Chapter 33: The Death Of Two Battlecruisers
HMS King George V (flagship 2nd Battle Squadron – Vice-Admiral Martyn Jerram) leads the deployment of the port column of the battle fleet. Astern of her are HMS Ajax, Centurion, Erin, Orion, Monarch, Conqueror, and Thunderer. The remainder of the Grand Fleet (4th Battle Squadron and 1st Battle Squadron) will fall into line astern and maneuver into line-ahead formation. Jellicoe returns fire on the Hochseeflotte around 18:19. The King George V Class were the most modern battleships in the fleet -- improved versions of the Iron Duke Class.
IMPERIAL DOCKYARDS: CUXHAVEN
By: Dreadnought & AP
Chapter 33:
THE DEATH OF TWO
BATTLECRUISERS
Admiral Jellicoe’s deployment commenced around 18:15, with a machine-like precision – ship following ship, division following division, and squadron following squadron. The appearance of Hood and the 3d Battlecruiser Squadron northeast of Hipper had induced him to fall back, and gave Jellicoe the time he needed to perform the delicate maneuver. Like a giant steel tentacle, the ships formed into line-ahead on an easterly course with the terrible, but majestic, grace of a choreographed dance. Leading the line was HMS King George V, named after the reigning monarch. Jellicoe and Iron Duke were ninth in line. And the tail-end position would be “anchored’ by HMS Agincourt (sometimes referred to as “The Gin Palace”), armed with more heavy guns than any dreadnought afloat (14x12-inch).
HMS Iron Duke – sister ships Benbow, Emperor Of India, and Marlborough: 25,820 tons – 21 knots – 10x13.5-inch guns – 12x6-inch guns – 4x21-inch torpedo tubes – belt armor 12 inches.
HMS Agincourt – ex-Turkish Sultan Osman I – ex Brazilian Riachuelo: 27,500 tons – 22 knots – 14x12-inch guns – 20x6-inch guns-- 10x3-inch guns – 3x21-inch torpedo tubes – belt armor 9 inches.
HMS Hercules – Neptune Class: 19,680 tons – 21 knots – 10x12-inch guns – 16x4-inch guns – 3x18-inch torpedo tubes – belt armor 10 inches. Just three designs removed from HMS Dreadnought, her main battery layout did not solve the problem of trying to get ten guns on broadside. Provisions were made for cross-deck firing, but the decks were not reinforced and were invariably damaged. She was in the farthest starboard column and would be among the last to deploy. (Battleship models courtesy of "Barroco Hispano".
Around 18:18, the leading dreadnoughts of the Hochseeflotte opened on HMS Agincourt and Hercules, straddling both ships, but causing no damage. Agincourt was the last ship in the starboard column and slipped neatly into line as the first German shells threw up huge geysers around her. This should be ample proof – if any is needed – that Jellicoe’s decision to deploy on the port column was correct. If he had deployed 4,000 yards closer to the enemy, as his critics advocated, the Grand Fleet would have been taken under fire while still deploying from their column formation. HMS Marlborough returned fire at approximately 13,000 yards, but lost sight of the target in the smoke and ceased fire after three salvos. From a potentially disastrous situation eighteen minutes before, Jellicoe now stood ready to cross his enemy’s “T” and envelope his fleet from the east. But while the “big picture” between the two battle fleets was beginning to play out, the more “private” grudge-match between the opposing battlecruisers was taking on a more lethal tone.
Rear Admiral Sir Horace Hood – circa 1916.
Rear-Admiral Sir Horace Hood was the living embodiment of “THE” Royal Navy officer. Being the great-great-grandson of Admiral Sir Samuel Hood, 1st Viscount Hood, he naturally joined the Royal Navy at age twelve. His naval lineage was so formidable it was said he was...”pure Royal Navy at its most gallant”. Early on, he was assigned to the cruiser HMS Calliope for service in the Pacific, and was aboard when Calliope clawed her way out to sea in the teeth of the tropical cyclone that struck Apia, Samoa, in 1889. She was the only ship to survive, while six other warships foundered in the harbor. Hood was quick-witted, resourceful, said to be handsome, and at a youthful forty-five years of age – one of the youngest flag-officers in the fleet. Truly, a man “gifted” by The Gods.
