Dictatorship of the Air: Aviation Culture and the Fate of Modern Russia (Cambridge Centennial of Flight)
by Scott W. Palmer (Author)
Editorial Reviews from Amazon.com
Robert Wohl, author of The Spectacle of Flight: Aviation and the Western Imagination, 1920-1950
"[A] remarkably original survey of Russia's aeronautical development between 1909 and 1989 that artfully combines political, technological, military, and above all cultural history into a rich mosaic that yields surprising insights into Russia's attempt to match and overtake its Western rivals."
Review
"Scott Palmer has given us a remarkably original survey of Russia's aeronautical development between 1909 and 1989 that artfully combines political, technological, military, and above all cultural history into a rich mosaic that yields surprising insights into Russia's attempt to match and overtake its Western rivals."
Robert Wohl, University of California, Los Angeles
"Palmer's interesting ,well-illustrated book is a cultural history of aviation in Russia from late czarist days through the horrors of Stalin and WWII."
Choice
"Palmer's book is beautifully illustrated and provides the reader with much to think about regarding the place of the airplane in Russian and Soviet culture, society and politics. He does a fine job of fleshing out the continuities between the imperial and Soviet aviation industries." - Steven Maddox, University of Toronto
"Palmer is to be commended for integrating aviation into a wider cultural and political context. In contrast to more traditional aviation histories, Palmer's account teases out the connections between culture, politics, and the development of the technology. In the process, he illustrates that no history of modern Russia can be considered complete without an account of the history of Russian aviation." - Andrew Jenks, California State University, Long Beach
"[a] welcome book...Palmer provides an impressively detailed account of Russia's aviation history up to the end of World War II." - Drew Whitelegg, Emory University, The Journal of Transport History
Robert Wohl, author of The Spectacle of Flight: Aviation and the Western Imagination, 1920-1950
"[A] remarkably original survey of Russia's aeronautical development between 1909 and 1989 that artfully combines political, technological, military, and above all cultural history into a rich mosaic that yields surprising insights into Russia's attempt to match and overtake its Western rivals."
Product Description
Focusing on one of the last untold chapters in the history of human flight, Dictatorship of the Air is the first book to explain the true story behind twentieth-century Russia's quest for aviation prominence. Based on nearly a decade of scholarly research, but written with general readers in mind, this is the only account to answer the question 'What is 'Russian' about Russian aviation?' From the 1909 arrival of machine-powered flight in the 'land of the tsars' to the USSR's victory over Hitler in 1945, Dictatorship of the Air describes why the airplane became the pre-eminent symbol of industrial progress and international power for generations of Russian statesmen and citizens. The book reveals how, behind a façade of daredevil pilots, record setting flights, and gargantuan airplanes, Russia's longstanding legacies of industrial backwardness, cultural xenophobia, and state-directed modernization prolonged the nation's dependence upon Western technology and, ultimately, ensured the USSR's demise.
About the Author
Scott W. Palmer is a specialist in the history of modern Russian culture and technology. A frequent traveler to the Russian Federation, he has conducted eight extended visits to Russian archives since 1994. His research has been supported through fellowships and grants awarded by institutions including the American Council of Learned Societies, the United States Library of Congress, the Smithsonian Institution, the Fulbright-Hays Program, the International Council for Research Exchange (IREX), the Kennan Institute for Advanced Russian Studies, and the Graham Foundation for Advanced Study in the Fine Arts. He currently resides and teaches in the Midwest.
"[A] remarkably original survey of Russia's aeronautical development between 1909 and 1989 that artfully combines political, technological, military, and above all cultural history into a rich mosaic that yields surprising insights into Russia's attempt to match and overtake its Western rivals."
Review
"Scott Palmer has given us a remarkably original survey of Russia's aeronautical development between 1909 and 1989 that artfully combines political, technological, military, and above all cultural history into a rich mosaic that yields surprising insights into Russia's attempt to match and overtake its Western rivals."
Robert Wohl, University of California, Los Angeles
"Palmer's interesting ,well-illustrated book is a cultural history of aviation in Russia from late czarist days through the horrors of Stalin and WWII."
Choice
"Palmer's book is beautifully illustrated and provides the reader with much to think about regarding the place of the airplane in Russian and Soviet culture, society and politics. He does a fine job of fleshing out the continuities between the imperial and Soviet aviation industries." - Steven Maddox, University of Toronto
"Palmer is to be commended for integrating aviation into a wider cultural and political context. In contrast to more traditional aviation histories, Palmer's account teases out the connections between culture, politics, and the development of the technology. In the process, he illustrates that no history of modern Russia can be considered complete without an account of the history of Russian aviation." - Andrew Jenks, California State University, Long Beach
"[a] welcome book...Palmer provides an impressively detailed account of Russia's aviation history up to the end of World War II." - Drew Whitelegg, Emory University, The Journal of Transport History
Robert Wohl, author of The Spectacle of Flight: Aviation and the Western Imagination, 1920-1950
"[A] remarkably original survey of Russia's aeronautical development between 1909 and 1989 that artfully combines political, technological, military, and above all cultural history into a rich mosaic that yields surprising insights into Russia's attempt to match and overtake its Western rivals."
Product Description
Focusing on one of the last untold chapters in the history of human flight, Dictatorship of the Air is the first book to explain the true story behind twentieth-century Russia's quest for aviation prominence. Based on nearly a decade of scholarly research, but written with general readers in mind, this is the only account to answer the question 'What is 'Russian' about Russian aviation?' From the 1909 arrival of machine-powered flight in the 'land of the tsars' to the USSR's victory over Hitler in 1945, Dictatorship of the Air describes why the airplane became the pre-eminent symbol of industrial progress and international power for generations of Russian statesmen and citizens. The book reveals how, behind a façade of daredevil pilots, record setting flights, and gargantuan airplanes, Russia's longstanding legacies of industrial backwardness, cultural xenophobia, and state-directed modernization prolonged the nation's dependence upon Western technology and, ultimately, ensured the USSR's demise.
About the Author
Scott W. Palmer is a specialist in the history of modern Russian culture and technology. A frequent traveler to the Russian Federation, he has conducted eight extended visits to Russian archives since 1994. His research has been supported through fellowships and grants awarded by institutions including the American Council of Learned Societies, the United States Library of Congress, the Smithsonian Institution, the Fulbright-Hays Program, the International Council for Research Exchange (IREX), the Kennan Institute for Advanced Russian Studies, and the Graham Foundation for Advanced Study in the Fine Arts. He currently resides and teaches in the Midwest.
Customer Reviews from Amazon.com
Palmer's book isn't another treatise about the design of Russian aircraft or WWII military air campaigns. Instead readers will find a sophisticated treatment of original Russian sources, including newspapers, propaganda, poetry, and institutional state directives that provides a myriad of perspectives on a single, but monumental, event in the history of mankind: human flight. The story of flight in Russia is more compelling and offers a greater understanding of Russian-Soviet life than similar histories of European and American aviation because it coincided with another unprecedented and no less monumental event: the establishment of the Soviet Union.
Palmer argues that state officials in both Imperial Russia and the Soviet Union latched on to aviation as symbol and tool of their nation's progress and as proof of their standing in the modern world. Importantly, while the Russian autocracy failed to successfully create a nation of fliers through voluntary associations (as was achieved in Western Europe and the United States), the Soviet Union also failed to do so, and rather spectacularly. As in many other endeavors, Soviet officials refused to face the difficulties inherent in their undertaking. They sought to create both a modern state and a modern aviation culture by fiat. Palmer rather dramatically explains how the tragic story of the Soviets' failed attempt unfolded to the detriment of their citizens.
The book's numerous photographs, prints, and propaganda posters as well as Palmer's original translations of poetry, literature, and state archival material make this a book that stands out from its scholarly peers. Between these fascinating materials and Palmer's elegant prose one almost forgets that this is a work from an academic press.
Palmer's history is well researched and his depiction of aviation under the Imperial and Soviet regime is convincing. My only quibble is with the final chapter wherein Palmer makes a nod to the post WWII era of Russian history arguing that subsequent events demonstrate continuity with the patterns he has described for the first half of the 20 century. It is only in hindsight (and after 1991, save Robert Conquest) that one could refer to the Soviet period of Russia's history as a complete failure. Given the obstacles and backwardness that so many historians, like Palmer, have described in the Imperial and the Soviet eras, it may be worth examining in more detail the relative success, however ugly the means, that the Soviets achieved in space flight and creating an air fleet second only to the United States during the height of the Cold War.
Palmer argues that state officials in both Imperial Russia and the Soviet Union latched on to aviation as symbol and tool of their nation's progress and as proof of their standing in the modern world. Importantly, while the Russian autocracy failed to successfully create a nation of fliers through voluntary associations (as was achieved in Western Europe and the United States), the Soviet Union also failed to do so, and rather spectacularly. As in many other endeavors, Soviet officials refused to face the difficulties inherent in their undertaking. They sought to create both a modern state and a modern aviation culture by fiat. Palmer rather dramatically explains how the tragic story of the Soviets' failed attempt unfolded to the detriment of their citizens.
The book's numerous photographs, prints, and propaganda posters as well as Palmer's original translations of poetry, literature, and state archival material make this a book that stands out from its scholarly peers. Between these fascinating materials and Palmer's elegant prose one almost forgets that this is a work from an academic press.
