Dönitz: The Last Führer (9 page)

The enemy were caught off guard as the
Breslau
closed and opened fire, and some 40 miles to the west the
Goeben
’s far heavier broadside came as an equal surprise. It was a token bombardment, though, lasting scarcely ten minutes and doing little if any damage to the troops or transports, igniting one magazine with a fortunate shell; then both ships turned and headed out in a westerly direction as if making for the Straits and the open Atlantic. Out of sight of the land they turned east again for an agreed rendezvous, but scarcely had they joined at ten o’clock than smoke was sighted ahead and shortly over the horizon the tripod masts of two warships. It was a heart-stopping moment; they could only be British battlecruisers. The alarm sounded, ‘Clear ship for action!’ Souchon altered to port, the British to starboard in response. Souchon, whose last news was that the British would probably be an enemy and he was to be prepared for hostile action, decided to brave it out and came back to his original course.

In tense silence they watched the dark grey shapes lengthening; the twelve-inch gun turrets were lined fore and aft and so far stationary; the White Ensigns, symbols of victory at sea for centuries before the German service was born, fluttered in the black smoke overcast pouring out astern. They passed without exchanging salutes at four miles, and immediately turned and followed, one on each quarter of the
Goeben
. Nerves aboard the German ships would have been even tighter had they known that the British Commander in Chief, aware of their bombardment, had sent a message to London requesting permission to open fire.

The
Breslau
, which could scarcely contribute in action, was ordered to separate and go ahead to Messina to make arrangements for coaling. As she drew away northwards, the entire ship’s company of the
Goeben
apart from those on the bridge or in the turrets was sent down to help the stokers in the furnace heat below. To the British it appeared that the battlecruiser made at least a knot over her designed 27 knots, and as they themselves had not had the benefit of a recent docking, they dropped gradually further and further astern through the afternoon. By the time the British ultimatum expired that night both German ships were on their own. They entered Messina unobserved.

Once again the Italian authorities seemed reluctant to provide coal and Souchon ordered the German merchantmen in harbour alongside the two warships to plunder their stock. Through that afternoon as the sun beat down on the metal decks turning the close compartments below into ovens the crews worked to transfer coal from bunkers that had never
been designed for the purpose; openings were hacked through bulkheads and decks, rails torn away, while the
Goeben
’s band played marches to keep up the spirits of the exhausted men. Above in the wireless rooms increasing signals traffic indicated the enemy—as the British now were—concentrating across their exit routes just outside Italian territorial waters.

At noon the following day, August 6th, coaling was discontinued. It was essential the crews should have some rest before the breakout which had to be attempted as the 24 hours allowed Souchon by the Italian authorities ran out. All the men were given postcards to write a few words home. It is said that all the officers made their wills.

Souchon meanwhile confronted another awesome decision: the previous day he had been informed from Berlin that an alliance had been concluded with Turkey, and he was to proceed to Constantinople to join his squadron to the Turkish fleet. He had asked for help from the Austrian fleet, but again he had been refused, this time because the British declaration of war had been against Germany alone and they wanted nothing to disturb this situation. Meanwhile complications arose in Turkey—in fact the Turkish government had never been united on a German alliance—and shortly before noon that morning, August 6th, another message from Berlin stated that entry into Constantinople was not yet possible on political grounds. Dönitz, who had been sent aboard the flagship to clarify some question, saw Souchon after the receipt of this message as he was discussing it with his chief of staff. ‘The silent, calm, serious manner of both men’ impressed itself indelibly on his memory.
⁷²
The decision had just been taken, despite everything, to run for Constantinople; it was another incredibly bold venture, particularly as Souchon was convinced the British heavy units would be disposed to the eastward to block his way to the Austrian ports in the Adriatic.

As they prepared to sail in the late afternoon every man aboard realized it would be a bolt for life or death; once again they screwed their nerves to the sticking point; the officers, who knew the impossible odds, were possessed of a fatalistic determination to make a gallant fight and die for the honour of the flag.

