Weltkriegschaft

Chapter III: Part XXXVIII

Chapter III: The Lion’s Den

Part XXXVIII

December 1, 1936

“Rogge, the Kapitän has given you command!”

A hundred miles east of the Scottish coast, Konteradmiral Marschall’s fleet had found the enemy just before midday. He had been steaming north at full speed through choppy seas and under a leaden sky, hoping to draw the Home Fleet off toward the Viking Bank, when a pair of Revenge-class battleships had appeared out of a squall to his northwest. The British dreadnoughts gave chase, and Marschall faded to the east, using his ships’ greater speed to work around their long ranges and onto a northeasterly, then northerly course, pressing closer to Scapa Flow and seeking to draw more heavy units out. Sure enough, a pair of County-class heavy cruisers had joined the hunt, and Marschall decided to turn for Norway.

It was after 1500, and as Marschall radioed urgently for OKM to route U-boats along his projected ambush path, he weighed his chances of isolating the cruisers during the night and destroying them. Then, Raeder’s nightmare materialized out of the rainy gloom ahead. Lookouts aboard the Admiral Graf Spee spotted, with mounting horror, the distinctive setback superstructures of HMS Nelson and HMS Rodney, flanked by another two Revenges, and a host of light cruisers. The enemy force was bearing down on them some 15,000 meters to the northeast, threatening to cut off Marschall’s retreat.

The German admiral signaled an immediate withdrawal, racing to thread the gap between the two converging British squadrons before he was caught between them and annihilated. Yet even as Marschall’s heavy units jammed their rudders astarboard and started their smoke generators, guns flashed through the mist and colored pillars of water erupted in the surrounding sea. While Admiral Scheer, Deutschland and Admiral Graf Spee strained their engines to flank speed, Marschall assessed his options. The larger British force was steaming fast enough to bring him under the brunt of its guns for several minutes as he was breaking off to the southeast. He had to buy time, but with minimal loss of material. Marschall had the light cruisers Nürnberg, Leipzig and Köln with him -- Köln’s engines had been troubled since the beginning of the sortie into the North Sea, and she had lost several knots of speed. Cursing the folly of his mission, Marschall had signaled Köln’s captain, Otto Backenköhler, asking whether he was prepared to make a feint into the teeth of the enemy’s guns.

Seconds later, a 15 inch shell landed just off Köln’s forward port quarter, riddling the foremast and upper superstructure with searing shell fragments, flaying the radio aerials and knocking the forward rangefinder out of action. Kapitän Backenköhler had been hurrying from the weather deck to the bridge to answer Marschall’s signal, and was one of three men mortally wounded in the near miss. As Backenköhler was taken below, the ship’s navigator telephoned the engine rooms: find the First Officer.

“You have command, Rogge. Get up to the bridge, now!” It was the Chief Engineer.

Without a word, Rogge, who had gone down here to see what could be done to squeeze more speed out of the hard-pressed ship, scrambled up the starboard ladder and sprinted for the bridge.


Köln, sortieing into the North Sea.


Korvettenkapitän Bernhard Rogge was a thirty-seven year old training officer and prodigy naval yachtsman. Backenköhler had specifically requested this tall, sunny-faced sailing man to be his First Officer, and Rogge was well liked by the ship’s 850-strong crew. He had seen action during the Great War, winning both classes of the Iron Cross on the Kaiser’s cruisers, and was one of the few men his age in the Navy to have achieved that distinction. He had sailed around world on the Reichsmarine’s long friendship voyages of the past decade, and was considered one of the ablest potential destroyer captains in the service, but he had postponed getting his own command to serve with Backenköhler on the Köln. Now, he stepped across blood-slicked decks and onto the bridge to take command under the most urgent of circumstances.

The Navigation Officer announced his presence, and as Rogge ordered the bridge crew back to their stations, the Signals Officer relayed Marschall’s message. The pocket battleships were dodging fire behind thick black smoke out the bridge’s starboard windows, and it seemed that his Admiral’s request was clear -- a sacrificial attack might be the only chance for the rest of the Kriegsmarine’s capital ships to escape. Strange, Rogge thought, not even to hesitate in seeing the necessity of it. The Köln and every man on it felt to Rogge lost already, but her final act could yet buy the withdrawing fleet just enough time to break free and fight another day. He glanced back at Marschall’s smoke, and the shell splashes appearing all around it.

“If the wireless won’t work, and they can’t see our lamp, fire a flare. We’re going in.”

