The situation is indeed rather sticky. Haun is following the treaty to the letter and while his assumptions maybe somewhat debatable, they are atleast founded in the treaty itself. I would imagine this exact topic would be a hot button issue in universe for sometime to come, potentially even making it to the aptly named Leipzig War Crime Trials in 1921. The public might have bigger problems on their mind in the immediate future though.....
Remember the Rainbow Redux: An Alternate Royal Canadian Navy
The situation is indeed rather sticky. Haun is following the treaty to the letter and while his assumptions maybe somewhat debatable, they are atleast founded in the treaty itself. I would imagine this exact topic would be a hot button issue in universe for sometime to come, potentially even making it to the aptly named Leipzig War Crime Trials in 1921. The public might have bigger problems on their mind in the immediate future though.....
The post makes it entirely clear that Haun and Leipzig are within the legal bounds for treating the Saint Prince George as invalid for treatment as a hospital ship while maintaining its crew as hospital staff (best of both worlds for them, really). After the war I can easily see "Leipzig did nothing wrong" memes populating the historical message boards, but with the war scare and West-Coast "everything that fails to conform to my preconceptions and biases is an existential threat to civilization" mentality that was so prevalent at the time (okay, a little hyperbolic, but only a little) the press is going to have a field day screaming for... something.
That's kind of the trouble, other than a pair of subs of dubious utility and a couple of Dept. of Fisheries boats there's not much anyone can do against Leipzig beyond personal firearms and firmly worded letters to the local Member of Parliament.
That's kind of the trouble, other than a pair of subs of dubious utility and a couple of Dept. of Fisheries boats there's not much anyone can do against Leipzig beyond personal firearms and firmly worded letters to the local Member of Parliament.
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Perhaps but he is also creating a stick to beat Germany with. He is setting the precedent that every single tiny detail on all international agreements must be rigidly adhered to in minute precision with no possible deviation or interpretation for circumstances allowed. Given OTL events in Belgium it makes it all that much easier to demonize Germany early.
I think an equal argument could be made that Saint Prince George failed to conform to treaty regulations and so is invalidated from protections thereunder.
Yes, I'm playing Devil's Advocate, this is a situation that has no 'correct' answer and will be subject of in-universe debate until the present day. I commend RG7's post for making Haun's reasoning so clear for us readers.
Yes, I'm playing Devil's Advocate, this is a situation that has no 'correct' answer and will be subject of in-universe debate until the present day. I commend RG7's post for making Haun's reasoning so clear for us readers.
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I agree that the ship did not conform to the precise treaty regulations thus making what happened "legal" but that pushes it into the realm of "spirit of the law" vs. "letter of the law". This is the realm where lawyers make fortunes and propagandists lick their lips.
File Off The Serial Numbers
August 13, 1914. Aboard the former HMCHS Prince George, off Cape Mendocino.
Fregattenkapitän Haun stood on the fantail of his captured vessel as the rising sun cast the surrounding waters in a resplendent yellow hue, a cup of freshly prepared tea in his hands. He watched intently as a stream of boats ferried various items between the prize and Leipzig off her starboard side. The sleep he had received the previous night was fleeting at best, the initial feelings of accomplishment at the recent seizure had slowly turned into a niggling doubt in the back of his mind. The ship had been in direct violations of its protections however, the potential optics of the situation had some regrettable consequences. Perhaps they were moving at best possible speed to assist their compatriots or equally so, the guise of a hospital ship could have been donned for more nefarious purposes. Haun had enough legal footing to protect himself and even so, the politicians could judge him personally after the fact, he had a job to do. As he sipped the splendid tea, he chuckled to himself. Perhaps these Canadians were not much different than the British after all. Looking through his binoculars one handed, he spied the ongoing commotion on the decks of Leipzig. 4 of her 3.7cm Pom Pom’s were being dismounted and prepared for their eventual relocation to the Prince George, 1 on the bow and stern respectively while the other 2 would be placed high up beside the funnels. A more fearsome armament would have put his mind at ease but, they had to make do with what was available. Leipzig had no intermediate guns aboard and transferring something as large as a 10.5cm gun at sea would be incredibly difficult, there was no suitable enclaves nearby on this very hostile coastline.
3.7cm Pom Pom aboard SMS Leipzig.
Haun finished the rest of his cup with a gulp and began to walk back towards the bow of the ship. As he went, he gingerly stepped along the catwalks, the smell of fresh paint abundant in the air. The crew had already begun the arduous process of repainting the ship but luckily for him, the undoing of the Canadians had been his fortune. He would not be caught sailing a half-painted hospital ship as a raider and as fate would have it, the ships former owners kept a substantial store of paint aboard. An unkept liner was an unsuccessful liner. The cross and circle on the middle funnel had already been covered while the crew was attempting to paint as much as they could in regard to the hull while at sea. All they would have to do is match the opposite side close enough in her original livery to avoid suspicion. He spied Mr. Baumann, their civilian pilot, excitedly pacing back and forth on one of the bridge wings. Ever since setting foot aboard this ship, the pilot had enthusiastically talked the ear off anybody within range about the vessel. Apparently, Prince George was a relatively well-known vessel on this coast, spritely at just below 20 knots and only 4 years old. Weighing in at 3,380 GRT, the 307ft long vessel was capable of carrying over 250 passengers normally, with as many as 1,500 passengers for short excursion cruises. Interestingly enough, she was also able to carry 350 tons of cargo in her holds, something that would come in handy as an auxiliary. As the civilian had showcased the previous night, she ran completely on oil instead of the traditional coal Leipzig utilized. Baumann spun a tale about how his former employers had very frequently met this very ship on their cargo runs, only to be beaten to the local docks every time and forced to wait for their turn. From what he had seen and been told, this ship should work exceedingly well as an escort to Leipzig.
Making his way upwards towards the bridge, Lieutenant Hartkopf stood alongside another sailor at the helm, Baumann making idle conversation with the outwardly annoyed officer.
“Lieutenant, Mr. Baumann, may I speak to you please?”
Both of the men accompanied Haun down the bowels of the ship and into the former Captain’s cabin. It was roughly the same size as the contemporary aboard Leipzig, albeit not destroyed by shellfire. Behind the main desk was a framed photograph hanging on the wall, showcasing the former Captain and what looked to be a young boy on his lap.
“Have you prepared the crew composition required to operate this vessel Lieutenant?”
Hartkopf nodded and produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket, “20 men are required to operate the 3.7cm Pom Poms and Spandau guns, 3 men have being transferred to operate the wireless set, 24 men are needed for proper day to day operations and surprisingly, only 15 men are required to operate the machinery. I am currently waiting on a report regarding how many prize crew we can take aboard while not leaving Leipzig vulnerable. The injured are all being transferred as well, some of the lightly injured men may be able to be substituted into some duties around the ship as well.”