Palmer's history is well researched and his depiction of aviation under the Imperial and Soviet regime is convincing. My only quibble is with the final chapter wherein Palmer makes a nod to the post WWII era of Russian history arguing that subsequent events demonstrate continuity with the patterns he has described for the first half of the 20 century. It is only in hindsight (and after 1991, save Robert Conquest) that one could refer to the Soviet period of Russia's history as a complete failure. Given the obstacles and backwardness that so many historians, like Palmer, have described in the Imperial and the Soviet eras, it may be worth examining in more detail the relative success, however ugly the means, that the Soviets achieved in space flight and creating an air fleet second only to the United States during the height of the Cold War.
By Novice Aviator
#
Dictatorship of the Air is an innovative, thoroughly researched and very well-written book on a fascinating subject: the meaning and influence of aviation in Russian history. The author, Scott Palmer, uses an impressive number of archival materials and contemporary sources to build the case that the Russian approach to aeronautical modernization (combining state initiative, crash campaigns, and the acquisition of foreign technology) ultimately achieved far less than Imperial and Soviet leaders claimed. The book's treatment of technology transfer is particularly effective. Palmer does a terrific job explaining the internal economic and ideological factors that forced Russian officials to use espionage to keep up with competitors in Western Europe and the US. The book also contains (among other things) a fascinating discussion of the various "prestige" flights of the 1930s, insightful analysis of the religious foundations of Soviet-era aviation propaganda, and more than four dozen photographs and illustrations that readers will find nowhere else. This is certain to become the point of departure for future work on the history of Russian aviation. ***Highly recommended*** By M. Heller
Dictatorship of the Air: Aviation Culture and the Fate of Modern Russia
EARLY RUSSIAN AVIATION
In the second public flight of an airplane in Russia, French aviator Albert Guillaud pilots a Bl´eriot XI monoplane at the Kolomianskoe aerodrome in St. Petersburg, November 1909.
Defined as the science and practice of powered, heavier-than-air flight, aviation made its first great strides in the early twentieth century, after decades of flights in lighter-than-air gliders and balloons had been achieved in several countries. As acknowledged in reference books worldwide, including those of Soviet Russia, the first successful flight of an airplane was performed one hundred years ago by Orville and Wilbur Wright on December 17, 1903. Throughout the nineteenth century, however, designers and engineers in many countries were working on plans for powered human flight.
In Russia, Sergi Alexeyevich Chaplygin (1869–1942) and Nikolai Yegorovich Zhukovsky (1847–1921) made major contributions in their study of aerodynamics, founding a world-famous school in St. Petersburg, Russia. In 1881, Alexander Fyodorovich Mozhaisky (1823–1890) received a patent for a propeller-driven, table-shaped airplane powered by a steam engine, which crashed on takeoff in 1885.
The heady excitement generated by word of Bl´eriot’s flight was transformed into tangible reality for Russian citizens in the fall of 1909. Eager to display the capabilities of their airplanes in the months that followed the Channel crossing, French aviators undertook public demonstrations across the European continent. Less than eight weeks after French spectators flocked to bid farewell to Bl´eriot, Russian audiences gathered to greet the arrival of western pilots and their flying machines. On 15 September 1909, the inhabitants of Moscow saw for themselves the miracle of heavier-than-air flight as French aviator Georges Legagneux organized a public display of his Voisin biplane. Thousands of curious Muscovites flocked to Khodynka field just outside the city to witness this first-ever flight of an airplane in Russia.
Although none of the five flights made by Legagneux on the 15th lasted more than a few minutes, his demonstration was a great success. He repeated his performance with an encore presentation on the 19th. Subsequent demonstrations in St. Petersburg and Odessa attracted even greater numbers of spectators and generated further excitement.
While French fliers entertained Russian audiences with feats of aerial daring, the Russian Ministry of War moved to establish a national aviation program. On returning from France, Grand Duke Aleksandr Mikhailovich assumed a leading role in mobilizing support for Russian aviation. As honorary chairman of the state’s Special Committee for the Strengthening of the Military Fleet by Means of Voluntary Subscriptions, the grand duke had been instrumental in raising donations to rebuild the nation’s navy following the disastrous losses of the Russo–Japanese War (1904–5). Hoping to capitalize on the work of the existing Committee, the grand duke petitioned Tsar Nicholas II for permission to transfer funds from the Naval Committee to a newly formed Special Committee for the Establishment of the Air-Fleet. He also requested that the tsar approve the circulation of a series of decrees intended to mobilize support for aviation construction.
Overcoming the scepticism of some members of the Russian military hierarchy, the grand duke secured the tsar’s approval. On 6 February 1910, Nicholas announced that 900,000 rubles of the Naval Committee’s treasury be used for the development of a military air wing. The tsar subsequently proclaimed the inauguration of a nationwide voluntary subscription to support the Committee’s goals of training military officers to fly airplanes and establishing a reserve of fully equipped aircraft for military use. In March, following the proclamation of the voluntary subscription, the Committee for the Establishment of the Air-Fleet sent six military officers to France, where two each enrolled in the pilot schools run by Henri Farman, Louis Bl´eriot, and the Antoinette Company. Six enlisted men, who were to be trained as airplane mechanics, accompanied the officers.
In addition to preparing cadres to serve in the future air corps, the Committee moved to secure necessary equipment and infrastructure. Concomitant with the decision to send officers abroad for training, the Committee placed orders with leading French airplane manufacturers for the delivery of eleven airplanes by June 1910. The Committee also established training facilities in Russia. At Gatchina, southwest of St. Petersburg, hangars were constructed to house the military’s aircraft. A flight school, to be run by the French-trained Russian officers, was also established on the grounds. Unfortunately, the site proved to be a poor location. Owing to harsh winters and the region’s swampy soil, training flights were limited to the summer months. As a result, having already invested a considerable sum of money to construct the Gatchina facilities, the Committee was compelled to find a new site capable of sustaining year-round training. A more temperate location in the Crimean city of Sevastopol’ was chosen, and, following a delay in the arrival of the airplanes ordered from France, training began there in November 1910.
The activity of the nation’s military authorities was paralleled by that of private Russians who enlisted in the battle for the skies through participation in the ever-increasing number of aeronautical clubs, circles, and societies that blossomed in the wake of the Channel crossing. By the end of 1909, such major cities as St. Petersburg, Moscow, Odessa, and Kiev boasted their own private aeronautical organizations. Similar to automobile societies, literacy circles, and other voluntary associations, air clubs provided private enthusiasts with a forum for pursuing a common interest while facilitating the public assembly of civic-minded citizens.21 In addition, organizations like the Moscow Society of Aeronautics and the Odessa Aero-Club produced regular journals for the nation’s reading public, and, as interest increased and resources grew, they established flight schools of their own, turning the possibility of flight into a daily reality for those wealthy enough to afford the expensive training. Through generating interest in aviation and training private citizens to master mechanical flight, aeronautical clubs hoped to create a consumer demand for airplanes, thereby subsidizing the growth of the few Russian factories that could reproduce the Farman and Bl´eriot models popular in Europe. By the fall of 1910, Russia possessed three factories capable of manufacturing airplane chassis and one enterprise equipped to build aircraft motors. The factories were the “First Russian Association of Aeronautics” (St. Petersburg), the “Russo–Balt Carriage Factory” (St. Petersburg), the company “Aviata” (Warsaw), and the “Motor” factory (Riga).
Russians’ passion for flight intensified during the early spring of 1910 as newspapers reported on an initial landmark in the nation’s infant aviation program: the first exhibition of an airplane in Russia piloted by a native Russian. Undertaken in the Black Sea port of Odessa on 8 March before a select crowd of citizens and military representatives, Mikhail Efimov’s aeronautical display aboard a Farman IV biplane was heralded as a transcendent event by the capital’s journalists. Although the longest of his five demonstration flights lasted only twenty minutes, the courageous Russian aviator was credited with having “already surpassed the skill of his instructor,” the pioneering French aviator and airplane designer Henri Farman.
According to one delirious reporter, Efimov’s accomplishment had proven beyond doubt that “Russia was now poised to assume the world’s lead in the subjugation of the heavens.” Like fellow countrymen Sergei Utochkin, Nikolai Popov, and the circus strongman-turned-pilot Ivan Zaikin, Efimov was a prominent early member of the emerging ranks of “sportsmen–aviators” who had honed their skills in French aviation schools before setting out to earn a living as flight instructors or participants in the Continent’s burgeoning aerial shows and competitions. A former locksmith and telegrapher, Efimov had borrowed money to finance flight training in Paris. Earlier in the year he had scored a spectacular coup when he set a new world record for altitude on a flight with a passenger. In keeping with all early aviation records, Efimov’s mark was rapidly eclipsed. Still, it earned him considerable fame at home as an exemplar of Russian bravado and skill in the new art of flying.