Hood was leading the 3rd Battlecruiser Squadron on a SE course, about two miles ahead of Beatty’s battlecruisers, and both groups were engaging Hipper on a parallel course about 16,000 yards to the south. Beatty’s group was still partly obscured by the mists along the Jutland coast, but HMS Princess Royal, nevertheless, received two 12-inch hits in quick succession – one from the battleship SMS Markgraf and one from SMS Lutzow. For the moment, Hood’s ships were obscured in the mist and haze to the northeast, while Hipper’s ships were frequently clear of smoke and mist and sharply outlined by the setting sun. As the battle ran to the SE, the British gunnery seemed to improve – especially that of the 3rd Battlecruiser Squadron. It should be remembered, they were fresh from gunnery practice at Scapa Flow when they were ordered to sea. Between 18:19 and 18:30, HMS Indomitable struck SMS Derfflinger three times and Seydlitz once, while Lutzow (flag) – leading the line – took ten hits in quick succession from HMS Lion, Inflexible, and Invincible. Four of Invincible’s 12-inch shells struck Lutzow forward, below the waterline – one blowing a large hole in the bow torpedo flat, and another, an equally large hole in the broadside torpedo flat. The torpedo flats were the two largest compartments forward of “A” turret. They flooded completely in mere minutes -- and began leaking into adjacent compartments. The other two shells also ripped large, irregular, holes in the lower hull, further opening the ship to the sea. Lutzow maintained her speed and position in line – but it was only a matter of time.
HMS Invincible, flagship of Sir Horace Hood’s 3rd Battlecruiser Squadron. She was the FIRST battlecruiser – the original concept ship of an entirely new type of warship. Among the British battlecruisers at Jutland that day, the three ships of the Invincible Class (Invincible, Inflexible, and Indomitable) were shooting well. Admiral Hood had pushed his men hard during their recent training period on the Scapa Flow gunnery ranges.
Beatty watched 3rd Battle Cruiser Squadron, visibly agitated and beaming with pride. One of his staff recorded…
”Hood pressed home his attack, and it was an inspiring sight to see this squadron of battlecruisers dashing towards the enemy with every gun in action. On Lion’s bridge, we felt like cheering them on, for it seemed the decisive moment of battle had come”
But the moment for cheering passed quickly. At 18:32, for a fatal 2 minutes, the constantly moving and shifting smoke and mist parted around HMS Invincible. Gunnery Officer Paschen aboard SMS Lutzow, and von Hase aboard Derfflinger, just 9,000 yards away, seized the moment with the speed and opportunism acquired through long training and battle experience. In just a matter of seconds, the main battery turrets steadied on Invincible – the big gun tubes elevated – needles swung on the repeaters – and the Chief Gunnery Officers jammed their fingers down on the worn red buttons.
Derfflinger opened first. Two shells landed “over” – but two struck home. Rapid salvos were ordered and two more salvos blasted out of the big rifles only twenty seconds apart. At 18:34, Lutzow fired the last salvo and one shell struck the face-plate of Invincible’s midships “Q” turret. The 12-inch armor-piercing shell penetrated the 7-inch armor, detonating cordite charges in the gun house, and blew the armored roof three hundred feet into the air. Within a fraction of a second, the flash from the powder burn raced down the turret trunk to the magazines. A series of rapid explosions could be seen and the magazine erupted in an angry ball of flame. A gigantic column of black smoke and debris gushed some four hundred feet into the sky. The ship could be seen to break exactly in the middle as coal dust shot out of the cracks and broken seams. Pieces of Invincible were thrown hundreds of feet into the air before raining down in all directions. At least one, and possibly both, midships turrets (“P” & “Q”) were flung high into the air before splashing into the sea – guns and all. The tripod masts were seen to collapse inward on each other, and more explosions were heard. Mercifully, a monstrous smoke cloud settled over the water and obscured the dying ship. It was all over in just fifteen seconds.
A detail shot of HMS Invincible. The turrets on this class were lettered, bow to stern – “A”, port side ”P”, starboard side “Q”, and “X”. One shell out of the fatal 4-gun salvo fired by SMS Lutzow struck the face-plate of “Q” turret, penetrated, and started a fire among powder charges in the handling trunk that detonated both midships magazines.