“The marvels of modern technology.” Haun chuckled, “I suppose it truly is fortunate we have seized such a capable vessel. Speaking of this vessel though.”
Haun turned to Hartkopf, “Lieutenant, I would like to offer you command of this vessel. You have shown the exceptional qualities all men of the Kaiser’s Navy stride towards, this will be a worthy reward for such competencies.”
In his usual manner, his Executive Officer did not show a crack of emotion across his steely façade. Haun had been in his company long enough to judge the man’s emotions through other means, primarily the small bit of excited tapping coming from his left foot.
“It would be an honor sir.” The lieutenant said sincerely. Humility was an important aspect of a naval officer and always the perfectionist, Hartkopf shined through once again.
“Now.” Haun said as he held a hand to his chin, “I believe this new command warrants a proper name. No proper German officer deserves his first command to be named after a perfidious English Monarch. Do you have any preference Lieutenant?”
Both officers exchanged suggestions for a few minutes before being interrupted by Mr. Baumann.
“What about Sea Lion? Correct me if I am wrong but your mission in these waters is to lurk off the coast and snatch merchant vessels? That sounds similar to the Sea Lion’s that also inhabit this coast, jumping from their rocks to feast upon unsuspecting prey in the ocean.”
Hartkopf nodded his approval, “SMS Seelöwe? Yes Mr. Baumann, that seems very apt.”
“It is settled then.” Haun said with an accompanying clap, “Now Mr. Baumann, please join Lieutenant Hartkopf and me for some tea.” The Captain placed his various notebooks and intelligence documents on the desk in front of him, “We have much to discuss regarding our actions on this coast.”
Fregattenkapitän Haun stood on the fantail of his captured vessel as the rising sun cast the surrounding waters in a resplendent yellow hue, a cup of freshly prepared tea in his hands. He watched intently as a stream of boats ferried various items between the prize and Leipzig off her starboard side. The sleep he had received the previous night was fleeting at best, the initial feelings of accomplishment at the recent seizure had slowly turned into a niggling doubt in the back of his mind. The ship had been in direct violations of its protections however, the potential optics of the situation had some regrettable consequences. Perhaps they were moving at best possible speed to assist their compatriots or equally so, the guise of a hospital ship could have been donned for more nefarious purposes. Haun had enough legal footing to protect himself and even so, the politicians could judge him personally after the fact, he had a job to do. As he sipped the splendid tea, he chuckled to himself. Perhaps these Canadians were not much different than the British after all. Looking through his binoculars one handed, he spied the ongoing commotion on the decks of Leipzig. 4 of her 3.7cm Pom Pom’s were being dismounted and prepared for their eventual relocation to the Prince George, 1 on the bow and stern respectively while the other 2 would be placed high up beside the funnels. A more fearsome armament would have put his mind at ease but, they had to make do with what was available. Leipzig had no intermediate guns aboard and transferring something as large as a 10.5cm gun at sea would be incredibly difficult, there was no suitable enclaves nearby on this very hostile coastline.
3.7cm Pom Pom aboard SMS Leipzig.
Making his way upwards towards the bridge, Lieutenant Hartkopf stood alongside another sailor at the helm, Baumann making idle conversation with the outwardly annoyed officer.
“Lieutenant, Mr. Baumann, may I speak to you please?”
Both of the men accompanied Haun down the bowels of the ship and into the former Captain’s cabin. It was roughly the same size as the contemporary aboard Leipzig, albeit not destroyed by shellfire. Behind the main desk was a framed photograph hanging on the wall, showcasing the former Captain and what looked to be a young boy on his lap.
“Have you prepared the crew composition required to operate this vessel Lieutenant?”
Hartkopf nodded and produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket, “20 men are required to operate the 3.7cm Pom Poms and Spandau guns, 3 men have being transferred to operate the wireless set, 24 men are needed for proper day to day operations and surprisingly, only 15 men are required to operate the machinery. I am currently waiting on a report regarding how many prize crew we can take aboard while not leaving Leipzig vulnerable. The injured are all being transferred as well, some of the lightly injured men may be able to be substituted into some duties around the ship as well.”
“The marvels of modern technology.” Haun chuckled, “I suppose it truly is fortunate we have seized such a capable vessel. Speaking of this vessel though.”
Haun turned to Hartkopf, “Lieutenant, I would like to offer you command of this vessel. You have shown the exceptional qualities all men of the Kaiser’s Navy stride towards, this will be a worthy reward for such competencies.”
In his usual manner, his Executive Officer did not show a crack of emotion across his steely façade. Haun had been in his company long enough to judge the man’s emotions through other means, primarily the small bit of excited tapping coming from his left foot.
“It would be an honor sir.” The lieutenant said sincerely. Humility was an important aspect of a naval officer and always the perfectionist, Hartkopf shined through once again.
“Now.” Haun said as he held a hand to his chin, “I believe this new command warrants a proper name. No proper German officer deserves his first command to be named after a perfidious English Monarch. Do you have any preference Lieutenant?”
Both officers exchanged suggestions for a few minutes before being interrupted by Mr. Baumann.
“What about Sea Lion? Correct me if I am wrong but your mission in these waters is to lurk off the coast and snatch merchant vessels? That sounds similar to the Sea Lion’s that also inhabit this coast, jumping from their rocks to feast upon unsuspecting prey in the ocean.”
Hartkopf nodded his approval, “SMS Seelöwe? Yes Mr. Baumann, that seems very apt.”
“It is settled then.” Haun said with an accompanying clap, “Now Mr. Baumann, please join Lieutenant Hartkopf and me for some tea.” The Captain placed his various notebooks and intelligence documents on the desk in front of him, “We have much to discuss regarding our actions on this coast.”
Ah yes, the unspeakable sea mammal, excellent choice!
Seriously though, great update! I've read the timeline from the beginning to the end for the first time and I must say this second attempt looks very good and I'll be following.
Seriously though, great update! I've read the timeline from the beginning to the end for the first time and I must say this second attempt looks very good and I'll be following.
i do hope for the germans sake that this wont serve as a bad omen for any attempted landings, although we will have to see if bad luck is retroactive. the armament of the sms sealion does seem a little light, only some machine guns and pom pom cannons, doesn't leipzig have anything else to mount aboard her?
From what I have seen, Leipzig’s armament consists of her ten 10.5cm pedestal mounted guns, ten 3.7cm Pom Poms and her underwater torpedoes. Unlike many other cruisers of her age and weight class, she carries no intermediate caliber weapons as secondaries and relies completely on these 3.7cm automatics for defense. Something like a 10.5cm gun is not practical to transfer aboard another ship at sea, especially considering the damage it would do to the structure of the non-reinforced Sea Lion. The armament is far from ideal but considering the situation, will have to suffice.