Popular excitement over Russia’s very own aviator–heroes and the airplane in general was quickly manifested in the everyday customs and habits of the Empire’s citizens. A reflection of producers’ new efforts to market modernity to the growing ranks of the Russian middle class, “Bl´eriot” cigarettes, “Aeroclub” matches, “Aviator” candies, and “Aeronautics” chocolates appeared as brand names offered for sale to air-minded consumers. Hoping to inspire interest in the development of aeronautics among Russia’s far-flung inhabitants, the journal Vestnik vozdukhoplavaniia [Herald of Aeronautics] and the First Russian Association of Aeronautics jointly sponsored a mobile exposition that embarked on a fourteen-month, fifty-city tour of European and Asian Russia. Journeying as far as the Far Eastern port city of Vladivostok to “broaden provincial awareness of the successes of aeronautics,” the exposition brought aviation to the nation’s hinterlands. Meanwhile, in Russia’s urban centers, cultured residents demonstrated their own fascination with the airplane by hosting fashionable “aeronautical balls” (complete with floating dirigibles and plane-shaped confetti) for air-conscious party goers. Others satiated their curiosity by flocking to the nation’s new cinema halls. Featuring documentaries filmed from the air as well as fictional reels bearing such titles as Experiments of the Aviator-Genius and Air Pirates, cinema helped ensure the rapid dissemination of the airplane’s image to audiences throughout the Empire. By 1910 aviation had taken so rapid and complete a hold on the public’s imagination that one leading journal could claim “interest in the question of aviation has spread like fire throughout the whole [of Russia] and throughout all classes of society . . . it has become fashionable and, as such, knowledge of [aviation] is now essential to every person who would consider himself to be a ‘middling intelligent’ [srednii intelligent].” To meet the growing demand of the “aeronautical intelligentsia,” leading publishers produced countless histories and studies of flight, while major newspapers sponsored special brochures and supplements devoted to aeronautics. Aviation had become so popular that “the windows of almost every bookstore were peppered with the most enticing titles and covers and new books on flight appeared every week. . . .”
From 1909 to 1914, Russia made significant strides in airplane design. Progress included several successful test flights of innovative aircraft. For instance, the Russian aircraft designer Yakov M. Gakkel (1874–1945) achieved worldwide attention among aviation experts for developing a single-seat, motor-powered biplane. In 1910, Boris N. Yuriev (1889–1957) designed one of the world’s first helicopters, which were known in aviation’s earlier days as autogyros.
A major breakthrough in world aviation occurred in 1913, with the development of the four motored heavy Russian aircraft, the Ilya Muromets. This huge airplane far outstripped all other planes of its time for its size, range, and load-carrying capability. Russian ice- and hydroplane development was also outstanding in the years 1915 and 1916. One of the world famous Russian aircraft designers of this period, and the one who built the Muromets, was Igor Ivanovich Sikorsky (1889–1972), who emigrated to the United States in 1919 and established a well-known aircraft factory there in 1923.
Before and during World War I, Russian military aircraft technical schools and aviation clubs blossomed. In the war, the Russians deployed thirty-nine air squadrons totaling 263 aircraft, all bearing a distinctive circular white, blue, and red insignia on their wings. With the coming to power of the Communists in late 1917, Lenin and Stalin, who stressed the importance of military production and an offensive strategy, strongly supported the development of the Red Air Force. Civilian planes, too, were built, for what became the world’s largest airline, Aeroflot.
Source:
Dictatorship of the Air By Dr. Scott W. Palmer
In Russia, Sergi Alexeyevich Chaplygin (1869–1942) and Nikolai Yegorovich Zhukovsky (1847–1921) made major contributions in their study of aerodynamics, founding a world-famous school in St. Petersburg, Russia. In 1881, Alexander Fyodorovich Mozhaisky (1823–1890) received a patent for a propeller-driven, table-shaped airplane powered by a steam engine, which crashed on takeoff in 1885.
The heady excitement generated by word of Bl´eriot’s flight was transformed into tangible reality for Russian citizens in the fall of 1909. Eager to display the capabilities of their airplanes in the months that followed the Channel crossing, French aviators undertook public demonstrations across the European continent. Less than eight weeks after French spectators flocked to bid farewell to Bl´eriot, Russian audiences gathered to greet the arrival of western pilots and their flying machines. On 15 September 1909, the inhabitants of Moscow saw for themselves the miracle of heavier-than-air flight as French aviator Georges Legagneux organized a public display of his Voisin biplane. Thousands of curious Muscovites flocked to Khodynka field just outside the city to witness this first-ever flight of an airplane in Russia.
Although none of the five flights made by Legagneux on the 15th lasted more than a few minutes, his demonstration was a great success. He repeated his performance with an encore presentation on the 19th. Subsequent demonstrations in St. Petersburg and Odessa attracted even greater numbers of spectators and generated further excitement.
While French fliers entertained Russian audiences with feats of aerial daring, the Russian Ministry of War moved to establish a national aviation program. On returning from France, Grand Duke Aleksandr Mikhailovich assumed a leading role in mobilizing support for Russian aviation. As honorary chairman of the state’s Special Committee for the Strengthening of the Military Fleet by Means of Voluntary Subscriptions, the grand duke had been instrumental in raising donations to rebuild the nation’s navy following the disastrous losses of the Russo–Japanese War (1904–5). Hoping to capitalize on the work of the existing Committee, the grand duke petitioned Tsar Nicholas II for permission to transfer funds from the Naval Committee to a newly formed Special Committee for the Establishment of the Air-Fleet. He also requested that the tsar approve the circulation of a series of decrees intended to mobilize support for aviation construction.
Overcoming the scepticism of some members of the Russian military hierarchy, the grand duke secured the tsar’s approval. On 6 February 1910, Nicholas announced that 900,000 rubles of the Naval Committee’s treasury be used for the development of a military air wing. The tsar subsequently proclaimed the inauguration of a nationwide voluntary subscription to support the Committee’s goals of training military officers to fly airplanes and establishing a reserve of fully equipped aircraft for military use. In March, following the proclamation of the voluntary subscription, the Committee for the Establishment of the Air-Fleet sent six military officers to France, where two each enrolled in the pilot schools run by Henri Farman, Louis Bl´eriot, and the Antoinette Company. Six enlisted men, who were to be trained as airplane mechanics, accompanied the officers.
In addition to preparing cadres to serve in the future air corps, the Committee moved to secure necessary equipment and infrastructure. Concomitant with the decision to send officers abroad for training, the Committee placed orders with leading French airplane manufacturers for the delivery of eleven airplanes by June 1910. The Committee also established training facilities in Russia. At Gatchina, southwest of St. Petersburg, hangars were constructed to house the military’s aircraft. A flight school, to be run by the French-trained Russian officers, was also established on the grounds. Unfortunately, the site proved to be a poor location. Owing to harsh winters and the region’s swampy soil, training flights were limited to the summer months. As a result, having already invested a considerable sum of money to construct the Gatchina facilities, the Committee was compelled to find a new site capable of sustaining year-round training. A more temperate location in the Crimean city of Sevastopol’ was chosen, and, following a delay in the arrival of the airplanes ordered from France, training began there in November 1910.
The activity of the nation’s military authorities was paralleled by that of private Russians who enlisted in the battle for the skies through participation in the ever-increasing number of aeronautical clubs, circles, and societies that blossomed in the wake of the Channel crossing. By the end of 1909, such major cities as St. Petersburg, Moscow, Odessa, and Kiev boasted their own private aeronautical organizations. Similar to automobile societies, literacy circles, and other voluntary associations, air clubs provided private enthusiasts with a forum for pursuing a common interest while facilitating the public assembly of civic-minded citizens.21 In addition, organizations like the Moscow Society of Aeronautics and the Odessa Aero-Club produced regular journals for the nation’s reading public, and, as interest increased and resources grew, they established flight schools of their own, turning the possibility of flight into a daily reality for those wealthy enough to afford the expensive training. Through generating interest in aviation and training private citizens to master mechanical flight, aeronautical clubs hoped to create a consumer demand for airplanes, thereby subsidizing the growth of the few Russian factories that could reproduce the Farman and Bl´eriot models popular in Europe. By the fall of 1910, Russia possessed three factories capable of manufacturing airplane chassis and one enterprise equipped to build aircraft motors. The factories were the “First Russian Association of Aeronautics” (St. Petersburg), the “Russo–Balt Carriage Factory” (St. Petersburg), the company “Aviata” (Warsaw), and the “Motor” factory (Riga).
Russians’ passion for flight intensified during the early spring of 1910 as newspapers reported on an initial landmark in the nation’s infant aviation program: the first exhibition of an airplane in Russia piloted by a native Russian. Undertaken in the Black Sea port of Odessa on 8 March before a select crowd of citizens and military representatives, Mikhail Efimov’s aeronautical display aboard a Farman IV biplane was heralded as a transcendent event by the capital’s journalists. Although the longest of his five demonstration flights lasted only twenty minutes, the courageous Russian aviator was credited with having “already surpassed the skill of his instructor,” the pioneering French aviator and airplane designer Henri Farman.
According to one delirious reporter, Efimov’s accomplishment had proven beyond doubt that “Russia was now poised to assume the world’s lead in the subjugation of the heavens.” Like fellow countrymen Sergei Utochkin, Nikolai Popov, and the circus strongman-turned-pilot Ivan Zaikin, Efimov was a prominent early member of the emerging ranks of “sportsmen–aviators” who had honed their skills in French aviation schools before setting out to earn a living as flight instructors or participants in the Continent’s burgeoning aerial shows and competitions. A former locksmith and telegrapher, Efimov had borrowed money to finance flight training in Paris. Earlier in the year he had scored a spectacular coup when he set a new world record for altitude on a flight with a passenger. In keeping with all early aviation records, Efimov’s mark was rapidly eclipsed. Still, it earned him considerable fame at home as an exemplar of Russian bravado and skill in the new art of flying.