They went to action stations as they left harbour, the
Goeben
ahead, the little
Breslau
following, and steered south, hugging the Italian coast, lit in the slanting rays of the sun. Soon smoke was seen on the starboard bow and presently the expected shape of a British cruiser beneath. Souchon led around the Cape and steered northwesterly as if making up
the Adriatic. The cruiser, the
Gloucester
, followed, nine miles off; in the wireless room they heard her signalling their course and position to the rest of the British fleet.

The evening gave way to velvet night with a low moon hanging over the hills to port; in these conditions the German squadron found it impossible to shake off their shadow, and at 11 pm Souchon turned east. However, the British heavy units had been stationed to the west of the Straits expecting a second attempt to harass the French troop transports, and there was only a cruiser squadron between Souchon and his goal. This failed to find the
Goeben
that night—although passing within a mile of the
Breslau
—and when dawn broke on the 7th only the
Gloucester
was still in touch.

During the morning the
Breslau
deliberately started falling astern of the
Goeben
to draw off the British cruiser or catch her between two fires, and at one o’clock the
Gloucester
’s captain, judging she was endangering his pursuit of the main target, opened fire and increased to full speed to close. The
Breslau
replied immediately with two ranging shots, then went into salvo firing, at which the
Gloucester
altered away, ‘as it was found the shooting of the
Breslau
was excellent and a whole salvo of hers dropped along the line on the off-side of the
Gloucester
, not one of them being more than 30 yards over’.
⁷³
She was the first British ship to discover the remarkably accurate gunnery of the Imperial Navy—in this case controlled by Kapitänleutnant Carls, gunnery officer of the
Breslau
. The
Gloucester
kept firing as she altered away, and scored one hit on the waterline armour of the German cruiser. Meanwhile the
Goeben
altered 180° to protect her consort and also opened fire, so while the
Gloucester
drew away the two German ships closed each other, and when Souchon turned back to his easterly course, the British cruiser followed. Such was Dönitz’s baptism of fire.

The
Gloucester
finally gave up the pursuit at five o’clock that evening, abeam of Cape Matapan, which she had orders not to pass. In the German squadron it was difficult to believe their good fortune. However, they were by no means out of danger: after coaling from a collier ordered to meet them in the Greek islands, they had to test the attitude of Turkey, which was obliged by international law to deny them entrance to the Dardanelles. If this happened it was difficult to imagine a second escape from the British fleet—indeed strengthening wireless traffic on the morning of the 10th caused Souchon to break off coaling and race for the Straits. If refused permission to enter, he intended fighting his way
in, so his officers believed, and as the two ships arrived off the entrance and lay stopped, flying ‘G’—‘I require a pilot’—in range of the forts clearly visible against the dry, brown hills, the ships’ companies went to action stations. Presently two Turkish torpedo boats were seen coming out. Tension mounted. Then the leading boat hoisted the signal, ‘Follow me!’ and turned to lead them in.

The vineyards and villages they knew so well from peacetime cruises slipped past to starboard bathed in a roseate glow; to port the heights of Gallipoli stood in shadow.

The Turkish government was still divided. A war party led by the most radical of the ‘Young Turks’, Enver Pasha, a former military attaché in Berlin, now a forceful advocate of alliance with Germany in order to conduct an aggressive policy in the Middle East to retake Egypt and the Suez Canal—which naturally fitted in well with German plans—was strongly opposed by a neutralist party intent on keeping out of the European struggle altogether. The embassies of all the powers in Constantinople were natural centres of influence and intrigue. However, the cause of the Triple Entente had received a serious setback on the outbreak of war when the British government had requisitioned for its own use a huge super-dreadnought battleship which the Turks had purchased earlier that year while it was building at Newcastle on Tyne. This high-handed act was felt keenly at Constantinople and played into Enver Pasha’s hands; Souchon’s arrival with the
Goeben
provided him with the trump card he needed.