Flamingo’s On The Horizon
August 13, 1914. Steam Launch of HMCS Rainbow, unknown area of the US Coast.
“Alright men.” Commander Hose croaked through labored breaths, “All hands take a break.”
The past 3 days had been one of the most hellish experiences Hose had been privy to in his 25 years in the Navy. He had made sure to limit their top speed in order to conserve what small stocks of coal they had and luckily, the steam engine carried them through the remainder of August 11 and into the afternoon of August 12 before coming to a clattering stop. Hose was surprised at the temperamental engine holding out that long, the terse and constant nursing it received from the Leading Seamen seeming to remedy most issues. That was the easy leg of the journey though, the weather had been mercifully warm and clear initially but as they were forced to resort to oar power, the situation quickly worsened. All able men aboard took their turns at the oars, Hose no stranger among them. The lack of any food or water aboard made itself readily apparent as the men forced their way onward through cramping muscles, dry mouths, and stinging wounds. A brief respite was brought by a midnight rain squall but its accompanying wind and sideways droplets quenched thirst as much as it soaked all aboard to the bone. Hose could not help but occasionally took forward to the body of the young boy, still draped in whatever fabrics they could muster. The young lad had put in the utmost dedication and effort to his work past insurmountable odds, Hose could not bring himself to bury the boy at sea. The men worked tirelessly through the night, the coming dawn, and the morning sun, resting in shifts when they could. As he looked at them now, he felt a strange combination of dumbfounded admiration and palpable pity.
Some lay against their oars drawing labored breaths, others sat and seemingly stared off into the endless abyss of the Pacific. Hose pushed himself up onto his partially numb feet, the sickly wet feeling of his wounds having long subsided.
As he cleared his throat, the heads of his men lazily turned on their shoulders to face him. He had never been one for theatrics but with what he was about to do, these men deserved something to boost their spirit. They didn’t deserve to die of dehydration, floating in a glorified rowboat in the Pacific, not after what they had already been through. Not once had they complained, not once had they given up, Hose hated to be the one to force it upon them.
“I’ll dispense with the pleasantries as I have never been one for speeches.” The old salt said, “Those dastardly Huns delivered us a bloody nose off San Francisco, that much is clear to everybody here. With that being said and as your Commanding Officer, I want to express my utmost admiration for the courage and calm devotion to duty that every crew man aboard Rainbow had shown through these past days. You have all upheld the finest traditions of the Royal Navy and reflected greatly upon Canada as a whole, regardless of the outcome of our engagement. Every man aboard this vessel is more than deserving of the highest awards the Navy has to offer and as it is my duty, I will work my darnedest to see your fighting courage is seen by all.”
Hose produced the flare gun which he had places in his pocket, “That is why sadly, our journey must end here. Without proper supplies and with the manpower we currently have, our goals are untenable. I will not throw your lives away needlessly to fulfill some frivolous errand. Rest now, you have more than earned it. When we spot the next ship, I will signal them with this flare, and we shall hopefully be rescued. Regardless of the outcome of that rescue and as your fellow man, I want you to be aware that every sailor aboard Rainbow has earned my utmost respect.”
The crew sat silent as Hose took his seat once again and let out what he hoped to be an inaudible sigh. They had seen ships on the horizon previously but fearing capture or detection, they aired on the way of caution and attempted to steer clear. Roughly 2 hours ticked by as they waited, the mid-day sun holding its position high in the sky. Eventually, a trail of smoke was spotted on the horizon and as the unknown vessel crept closer and closer as the minutes rolled over, Hose waited with belated breaths. They only had a handful of flares aboard, missing this opportunity would force them to make their way ashore and find rescue elsewhere. Hose was not particularly sold on the concept of landing in the barren forests of the West Coast and trekking to civilization in the state they were in, he had to make this count. Through a set of binoculars, the form of the ship began to come into view. It was squat and low to the water, looking almost slanted down from the bow to the stern. Perhaps a cargo scow? Maybe some kind of fishing vessel? Either way, it would have to do. Hose aimed and fired a flare skyward, its colorful trail streaking through the air above. As the florescent light above slowly petered out, the Commander watched their potential rescuer intently from a distance. 15 minutes came and went and while the ship was still closing towards them, its course had not changed showing intent to assist. Fingers were crossed, prayers were made, and a second flare was launched. Hose’s heart jumped in his chest and he slowly saw the vessel change course and make its way towards their position.
The vessel was obviously rather slow which somewhat cut into any excitement the crew had regarding a rescue, the potential of sitting out the rest of the war in an American prison or other facility was not particularly appealing either. This ship was definitely some kind of fishing vessel, the large masts with long boom arms contrasted against the small superstructure and funnel placed aft. The most outwardly striking trait she possessed was the Stars and Stripes dancing back and forth in the wind. Hose fired off the third and final flare to all but confirm the rescue was coming, it proved in the end somewhat unnecessary. As the squat steamer came into view of the naked eye, Hose could finally see its name, Flamingo. As they were brought alongside, the inquisitive eyes of many a rugged fisherman stared intently at them through the mess of blood, scales and salt that stained their faces.
Hose gestured with his arms towards their boat, “We have injured aboard, we need assistance!”
An equally rugged older fellow with a large white beard stood looking out the wheelhouse and began barking orders to the men below, obviously coming to the conclusion that something was awry due to the small boat full of navy men bobbing up and down in the middle of nowhere. Many of the men were too exhausted or injured to climb aboard the Flamingo so cutting right to the chase, the booms were extended, and the steam launch was lifted wholesale up onto the deck amidst the masses of ground fish. The fishermen began seeing to the conditions of the sailors as what Hose surmised to be their Captain approached him. Introducing himself as Captain Freeman, the elderly man extended the oh so obvious question, what had occurred to their ship? Through the smoke of a freshly gifted cigarette, Hose recounted a short tale of the Rainbow and her tragic defeat, followed by their attempts at returning to Canada before ending up in their care. He paused for a moment as he watched the fishermen usher his crew below decks, following shortly after by the body of the boy. Freeman silently nodded his way throughout the entire retelling, pausing a moment after Hose finished before speaking himself.
“If you came all the way here from San Francisco, I reckon that to be almost 170 nautical miles! That's nothing to scoff at partially by oars, I'd extend you all a job aboard if you weren't already employed. You boys have been through quite the ordeal, we'll get you somewhere safe, no worries about that.”
Hose let out a sigh, “I would be grateful if you could drop us off at whatever port you stop in. I do not wish to cause any trouble for you either, we will be turning ourselves in to the local authorities upon our arrival.”
Captain Freeman shot him a puzzled look, “Why would your turn yourself into the authorities, you are the authorities, aren’t ya?”