HMS Invincible at the moment of the explosion. It is a grainy, black and white photo – and was obviously taken in great haste – but columns of smoke, fire, or coal dust can be seen shooting up out of various parts of the ship. The large white “cloud” just aft of the forward superstructure is, in reality, a gigantic fire-ball just starting to form. In ten more seconds, she would be gone. (HMS Invincible model courtesy of @Barroco Hispano).
The two German battlecruisers had fired three quick salvos each, sending HMS Invincible to the bottom in 90 seconds. The North Sea is known as a “shallow sea”, and especially so off the Jutland coast. The midships had been blown out of Invincible, so when the smoke cloud began to dissipate, the stem and the stern poking up out of the water was all that could be seen – the broken ends were resting on the seafloor. There were six survivors plucked out of the sea by HMS Badger -- five of them were in the foretop gunnery control station and simply stepped out when the water rose up to meet them. The sixth survivor had been manning the rangefinder inside “P” turret and was miraculously blown clear by the explosion. In that blindingly swift fifteen seconds, 1,026 men perished – including the promising young flag-officer, Sir Horace Hood.
It is a bit ironic, or possibly eerie, that Horace Hood – descended from Admiral Sir Samuel Hood (1762 – 1814) -- died in the cataclysmic explosion of a battlecruiser. The battlecruiser HMS Hood – named after Sir Samuel Hood – was also destroyed in a cataclysmic explosion in the Denmark Strait in 1941. It is also, I suppose, fitting that the “first ever” battlecruiser – the progenitor of the breed – was HMS Invincible. And the last commissioned British battlecruiser was HMS Hood. You might think of it as the “Alpha” and “Omega” of Admiral Jackie Fisher’s dream.
HMS Prince Of Wales (King George V Class battleship commissioned 1940) in the foreground engaging the KM Bismarck and the heavy cruiser KM Prince Eugen in the Denmark Strait, May 1941. HMS Hood can be seen in the background. She, too, has been broken in half by a magazine explosion amidships and is on her way to the bottom.
SMS Lutzow, hotly engaged with the battlecruisers of both Beatty and Hood. Within mere minutes, she would receive ten hits from the concentrated fire of three capital ships, and Invincible would deliver the “death blow”. The smoke column on the horizon to the right is Invincible – seconds before the fatal explosion. (Magnificent painting by Claus Bergen.)
As quickly as Invincible had disappeared, the realization began to sink in that SMS Lutzow was doomed as well. At just over 9,000 yards, a fusillade of British shells from three capital ships had struck the big battlecruiser on the thinly armored portions of the bow, some blasting holes in the forecastle deck that reached all the way down to the four-inch armor belt. One eyewitness later said the holes were big enough “to have easily driven a locomotive through”. The sea could be clearly seen to wash in and out of the gaping holes – at least for a little while. As heavy caliber shells smashed through the forecastle deck and tore jagged holes in the thin bow plating, four 12-inch shells were seen to strike below the waterline. Though all four shells ripped open the ship’s lower hull, two of them in particular, fired by Invincible, struck beneath the armor belt and penetrated the hull below the protective armor deck. These shells scored direct hits on both the bow and broadside torpedo flats. The broadside torpedo flat had firing tubes mounted on either beam and stretched the entire width of the hull. Due to the sheer length of a torpedo, the bow torpedo flat, though smaller, also stretched the width of the narrow bow. Both compartments quickly flooded and the battlecruiser took on an estimated 2,300 tons of water. Kapitan Harder sheered out of line and reduced speed to 16 knots to try to ease the flooding, but Lutzow was effectively out of the battle. Barely maneuverable, with her wireless aerials shot away, one serviceable main battery turret, and progressive flooding through holes that could not be “plugged” – the finest gunnery ship in the Hochseeflotte was all but useless. And yet, she continued to fire at the multitude of targets appearing out of the smoke and haze. Reluctantly, von Hipper ordered Kapitan Harder to detach Lutzow from the 1st Scouting Group and withdraw to the west at his best possible speed. It should be noted – Lutzow had now absorbed the impact of, at least, 22 heavy caliber shells – and she was still afloat. Unfortunately, though she turned away to the west, Beatty was forcing the German battlecruisers onto a southerly course and would maintain a steady fire on the crippled cruiser.
