and South Carolina could easily match the speed of Lopez de Santa Anna, their captains had been shaken by the loss of Minnesota, the remainder of which was a twisted, burning hulk and screaming not-yet-corpses bobbing about in the Caribbean. The ships turned, attempting to rescue the few Navy men who had survived the carnage, and to send their account – the true account – of what had happened that evening.
BATTLESHIPS ATTACKED MINNESOTA SUNK MANY FEARED DEAD BELIEVED TO BE MEX CRAFT WARNED ABOUT ONE MEX SHIP STRUCK AND SUNK
A war had certainly begun, but the rage felt by millions who awoke to the news of the Minnesota’s demise the next morning was matched by puzzlement:
Why had puny Mexico, with her “navy” of improvised old French ships and miniature gunboats decided to assault the mighty United States Navy without warning?
Just who did the Mexicans think would come to protect them?