The ragged Commander returned the look before the Captain continued, grinning all the while, “Oh I see, you must have thought we were Americans? No no no, we’re making landfall in our cozy home port of Vancouver.”
Hose shot an incredulous stare back at his rescuer who put up his hands in mock surrender, “Aye you caught me, throw on the shackles and bring me before the King! I’ve been the Captain of this ship for 9 long years and for those years, the Flamingo has been pulling in record catches. These men are no soldiers and they still need to be paid, the fish needs to keep rolling in regardless of peace or war. So, we hauled high the American flag and made our way down the coast, fishing their catch right from under the noses of the American authorities! The disguise also has the added benefit of keeping any prying Germans from sending me home in a rowboat. Before you judge me too harshly, those damn Americans pillage our waters just as much as we do theirs, it’s almost funny really.”
Hose couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, it was all too much. After all they had been through, they were being rescued by illegal fishermen hiding under the flag of their neighbor, fate seemed to be playing the long game with them. “I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures my friend.” Hose said, ”To think, months ago I could have been storming aboard your ship with pistol in hand to take you off to prison. Now here you are, saving my life. I think I can let this infraction slip past if there is a semi-hot meal in my future.”
"I can offer much more than that! Scotch, Bourbon? Or are you more of a Brandy man?"
The Officer smiled, "Whatever you have is fine with me. As long as the men get their share, they've more than earned it."
Before being helped below to join the rest of his men, Hose took a moment to look upwards at the American flag flying above their heads. An unlikely guardian angel it would seem, although not an unwelcome one at that.
Flamingo and her crew taking aboard a catch of Pacific Halibut.
“Alright men.” Commander Hose croaked through labored breaths, “All hands take a break.”
The past 3 days had been one of the most hellish experiences Hose had been privy to in his 25 years in the Navy. He had made sure to limit their top speed in order to conserve what small stocks of coal they had and luckily, the steam engine carried them through the remainder of August 11 and into the afternoon of August 12 before coming to a clattering stop. Hose was surprised at the temperamental engine holding out that long, the terse and constant nursing it received from the Leading Seamen seeming to remedy most issues. That was the easy leg of the journey though, the weather had been mercifully warm and clear initially but as they were forced to resort to oar power, the situation quickly worsened. All able men aboard took their turns at the oars, Hose no stranger among them. The lack of any food or water aboard made itself readily apparent as the men forced their way onward through cramping muscles, dry mouths, and stinging wounds. A brief respite was brought by a midnight rain squall but its accompanying wind and sideways droplets quenched thirst as much as it soaked all aboard to the bone. Hose could not help but occasionally took forward to the body of the young boy, still draped in whatever fabrics they could muster. The young lad had put in the utmost dedication and effort to his work past insurmountable odds, Hose could not bring himself to bury the boy at sea. The men worked tirelessly through the night, the coming dawn, and the morning sun, resting in shifts when they could. As he looked at them now, he felt a strange combination of dumbfounded admiration and palpable pity.
Some lay against their oars drawing labored breaths, others sat and seemingly stared off into the endless abyss of the Pacific. Hose pushed himself up onto his partially numb feet, the sickly wet feeling of his wounds having long subsided.
As he cleared his throat, the heads of his men lazily turned on their shoulders to face him. He had never been one for theatrics but with what he was about to do, these men deserved something to boost their spirit. They didn’t deserve to die of dehydration, floating in a glorified rowboat in the Pacific, not after what they had already been through. Not once had they complained, not once had they given up, Hose hated to be the one to force it upon them.
“I’ll dispense with the pleasantries as I have never been one for speeches.” The old salt said, “Those dastardly Huns delivered us a bloody nose off San Francisco, that much is clear to everybody here. With that being said and as your Commanding Officer, I want to express my utmost admiration for the courage and calm devotion to duty that every crew man aboard Rainbow had shown through these past days. You have all upheld the finest traditions of the Royal Navy and reflected greatly upon Canada as a whole, regardless of the outcome of our engagement. Every man aboard this vessel is more than deserving of the highest awards the Navy has to offer and as it is my duty, I will work my darnedest to see your fighting courage is seen by all.”
Hose produced the flare gun which he had places in his pocket, “That is why sadly, our journey must end here. Without proper supplies and with the manpower we currently have, our goals are untenable. I will not throw your lives away needlessly to fulfill some frivolous errand. Rest now, you have more than earned it. When we spot the next ship, I will signal them with this flare, and we shall hopefully be rescued. Regardless of the outcome of that rescue and as your fellow man, I want you to be aware that every sailor aboard Rainbow has earned my utmost respect.”
The crew sat silent as Hose took his seat once again and let out what he hoped to be an inaudible sigh. They had seen ships on the horizon previously but fearing capture or detection, they aired on the way of caution and attempted to steer clear. Roughly 2 hours ticked by as they waited, the mid-day sun holding its position high in the sky. Eventually, a trail of smoke was spotted on the horizon and as the unknown vessel crept closer and closer as the minutes rolled over, Hose waited with belated breaths. They only had a handful of flares aboard, missing this opportunity would force them to make their way ashore and find rescue elsewhere. Hose was not particularly sold on the concept of landing in the barren forests of the West Coast and trekking to civilization in the state they were in, he had to make this count. Through a set of binoculars, the form of the ship began to come into view. It was squat and low to the water, looking almost slanted down from the bow to the stern. Perhaps a cargo scow? Maybe some kind of fishing vessel? Either way, it would have to do. Hose aimed and fired a flare skyward, its colorful trail streaking through the air above. As the florescent light above slowly petered out, the Commander watched their potential rescuer intently from a distance. 15 minutes came and went and while the ship was still closing towards them, its course had not changed showing intent to assist. Fingers were crossed, prayers were made, and a second flare was launched. Hose’s heart jumped in his chest and he slowly saw the vessel change course and make its way towards their position.
The vessel was obviously rather slow which somewhat cut into any excitement the crew had regarding a rescue, the potential of sitting out the rest of the war in an American prison or other facility was not particularly appealing either. This ship was definitely some kind of fishing vessel, the large masts with long boom arms contrasted against the small superstructure and funnel placed aft. The most outwardly striking trait she possessed was the Stars and Stripes dancing back and forth in the wind. Hose fired off the third and final flare to all but confirm the rescue was coming, it proved in the end somewhat unnecessary. As the squat steamer came into view of the naked eye, Hose could finally see its name, Flamingo. As they were brought alongside, the inquisitive eyes of many a rugged fisherman stared intently at them through the mess of blood, scales and salt that stained their faces.
Hose gestured with his arms towards their boat, “We have injured aboard, we need assistance!”