With SMS Lutzow’s bow filling with sea water, she was no longer capable of maintaining battle speed, and could only maneuver slowly and with great difficulty. The torpedo boat G-39 has been ordered alongside to embark Vizeadmiral Hipper and his staff, and transfer them to a battlecruiser still capable of fighting. The battle continues to rage around her and she is in imminent danger of total destruction. (Art by Claus Bergen.)
As a matter of some interest – Claus Bergen (1885 – 1964) -- was a noted German artist and illustrator specializing in fishing scenes, coastal landscapes, and naval subjects. In 1914 he was appointed “Marine Painter to Kaiser Wilhelm II”. After the Battle Of Jutland, there was enormous demand from museums, the public, and ship captains that had participated in the action, for paintings of battle scenes. To meet the demand, Vizeadmiral Scheer took the Hochseeflotte into the Baltic Sea with Bergen aboard and staged portions of the battle – complete with firing blank rounds to simulate the battle scenes. His works are the most accurate depictions of the warships and, quite possibly, the most realistic naval combat scenes ever painted.
Around 18:50, Kommodore Andreas Michelsen, aboard the light cruiser SMS Rostock, took it on his own initiative to dispatch five torpedo boats to assist the stricken battlecruiser. (The Kaiserliche Marine may not have had a centuries-long tradition to live by, but they considered themselves the elite of the German military – and above all, they were a “family” – “Kameraden”. The torpedo boats would not leave their comrades to the mercy of the sea, and if needed, they would fight to protect them.) As the torpedo boat G-39 approached, a signal lamp on Lutzow’s bridge ordered her to come alongside. As a stationary target, Lutzow was still under heavy fire from Beatty’s battlecruisers as well as the battle squadrons of the Grand Fleet. The torpedo boats G-37 and V-45 immediately began laying a smokescreen around the crippled battlecruiser to make her less of a target. Unable to maneuver, Lutzow continued to receive numerous hits from British battlecruisers to the east. G-37, G-38, G-40, and V-45 quickly swung toward the enemy, drove through the smokescreen astern of Lutzow, and surged ahead to engage the threat. The four little ships fanned-out in attack mode and continued to lay a thick smoke screen as they advanced. As the torpedo boats closed their targets, the British battlecruisers suddenly swung hard east to avoid the attack and ceased firing at Lutzow. The little torpedo boats had gamely charged the enemy to protect the stricken battlecruiser from what could only have been annihilation.
While his flotilla-mates went into the attack, Oberleutnant zur See von Loefen ignored the risk of near-certain destruction from large caliber shells raining down, and eased the little G-39 up against the big battlecruiser. He nervously stood by as Vizeadmiral Hipper and his staff made their way down from the bridge to the ship’s rail. Hipper knew he could no longer exercise effective command of his battlecruisers from a flagship that had, literally, been shot full of holes – he had to get to a battlecruiser still in the fight. As the Admiral’s staff went over the side, Hipper gazed fore and aft at the destruction that was once the newest and finest warship in the Hochseeflotte. He waved one last time to Harder on the bridge, saluted the battle ensign on the aft mast, then went over the side. And so began the odyssey of Vizeadmiral Franz von Hipper.
The little torpedo boat pulled away from Lutzow and Hipper ordered von Loefen to catch-up to 1st Scouting Group so he could resume command. (In his absence, the Imperial battlecruisers were led by Kapitan zur See Hartog, in SMS Derfflinger.) The small torpedo boat lunged forward and set out in the wake of the battlecruisers. Vizeadmiral Scheer had, by this time, joined battle with the Grand Fleet and was maneuvering his battle squadrons in an effort to gain the upper hand. Kapitan Hartog was doing his best to keep station ahead of the Hochseeflotte while continuing to trade salvos with Beatty. All the while, the German battlecruisers were charging in and out of the gun smoke, funnel smoke, and mist -- and coming in for their share of shells from the British battleships as well.
