Aug 17, 2035 hours
SMS Nürnberg, Prince Rupert harbour.
Von Schönberg had been too far away in the fog on the
Nürnberg to see the
Talthybius ram the drydock, but he heard the collision plainly enough. He immediately worried that the impact had been too strong, and that the prize crew had been killed or immobilized. But not too much later, two of the liner’s boats appeared, rowing towards the cruiser. Another lifeboat appeared off
Nürberg’s bow, but turned away and disappeared again when it saw the cruiser.
“Fire a shot into the water, short of the hulk,” ordered Von Schönberg. “I want to scare these Canadians away before it all blows up.” Number one gun fired at the empty ocean, and a waterspout rose at the edge of visibility. “Again.” Another shot was fired, another waterspout rose.
When the demolition charges ignited the
Talthybius’s after holds, he was again worried, that the explosive power was too much. But when the fireball rose, and peeled back the fog from the harbour, the thought that passed through his head was, “so that’s what 200 tons of alcohol deflagrating looks like.” This quirk of the heat and blast wave momentarily making its own local weather system allowed him to see the rapeseed oil cargo was having the effect he had hoped. A tower of flame was growing out of the forward holds, and with the ship sitting on a hill of kindling, the whole wharf system of the shipyard would soon be involved. Radl had said construction on the drydock had started in 1912. This damage would set the operational date of the dock back another 2 or 3 years.
Satisfied, Von Schönberg recovered his boats and took the
Nürnberg back out into the harbour. “I believe our work here is almost done,” he said “We need to find Lieutenant Von Spee, and Lieutenant Adler, and…” he said with a theatrical voice, “… slip away. Keep an eye open for the
SS Bengrove, our new collier,”
Nürnberg passed two lifeboats, surrounded by a halo of survivors clinging to pieces of wreckage. The boats seemed to be full of angry Russians.
Nürnberg left them astern.
“Ship!” called a lookout. “Capsized on the port bow!”
“Avoid, to starboard,” ordered Von Schönberg. Looking at the upturned hull he mused how every ship had a distinctive appearance, but all became anonymous when capsized. Like corpses.
“Ship!” called the lookout. This was something new. Big, but not as big as the
Talthybius. Around 6000 tons, with her bridge on a center castle and her single funnel on her after castle. Her crew was bringing up steam. “Ship is
Desalba, Glasgow.”
“Prepare the boarding party,” ordered Von Schönberg. Stabbootsman Lange had lost track of how many times he had launched a boat, and how many ships he had captured that day. One blended into the next. And this went much like the others, The
Nürnberg flashed her challenge, and looked menacing, and the merchant’s crew prepared to abandon ship. Lange ordered one contingent to get control of the machinery spaces, and he took his group to capture the bridge. After taking control, one of his first tasks was to find the ships itinerary and cargo manifest.
SS DESALBA CARRYING 4000 TONS OF NUMBER 6 HEAVY FUEL OIL FROM SAN LOIS OBISBO CALIFORNIA TO JUNEAU ALASKA.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SS_Desabla
https://www.flickr.com/photos/8215536@N08/7576044420