Popular excitement over Russia’s very own aviator–heroes and the airplane in general was quickly manifested in the everyday customs and habits of the Empire’s citizens. A reflection of producers’ new efforts to market modernity to the growing ranks of the Russian middle class, “Bl´eriot” cigarettes, “Aeroclub” matches, “Aviator” candies, and “Aeronautics” chocolates appeared as brand names offered for sale to air-minded consumers. Hoping to inspire interest in the development of aeronautics among Russia’s far-flung inhabitants, the journal Vestnik vozdukhoplavaniia [Herald of Aeronautics] and the First Russian Association of Aeronautics jointly sponsored a mobile exposition that embarked on a fourteen-month, fifty-city tour of European and Asian Russia. Journeying as far as the Far Eastern port city of Vladivostok to “broaden provincial awareness of the successes of aeronautics,” the exposition brought aviation to the nation’s hinterlands. Meanwhile, in Russia’s urban centers, cultured residents demonstrated their own fascination with the airplane by hosting fashionable “aeronautical balls” (complete with floating dirigibles and plane-shaped confetti) for air-conscious party goers. Others satiated their curiosity by flocking to the nation’s new cinema halls. Featuring documentaries filmed from the air as well as fictional reels bearing such titles as Experiments of the Aviator-Genius and Air Pirates, cinema helped ensure the rapid dissemination of the airplane’s image to audiences throughout the Empire. By 1910 aviation had taken so rapid and complete a hold on the public’s imagination that one leading journal could claim “interest in the question of aviation has spread like fire throughout the whole [of Russia] and throughout all classes of society . . . it has become fashionable and, as such, knowledge of [aviation] is now essential to every person who would consider himself to be a ‘middling intelligent’ [srednii intelligent].” To meet the growing demand of the “aeronautical intelligentsia,” leading publishers produced countless histories and studies of flight, while major newspapers sponsored special brochures and supplements devoted to aeronautics. Aviation had become so popular that “the windows of almost every bookstore were peppered with the most enticing titles and covers and new books on flight appeared every week. . . .”
From 1909 to 1914, Russia made significant strides in airplane design. Progress included several successful test flights of innovative aircraft. For instance, the Russian aircraft designer Yakov M. Gakkel (1874–1945) achieved worldwide attention among aviation experts for developing a single-seat, motor-powered biplane. In 1910, Boris N. Yuriev (1889–1957) designed one of the world’s first helicopters, which were known in aviation’s earlier days as autogyros.
A major breakthrough in world aviation occurred in 1913, with the development of the four motored heavy Russian aircraft, the Ilya Muromets. This huge airplane far outstripped all other planes of its time for its size, range, and load-carrying capability. Russian ice- and hydroplane development was also outstanding in the years 1915 and 1916. One of the world famous Russian aircraft designers of this period, and the one who built the Muromets, was Igor Ivanovich Sikorsky (1889–1972), who emigrated to the United States in 1919 and established a well-known aircraft factory there in 1923.
Before and during World War I, Russian military aircraft technical schools and aviation clubs blossomed. In the war, the Russians deployed thirty-nine air squadrons totaling 263 aircraft, all bearing a distinctive circular white, blue, and red insignia on their wings. With the coming to power of the Communists in late 1917, Lenin and Stalin, who stressed the importance of military production and an offensive strategy, strongly supported the development of the Red Air Force. Civilian planes, too, were built, for what became the world’s largest airline, Aeroflot.
Source:
Igor Sikorsky
In the cockpit.
Igor Sikorsky at the controls of his BIS-1. The first aircraft of trio Bylinkin, Iordan, Sikorsky, so BIS. Powered by two cylinder 15hp Anzani engine. Used for taxi tests (April 1910) but was too underpowered to fly. Direct predecessor of BIS No.2.
Date: Born on May 25, 1889, in Kiev, Russia; died on October 26, 1972, in Easton, Connecticut
Definition: Russian-American aeronautical engineer, aircraft manufacturer, and inventor best known for
developing the helicopter.
Significance: Sikorsky’s introduction of controlled-pitch rotor blades was instrumental to the development of the modern helicopter.
Pioneer aviator and innovative designer of fixed-wing and rotary-wing aircraft. The son of a pre-Freudian psychiatrist in Kiev in imperial Russia, Igor I. Sikorsky studied math and engineering at the Russian Naval Academy in St. Petersburg and the Polytechnic Institute of Kiev. Science fiction by Jules Verne and European flight demonstrations by Wilbur Wright sparked his interest in an aviation career.
Sikorsky traveled to Paris in 1909 and learned aeronautical principles from French pioneers such as Louis Blériot. In late 1909, he returned to Paris, then the aeronautical center of Europe, to learn about the fledgling science. While there, he became acquainted with some of the men who would become well known in the field of aviation. Against their advice, Sikorsky decided to build a helicopter. He purchased a 25-horsepower (18.6-kilowatt) Anzani engine and returned to Kiev to begin building a rotary-wing aircraft.
The helicopter failed, as did its successor due to a lack of power and understanding of the aerodynamics of vertical flight. Undeterred, Sikorsky turned his attention to fixed-wing aircraft. After his two unsuccessful attempts to build helicopters before designing the first of his Winged-S airplanes.
His first fixed-wing plane, the S-1 failed, because its 15-horsepower (11.2-kilowatt) engine was inadequate. His second plane, the S-2 was a success. In 1911, he set a record by flying for thirty minutes at 70 miles per hour in the S-5, a plane he had designed himself. The S-5, won him international recognition. With its 50-horsepower (37.3-kilowatt) engine, he could stay aloft for more than an hour, reach heights of 1,500 feet (457 meters), and make short trips. He also earned license number 64 from the Federation Aéronautique Internationale. His S-6-A received the highest award at the 1912 Moscow Aviation Exhibition, and later that year, won first prize in the military competition at Petrograd. Sikorsky also began supplying aircraft to the Russian army.
His triumph led to financial rewards and a contract with the Russo-Baltic Wagon Company, which subsidized his design (1912-1913) of a four-engine behemoth, the Grand. "Le Grand," featured innovations such as an enclosed cabin, a lavatory, upholstered chairs, and an exterior catwalk atop the fuselage where passengers could get some fresh air. Its successor, the "Ilya Muromets," broke world records and flew in the summer of 1914 on a 1,500-mile round-trip between St. Petersburg and Kiev. The outbreak of World War I overshadowed the spectacular cross-country flight. Nevertheless, Russia's military appreciated Sikorsky's accomplishment and ordered the "Ilya Muromets" into production as the world's first four-engine bomber-reconnaissance aircraft.
The 1917 Russian Revolution interrupted Sikorsky's career as well as Russia's participation in the war. Bolshevik ascension to power during the revolution's second phase prompted Sikorsky to flee Soviet Russia and travel first to France (1918) and then to the United States (1919).
In France he was commissioned to build a bomber for Allied service. But the war ended and Sikorsky, after searching in vain for a position in French aviation, immigrated to the United States in 1919.
The Nature of the Great War in Africa
Generalmajor Paul von Lettow Vorbeck (first rider from left) during the triumphal parade in Berlin which celebrated his return to Germany in 1919. He wears the cross of the Pour Ie Merite at his throat. The two mounted figures in the foreground are Governor Schnee and Kapltän Looff of the Königisberg - both strong characters with whom Von Lettow clashed throughout the campaign. He was undoubtedly the main architect of the German resistance, but It was nevertheless a remarkable team effort.
Lieutenant-General Smuts (second from right) at the Pangani River, 1916. He and his staff wear standard British officers' uniforms, mostly in khaki drill, with goggles round their necks - companion photographs show that they were travelllng by open staff car. The signallers operating the heliograph wear shirts and breeches, though the seated figure behind the telescope appears to wear an Indian pagri.
On 12 August 1914, in Togoland, Regimental Sergeant-Major Alhaji Grunshi of the West African Frontier Force became the first soldier in British service to fire a round in the Great War. On 25 November 1918, two weeks after the signature of the armistice in Europe, at Abercorn in Northern Rhodesia Colonel Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck surrendered, the last German commander of the war to do so. As much from its outset as beyond its formal conclusion, therefore, the First World War was far more than just a European conflict. In August 1914 British, French, Belgian, and German belligerence embraced the entire continent of Africa with the exception of Liberia, Ethiopia, and the relatively smaller colonies of Spain, Italy, and Portugal. Not even these would remain exempt from the war, at least in its indirect forms.
Black and North African soldiers, served in large numbers in the various theatres of the First World War. Those who served in the French colonial armies saw duty not only in Togo and Cameroon but also at Gallipoli, in the Balkans and on the Western Front. In all, some 845,000 “natives” served under the tricouleur during the 1914–18 war, including 181,000 Tirailleurs Sénégalais. West Africans serving under the Union Jack fought in Cameroon, while some 50,000 East Africans, including 35,000 troops of the King’s African Rifles, fought the Germans in East Africa. Another one million Africans saw service as carriers for the British in East Africa, where they suffered extraordinarily high casualties from gunfire, disease and overwork. Deaths may have reached ten per cent of the total, or 100,000 men. African soldiers also fought in East Africa in World War I in the German, Belgian and Portuguese forces.