After losing sight of the Panzerkreuzer once or twice, G-39’s speed and agility managed to close-up with them while dodging the mountainous shell splashes and taking a good deal of whirring splinters through her thin skin. Hipper eyed his battlecruisers through binoculars and quickly realized SMS Von der Tann was in no condition to act as a flagship. G-39 sheered away into the smoke to avoid incoming salvos, and when she came abreast the battlecruiser line again, she was beside SMS Seydlitz. It was at this moment that Hipper realized just how much damage his squadron had sustained. Seydlitz was maintaining her speed and position in line, and she continued to fire with three turrets – but she was down by the bow – similar to Lutzow, but not that bad. SMS Derfflinger was up ahead, but Hipper already knew she had taken a great deal of punishment. After a few seconds thought, Hipper ordered Oberleutnant von Loefen to drop back to SMS Moltke – she would be the new flagship. But the chaos of battle was unrelenting, and it would be nearly an hour later (20:45) when Hipper finally stepped onto Moltke’s deck. Hipper had seen the damage to his squadron, but he did not fully understand his magnificent battlecruisers were nearing their limits.
Meanwhile, SMS Lutzow fired her last salvo at 19:45 and disappeared to the SW behind the smokescreen of the escorting torpedo boats. Later, after nightfall, Lutzow was still making 15 knots and altered course to the south to try and stay on the disengaged side of the Hochseeflotte as they withdrew toward Horn’s Reef. Around 21:13, the trailing ship of the Hochseeflotte lost sight of Lutzow, which was no longer able to keep up. Kapitan Harder held out hope of being able to evade the British and “cheat the Devil” by nursing Lutzow into port – but it was a long way to the Jade.
By 21:30, the battered cruiser was settling slowly into the sea. Water began to lap over what remained of the forecastle deck and was quickly flooding everything above the main armored deck. With large areas below the main armored deck already flooded, Harder had to reduce speed to relieve the pressure on the rear bulkheads of the large torpedo flats. Around 23:45 Lutzow’s speed had dropped to 7 knots and she was still taking on water. Most critical of all, the forward main pumps suddenly failed due to jammed control rods.
The possibility of Lutzow limping into the Jade was fast becoming no more than a dream. By 00:30 on 1 June, there was simply too much water in the hull for the remaining pumps to handle. With no hope of “plugging” the huge holes in the bow, and insufficient means to remove the water – Lutzow’s crew was fighting their last battle – and losing. Water began rising in the forward generator compartments and shorted-out the dynamos – forcing the damage control parties to work by oil lamps and candlelight. Rising water also began to pour into the forward boiler room. By now, all forward compartments up to the conning tower and below the main armored deck were completely flooded. Everything above the main armored deck forward of “A” turret barbette was flooded as well. Efforts to plug the holes had been useless – most were far too large for collision mats, or the rising seas washed them away shortly after they were rigged. As the draft forward increased, the waves washing over the battered forecastle deck hindered or prohibited repair efforts.
This is a rough schematic showing the remaining buoyancy and bow-down angle of Lutzow around 01:00 on 1 June.
As water crept toward “A” turret, the gun crews and magazine handling crews labored in the lantern-lit darkness, moving shells and powder charges into the “B” turret barbette and magazines before the sea rendered them useless. It is a curious thing to see the minds of warriors at work in a crisis. Even with the sea lapping at their pant-legs, the gunners were determined to defend their ship until the very last. The wounded among them were either working on repairs, or had been moved to the comparative safety of the quarter deck. The signal books, charts, and important papers had been bagged for transfer to one of the escorting torpedo boats. The ship’s log was being annotated by the Officer of the Watch, and would leave the ship – if and when he did. The Kapitan’s steward had gathered a small satchel of personal effects from his cabin – there could have been more – but the little torpedo boats would be terribly crowded when the time came.
And yet, around 01:15, an attempt was made to maneuver the ship stern-first toward Horn’s Reef. Even at the last possible moment, it was hoped steaming astern might relieve the pressure on the forward bulkheads, somehow slow the flooding, and just possibly get them home. But this novel idea failed. The big cruiser was so far down at the bows, the propellers aft were partially out of the water. In a last act of desperation, an attempt was made to tow Lutzow with the torpedo boats. And though every effort was made, the little boats simply did not have the horsepower to move a capital ship full of sea water.
As the sky just begins to lighten in the east, Lutzow lies abandoned, her crew removed by the waiting torpedo boats. She is seriously down by the bows and listing to port. Her guns are silent now, but the remaining steam in the boilers turns her propellers, as though she refused to give up.