An equally rugged older fellow with a large white beard stood looking out the wheelhouse and began barking orders to the men below, obviously coming to the conclusion that something was awry due to the small boat full of navy men bobbing up and down in the middle of nowhere. Many of the men were too exhausted or injured to climb aboard the Flamingo so cutting right to the chase, the booms were extended, and the steam launch was lifted wholesale up onto the deck amidst the masses of ground fish. The fishermen began seeing to the conditions of the sailors as what Hose surmised to be their Captain approached him. Introducing himself as Captain Freeman, the elderly man extended the oh so obvious question, what had occurred to their ship? Through the smoke of a freshly gifted cigarette, Hose recounted a short tale of the Rainbow and her tragic defeat, followed by their attempts at returning to Canada before ending up in their care. He paused for a moment as he watched the fishermen usher his crew below decks, following shortly after by the body of the boy. Freeman silently nodded his way throughout the entire retelling, pausing a moment after Hose finished before speaking himself.
“If you came all the way here from San Francisco, I reckon that to be almost 170 nautical miles! That's nothing to scoff at partially by oars, I'd extend you all a job aboard if you weren't already employed. You boys have been through quite the ordeal, we'll get you somewhere safe, no worries about that.”
Hose let out a sigh, “I would be grateful if you could drop us off at whatever port you stop in. I do not wish to cause any trouble for you either, we will be turning ourselves in to the local authorities upon our arrival.”
Captain Freeman shot him a puzzled look, “Why would your turn yourself into the authorities, you are the authorities, aren’t ya?”
The ragged Commander returned the look before the Captain continued, grinning all the while, “Oh I see, you must have thought we were Americans? No no no, we’re making landfall in our cozy home port of Vancouver.”
Hose shot an incredulous stare back at his rescuer who put up his hands in mock surrender, “Aye you caught me, throw on the shackles and bring me before the King! I’ve been the Captain of this ship for 9 long years and for those years, the Flamingo has been pulling in record catches. These men are no soldiers and they still need to be paid, the fish needs to keep rolling in regardless of peace or war. So, we hauled high the American flag and made our way down the coast, fishing their catch right from under the noses of the American authorities! The disguise also has the added benefit of keeping any prying Germans from sending me home in a rowboat. Before you judge me too harshly, those damn Americans pillage our waters just as much as we do theirs, it’s almost funny really.”
Hose couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, it was all too much. After all they had been through, they were being rescued by illegal fishermen hiding under the flag of their neighbor, fate seemed to be playing the long game with them. “I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures my friend.” Hose said, ”To think, months ago I could have been storming aboard your ship with pistol in hand to take you off to prison. Now here you are, saving my life. I think I can let this infraction slip past if there is a semi-hot meal in my future.”
"I can offer much more than that! Scotch, Bourbon? Or are you more of a Brandy man?"
The Officer smiled, "Whatever you have is fine with me. As long as the men get their share, they've more than earned it."
Before being helped below to join the rest of his men, Hose took a moment to look upwards at the American flag flying above their heads. An unlikely guardian angel it would seem, although not an unwelcome one at that.
Flamingo and her crew taking aboard a catch of Pacific Halibut.
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i am not completely sure where the sailors were picked up at but if they are aboard a fishing boat, it would take a long time to return to vancouver? althouh to be fair too hoses intelligence might not be too helpful if the germans are roaming.
interesting chapter, i like how you are rolling in local resources into the chapter.
interesting chapter, i like how you are rolling in local resources into the chapter.
Thank you! Yes you are correct in that assumption, the Flamingo is still a fair distance away from making her way safely home. Although she has more than Germans to worry about, I’m quite sure American authorities wouldn’t be too pleased with that overall situation
Indeed, it has been argued by historians that perhaps such a naming scheme was not the brightest idea given the amount of tropical birds that could be found within Canada, although that didn’t stop the RCN from trying their best with the naming scheme
. Depending on how bird crazy the RCN gets, perhaps the Flower class might bea bit different.
Opportunity of a Lifetime
Through their time moving North towards the shores of Canada, one thing had been made abundantly clear to the Germans, raiding the area for merchant traffic would not be a tenable strategy. All of the shipping that had been encountered with the exception of specially chartered HMCHS Prince George had been American flagged, leaving the raiders simply burning fuel and twiddling their thumbs in anticipation. While they were likely undetected at this time, wading around the empty sea lanes until Japan joined the war or British reinforcements arrived was an obvious waste of a valuable situation. The situation in question was a once in a life time moment, something that a career military man could only dream of, near complete superiority over an entire theater of engagement. With Rainbow being sunk days prior with minimal effect to their own vessel, the only major threat to any operations on this coast was the currently unaccounted for Royal Navy sloops HMS Algerine and HMS Shearwater. Either vessel served no immediate threat to Leipzig or Seelowe at sea as their pedestrian top speed allowed battle with them to simply be avoided, although in confined waters, their armament of 4”/40 guns could rather troublesome. Haun had become acquainted with both of the ships captains when they were part of the peacekeeping force off Mexico and while they were both seemingly reasonable men, the British had an annoying habit of quickly becoming unreasonable men in times of war. The threat of the Canadians acquiring submarines had been raised by the Consul General’s notes yet, these were another unknown and could only be counteracted by an open eye and deft planning. The only remaining factor was the coastal defenses of British Columbia which almost entirely consisted of antique emplacements left over by the formerly British caretakers of Esquimalt Naval Base. From the pre-war intelligence at their disposal, it was largely evident to the German’s that the coastal defenses overall scope was limited and able to be easily bypassed. The various batteries of 6” and 3” guns were erected in a manner to provide effective covering fire to the harbors of Esquimalt and Victoria however, their limited firing range meant that they could barely cover halfway out to the territorial boundary with the United States. If the area was traversed in the dead of night, it could be possible for a raiding force to slip by the defenses relatively unnoticed, although this would leave the Esquimalt Naval Base and Victoria Harbor completely untouched by any raiding force, unless they wished to duel the shore batteries into submission.
Information plate for one of the 6"/40 disappearing coastal defense batteries at Rodd Hill.
