Ships in a Storm
October 25th, 1939
The weather was horrid on the Archipelago Sea. High winds and constant rain conspired to make visibility very low, together with the rapidly approaching October night.
At least the enemy will not see us either, the man standing on the open bridge of the coastal destroyer Riilahti thought. The Riilahti was the flagship of the Finnish Coastal Fleet, and the man on the bridge was the fleet's commander, Commodore Thorolf Sjöman.
You have a sailor's name, Marshal Mannerheim had remarked to Sjöman as he was promoted to his current position three months ago. That it literally was, the commodore could only agree. And he was an old hand in the Finnish Navy, too, having signed up in the fleet in the second year of Finnish independence as a volunteer, already then over 30 and having the qualifications of a merchant ship captain.
The Riilahti led a flotilla of vessels, and under the conditions Sjöman ordered the ship's captain, one Arho, to slow down the speed to below 10 knots, sending word to the ship's radio room as well to relay the same information to the other vessels. The flotilla was in a hurry, sure, but it wouldn't be prudent to lose any of the ships to the storm raging in the archipelago before they even got to their destination. How ever difficult the weather was for the Finnish ships, Sjöman was sure that the conditions among the multitude of islands and the skerries all around, on the narrow shipping lanes criss-crossing the area, would be even more difficult to the Soviets who could not even use local pilots to help them. Sjöman really wished the Red Banner Fleet would run at least one of its battleships or cruisers aground here, get caught ignominously on the rocks. That would help his side considerably, at least for the time being.
Operation Regatta, it was called. The Finnish remilitarization of the Åland Islands, now that a Soviet attack against Finland imminent – according to Major Hallamaa and his intelligence people. Two flotillas of Finnish ships were now approaching the islands between the Finnish and Swedish mainlands – Karhu and Kontio, they were called. Sjöman's was the latter. The former was led by the Riilahti's sister ship, the Ruotsinsalmi, the most modern ship of the Finnish fleet – such as it was. Karhu included also the torpedo boats S1 and S2, the armed icebreaker Mahti and three passenger steamers commandeered from the Finnish Steamship Company and the Bore shipping company. For the while, the ships were packed to the gills with coastal infantry and ordinary infantry from the Turku area, men most of whom were puking their guts out right now, not accustomed to such conditions out here as Sjöman himself was.
Kontio, on the other hand, brought in the big guns. Sjöman would have very much liked his flotilla to be covered with more vessels, but the Swedish had been adamant about staying out of it, not to anger the Soviets and get into hot water themselves. So no Swedish submarines out there, keeping eye on the Red Banner Fleet. The Finnish Navy, of course, had no such modern vessels. The Finnish military had always been cash-strapped, after the Great Depression even moreso. In the last two years, if the government had any extra money, it would have been used on artillery pieces and fighter interceptors. The Navy seemingly always was skipped when resources were allocated for the military.
”Commodore”.
Someone had just addressed Sjöman. It was young Lieutenant Karhunen.
”Commodore, a message from the Klas Horn. The Twins have stopped.”
”What?”
That meant there was a big problem.
The commodore decided to get to the radio room himself to hear what was happening. With some difficulty, he climbed down from the bridge towards the radio room on the lower deck, banging himself against the ship's superstructure as he went.
Feeling terribly cold and soaked to the bone, Sjöman opened the door to the small radio room.
”Talk to me”, he said to the young seaman manning the radio, with heavy earphones covering his head.
”Commodore, the Klas Horn says that both Louhi and Tursas have stopped. It appears they are both listing heavily...”
Bloody hell, Sjöman thought as the man went back to listening to his 'phones, twiddling the control knobs in front of him.
”Sergeant”, he said, feeling a cold sweat on his forehead, despite being soaked otherwise as well, ”send orders to the entire flotilla to come to a full stop.”
He told Karhunen, who had followed him, to take the same orders to Arho as well.
The next few minutes were full of confusion and contradictory information coming in from the other ships of the flotilla. Sjöman tried to stay cool and make smart, responsible decisions, with the ship bobbing in the roiling water like a cork, with the October wind howling in his ears.
The Louhi and the Tursas. The Finnish fleet's big guns, such as they were. Both vessels armed with two 12 inch Obuhov guns in protected turrets, covered by six 40 mm Bofors AA guns. The gun barges had been dreamed up by the Navy planning office under Commodore Schwank in 1937 to offset the fleet's lack of capital ships in, the lack of any vessels with heavier naval guns in fact. Both were dependent on their armored, armed tugs, the Vetehinen 1-2 and the Vesihiisi 1-2, respectively.
They were designed as floating coastal artillery, the main weapons themselves cannibalized from First World War era Tsarist coastal fortresses. The simple hulls built at the Crichton-Vulcan shipyard in Turku and the artillery fitted, with fire control systems, with the covert help of German engineers. The Finnish Navy had made the launching of the barges a big occasion – they were, after all, designed as a deterrent, to show the Red Banner Fleet that there could be a cost to trying to take the Åland islands in a potential war.
As Arho struggled to take the Riilahti closer to the two troubled gun barges, Sjöman could remember another storm 14 years earlier. A storm during a training exercise north of the Ålands where the ships of the Coastal Fleet had been in big trouble as well. But with right decisions, with tenacity and hard work, they had prevailed in the battle against the sea that time. Sjöman, much younger, had saved the torpedo boat he was commanding from almost sure destruction. The event had probably made it possible he was in his position today, with the stripes of a commodore on his soaked longcoat.
Maybe we'll manage this time as well, he thought optimistically as the ship approached the so-called Twins.
Commodore Sjöman did not get his wish. In the end, he was reduced to watching both gun barges slowly capsize and sink, one after the other, there just outside the island of Kråkskär. There was nothing that could be done about it, not in those conditions.
In the final reckoning, roughly half of the crew of both vessels could be saved from the debacle, at least. Under the circumstances, Sjöman thought is was very good. Back on the bridge of the Riilahti, as the morning was already starting to dawn, he turned to Captain Arho to thank him for his work that night when, again, there was young Lieutenant Karhunen.
”A message from the Utö lighthouse, Commodore”, he said, and somehow, then, Sjöman could see the light go out out from his eyes.
”The Russians are here.”
[filler]
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