Von Mueller nodded to Gaede and to Kurt Witthoeft, at torpedo control. "Starboard batteries now, Herr Gaede! Forward batteries to continue fire on target. Starboard torpedo, Herr Whitthoeft. Fire when ready."
"Jawohl, Herr Kapitan!" Witthoeft bent to his work.
It was necessary' to aim the torpedos from above, since von Hohenzollern and his crew in the torpedo flat below the after deck could not see the target. Consequently the response was not as swift as that of gunnery.
But it was not less effective. At Witthoeft's first signal the torpedo crew below stood by their weapon, activating the motors and readying the release gear. Underfoot they could feel the ship roll as she bit into her turn. On the torpedo-flat signal board the command flashed: "Clear away starboard tube." They tensed. Von Hohenzollern found that he was sweating profusely. Then came the one word, flashed on the board: "Fire!"
Von Hohenzollern tripped the release button, and the big missile leaped from its tube with a sort of sighing hiss. At the same instant, the guns of the batteries directly above opened fire. In the enclosed space of the torpedo flat the noise and jarring shock of the explosions seemed almost ominous. They waited, every man among them with his head cocked, his ears straining to catch some sound that would tell them of a task accomplished. The seconds seemed to drag by, each one longer than the one before. Then in a brief lull in the closer crashing above there came a distant, dull, and heavy but unmistakable thudding boo?n that could mean but one thing: their weapon had found its mark.
There were cheers and congratulations below.
On the conning tower there was less exuberance, but scarcely less satisfaction. The torpedo had been sent away from 380 yards, from which range it was hardly possible to miss. From where they stood, they could watch its white wake as it sped, boiling away like an arrow, to its mark. As it went the batteries opened, peppering the fore part of the Jemtschug, where the Russian's crew was quartered, with the object of putting the men out of action before they could reach their guns. Great rents appeared, and they could see that some fires had already been started.
Then the torpedo struck, well below the water line, a little aft of amidships, and all the rest was overshadowed. The report was not loud, but rather muffled and ponderous. At the same instant, a great, towering column of almost solid white water spouted up beside her, reaching well above her masthead. The cruiser herself reared high in the air, so that for an instant they could see daylight under her keel. Then slowly, as if she were suddenly very tired, she settled back and began to sink, her bows yet higher than her stern, until the water was lapping at her deck.
Despite the completeness of their surprise some of the Jemtschug's men apparently made their way to the after guns and at least briefly managed to return the Emden's fire. It was a gallant effort, but a futile one, for the Russian's gunnery was poor, their aim bad, probably owing to the fact that their main controls had already been shot away. Their shots went high and wild, most of them landing among the anchored merchantmen.
The Emden's speed made her a difficult target. But she was forced to dodge and flit and pirouette like a ballet dancer as she skimmed through the tangle of anchored ships to avoid either colliding with one of them or—an even greater danger—falling afoul of their anchor cables and sheering away a propeller blade.
Accordingly, this portion of the attack actually required the greatest skill and concentration. At the same time, a stream of fire seemed to be directed at them from a position somewhere well within the harbor. As the first shells flew over them from this new direction they were momentarily surprised, but they soon saw that they were coming from the French destroyer DUbennlle, which lay at some distance from the other ships, and which had not been previously noticed. To meet this new threat the guns of the after batteries and turret were turned in that direction as the Emden swung into the outer leg of her circle.
"We'll come around again and finish them handily when we're done with the Russian. In the meantime, Witthoeft, ready?" asked von Mueller.
"Ready, Herr Kapitan!" the torpedo officer replied.
"Fire from portside as soon as you are on target."
"Wear away port tube!" flashed the signal board.
In the torpedo flat the crew went through the same movements as before with swift precision, as calmly as if this were merely a drill.
The range closed to seven hundred yards.
"Fire!" flashed the board.
Once again they counted the seconds, waiting tensely. Then abruptly came a tremendous jolting explosion that almost seemed to compress their own hull. This time, their cheers were even louder. To cause such a blast they must have found either a magazine or the Russian's torpedo flat. In either case there was little chance the enemy could remain afloat.
From the conning tower the impression was even more positive. They saw the torpedo streak straight into the stricken enemy's side; saw the explosion as it struck, and then, so closely that it seemed a continuation of the first, a second, far more tremendous blast. Before their eyes the Russian was literally torn into pieces. Huge chunks of armor and metal sprayed crazily in all directions, raining down seconds later to create even greater hazards all around. The first bright spout of the blast thundered skyward. Then a thick cloud of yellowish smoke rolled in to blanket the scene, a cloud that was filled with the flash and rumble of still more explosions as the fire swept into those few remaining magazines and flats that were left aboard the stricken ship.
The crew was still staring at the spectacle in awe when the communicator buzzer from the lookout in the foremast sounded urgently. That was von Guerard's action station. Von Muecke reached for the telephone.
"Conning tower. Von Muecke," he said.
"Foremast, Herr Kapitanleutnant—von Guerard here. Beg to report suspicious vessel just entering harbor, apparently under forced draft."
"What does she look like?" von Muecke demanded.
"Sorry, Herr Kapitanleutnant. There is too much smoke, but she may be a torpedo-boat destroyer."
"Very good! Thank you, Leutnant!" von Muecke said.
He reported the new development to von Mueller, and together they scanned the bay. They had no difficulty locating the vessel. She was just inside the narrows and standing directly toward them, obviously in a great hurry. But it was still impossible to make out her identity or even her lines. She was shrouded in her own smoke.
Von Muecke looked toward the Captain.
"Anton is right," von Mueller said quickly. "She could be a destroyer—or even a light cruiser. In any case, we cannot risk her bottling us in. We'll have to abandon that noisy Frenchman and tend to this. See to it, Helmuth. Be prepared to open fire at six thousand yards."
"Jawohl, Herr Kapitan!" von Muecke acknowledged, and they rolled away from the attack and sped off to meet the incoming stranger. At six thousand yards the Emden opened fire, but owing to the smoke, their aim was poor—perhaps fortunately, for the stranger turned tail, and as she ran clear of her own smoke screen, revealed herself as a tiny, unarmed government steamer.
The order to cease fire was, of course, given at once. But so far the Emden was concerned, the damage was done. Armed or not, the little craft had done her comrades, lying inside the harbor, a great service and probably saved more than one of them from destruction, for she had drawn the Emden off, and now that they were outside there was no possible chance of re-entering. The element of surprise was gone. Von Mueller gave the order to continue out through the channel and secure from stations.