Even with that fact being evident though, the target rich coast of British Columbia still offered a variety of essential infrastructure to destroy. To their knowledge, Vancouver and its harbor infrastructure was completely undefended and would serve as the largest target present on the coast. With the assistance of their local pilot, a large number of secondary targets were identified within the area. The city of Nanaimo and the surrounding area featured a rather large amount of coaling ports which supplied massive amounts of fuel for shipping on the coast. Besides the various coastal infrastructure that existed around the Vancouver Island area, the only other major port in the area was identified as Prince Rupert. A nearly completed floating dry dock, shipyard and port infrastructure existed here, although it was over 500 nautical miles up the coast from the bulk of the targets around Vancouver. Any other targets would be located and destroyed on a when found basis. All of these internal areas would also be filled with a glut of civilian shipping, the order to clear the shipping lanes did not extend to these internal protected waters and as such, the vessels sheltering and sailing here would not be expecting such an attack. Mr. Baumann and their new bevy of naval charts opened up a trio of options that the Germans could utilize attack the Canadian infrastructure in the area. Due to the treacherous nature of the coast and the presence of a single pilot, breaking off Seelowe for independent coastal operations was ruled out entirely. The three options leveled by the German officers consisted of the following:
“We held in our hands an opportunity almost unheard of in modern warfare, the ability to directly attack the very heart of our enemy’s infrastructure. Such an attack would be a devastating blow to enemy morale, stuck watching helplessly as the long reaching arm of the Kaiser's Navy sweeps across her cities. Even though our true reach would be limited, the citizens would believe nowhere to be safe and that their precious Canadian or Royal Navy would be powerless to help them in those moments.”
The German officers predicted that if the Canadian did possess submarines, they would be stationed out of the naval base. If they entered the area undetected and departed through the Inside Passage, it could be possible the submarines would not have the speed or time to muster an ambush ahead of their formation. Alternatively if they attempted to flee back out of the strait, it would be fairly easy to set a trap on the Canadian side of the territorial boundary. The submarines themselves could indeed be anywhere but as with many things in war, the unexpected simply had to be dealt with as it arose. In the end, the Germans decided on a daring midnight dash through the strait with their eventual escape being up the Inside Passage. If they received debilitating damages or burned through too much of their fuel reserves, Haun could be satisfied with scuttling his ship and turning his crew over to the Canadians or Americans. As satisfied as an officer could be in such a situation. Such damage inflicted would be a worthy transaction for the loss of his vessel, although fleeing off into the Pacific to find a collier would be ideal if somewhat unlikely.
As it would turn out, even the most seemingly solid plans are sometimes thrown for a loop before they can be put into action...
Information plate for one of the 6"/40 disappearing coastal defense batteries at Rodd Hill.
- Entering the Juan de Fuca Strait at night, holding close to the US territorial boundary and heading towards Vancouver. After all infrastructure in the area is destroyed, the pair of vessels will move towards Nanaimo and her coal ports before looping around and departing back out the Strait, fleeing out into the Pacific.
- Same as described above but with the vessels moving along the ‘Inside Passage’, up the coast and towards Prince Rupert following the raids around Vancouver. After Prince Rupert and any Northerly infrastructure is properly destroyed, both vessels will leave for the Pacific.
- Both ships will move in unison out to the Pacific shipping lanes offshore, using them to transit North to Prince Rupert without being detected. From Prince Rupert, the pair will transit down the Inside Passage, attack the greater Vancouver/Nanaimo area and flee out the Juan de Fuca Strait into the Pacific.
Rough authors impression of the three plans listed above. Plan 1 is coded in Red, Plan 2 in Blue and Plan 3 in Yellow. These tracks shown are for the purposes of informing the reader and are not entirely accurate due to space restrictions.
“We held in our hands an opportunity almost unheard of in modern warfare, the ability to directly attack the very heart of our enemy’s infrastructure. Such an attack would be a devastating blow to enemy morale, stuck watching helplessly as the long reaching arm of the Kaiser's Navy sweeps across her cities. Even though our true reach would be limited, the citizens would believe nowhere to be safe and that their precious Canadian or Royal Navy would be powerless to help them in those moments.”
The German officers predicted that if the Canadian did possess submarines, they would be stationed out of the naval base. If they entered the area undetected and departed through the Inside Passage, it could be possible the submarines would not have the speed or time to muster an ambush ahead of their formation. Alternatively if they attempted to flee back out of the strait, it would be fairly easy to set a trap on the Canadian side of the territorial boundary. The submarines themselves could indeed be anywhere but as with many things in war, the unexpected simply had to be dealt with as it arose. In the end, the Germans decided on a daring midnight dash through the strait with their eventual escape being up the Inside Passage. If they received debilitating damages or burned through too much of their fuel reserves, Haun could be satisfied with scuttling his ship and turning his crew over to the Canadians or Americans. As satisfied as an officer could be in such a situation. Such damage inflicted would be a worthy transaction for the loss of his vessel, although fleeing off into the Pacific to find a collier would be ideal if somewhat unlikely.
As it would turn out, even the most seemingly solid plans are sometimes thrown for a loop before they can be put into action...
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i wonder if seelowe could attempt to pose as her previous self to be allowed past the defenses and into the navy base? a trojan horse perhaps? hopefuly the submarines can finally prove themselves here!
While I won't comment on any plot points that may or may not happen, the next chapter will dive into the operational status of the submarines. The area definitely does put the submarines into a fairly good place however, there is other underlying issues at play.
In for a Penny…
As was fitting for a branch of the navy which was formed completely out of the blue, the following days proved to be just as rocky and treacherous as any that had come before. The submarines were safely nestled within Esquimalt however, their usefulness as combatants had almost instantly came into question. Contrary to earlier reports, no torpedoes was shipped aboard the vessels, meaning the submarines were completely unarmed due to their lack of a deck gun. The questionable build quality and lack of deck reinforcement meant that fitting a deck gun was out of the question as well. Esquimalt’s various magazines and storerooms were quickly ransacked in search of 18” torpedoes but much to the dismay of everybody involved, only 14” weapons formerly belonging to Rainbow were found. Adapting the much smaller torpedoes to be fired from the submarines would be essentially impossible so drastic measures were called for, base staff sent a message to Ottawa that very day reading,
“Require all gear in connection with 18” submerged tubes firing torpedoes; including gyroscopes spare tools and torp manuals, torp artificers, torp ratings. We have nothing.”
The 18” torpedoes utilized by HMCS Niobe could theoretically be adapted to be fired by the submarines however, said stocks were 3,600 miles away in Halifax. For their part, Ottawa was quick to realize the situation and jumped into action. An express train was organized, and all necessary equipment was loaded, departing at all possible speed for Esquimalt. Ottawa also went to work sourcing any retired Royal Navy personnel or otherwise useful men to be found in Canada. In order to remedy the lack of armament and spare parts more quickly, Logan would once again return to Seattle with Paterson. His valiant attempt to purchase torpedoes was quickly foiled by the US Government when a prominent Canadian politician personally sent an un-coded, plain language telegram to Paterson, requesting him to sell Canada live torpedoes for the ships. With the tightened security and news of the shipment hopefully arriving from Halifax, Logan returned to Esquimalt. In the absence of Lieutenant Pilcher, Prime Minister McBride had appointed himself and Lieutenant Bertram Jones as the commanding officers of the navy base, moving as quickly as they could to throw together a crew.
A diagram of HMCS CC-1 with a fairly good look at her cramped interiors.