“Yes, Herr Kap’tän!”

Rogge paced to the bridge telephone and flipped the switch to the ship’s intercom. He paused for a moment, as speakers crackled to life around the ship. “This is Rogge. The Captain has been wounded, and I have assumed command.” He switched off the intercom and composed his next words before turning it back on. “We are attacking the British heavy ships in order to cover the withdrawal of the rest of the fleet. I pray that we shall all give a good account of ourselves. Long live Germany.” He switched the intercom off. His words still echoed around the eerily silent ship.

“Ring up flank speed,” Rogge ordered. “Hard aport. Course bearing 087.”

As the ship sliced a tight turn, peeling off from the fleet at 28 knots, crews scrambled to repair the forward rangefinder, and extra 150 mm shells and charges were brought up to the Köln’s three triple turrets. To port, Rogge saw the British capital ships steaming to cut off Marschall, the orange flashes of their main batteries flickering through the drizzling rain between them.

Rogge switched on the line to the Gunnery Officer. “Hohnhorst, Rogge.”

“Yes?”

“Hohnhorst, I want you to direct all fire at the closer of the two Nelsons. We can’t hurt her as much as the cruisers, but I’d like to make her dodge, and a lucky hit is not out of the question.”

“Yes, Kapitän. Will bring Anton turret to bear at once.”

The Köln, picking up speed, was steaming almost perpendicular to the British force now, and Rogge leveled rudder to present the narrowest possible target.

Köln’s A turret traversed slightly, and in three seconds its three quick-firing guns came to elevation.

“Range 148 hectometers,” von Hohnhorst said.

Rogge braced himself against the bridge’s bulkhead, and plugged his other ear with his finger. “Fire.”

The shattering overpressure walloped Rogge’s ears and squeezed his chest, and the roiling smoke around the turret instantly filled the bridge with the smell of cordite. Eight seconds later, the turret fired again. The whole ship swayed from the recoil.

“How’s the fall, Hohnhorst?” Rogge asked, half deaf.

“Short left.”

“Keep firing!”

Now pushing 30 knots, the Köln was bearing purposefully downward into each wave, her bow wreathed in spray. A handsome eight year old ship, she had two narrow funnels, with a tall fire control island between the forefunnel and her low, conservative conning tower. Her B and C turrets were mounted aft and off the centerline: the former was positioned on Köln’s port side, and the latter to starboard. In part due to this unorthodox design, she was known for being fussy and unstable in heavy seas, and even now was frustrating the aim of her gunners.

Rogge heard the screaming roar of incoming shells and a pinkish geyser of water erupted off each side of the ship. The bridge telephone rang.

“Rogge.”

“Artillery. Range is 140 hectometers,” called von Hohnhorst.

“Rudder starboard ten,” Rogge ordered. “Hohnhorst, we’re tacking to bring the aft guns to bear. Have them ready.”

The Köln swept nimbly to starboard, presenting turrets Bruno and Cäsar, which each sent two salvos into the enemy fleet before Rogge brought the ship back on course.

The Gunnery Officer called again. “Looks like a hit -- main belt on the Nelson, if I’m correct.”

Even if it was a hit -- and he could by no means be certain at this range -- Rogge knew that the hit would be totally ineffectual. “She’s not firing at us main battery, is she?”

“No, no. It looks like we’re taking fire from one of the Revenges, though.”

At 13,000 meters, the Nelsons’ secondary batteries -- themselves the equal of the Köln’s main guns -- opened fire, surrounding the German ship with dozens of tall white shell splashes. Rogge ordered evasive action, again tacking aggressively back and forth to bring his aft turrets to bear, but the sheer number of incoming shells was formidable. A 6 inch shell passed beneath the starboard searchlight platform and exploded on the boat deck, blowing apart a lifeboat and bending the davits double. A second lifeboat was swinging free now, hanging on end over the water. Seconds later, a second round struck Köln’s belt armor at a high angle, detonating in the water alongside and riddling the forefunnel with splinters.


HMS Nelson, firing on German units.


“We scored a hit in return,” von Hohnhorst told Rogge. “Dead amidships.”

“Aim higher. If we get lucky, we can take out their fire control.”

From the bridge, he could see glowing rounds arcing through the air from the small gray shapes in the distance. Every time one of the heavier shells landed ahead in a dyed plume, Rogge steered straight for it, counting on enemy aim adjustments to make them miss again.