Already, as War Minister, he had taken the powers of Commander in Chief of all Turkish forces on land or sea. The naval forces were actually trained and run by British officers under Admiral Limpus Pasha, a capable and conscientious but at that time worn-down Englishman, badly needing a rest away from the enervating climate and strain. Enver had naturally kept him in the dark about his plans for the
Goeben
and
Breslau
. Then early in the morning of August 10th, hearing that Souchon’s arrival was imminent, he had replaced the British Commander of the flotilla forces with his own man; hence the torpedo boats which guided the German ships in. Limpus and his officers in Constantinople remained unaware.

The next day Limpus learned the astounding news from the papers and calling for an interview with the Minister of Marine was told that both German warships were being bought by the Turkish government. This
was a device to legalize the Turkish position in admitting them. It was also on Enver’s part an attempt to force the government into war by embroiling them with the Entente powers. For the British fleet had at last arrived off the Dardanelles and was being refused entrance while at the other end of the Straits the Russians would naturally be alarmed at the upset to the balance of naval power in the Black Sea which must result from Turkey acquiring the powerful German dreadnought battlecruiser; as Limpus noted in his diary, ‘if Russia
wants
an opportunity [to strike] Turkey has now given it to her!’
⁷⁴
The last thing the Entente powers wanted was to push Turkey into the German camp; instead there was a heightening of diplomatic activity to forestall Enver and the German Army contingent under General Liman von Sanders.

Aboard the
Breslau
, meanwhile, the feeling of release from the extraordinary tensions of the past two weeks had given way naturally to depression and irritability. German warships were uncomfortable steel boxes at the best of times, wasting minimum space and weight on creature comforts, and now, at the height of the Turkish summer with the few pieces of furniture floating somewhere off Messina, the cruiser was scarcely bearable. Added to this was the uncertainty about their position; while their comrades were taking part in the struggle for greater Germany they might be interned here for the duration of what was expected to be a very short war. On top of this feeling of impotence was an unexpressed sense of humiliation. They had been fortunate to escape unscathed, but there was no question they had fled the Mediterranean as fast as they could; it was not what their training had prepared them for. Moreover, the British and French Press, almost the only newspapers they could obtain, raised a howl of derision at the ignominious flight and the failure even to get to grips with the single British light cruiser which had followed them.

Within a few days matters began to improve for it became evident that the two ships were in the front line of the scheme to bring Turkey into the war. The first indication was on August 15th when Limpus and all the British officers were superseded without warning by Turkish officers; the following day both German ships’ companies were mustered and the Imperial ensigns were lowered to the strains of the national anthem; afterwards the red Ottoman crescent flag was hoisted. The
Goeben
was now
Sultan Jawus Selim
, the
Breslau
was
Midilli
; officers and crews replaced their uniform caps with the fez. Souchon was appointed Commander in Chief of the Turkish fleet and the two ships, still manned
chiefly by their German crews, joined other Turkish units for exercises in the Sea of Marmora. Dönitz’s special task in this period of changeover from the British to the German way of doing things was to work with the Flag Lieutenant of the
Goeben
—for the Germans still referred to the ships by their former names amongst themselves—to edit a new international signal book and compile a signal code for joint operations.

Whether Dönitz met his future wife at this time is not clear. Her father, General Weber, came aboard the
Breslau
soon after their arrival; he had come to Turkey with Liman von Sanders’ mission and was in command of the fortresses guarding the Straits. It seems he knew as little of the Navy as most German generals: arriving aboard the
Breslau
and looking around, allowing a monocle to drop from his eye, he said, ‘So this is the
Goeben
!’—that is how Dönitz heard the story in the mess. Whether General Weber’s family was with him at this stage is uncertain; if so, it is probable that Dönitz met his daughter, Ingeborg, at one of the social functions to which the officers were invited. Dönitz himself made no mention of how they first met and it may be that she only came out later in order to nurse at the German Embassy hospital in Constantinople; that, at any rate, was her occupation after Turkey entered the war.