Letterstime: Ein Geleitzug

Lt Commander Dahm returned to the bridge, prompted by the new reports of American dreadnoughts approaching. He had been peacefully engrossed in reviewing the ship's orders, writing the long form damage report, and digesting lunch. The cooks had fried the last of the chicken from Wilhelmhaven, perhaps prompted by the appealing aromas wafting across on the land breeze last night. The meal was strangely reminiscent of cooking back home, but it did make working a bit harder. Somehow the steward had gotten in and taken the dishes without him noticing. He was sure that though he might have rested his eyes (and ribs) for a moment or two, he hadn't actually dozed off.

"OOD, report"

"Sir, two dreadnoughts with cage masts approaching bearing 030, accompanied by screen. No enemy merchants spotted since you left and neutral traffic is lower. No change in shipboard systems"

"Very well. Let me know which ones they are soonest."

With that, Dahm turned and made for the bridge wing to look over the flotilla that had been collected in the middle of nowhere off New York. As he passed, the helmsman thought he heard a disgusted mutter.

"Wunderlich, another pair of crazy giants to dodge."

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Down on the main deck, Ensign n.c. letters supervised his men working on the starboard gun. Damaged in yesterday's encounter, it possibly could be made to work again. Those, however, were not his orders.

The crews of the starboard and port guns had been combined due to the casualties and together they were making good progress. The break for lunch had been worth it, and he could feel the weight settling in his stomach. Fresh meat of any kind on deployment was rare this far into a deployment, or so he gathered from the comments as the sailors had worked on the chicken, battered and fried. Speaking of which.

"Jurgen, we don't need to fix the sights yet. Just get the shield patch and the gun train and elevation working." Although why the CO wanted it to look like it worked immediately he didn't know. His uncle had told him before he left to pay attention to LCDR Dahm, and one didn't question someone the Great Admiral picked out.

He only just reported on board when the ship left port. The late Captain sent him to supervise a gun crew because his gunnery scores at the Academy were good. He had also assigned a long term Chief to the same 10.5 cm port gun crew under the direct view of the bridge. This worthy fought in Dogger Bank and Die Kaiserschlacht, had survived the sinking of his torpedo boat in each, and had even gotten a kill on a wounded BC in the latter. Without a word, n.c. knew that he was to listen to the "suggestions" of the Chief.

Then had come the events of yesterday. A stray piece of shrapnel exiting the chief's head put him on the spot. The starboard crew was more than decimated, and he needed to find and shoot at the AMC, put out the small fire, report the damage, and haul the wounded and dead off, all at the same time. Somehow he managed.

The senior enlisted left in starboard crew was green (or grey after seeing the mangled remains of friends) and needed constant supervision. Fortunately, the crew contained several men who had joined the Navy from the dockyards instead of being drafted into the army.

After looking around again, Ensign letters thought he could report the gun looked capable of firing, then they could start on the real repairs.

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Down in the boiler room, Stoker 2nd Helmut Sauer leaned on his shovel. The fires were nicely arranged on all of the boilers and the coal scuppers were full. Whenever the uppers wanted steam, they could get going in moments. Lunch had just past, and even though his piece of fried chicken was soggy, the biscuit hard, and the Kartoffelpuree and gravy at the usual standards of the cooks, it was good. Scuttlebutt said they would be getting prize money after getting back, there was the possibility of shore leave soon, and the enemy ships had all been sunk. Life was good.

"Sauer, Get back to work and stop being a fencepost."

At least, life was mostly good.

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Two decks up, an uninvited crewmember was just sitting down to her lunch. She had filched a small piece and dragged it back into her hiding spot back in one of the tunnels behind some equipment. With all of the other food around, the others would never bother her. Besides, she had a reputation on board and the scent markers clearly said it was her territory.

The stomping feet outside she braved daily paused and found resting spots. It was later in the day and they had some time between the rattling that meant soap and water and the banging and sizzling that meant dinner was being prepared. It happened everyday the same way.

Nuzzling down into her nest, she nibbled at the piece of chicken. From the quality of the crunchy part, it was meant for the officers. The kids would be coming soon and she needed her strength. This morsel would last a whole shift and possibly into the next before she needed to venture out again.

After all, 50 grams of chicken may not be much, but it is a Kaiser's feast to a rat.

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LCDR Dahm surveyed his ship carefully from the bridge wing. Down there, the starboard gun was almost ready. The young ensign's face had been bewildered, but it was important that the damned Britishers didn't know which side was short a gun. The reports when they got into port would be flowing like beer, and future opponents didn't need an advantage. It would also help the American to misestimate the damage control on board the Kaiser's ships.

The men looked cheerful and in high spirits. Later in the day, he might be able to tour Kolberg top to bottom and fore and aft, but for now his ribs winced at the very thought. Another wrapping, while painful, might help.

"Sir, we have identified the dreadnoughts"

Regretfully, he turned to go back into the bridge

by Karl Dahm