After two minutes, the Köln had closed to within 11,000 meters of the Nelsons’ fire-spitting secondaries, and was being repeatedly bracketed by heavy salvos from farther back in the British line. Rogge wanted to close near enough to make a torpedo attack, but the odds were questionable.

At 1535, a 6 inch shell struck just under the barrel of A turret’s center gun, jamming it at its present elevation, and starting the inner jacketing on fire. Within moments, two more had struck on the port side amidships. The armor held, but was blackened and pitted, the plates dented and deeply cracked. Splinters from a large-caliber miss shattered two of the bridge windows, and Rogge could see sailors carrying wounded men across the deck below.

Through his binoculars, he could see one of the light cruisers sprinting ahead to overtake the two Nelsons, and ordered Köln hard aport to bring the cruiser between himself and the battleships sooner. It seemed that whatever dreadnought had been firing on them had let up now, and the water around the German cruiser was a garden of smaller splashes from the secondaries. All around, visibility was worsening, as smoke combined with fading light to make spotting difficult -- lookouts told Rogge that Marschall’s main fleet was visible as nothing more than a gray-black smudge to the south. Rogge telephoned von Hohnhorst for a report on A turret. “No luck down there,” he replied. "Visibility’s getting bad even up here.”

With a terrific crash, two rounds struck home on the Köln, one at the base of the conning tower, and the other near the previous hit on the boat deck, but this time passing through the deck and exploding in the machine spaces below. The entire bridge crew had been tossed about, some thrown from their feet entirely, and Rogge threw open the armored bulkhead door to survey the damage. Grayish smoke was pouring from the deck just aft of the second funnel. B and C turrets were just coming into line to fire, so he closed the door again and telephoned the engine room.

“How are things down there?”

“The hit’s cut steam pipes, and we’re fighting a small fire. All is well with the engines.”

The Köln had managed to close within 9,000 meters now, but was again exposed to direct fire from both the British light cruisers and the Nelsons’ secondary batteries.

“Hohnhorst, Rogge.”

“What is it?”

“Keep aiming for the masts on that Nelson. If we can knock out her fire control, we may yet be redeemed. Meanwhile, I’m going to run in to 60 hectometers and then attack with torpedoes.” He ordered the Torpedo Officer to bring his men to their stations and prepare for a torpedo run.

Another 6 inch salvo battered the ship dead-on, one shell penetrating near the bow and detonating in a sailors’ mess, and the second gouging a fiery hole in the deck just aft and to port of the damaged A turret. Damage control quickly reported to Rogge on the bridge that Köln was taking in seawater through the hole at the bow -- the ship was losing speed.

“Keep aiming for fire control, Hohnhorst!”

The crack of the aft turrets faintly buoyed Rogge’s spirits, but they were really getting it now. In the next two minutes, British shells tore through the seaplane deck, snapped the anchor chains and carried away the aft rangefinder and its crew completely. Damage control parties were struggling to fight worsening fires forward, and toxic smoke was filtering up to the bridge. Dozens of wounded were being carried below across splintered, smoldering decks, screaming in pain as their crewmates fell or dropped them as the ship swerved and pitched. She was down to 26 knots, and slowing further still, as tons of icy water weighed her down by the bow.

Rogge called the engine room. “This is Rogge. I need power for the auxiliary pumps. Damage control can’t get them working up here.” There was no response. “This is Rogge. This is Rogge, can anyone hear me?” The line was out. At last, he was able to re-establish connection to the engine room by relayed voice commands down to a speaking tube at the starboard forefunnel hatch.

They were almost there.

“Range, Hohnhorst?”

“I’d make it 62 hectometers.”

“Keep trying for their fire control. I’m beginning the torpedo run.” Rogge ordered hard astarboard, taking the Köln into a sweeping turn that would bring her six 533 mm port torpedoes to bear. In doing so, though, the German ship momentarily presented a side-on target.

There was a stunning bang overhead that jarred the bridge -- Rogge could see flaming debris raining down onto the deck below. A shell had burst in the middle of the signals crew, killing the Signals Officer and ten others, including those who had been trying to repair the forward rangefinder, which was mounted directly over the bridge. The ladders to the searchlight deck had also been knocked loose by the force of the blast, and had partially collapsed, crushing one of the machine gun mounts. Rogge’s line to the port Torpedo Officer’s station was cut, too, so he dispatched a petty officer to relay his orders.