Both during the war and after it, British and French propaganda accused the Germans of militarizing Africa: they had, said Lloyd George on 24 January 1919, ‘raised native troops and encouraged these troops to behave in a manner that would even disgrace the Bolsheviks’. Such rhetoric was fed by the ferocity with which the Germans suppressed the wave of resistance that struck their colonies with simultaneous force between 1904 and 1906. Genocide and famine were both deployed against the Herero in South-West Africa and the Maji-Maji in East Africa. Thereafter, however, German colonial administration became more liberal. Military responsibilities were circumscribed, commercial development promoted, and settlement doubled. As a result, the German colonial forces, the Schütztruppen, could draw in more whites: from 1913 conscripts were allowed to complete their reserve service overseas rather than remain liable for recall to Germany. But the settlers themselves became increasingly reluctant to meet the costs of an inflated military establishment, and order on a daily basis was handed over to an expanded police force. Admittedly their armament was similar to that of the Schütztruppen, and they could be, and were, incorporated with them. Nonetheless, the point remains that it was not so much Germany as the Entente which was responsible for arming the African.
The idea that the immense manpower pool of the African colonies might be harnessed for military purposes was given its most coherent and ambitious pre-war expression in France, by Charles Mangin in his book La Force Noire, published in 1910. Mangin predicted that French West Africa could raise 40,000 men, or 4 per cent of the total population of 10.65 million, and that enlistment in some areas could rise to 8 or 10 per cent. At the time such projections looked far-fetched, but by the end of the war France had enlisted 200,000 soldiers in West Africa.7 When Britain declared war, the Africans involved, directly or indirectly, in hostilities totalled 50 million. The actual burden of service was unevenly distributed. In West Africa Britain recruited about 25,000 soldiers—a relatively large figure, but small by comparison with French efforts in the adjacent areas. Southern Rhodesia, influenced by the South African opposition to using blacks as soldiers in a white man’s war, enlisted no Africans until 1916. But by then 40 per cent of the white adult male population was on active service, and sufficient fresh drafts for the Rhodesia Regiment could not be procured. The Rhodesia Native Regiment, formed in 1916, had embodied only 2,360 men by 1918, less than 1 per cent of the total African male population, and 75 per cent of them originated from outside the colony.
The majority of those Africans enlisted during the war were not soldiers, or not primarily so. They were carriers. The major problem of conducting operations in Africa, as it had been in all the small wars of European conquest in the nineteenth century, lay ‘not in defeating, but in reaching the enemy’. Lettow-Vorbeck likened the march and supply of a single company in East Africa to the movement of a division in Europe. Railway construction had only just begun to open up the hinterland; roads were few, and motorized vehicles fewer. Draught or pack animals, although usable in the highlands and savannah of some parts of Central Africa and in South Africa, fell prey to the tsetse fly in many tropical areas. For the campaigns in the Cameroons and East Africa, therefore, a human chain linked troops to their bases, and without it they could not move, feed, or fight.
The difficulties of supply, rather than the experiences of battle, did most to disseminate the impact of the Great War throughout the African continent. The numbers who experienced combat were few. The war in Africa was an affair not of ‘big battalions’ but of individual companies. A unit any larger than 100 to 120 men could not be readily supplied. Moreover, a company with its attendant porters mustered about 300 men and on the tracks of the equatorial rain forests of central Africa constituted a column 1,500 to 2,000 yards long; a formation any bigger was too large for effective, tactical control. The force-to-space ratio was, therefore, totally different from that of the western front. Small-scale actions in Africa settled the balance of power in territories as big as a whole theatre of operations in Europe.
One of the most striking differences was the almost total absence of artillery. Individually, heavy guns proved of value in the open grasslands of the northern Cameroons or northern Tanganyika. But collectively, guns had little opportunity. Even where draught animals were more readily available, in South-West Africa, the Germans were not able to turn a relative strength to advantage. Oxen moved slowly, and not at all in the midday heat. Mules were used for the transport of pack guns, but the lack of clear paths through the bush meant that they could take twice as long to cover the same distance as did the foot-soldier. Thus, the guns tended to arrive too late. In theatres where the tsetse fy ruled out animal draught, 300 porters could be required for a single Weld gun, without considering its likely shell consumption. In the jungle, even a small calibre mountain gun Wring at a high trajectory needed a clearing of 100 yards, as well as good telephone communications with forward observers, for indirect fire. Because none of the European powers had planned to fight each other, the guns possessed by each colony tended to be of varying calibres, obsolescent, and short of ammunition. In the Cameroons the Germans had fourteen guns of different types and 3,000 rounds. When used, their moral impact, particularly on black troops unaccustomed to artillery fire however light, outstripped their destructive effect. Fighting in Africa was therefore predominantly an infantry affair, the machine-gun being the heaviest and most significant weapon regularly deployed.
Although fought between European powers for objectives that were also European, the African campaigns of the First World War bore more relationship to the nineteenth-century campaigns of colonial conquest than they did to the Great War itself. In relation to the outcome of the war they were, as is too often remarked, sideshows. But neither observation should be allowed to trivialize their importance. The first demonstrates the danger of characterizing the war in terms appropriate to only one theatre, even one not fitted to the entire geographical span of the war. The second judges Africa in terms of that one theatre, instead of recognizing that relatively the impact of the war on the Dark Continent was as great as that on Europe that few black families were unaffected, and that at the end the transfer of territory completed the partition of Africa commenced four decades earlier.
Aeronautica Nazionale Repubblicana Part IV
Posted by Mitch Williamson in Aircraft
OPERATION PHOENIX and its Consequences
III Gruppo was officially formed during the first half of August by merging two Macchi C.202 equipped Squadriglie Autonome Caccia, which had spontaneously formed during the first half of 1944 with a miscellaneous collection of aircraft, but had never reached operational status. The Squadiglia Addestramento Caccia's staff operated with the Gruppo Complementare Caccia. Placed under Capitano Malvezzi's command, the Gruppo's heterogeneous aircraft complement prevented it from becoming operational before mid-August. It was planned that III Gruppo would inherit the Macchi C.205s and Fiat G.55s of I Gruppo, who in turn was scheduled to receive the Bf 109G-6s which JG 77 would leave behind when it returned to Germany.The plan fell through, however, as ANR operations began clashing with decisions made by the Luftwaffe Italian command. The Germans had never willingly accepted the political and operational autonomy which ANR units had exercised during the months following the Armistice. Moreover, not only was the ANR the most effective of the RSI armed forces, but the ANR was the least influenced by politics and the most distant from the government's positions. After failing to recruit ANR personnel en masse into the Luftwaffe when the RSI was born, the Germans attempted another take-over in August of 1944 under the code-named "Operation PHOENIX".
General Wolfram von Richtofen, Luftwaffe Italian commander, on 25 August 1944 sent to all ANR units Luftwaffe officers, whose armed escorts in some cases blocked airfield exits and took over telephone exchanges. ANR personnel were informed that the ANR had been dissolved and they were ordered to choose between joining a Luftwaffe 'Italian Legion' or going into German Flak Divisions.
The bland reaction of many offices and support units contrasted sharply with the violent and determined opposition of operational units, which led to the risk of armed conflict. I Gruppo Caccia set fire to its aircraft rather than surrender them, and II Gruppo Caccia drove the Germans out at gun point. Informed of the situation, Mussolini immediately protested to Hitler. Richtofen and his staff were recalled to Germany and replaced by General von Pohl.
The Germans repossessed II Gruppo Caccia's Messerschmitts, and both fighter Gruppo's were without aircraft, while the Gruppo 'Buscaglia' was still reorganizing after its heavy Aegean operational cycle. The net results of "Operation PHOENIX" was to paralyze ANR operations for over two months.
Realizing that an efficient Italian fighter force would release Luftwaffe fighters for the defense of the Reich, General von Pohl offered the ANR his complete co-operation and support. It was decided that I Gruppo Caccia would go to Germany for transition training on the Messerschmitt Bf 109G, with which it would re-equip, and that III Gruppo would soon follow. While this was going on II Gruppo would be the only fighter unit operating over Northern Italy after the last Jagdgeschwader returned to Germany in late September. II Gruppo would also be re-equipped with Bf 109Gs.
An ANR reorganization had meanwhile taken place in September. The Gruppo Complementare Caccia, Comando Aerosiluranti and Squadriglia Bombardamento 'Ettore Muti' (which never became operational), together with a number of lesser units were disbanded. I Gruppo Caccia dissolved its Squadriglie and reformed on three Squadriglie and a Sezione di Gruppo (Staff Flight) under the name 'Asso di Bastoni' (Ace of Clubs). When it became known that Maggiore Buscaglia, presumed to have died in combat over Bougie Bay, had instead survived and, upon being released from captivity, had joined the Co-belligerent Air Force, an embarrassed ANR changed the name of Gruppo Aerosiluranti 'Buscaglia' to Gruppo Aerosiluranti 'Faggioni' in honor of the commander who had died in action.
