1901

In a burst of logic and cunning, Admiral Remey, who commanded the American navy’s efforts off the East Coast, had decided that a ship sunk on the way back to Germany would be unable to return again with another cargo. It wasn’t as effective or desirable as sinking one with a full load of supplies or ammunition, but it would work. And that was why the Chesapeake and other small craft like her had started prowling the sea-lanes off New York looking for strays like the Astrid, whereas the larger warships tried to interdict the incoming convoys.

“Signal her to heave to and that her crew has ten minutes to leave.”

It was done and there was no response. Perhaps no one understood Morse. They were closing rapidly on her, and Walsh was concerned that she might be armed. Although sturdily built, the Chesapeake was a wooden ship, and even one machine gun could cause substantial damage.

“Forward pom-pom, fire one round in front of her bridge.”

The order was repeated and the front gun barked angrily. That brought a burst of activity from the Astrid as her crew exploded onto the deck and started lowering lifeboats. Midshipman William Halsey laughed. He was nineteen and had just completed his second year at Annapolis. The war had given him a temporary commission. “I think they’ll all be gone well within your ten minutes, Captain. Are you going to send over a boarding party? They could open the sea cocks and we wouldn’t have to expend any more ammunition.”

It was tempting. The Chesapeake simply didn’t have room for many shells, and each round of ammunition was precious. “No, Halsey, not this time. It would take more than an hour to get there, do the job, and get back. Remember, we scoot if we see something we can’t handle coming over the horizon. I wouldn’t want to have to run and leave you there to explain to the German navy just what you’re doing trying to sink one of their ships.”

As soon as the lifeboats were clear, Walsh ordered the pom-poms to each fire three rounds into her hull below the waterline. When Halsey asked if such a small weapon would penetrate, Walsh said the ship was so rusted that a pair of scissors would probably work. The guns fired in rapid succession and raised small splashes by her hull.

“Sir, the 3-inch crew wants to fire.”

“William, how many 3-inch rounds do we have?”

“Thirty, sir.”

“Well, then, we shouldn’t waste them when the pom-poms can do the job, now should we?”

“Just a reminder, sir, the men in that crew have trained on the gun, but they’ve only had dry runs; they’ve never fired it. It might be good experience for them.”

Walsh saw the logic and reluctantly gave permission for one round. He heard the gun crew whoop; seconds later, the larger gun fired with a racket that made the pom-poms sound like dogs yipping. Walsh was gratified that the deck supports held. The Astrid was little more than a hundred yards away, so missing was almost impossible, and the ship was nicely holed, with a secondary explosion following quickly. They must have hit a boiler.

“Sir, the machine gunners would like a chance to fire as well.”

Walsh rubbed his eyes. “Oh, what the hell. One short burst each. Then check and see if the cook would like to throw some garbage at her before she sinks.” Warriors all, he thought, but maybe the experience of actually shooting at another ship might be helpful someday.

As he continued to watch, the Astrid started to settle lower in the water. A shouted voice from one of the lifeboats attracted his attention.

“Captain, will you not take us aboard?” The caller, an older man with a short white beard, appeared to be the captain of the Astrid. There were almost a score of men in two boats, and not all were German, as some very dark and swarthy faces attested. Not all were men, either; many were scarcely boys. But could Walsh take them on board? If he did, how would he keep them secure while he sought out other ships? What about his mission? If he took them, he would have to feed them out of his meager stores. And what about crews from future ships? It was certainly not intended that he should return to Norfolk every time he sank a rusting freighter.

The voice from the lifeboat continued, a small note of fear evident. “Captain, we have taken what food and water we could, but it cannot sustain us for very long. We are three hundred miles from shore, and the prevailing currents will take us in the wrong direction. You must help us.”

A gurgling, rumbling sound emanated from the stricken Astrid. She was sinking much faster than Walsh would have thought.

“Engines, one-third ahead.”

Halsey was pale. “Aren’t you going to help them?”

“No.”

The voice from the lifeboat was desperate and fading slightly as the Chesapeake pulled away. “Captain, if you leave us, you are condemning us to die.”