By 01:30, the damage control officer estimated there were 8,400 tons of water in the ship, and she was beginning to list to port – with the possibility of capsizing at any time. Kapitan Harder finally made the difficult decision and ordered...”Fires out – abandon ship…” The torpedo boats G-37, G-38, G-40, and V-45 came alongside and made ready to remove the crew. Lutzow’s men assembled on the port rail and Kapitan Harder said a few words – reminding them Lutzow was a “crack” gunnery ship – that she had led the line from the beginning – every man had done more than his duty, with courage and devotion – and...”All that could be done – has been done.” With that, three cheers were raised for the ship and three for His Majesty, the Kaiser. Harder simply finished with...”Alright, my men – to the boats!”
The crew transferred to the torpedo boats in a quick and orderly manner. Harder was the last man on deck, saluting the battle ensign before he went over the side. On Harder’s orders, SMS G-38 stood off and fired two torpedoes into the battlecruiser. At 01:47 she slid bow-first beneath the waves – approximately 37 miles NW of Horn’s Reef. SMS Lutzow was the only German dreadnought to be lost that day, and the only Imperial battlecruiser ever lost in action. Though she set a proud example, she was, in the end...”short-lived and unlucky.”
During her superb performance at Jutland, SMS Lutzow led the Panzerkreuzer battle line for a full four hours, and as flagship 1st Scouting Group, Beatty deliberately took her under fire with two of his six battlecruisers during the “run to the south”. During the “run to the north”, HMS Barham added her powerful 15-inch guns to the rain of shells targeting Lutzow. And finally, as Hipper’s battlecruisers neared the deploying Grand Fleet, several British battleships opened on her as well. The big cruiser had continually dueled with two, three, or more enemy capital ships – straddling them with rapid and accurate salvos. As a mark of the esteem in which Kapitan Harder was held, he was decorated with the Iron Cross and later given command of SMS Baden – one of only two 15-inch-gunned battleships commissioned into the Kaiserliche Marine.
The Imperial battlecruisers were instrumental in carrying the fight to the British, and the swift and powerful warships bore the brunt of the battle throughout that long afternoon. Even after the opposing battle fleets engaged, the Panzerkreuzer took station as the vanguard of the fleet and led the way. And Lutzow led them all into the thick of the battle. Her superbly trained and courageous gunners fired 380 main gun rounds and 400 rounds from her secondary batteries – and two torpedoes. The big Panzerkreuzer exhibited, quite possibly, the finest shooting in the annals of the “Dreadnought Era” – and certainly, the most skilled marksmanship at the Battle of Jutland. Her crew suffered 115 dead and another 50 wounded – second only to Derfflinger, which lost 157 killed and 26 wounded.
In her leading position as flagship of 1st Scouting Group, Lutzow was usually under fire from two or more British warships, and she took more damage than any ship present at the battle. A total of 25 large caliber shells struck the German battlecruiser; four 15-inch fired by 5th Battle Squadron during the “run to the north” – twelve 13.5-inch shells fired over the duration of the battle primarily by Beatty’s battlecruisers, as well as a few fired by the British battle fleet during their deployment; and nine 12-inch shells fired during the final, brief, engagement with 3rd Battlecruiser Squadron. (These are only the large caliber shells. The number of medium shell hits were known to be numerous, but the total is unknown.)
The German naval architects had done their job well. When all the fine points have been debated, many naval analysts say the Derfflinger Class battlecruisers were the finest capital ships built during the “Dreadnought Era” (1905-1930) – and with good cause. The British will claim superiority for their Queen Elizabeth Class – but HMS Warspite proved they were just as vulnerable as any other capital ship. But the German designers are widely acclaimed to have produced the two finest warships (Lutzow and Derfflinger) possessed by either fleet at the Battle of Jutland.
Through four long hours of near-constant engagement, Lutzow’s carefully crafted armor suite protected her machinery spaces and kept her traveling at high speed. When other battlecruisers suffered turret breakdowns or battle damage, Lutzow’s firepower remained largely intact. Over the course of the prolonged battle, her precision gunnery was superb. And while she suffered a good deal of damage to her upper works and less heavily armored decks, her face-hardened Krupp steel resisted penetration by the heaviest shells. She was a thing of beauty, and a marvel of engineering. But, as in all “perfect” things, there is an imperfection – in this case -- an “Achilles Heel”.