ANR operations resumed on 19 October, when II Gruppo Messerschmitts fought 319th BG B-26s, with eight B-26s being claimed (three effectively shot down) for the loss of a single Bf 109G. Two more combats took place in October, with three Allied aircraft being claimed for the loss of three Bf 109s.
"Terracciano'and 'Trabucchi', the two Italian transport groups operating in support of German troops, were continually forced to retire west as the Eastern Front was relentlessly pushed back by the Russians. Because of continual retreat and growing difficulties with German peripheral commands, the personnel of both groups were ordered back to Italy without aircraft on 28 October. However, because of the lack of aircraft in Italy, the units' personnel were formed into anti-parachutist battalions. Terracciano's operational cycle had spanned some six months and 2500 flying hours, the two transport units together having ferried some 3000 troops and 2300 tons of equipment.
In November of 1944 the Mediterranean Army Air Force (MAAF) was forced to take measures against II Gruppo Caccia which, in the five combat missions flown between 4 and 16 November from its new Aviano base, had claimed seven B-17s, five B-26s, two P47s and two P-51s against the loss of four Bf 109Gs. Between 17 and 22 November MAAF carried out a series of heavy raids against the airfields at Ghedi, Villafranca, and Aviano. Seven Bf 109Gs were destroyed on the ground.
Aircraft losses, however, were not as worrisome as pilot loss, since the Germans, willingly supplied replacement aircraft.
Since early November, I Gruppo had been training in Germany, at Holzkirchen, where it was converting to the Bf 109G. III Gruppo followed in mid-December with training being carried out at Furth. A number of I Gruppo pilots were also given the opportunity to train on the revolutionary Messerschmitt Me 163 Komet rocket interceptor, but a combination of poor weather and advancing Russians prevented the Italian pilots from completing the course.
Aeronautica Nazionale Repubblicana Part III
In the Air and Over the Sea
For both I Gruppo Caccia and Gruppo Aerosiluranti Buscaglia April of 1944 was a busy month, although the latter suffered far heavier losses. On 6 April Gr. Aerosiluranti Buscaglia was ambushed by eight P-47s during a transfer flight from Venegono to Perugia. Four of the twelve S.79s were shot down and a fifth one force-landed. Despite these losses, on 10 April four S.79s attacked Allied ships in Nettuno bay, claiming three sunk. Two aircraft were lost, one being that of the group C.O. Capitano Faggioni. A third aircraft was damaged and force-landed during the return flight to Lonate. A few days later Capitano Marini took over as Gruppo commander.I Gruppo Caccia's operations included nine sorties, with six engagements over Friuli, Southern Austria, and Croatia. Four Allied bombers and four fighters were claimed, against a loss of five Macchi C.205s.
While the Allied armies were bogged down on the Anzio-Cassino line, ANR operations were carried out well behind the front lines, due in large measure to the RSI's defensive stance. Both tactically and strategically the ANR's mission was to counter 12th and 15th Air Force medium and heavy bomber attacks against the logistical and communication lines between Germany and the Italian industrial base.
After their initial skepticism the Germans came to regard the ANR as an efficient RSI armed force and came to depend heavily on the ANRs support in facing the ever increasing Allied air superiority. However, the problems of using mixed ANR-Luftwaffe formations was further demonstrated on 29 April, when Bf 109s of JG 77 jumped a I Gruppo Caccia formation. Mistaking the Macchi C.205s for Mustangs, two C.205s were shot down and their pilots were killed.
On the next day twenty II Gruppo Caccia Fiat G.55s had their first combat, claiming one B-24 probably shot down, but losing their first pilot during the action. By mid-May I Gruppo had scrambled eighteen times, claiming two P-51s, a P-38, and four bombers, for the loss of three Macchi C.205s. On 12 May two C.205s were destroyed on the ground in a surprise P-38 attack on Reggio Emilia airfield. Six more fighters were badly damaged on the ground two days later when the airfield was again attacked. Only one further combat took place in May, on the 25th, when ten I Gruppo C.205s and sixteen II Gruppo G.55s claimed a bomber and three probable P-38s, but losing one plane each.
I Gruppo was briefly withdrawn from operations because of its heavy losses in both aircraft and personnel and also for an open rebellion to the Government of several of its pilots, tired of seeing their efforts mainly aimed at easing the task of the German fighters instead of defending their home towns. Meanwhile II Gruppo, plagued by spare parts and engine problems (Fiat had been bombed again on 24 April), began converting to Messerschmitt Bf 109G-6s, mainly brand-new machines with some received from II./JG 53 and I./JG 77. Pilot training on the German fighter began in June. II° Gruppos G.55s were turned over to I° Gruppo to make good their losses.
Meanwhile, Gruppo Aerosiluranti 'Buscaglia' had been preparing for a spectacular operational re-entry - an attack on Gibraltar. To carry out the mission ten S.79s were deployed to the French base of Istres on 3 June. This bold operation took place during the night of 4/5 June and was made easier by the floodlighting of the crowded harbor. The Italians claimed four ships sunk, for a total of 30,000t, with two more being hit. Since the attack lasted for a while, British night fighters were able to intervene, and while no torpedo-bombers were shot down, two were forced to land in Spanish territory. The attack got little publicity, being overshadowed the next day by news of OPERATION OVERLORD - the Allied landings in Normandy.
Still, the Gibraltar raid testified to the spirit and gallantry which made the 'Northern' Air Force the effective air arm that it was.
On 7 June II Gruppo Trasporti 'Trabucchi' left for Germany with forty-eight S.82s 'loaned' to them by the Germans.
I Gruppo Caccia returned to operations with a number of Squadriglia 'Bonet' aircraft and personnel attached to it. Between 4 and 20 June, nine scrambles were made leading to three engagements, with two B-24s claimed for the loss of four G.55s and a C.205. However, as we have seen, battle fatigue and continuous casualties, had caused I Gruppo Caccia's morale to decay rapidly, leading the ANR to relieve a number of pilots from operational duties. Capitano Arrabito replaced Capitano Visconti as C.O., and one of the three Squadriglie was disbanded and replaced by the permanent incorporation of Squadriglia 'Bonet'.
Having virtually completed its training on the Bf 109G-6, II Gruppo Caccia returned to combat on 24 June, claiming two P-47s of the French "Lafeyette" Group shot down, without a loss.
July and August were hot months for both the fighters and the torpedo-bombers. I° Gruppo Caccia engaged in combat seven times, claiming three P-47s and a Spitfire against the loss of eleven C.205s and seven pilots. The Gruppo lost four aircraft on both 1 and 20 July. Capitano Arrabito was among the 20 July casualties and command reverted to Capitano Visconti. During the same period, II Gruppo obtained impressive results operating Bf 109G-6s from its new Villafranca base, near Verona. Twelve Messerschmitts were lost in seventeen combats, with ten A-20s, six P-47s, four Spitfires, three B-24s and a P-38 being claimed shot down.
After sinking a ship and damaging another off Bari on 6 July, Gruppo Aerosiluranti 'Buscaglia' transferred to Athens with eight S.79s for operations in the Eastern Mediterranean. Three missions were flown between 9 July and 12 July, two S.79s ditching after running out of fuel. The unit then temporarily returned to Italy, where six aircraft were destroyed on the ground at Lonate on 29 July. In spite of this, fourteen S.79s returned to Greece on 31 July for a second tour of operations, which ended on 11 August with a score of ten ships claimed sunk and two damaged, for a loss of four aircraft, two of which were shot down by German Flak during the transfer flights.
The Great War in Africa
Africa was dragged into the First World War because it was almost completely controlled by European powers. While militarily Africa was a sideshow, there was fighting there as Entente armies conquered Germany’s African colonies. Moreover, both sides mobilised Africa’s resources and manpower, touching the lives of vast numbers of Africans, and proving the value of empire as a strategic resource. Because of appalling communications, the major military difficulty was not defeating the enemy but reaching him. The war here involved small columns operating with little artillery support, the machine gun being the heaviest weapon used in most engagements. Troops from Britain, France, Belgium and Portugal (from 1916) assaulted Germany’s African colonies in Togoland (Togo), Cameroons (Kamerun), South-West Africa (Namibia) and East Africa (Tanganyika/Tanzania). Locally recruited soldiers and porters played a vital part in these campaigns. In Togoland on 12 August 1914, a sergeant-major of the West African Frontier Force fired the first shot of the African war; on 25 November 1918, two weeks after the war had ended in Europe, the last German-led forces in East Africa surrendered at Abercorn.
Togoland fell quickly. As the Germans had based their most powerful wireless station in Togoland, its loss restricted communications with Berlin. Bounded by British and French colonies, German forces in the Cameroons, short of munitions, held out in the northern highlands until 1916, after the bulk of the force had escaped to Spanish controlled Muni. Britain and France then divided Togoland and the Cameroons between them. Meanwhile, in an example of local empire building, South African forces attacked German South-West Africa. A revolt of pro-German white Afrikaners in South Africa (September– October 1914), led by a South African officer, S.G. Maritz, delayed the invasion. Eventually, loyal South African forces quelled the revolt, after which they invaded South-West Africa by land across the Orange river and from the sea, by Lüderitz and Walvis Bay. The last German forces surrendered at Tsumeb in July 1915. Casualties were low: more South Africans died in Maritz’s revolt than in fighting the Germans.