Experienced submariners were quite the uncommon sight anywhere around the world in this period and completely absent from the Royal Canadian Navy but in a stroke of luck, one of the most qualified individuals in the Empire found himself on the Canadian’s doorstep. Adrian St. Vincent Keyes had retired to Toronto in 1912 after a somewhat spotty career with the Royal Navy. The 32-year-old had left the navy at the rank of Lieutenant-Commander of his own volition as throughout his career, he had been plagued by syphilis, gonorrhea, scabies, gout, and many other related and unrelated illnesses. Discounting his questionable health, Keyes was a pioneer within the submarine community, serving in multiple vessels since 1904, commanding an A-class submarine and eventually becoming a well-respected submarine instructor. It is largely speculated that Premier McBride was aware of Adrian ‘Tubby’ (apparently an endearing name as the man was rather slim and has been described as ‘ravishingly good looking’) Keyes through a friendship with his older brother Roger Keyes, the current Commodore of the Royal Navy Submarine Service. However it was done, Keyes reported to the dockyard between August 9 and August 10 alongside Midshipman John 'Jock' Edwards. Edwards had been a clerk in Toronto following his early departure from the Royal Naval College in Dartmouth and shortly after war broke out, the patriot in him decided to enlist in the Army. Little would he know that his friend, Keyes, would draft him into the Navy and haul him off to Esquimalt. Technically a deserter, Edwards hid his rifle under his bed at home and threw his uniform off the train on their way for Esquimalt.
Upon his arrival, Keyes was reinstated as a Lieutenant within the RCN and alongside Lieutenant Jones (ironically an old student of his from the Royal Navy Sub Service), quickly went to work scavenging for crew members. It is sometimes said that Keyes and Edwards were arrested at gunpoint when they arrived at Esquimalt however, this is yet another yarn spun by enterprising sailors likely looking to entertain over dinner. Keyes rounded up roughly 50 men from Esquimalt and informed them about the submarine service, the inherent dangers present within and its volunteer only nature. Not a man moved and from those, 28 were picked out. Stokers, electricians, seamen, engineering staff and so on were rather hard to come by but through sheer luck, a pair of engineering staff that had missed HMCS Rainbow’s departure still hung around the base, ripe for the picking. Some deserters were granted the Kings pardon and reenlisted, even the retired US Navy officer who had helped guide the pair of submarines into Esquimalt was enlisted. Alongside the above-mentioned officer and Lieutenant Jones, Keyes worked tirelessly to attempt to give some semblance of training to the men aboard these boats. Keyes himself would command CC-1 while Jones would be in charge of CC-2, lending some bit of experience to the vessels full of former grocers, teachers, bankers, and farm hands. The following is a rough crew compliment list, such a list fluctuated with available personnel.
Commanding Officer
Second in Command/Navigator
Third in Command (Midshipman in training)
Coxswain
Chief Engine Room Artificer
2 Engine Room Artificer
6 Stokers
1 - 2 Torpedomen
Wireless Operator
2 - 3 Leading Hands
4 Able Seamen (1 cook)
Two personnel of note within the submarines was Barney Johnson aboard CC-2 and Midshipman William Maitland-Dougall in CC-1. Johnson was a certified Master Mariner and local pilot within the area who was lent to the navy by the British Columbia Pilot Authority, his 20 years of experience made him an invaluable navigator for any operations in the area. Dougall was a 1913 graduate with honors of the Royal Naval College of Canada, he was roped into duties at Esquimalt just pending the declaration of war, as we was returning to Halifax from a vacation. Many other men arrived specifically for the submarines in the coming days, torpedo experts, engineering specialists and even simply experienced seamen. Even with such an influx of personnel, the inexperienced men still heavily outnumbered the rest which was further complicated by the temperamental nature of the boats themselves. Both boats showed signs of stability issues when submerged, the quality of components within had to be constantly checked and replaced and the diesels themselves seemed to be prone to overheating. In one dive, the bow of one of the boats sharply dipped almost 45 degrees downwards, nearly causing the vessel to be lost, quick thinking from Keyes thankfully stopped this. As the men were pressed on relentlessly day and night, they thought about their overall situation often, not knowing if the Germans or their torpedoes would arrive first.
HMCS CC-1 at sea with a photo insert of Lieutenant Keyes in the top left.
The crew of CC-1’s afternoon Spanish lesson to assist in gauge reading was interrupted when news of a potential German attacker came into the base, CC-2 was already performing a patrol around Vancouver and Victoria on August 13 to attempt to calm the riots of the previous night and would be unavailable. Clambering into their vessel and preparing to depart, the alarm was waved away as the form of HMS Shearwater slowly entered the dockyard. The sloop had heard nothing of Rainbow, Prince George or their current situation, everything being quite the surprise to the crew of hardened British regulars. Algerine's location was also unknown, the pair of sloops had been separated somewhere on their journey and failed to join back up. Ottawa quickly ordered that all men from Shearwater be immediately loaded aboard a train bound for Halifax, presumably to fill out the crew of HMCS Niobe. Lieutenant Keyes picked through some of the experienced engineering staff aboard before they departed, keeping what he needed for his own vessels. As the men trained on around them, the engineers of Esquimalt Navy Base were hard at work preparing the adaptors for the 18” torpedoes that would hopefully be arriving any day. One of torpedomen aboard CC-2 jokingly inquired about the carved wood facsimile torpedo sitting in the Chief Engineers workshop, only to be told “Laugh all you want but when the time comes, this wooden bugger might be all you have.” HMCS CC-1 and her crew departed from Esquimalt on August 14 to patrol the Strait of Juan de Fuca, possessing only their wireless set as a weapon against any enterprising Germans. Neither of the boats were officially cleared for service at this point but with such little time before a potential attack, training and combat had ceased to be separate roles entirely.
“Require all gear in connection with 18” submerged tubes firing torpedoes; including gyroscopes spare tools and torp manuals, torp artificers, torp ratings. We have nothing.”
The 18” torpedoes utilized by HMCS Niobe could theoretically be adapted to be fired by the submarines however, said stocks were 3,600 miles away in Halifax. For their part, Ottawa was quick to realize the situation and jumped into action. An express train was organized, and all necessary equipment was loaded, departing at all possible speed for Esquimalt. Ottawa also went to work sourcing any retired Royal Navy personnel or otherwise useful men to be found in Canada. In order to remedy the lack of armament and spare parts more quickly, Logan would once again return to Seattle with Paterson. His valiant attempt to purchase torpedoes was quickly foiled by the US Government when a prominent Canadian politician personally sent an un-coded, plain language telegram to Paterson, requesting him to sell Canada live torpedoes for the ships. With the tightened security and news of the shipment hopefully arriving from Halifax, Logan returned to Esquimalt. In the absence of Lieutenant Pilcher, Prime Minister McBride had appointed himself and Lieutenant Bertram Jones as the commanding officers of the navy base, moving as quickly as they could to throw together a crew.