He returned, sooty and panting. The first three torpedoes had been launched. Köln was still turning, waiting until her after torpedo mounts were in position to release their eels before Rogge would turn back into his head-on run. Finally, torpedoes four, five and six were in the water. He had launched a wide spread at the two Nelsons, the nearer one of which appeared to be, on closer inspection, the eponymous ship, with Rodney just beyond. Rogge timed the runs on his stopwatch. Even one luck-favored hit could break their backs.

“Hard aport!”

The ship was still strong -- Rogge could feel it in the way she met the sea. There was still a chance of saving her, if he turned around now under cover of smoke. He would still have his two aft turrets in the fight, and perhaps Köln could slip away into a squall or fog bank, and rejoin Marschall after dark. No. The thought was fantasy, Rogge knew at once. They were already too far away from the main German fleet and beyond all help.

Rogge switched on the ship’s intercom. “We have succeeded against the odds in launching a spread of torpedoes at the enemy battleships. We will now run in to 4,000 yards and launch our starboard torpedoes at the highest speed.”

The Köln was down to 24 knots, and was losing maneuverability. Rogge ordered a straight course for the final approach. B and C turrets would be useless in the meantime, but keeping them in the fight would risk taking hits so serious as to preclude a second torpedo run altogether. Down on deck, the torpedo crews were scrambling to the cruiser’s starboard side to ready the two triple launchers there, bustling past fire parties spraying seawater from their hoses onto the flames that were lapping at the base of the conning tower. Another 6 inch shell slammed into the thick armor plating there, killing four hosemen outright.

On the boat deck, too, crewmen in flash hoods battled flames that leapt a third of the way up the funnels. Already they had detonated stores of anti-aircraft ammunition, and were now threatening the torpedo mounts with blistering heat.

The two working guns in turret Anton were still bravely firing every nine or ten seconds, but seemed not to be wounding the great HMS Nelson.

“Hohnhorst, what range?”

“47 hectometers to Nelson, now. I’ve almost got their fire control several times. Fire’s coming in very thick from those cruisers.”

“Keep firing, Hohnhorst.” Rogge got through the Torpedo Officer on the line to the starboard station, which was still intact. “Lewin, I want a tighter spread this time. 44 knots.”

A shell from the Nelson pierced the foretop and exploded inside. Korvettenkapitän von Hohnhorst and the whole crew of the main gun director and rangefinder were killed instantly, and a mangled section of the foretop came crashing down onto the blazing boat deck.

The turret commander in Anton was now on his own, but the guns kept firing, and the British were close enough to be readily visible even from his position. Rogge checked his stopwatch -- the torpedoes from the first run had all missed, thwarted by the Nelson’s evasive maneuvers. He ordered the Köln into a final turn to port. One by one, her last six torpedoes jumped into the water, racing to catch the Treaty Battleships along their starboard stern quarters. It was not the ideal attack position, but the poor ship didn’t have much left to give.

The bridge shuddered as the boat deck fire overtook a 37 mm FlaK ammunition locker, shearing the battered forefunnel in half and severing the starboard fire mains. Within moments, two more enemy rounds had savaged the conning tower, and flames were now pouring onto the bridge through a hole in the deck.

Still plowing through the water at 22 knots, the Köln was being hit several times a minute now, and her deck was a twisted shambles of steel and timber. Rogge passed word back to throw the engines into half reverse. He knew that the electrical system couldn’t hold up much longer, and the belowdecks crew would need every moment to get out alive. Rogge switched on the ship’s intercom and tersely ordered Abandon Ship.

As Rogge destroyed the Köln’s secret papers, Anton fired a last defiant salvo at the British battleship before the crew made their escape. All but two of the ship’s boats had burned, and these were much farther aft -- inaccessible behind a wall of fire. Surviving sailors congregated forward, for the ship was dramatically down by the bow now, making for a relatively safer jump into the North Sea’s frigid waters. Rogge began to suspect that his order to reverse engines had not gotten through, for the forward deck was soon nearly awash, as the ravaged ship drove itself under with all its might.

Lifejackets were in plentiful supply, even as more British shells came down on the cruiser’s hull, but Rogge knew that even with them, men would not last more than half an hour in these waters. Assisting injured crewmen up from below, he remembered the torpedoes and checked his stopwatch. They had all missed. As the Köln began her final slide into the abyss, Bernhard Rogge hoped fervently that on the darkening horizon, the German Navy had slipped away to fight another day.