The major campaign of the war in Africa was in German East Africa against German-led askaris (locally-raised African levies) reinforced by a small police force plus the guns and crew of the wrecked German ship Königsberg. Under the overall command of Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck, 218 Europeans and 2542 askaris were divided into some 21 companies, each with 150–200 askaris led by German officers and NCOs. The Germans repulsed a bungled Indian Expeditionary Force landing at Tanga. Thereafter, Lettow- Vorbeck kept his force in being until 1918, tying down large numbers of Entente troops desperately needed elsewhere. He avoided major battles, instead invading at different times Mozambique, Northern Rhodesia and Nyasaland. While Lettow-Vorbeck kept fighting until after the war was over, his command in East Africa is not as impressive as is often thought. His sustained defence of the colony only lasted from March 1916 to November 1917, comparable in length to the German defence of the Cameroons, and he had no theory of guerrilla war, preferring classic German theories of envelopment and the decisive battle.
Two million Africans served in the war as a whole, as either soldiers or labourers, and some 200,000 were killed in action or died. Africa was used as a vast pool of manpower, with hundreds of thousands of men from Belgian, British, French, German and Portuguese Africa employed as porters and soldiers, many dying from disease, especially malaria (as did many white troops). While the war certainly dented European racial superiority in Africa, too little is known about black Africans’ experience of the war.
Naval Campaign on Lake Tanganyika 1915-1916
Posted by Mitch Williamson in Naval
By Simon Stokes
Lake Tanganyika lies in the rift valley in the centre of Africa. With a surface area of 13,000 square miles the lake is one of the largest in the world 350 miles long and 35 miles wide. In 1914 it was also the natural border between German held East Africa on its Eastern shore, the Belgian Congo in the West and British controlled Northern Rhodesia to the South.
German Aircraft in the Colonies WWI
Posted by Mitch Williamson in Air Warfare, Aircraft, Battle
German East Africa
A civilian pilot, Bruno Brüchner, was the first pilot to fly in German Africa. He was sponsored by a confectionery company, Rudolf Hertzog, so take part in various air shows in Africa with an AGO pusher Biplane made by Pfalz. He first stopped off in German South West Africa in May 1914 to fly several displays, then travelled to German East Africa to fly shows there but the events were cancelled by the outbreak of the First World War. In August 1914 he and his mechanic and the biplane were incorporated into the Schutztruppe. During one of the first reconnaissance missions over the Northern coastline of German East Africa Brüchner was shot down by a British gunboat. He managed to land on the coast but was badly injured and the plane severely damaged. Both were out of action. The plane was repaired at Dar-Es-Salaam and Brüchner's place was taken by Oberleutnant Erich Henneberger, a Schutztruppe officer who had previously passed his pilot's test in
A civilian pilot, Bruno Brüchner, was the first pilot to fly in German Africa. He was sponsored by a confectionery company, Rudolf Hertzog, so take part in various air shows in Africa with an AGO pusher Biplane made by Pfalz. He first stopped off in German South West Africa in May 1914 to fly several displays, then travelled to German East Africa to fly shows there but the events were cancelled by the outbreak of the First World War. In August 1914 he and his mechanic and the biplane were incorporated into the Schutztruppe. During one of the first reconnaissance missions over the Northern coastline of German East Africa Brüchner was shot down by a British gunboat. He managed to land on the coast but was badly injured and the plane severely damaged. Both were out of action. The plane was repaired at Dar-Es-Salaam and Brüchner's place was taken by Oberleutnant Erich Henneberger, a Schutztruppe officer who had previously passed his pilot's test in
Germany. Before he saw action he crashed during a test flight and was killed. His observer, Leutnant der Reserve von Gusmann, was badly injured and the plane again was wrecked. This time the plane was rebuilt on floats as a seaplane to assist the SMS Königsberg in time for Brüchner's recovery from his injuries. Soon however, petrol supplies ran low and the plane was dismantled.
When Brüchner sallied to German South West Africa, two other pilots were onboard the same ship sent to form a new Schutztruppe air force. One was Leutnant Alexander von Scheele, an army pilot who was appointed to command the new Schutztruppe air force, the other was Willy Trück, an Aviatik factory pilot. A third pilot, the Austro-Hungarian, Paul Fiedler, joined them shortly after. They had two aeroplanes between them, an Aviatik and a Roland, both biplanes. Trück and Fiedler initially performed test flights on the aircraft under the supervision of Scheele and it was reported that neither aircraft was particularly fit for flight in the the climate of South West Africa. Before the aeroplanes could be replaced however, war broke out and they were pressed into service. Von Scheele now took over the role of piloting the Aviatik from Trück, while Fiedler flew the Roland. Both pilots flew many sorties over South African lines during the campaign, gaining valuable information on enemy troop movements (Fiedler was also a keen and useful photographer) and dropping bombs on enemy positions.
Both pilots were injured and both planes were damaged to various extents throughout the campaign by crashes and enemy gunfire often meaning their grounding for weeks at a time. The last mission was flown by von Scheele in May 1915. The Schutztruppe surrendered in July and both planes were destroyed before falling into enemy hands.
Tsingtao
In July 1914 the imperial navy sent two aeroplanes to the German naval base at Tsingtao. Both aeroplanes were Rumpler Taube monoplanes. The pilots were Gunter Plüschow and Friedrich Müllerskowski. Müllerskowski was badly injured and his aeroplane wrecked in a test flight in July 1914 leaving Plüschow as the only active pilot with an aeroplane in Tsingtao when war broke out. During the siege he ran spotting missions over the Japanese lines and claimed to have shot down a Japanese aeroplane with his pistol. When the garrison surrendered and went into captivity he was ordered to escape by flying his aeroplane into China, where he crash landed and started an epic journey back to Germany.
Cameroon
Two aeroplanes, a Rumpler Taube monoplane and a Jeannin monoplane were sent to the Schutztruppe in Cameroon during 1914. They arrived just before the outbreak of war and were still unassembled in their packing crates when they were captured by British troops. The airfield to which they had not yet been delivered was being built at Garua in the North of the colony by Hans Surén, a Schutztruppe officer who had previously passed his pilot's test in Germany. The captured aeroplanes were sent, still cased, to assist the newly formed South African air force but did not see action.
Pilots
Bruno Brüchner (1881-1948) was born in Ebersach, Saxony. He gained his pilot's licence (No. 53) in 1911. He was a civilian pilot who sailed with his wife to Africa to perform flying displays for the National Exhibitions in Windhoek and Dar-Es-Salaam. When the war broke out he offered his services to the Schutztruppe of German East Africa (as described above). Brüchner and his wife were interned by the British in East Africa during the war where he suffered from malaria. After the war he returned to Germany where he bought land on the Obersalzberg Mountain including Berchtesgaden, until Adolf Hitler acquired it from him in 1938.
Leutnant Paul Fiedler (18__-1955) joined the Austro-Hungarian army in 1903. He was promoted to the rank of Leutnant der Reserve in 1909 and retired into civilian life. In 1910 he passed his pilot's licence (No. 19 in the Austro-Hungarian system). He sailed to German South West Africa to fly test flights for the early Schutztruppe air force. In August 1914 he was conscripted into the Schutztruppe with the rank of Leutnant. He flew many combat and reconnaissance missions over South African lines during the war In a Roland biplane (see above). After the surrender of German South West Africa, Trück along with other non-regular members of the Schutztruppe gave his word not to take up arms against the Entente and was released on parole. Following the war he briefly returned to Austria, then again to South West Africa where he managed a farm until 1926 when he again returned to Europe.
Willy Trück, (1889?-1981) was an Aviatik factory pilot, He sailed to German South West Africa to fly test flights in the Aviatik aircraft for the early Schutztruppe air force. In August 1914 he was conscripted into the Schutztruppe, although von Scheele took over the piloting of the Aviatik in wartime. After the surrender of German South West Africa, Trück along with other non-regular members of the Schutztruppe gave his word not to take up arms against the Entente and was released on parole. Following the war Trück stayed on in South West Africa as a businessman, pilot and farmer. He died in Cape Town in 1981.
Leutnant zur See Gunther Plüschow (1886-1931) - nick-named the "Dragon Pilot" due to a tattoo of a dragon on his left arm- was a naval officer who passed his pilot's test after only three days of flying in February 1914. He was sent straight to Tsingtao with his aeroplane arriving in July. When war broke out he was the only German airman available for active duty in Tsingtao. During the siege he ran spotting missions in a Rumpler Taube over the Japanese lines and claimed to have shot down a Japanese aeroplane with his pistol. When the garrison surrendered and went into captivity he was ordered to escape by flying his aeroplane into China, where he crash landed and started an epic journey back to Germany. When the garrison surrendered and went into captivity he escaped and made his way back to Germany via China, Japan, America and Gibraltar where he was briefly captured by the British and taken to England, only to escape once more and make his way back to Germany via Holland. He was the only German prisoner to escape from a British mainland POW camp during either World War. He also wrote several books including one on his experiences in China and his journey back to Germany called "Escape from England" (published by Ripping Yarns). After the war he explored uncharted areas of Chile and Patagonia where he died in a flying accident in 1931.