A diagram of HMCS CC-1 with a fairly good look at her cramped interiors.
Experienced submariners were quite the uncommon sight anywhere around the world in this period and completely absent from the Royal Canadian Navy but in a stroke of luck, one of the most qualified individuals in the Empire found himself on the Canadian’s doorstep. Adrian St. Vincent Keyes had retired to Toronto in 1912 after a somewhat spotty career with the Royal Navy. The 32-year-old had left the navy at the rank of Lieutenant-Commander of his own volition as throughout his career, he had been plagued by syphilis, gonorrhea, scabies, gout, and many other related and unrelated illnesses. Discounting his questionable health, Keyes was a pioneer within the submarine community, serving in multiple vessels since 1904, commanding an A-class submarine and eventually becoming a well-respected submarine instructor. It is largely speculated that Premier McBride was aware of Adrian ‘Tubby’ (apparently an endearing name as the man was rather slim and has been described as ‘ravishingly good looking’) Keyes through a friendship with his older brother Roger Keyes, the current Commodore of the Royal Navy Submarine Service. However it was done, Keyes reported to the dockyard between August 9 and August 10 alongside Midshipman John 'Jock' Edwards. Edwards had been a clerk in Toronto following his early departure from the Royal Naval College in Dartmouth and shortly after war broke out, the patriot in him decided to enlist in the Army. Little would he know that his friend, Keyes, would draft him into the Navy and haul him off to Esquimalt. Technically a deserter, Edwards hid his rifle under his bed at home and threw his uniform off the train on their way for Esquimalt.
Upon his arrival, Keyes was reinstated as a Lieutenant within the RCN and alongside Lieutenant Jones (ironically an old student of his from the Royal Navy Sub Service), quickly went to work scavenging for crew members. It is sometimes said that Keyes and Edwards were arrested at gunpoint when they arrived at Esquimalt however, this is yet another yarn spun by enterprising sailors likely looking to entertain over dinner. Keyes rounded up roughly 50 men from Esquimalt and informed them about the submarine service, the inherent dangers present within and its volunteer only nature. Not a man moved and from those, 28 were picked out. Stokers, electricians, seamen, engineering staff and so on were rather hard to come by but through sheer luck, a pair of engineering staff that had missed HMCS Rainbow’s departure still hung around the base, ripe for the picking. Some deserters were granted the Kings pardon and reenlisted, even the retired US Navy officer who had helped guide the pair of submarines into Esquimalt was enlisted. Alongside the above-mentioned officer and Lieutenant Jones, Keyes worked tirelessly to attempt to give some semblance of training to the men aboard these boats. Keyes himself would command CC-1 while Jones would be in charge of CC-2, lending some bit of experience to the vessels full of former grocers, teachers, bankers, and farm hands. The following is a rough crew compliment list, such a list fluctuated with available personnel.
Commanding Officer
Second in Command/Navigator
Third in Command (Midshipman in training)
Coxswain
Chief Engine Room Artificer
2 Engine Room Artificer
6 Stokers
1 - 2 Torpedomen
Wireless Operator
2 - 3 Leading Hands
4 Able Seamen (1 cook)
Two personnel of note within the submarines was Barney Johnson aboard CC-2 and Midshipman William Maitland-Dougall in CC-1. Johnson was a certified Master Mariner and local pilot within the area who was lent to the navy by the British Columbia Pilot Authority, his 20 years of experience made him an invaluable navigator for any operations in the area. Dougall was a 1913 graduate with honors of the Royal Naval College of Canada, he was roped into duties at Esquimalt just pending the declaration of war, as we was returning to Halifax from a vacation. Many other men arrived specifically for the submarines in the coming days, torpedo experts, engineering specialists and even simply experienced seamen. Even with such an influx of personnel, the inexperienced men still heavily outnumbered the rest which was further complicated by the temperamental nature of the boats themselves. Both boats showed signs of stability issues when submerged, the quality of components within had to be constantly checked and replaced and the diesels themselves seemed to be prone to overheating. In one dive, the bow of one of the boats sharply dipped almost 45 degrees downwards, nearly causing the vessel to be lost, quick thinking from Keyes thankfully stopped this. As the men were pressed on relentlessly day and night, they thought about their overall situation often, not knowing if the Germans or their torpedoes would arrive first.
HMCS CC-1 at sea with a photo insert of Lieutenant Keyes in the top left.
The crew of CC-1’s afternoon Spanish lesson to assist in gauge reading was interrupted when news of a potential German attacker came into the base, CC-2 was already performing a patrol around Vancouver and Victoria on August 13 to attempt to calm the riots of the previous night and would be unavailable. Clambering into their vessel and preparing to depart, the alarm was waved away as the form of HMS Shearwater slowly entered the dockyard. The sloop had heard nothing of Rainbow, Prince George or their current situation, everything being quite the surprise to the crew of hardened British regulars. Algerine's location was also unknown, the pair of sloops had been separated somewhere on their journey and failed to join back up. Ottawa quickly ordered that all men from Shearwater be immediately loaded aboard a train bound for Halifax, presumably to fill out the crew of HMCS Niobe. Lieutenant Keyes picked through some of the experienced engineering staff aboard before they departed, keeping what he needed for his own vessels. As the men trained on around them, the engineers of Esquimalt Navy Base were hard at work preparing the adaptors for the 18” torpedoes that would hopefully be arriving any day. One of torpedomen aboard CC-2 jokingly inquired about the carved wood facsimile torpedo sitting in the Chief Engineers workshop, only to be told “Laugh all you want but when the time comes, this wooden bugger might be all you have.” HMCS CC-1 and her crew departed from Esquimalt on August 14 to patrol the Strait of Juan de Fuca, possessing only their wireless set as a weapon against any enterprising Germans. Neither of the boats were officially cleared for service at this point but with such little time before a potential attack, training and combat had ceased to be separate roles entirely.
Hang on...
Plucky crew of random sods pulled off the dockyard; second-hand torpedoes intended for another type of ship entirely; retired officer volunteering back into service; eminent doom in the form of Leipzig approaching...
If the tale of CC-1&2 doesn't become a Canadian Heritage Minute followed by a lampooning on Royal Canadian Air Farce ITTL there's no justice in the world.
Plucky crew of random sods pulled off the dockyard; second-hand torpedoes intended for another type of ship entirely; retired officer volunteering back into service; eminent doom in the form of Leipzig approaching...
If the tale of CC-1&2 doesn't become a Canadian Heritage Minute followed by a lampooning on Royal Canadian Air Farce ITTL there's no justice in the world.