A common practice in all navies of the period was to put the thickest possible armor belt along the waterline amidships, stretching from “A” turret forward, to “D” turret aft. This created an “armored box” protecting the gun turret barbettes at either end and the machinery and boiler spaces between them. This practice left both “ends” of the ship (bow and stern) either lightly armored, or completely unarmored. This theory, basically, dismissed the ends of the ship as “unimportant”. (In the US Navy battleship design school, it was called the “all or nothing” principle.) Derfflinger’s designers “hedged their bets” on this one. Rather than leave the ends completely unarmored, they hit upon a cost-saving measure. The main armor belt amidships was 12 inches thick – respectable by any standards. From “A” turret forward to the stem, the armor tapered to 4 inches – with the same protection at the stern. And the armor belt extended down below the waterline to the “standard” depth used on all German capital ships (leaving the lower hull unarmored because no shells were expected to strike there). And on the face of it – during the battle – this system worked very well. But at one of the late planning meetings in 1911, it had been suggested Derfflinger’s 4-inch bow armor could be reduced in thickness to save money. However, Herr Hullmann, of the design department, had said…...
“With a reduction in belt armor thickness on the bow, it should be understood large caliber shells will inevitably strike the ship there. One must then expect the ship will fill with water forward. If the damage is sufficient, leaks will occur that cannot be sealed with the means available onboard. The ship’s outer hull, to which the armor is secured, will undoubtedly leak, and the forecastle ahead of the citadel transverse bulkhead will certainly fill, and could not be kept drained with the means available onboard”.
At that point, the notion of reducing the bow armor thickness was dropped. But tragically, Herr Hullmann had unknowingly predicted the death of SMS Lutzow.
Though they did not tamper with the original design, neither did they realize a mere 4 inches of armor would not be enough. Even a British 6-inch shell could penetrate a 4-inch armor belt. In all truth – in 1911 -- neither the designers (mostly), nor the admirals, nor the lesser ranked “experts”, believed extensive shell damage to the extreme ends of a warship to be a serious possibility. It must be remembered that prior to the outbreak of war in 1914, the naval powers of the world had very little practical experience in modern naval warfare. During the Victorian Era, steam powered ships-of-the-line and sail-rigged ironclad steamers had fought the occasional action, but in the century after the 1805 Battle Of Trafalgar, there was only one major fleet action – the 1905 Battle Of Tsushima. Unfortunately for naval theoreticians and design analysts, Tsushima was fought at the end of the “pre-dreadnought” era and the beginning of the “dreadnought” era. The advent of HMS Dreadnought tore up all the existing rule books. The result was very few naval officers with experience of Tsushima (only a few foreign naval observers were present) – and whatever technical knowledge they acquired in 1905, was no longer applicable to the advanced naval technology of 1911.
This long period of peace – the “Pax Britannica” – also meant their was little, if any, combat experience in the officer corps or among designers. Designers could only acquire practical knowledge of the interaction between armor and shells through testing. But this was still a rudimentary business in the first decade of the 20th Century, and results could easily be misleading or misinterpreted. And it is also debatable as to whether or not designers, or naval officers, fully understood the destructive capability of naval gunfire prior to 1914. And they certainly had no data about shell trajectory once it hit the water – otherwise, they would have increased the thickness of the bow armor belt – and extended it farther below the waterline. But then – the 4-inch armor belt forward of “A” turret was meant to be a cost-saving measure –- a compromise -- and something of a calculated risk.
All of them, designers and naval officers, probably assumed that if a shell got that close to the end of the ship – it would likely miss and fall into the sea. None of them could have predicted four large caliber shells would strike the forecastle deck – directly along the centreline of the ship. These shells penetrated two decks down and exploded, blasting large holes in the forecastle deck and wrecking the watertight integrity of many of the compartments above the armored deck. And none of them had any idea four large shells, in quick succession, would strike underwater – beneath the armor belt – and rip huge holes in Lutzow’s lower hull. And none of them, in their wildest dreams, would ever have imagined the finest ship in the Hochseeflotte could take on 8,400 tons of water before her own Kapitan ordered her sunk.
But any military man will tell you – battle, once joined, has no certainties. There is always the unexpected.
NEXT TIME……
INTO THE JAWS OF
DEATH
MANY THANKS to @Barroco Hispano for his beautiful warship models.
SPECIAL THANKS to my friend and partner, @AP, for his talents, meticulous models, colorful imagination, and extreme dedication.
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IMPERIAL DOCKYARDS: WILHELMSHAVEN
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