Oberleutnant Erich Henneberger (18....-1914) became an army officer in 1907, originally with the rank of Leutnant. After passing his pilot's test he was transferred to the East African Schutztruppe in June 1914. When Bruno Brüchner was recovering from wounds received when shot down by a British gunboat, Henneberger took his place as German East Africa's only pilot. However, before he saw action, he crashed and was killed during a test flight in November 1914.
Leutnant der Reserve Wilhelm Gutzmer von Gusmann (18__-1917) was Henneberger's observer, He was injured in Henneberger's fatal crash in 1914 but later made a full recovery in hospital. He then fought with the Schutztruppe until he died of wounds received at the Battle of Mahenge in June 1917.
Leutnant Friedrich Müllerskowski (1886-19__) joined the German infantry in 1907 and transferred to the Seebatallion in 1912. He passed his pilot's test in Germany before being posted out to Tsingtao where he was badly injured in a test flight days before the outbreak of war. He thus did not see active service during the siege of Tsingtao, being relased from hospital only shortly before the German surrender. For the remainder of the war he was held as a prisoner of war in Japan at the Kumamoto and Kurume camps and returned to Germany in 1919 where he rejoined the army. In 1920 he retired with the rank of Major.
Linienschiffsleutnant Viktor Klobucar (1878-1965) of the Austro-Hungarian imperial and royal navy passed his pilot's test in 1913. In 1914 he was an officer on the SMS Kaiserin Elisabeth at Tsingtao and became good friends with Gunther Plüschow . Although he was not posted in this role as a pilot, nor did he have an aeroplane at Tsingtao, he is included on this list simply as another potential pilot in the German colonies. He fought at the siege of Tsingtao and was captured by the Japanese. He spent the rest of the war in the Japanese prisoner of war camps at Kumamoto, Kurume and Aonogahara before being released in 1919. He died in Zagreb in 1965.
Leutnant Hans Surén (1885-1972) earned his commission as a Leutnant in the imperial German army in 1905. He passed his pilot's test in 1912 and the following year was posted to the Cameroon Schutztruppe. In 1914 he was ordered to prepare an airfield at Garua in the North of the colony and was presumably intended to pilot one of the aeroplanes sent from Germany. Surén never flew in Cameroon as the aeroplanes never arrived at his airfield, they both having been captured by the British while en route. After the war he wrote books extolling the values of a healthy sporting life, nude bathing and aryan supremacy. Although Hitler was an admirer of his books, Surén spent the last years of Nazi rule in prison having fallen foul of the regime.
Hauptmann Eugen Kirch (.....) earned his commission as a Leutnant in the German 28th Infantry Regiment (2nd Rhineland) in 1895. He served in the Cameroon Schutztruppe in 1912 and on his return to Germany in 1913 passed his pilot's test. He was one of the pilots designated to fly the aeroplanes sent to Cameroon in 1914 but war broke out before he set sail, thus leaving him stranded in Germany. During the First World War he served in the 3rd Flying Battalion (3. Flieger-Batallion) and later commanded the 4th Flying Battalion on the Western Front.
THE FLIGHT OF THE AFRIKASCHIFF
Posted by Mitch Williamson in Air Warfare, Battle
LZ 104 L.59, based in Yambol, Bulgaria, was sent to reinforce troops in German East Africa (today Tanzania) in November 1917. The ship did not arrive in time and had to return following reports of German defeat by British troops, but it had traveled 6,757 kilometres (4,199 mi) in 95 hours and thus had broken a long-distance flight record.
Another endeavour to 'vertically outflank' the forces blockading Germany and her allies involved the attempt to relieve the force engaged in the colony of German East Africa - now Tanzania. Under the inspired command of General von Lettow-Vorbeck, German forces had successfully resisted attempts to capture them since the outbreak of war. Relief in the proper sense of the word could not be realistically contemplated, but an airship could perhaps deliver some much-needed supplies, and success in the venture would be a morale-boosting propaganda coup.
A vessel capable of making the flight from Yambol in south-eastern Bulgaria, the southernmost airship base in territory held by the Central Powers and about 100km from the Black Sea coast, to East Africa was constructed by inserting two extra gas cells in LZ 102 (L 57), was under construction. This was done prior to seeking approval for the mission, which was granted by the Kaiser on 4 October. The Lettow-Vorbeck force was informed by radio that the airship would arrive some time after the middle of the month. Aside from the extra length, which made the Afrikaschiff as it came to be known, the largest airship ever constructed at the time, there were several other unique features. As it was to be a one-way journey, the entire airship was intended to be consumed by the East African forces; the hull covering was made of cotton, which would provide fabric for new uniforms, whilst the gas cells could also be re-worked. The metal structure would be used for building material and the engines for electricity generators. The cargo consisted of machine guns and ammunition, medical supplies, as well as sewing machines and radio spares.
The loading and fitting out had been completed by 7 October, but on that day disaster struck: the Afrikaschiff was destroyed by a storm while attempting a test flight. With remarkable speed another airship, LZ 104 (L 59) was converted for the role and fitted with replacement materiel. After two abortive attempts, the relief mission finally took off on 21 November, at more or less the same time as reports reached Germany that Lettow-Vorbeck had finally been beaten: the flight was too late! Attempts at recall failed, however, and so the Afrikaschiff continued on its long and unique voyage, reaching the latitude of Khartoum in the Sudan by the morning of 23 November before a radio message was finally received, whereupon the airship turned round and returned to Yambol. [1] Despite the ostensible failure, the mission had been an epic achievement, for when the airship arrived back at her start point on the morning of 25 November; she had completed a continuous flight of 95 hours, and traversed some 6,800h through greater extremes of climate than had ever been managed by an airship before.
The Afrikaschiff was retained at Yambol for use as a long-range bomber, raiding various points in the Mediterranean. In this role she was not a great success, and burned in flight on 7 April 1918, whilst attempting to attack the Grand Harbour at Malta. The cause of the fire is unknown, but the legacy of the Afrikaschiff was important. It proved that airships were capable of long-range intercontinental flights, and this legacy was explored further in the post-war period.
[1] Admiralstab and Reichskolonialamt based their decision on British press reports on the situation as of November 18, which reached Kommando der Schutztruppen on November 21, 1917. In these reports it was not mentioned, that Lettow-Vorbeck had surrendered. It was, correctly, stated, that the British had occupied a German camp - without any fight - and taken prisoner 20 officers, 242 white NCOs and men and 700 askaris and that the remains of the Schutztruppe had left. These men were the part of the Schutztruppe Lettow-Vorbeck left behind. It comprised the wounded, the ill and all those men, that the doctors didn't declare fit for the long and strenuous marches of the next months.
After the battle of Mahiwa Lettow-Vorbeck had decided, that he could not take with him the wounded and ill, as they needed a lot of pharmaceuticals he didn't have anymore. Furthermore he didn't want his march slowed by men not fully capable of marching. So he ordered, in agreement with Governor Schnee, his doctors to check each and every man for his fitness. The doctors had to report by name only the men fully capable for long marches. With these 278 Germans and 1600 askaris Lettow-Vorbeck marched south and left the rest behind in British custody.
The best contemporary sources are:
Wolfgang Meighörner-SchardtWegbereiter des Weltluftverkehrs wider Willen
Die Geschichte des Zeppelin-Luftschifftyps "w"
Friedrichshafen 1992
and
Douglas H. Robinson
The Zeppelin in combat
A History of the German Naval Airship Division
Atglen, PA 1994
Kyber Pass Games: Tanga
Tanga 1914
Invasion of German East Africa
by Dennis L. Bishop
Tanga uses the Great War Tactical Combat System that was made popular by the first game in the series, Jassin 1915.
Often referred to as 'The Battle of the Bees', the Battle of Tanga, an amphibious attack launched by British and Indian forces, established the burgeoning reputation of Colonel (later General) Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck by the manner in which he successfully beat off the British-led attempt to capture German East Africa.
Some 80km from the border of British East Africa, Tanga was sited on a high plateau in German East Africa, and was its busiest sea port as well as being the site of the crucial Usambara railway.
Already the subject of gunboat diplomacy resulting from a British warship on 17 August, Tanga had been spared from bombardment by an agreement extracted from the town's population to refrain from initiating local aggression.
However the British subsequently changed their minds and ordered General Aitken to capture the German colony via a landing at Tanga in November 1914; it was to be the first major action of the war in German East Africa.
Tanga.
Invasion of German East Africa
by Dennis L. Bishop
Tanga uses the Great War Tactical Combat System that was made popular by the first game in the series, Jassin 1915.
Often referred to as 'The Battle of the Bees', the Battle of Tanga, an amphibious attack launched by British and Indian forces, established the burgeoning reputation of Colonel (later General) Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck by the manner in which he successfully beat off the British-led attempt to capture German East Africa.
Some 80km from the border of British East Africa, Tanga was sited on a high plateau in German East Africa, and was its busiest sea port as well as being the site of the crucial Usambara railway.
Already the subject of gunboat diplomacy resulting from a British warship on 17 August, Tanga had been spared from bombardment by an agreement extracted from the town's population to refrain from initiating local aggression.
However the British subsequently changed their minds and ordered General Aitken to capture the German colony via a landing at Tanga in November 1914; it was to be the first major action of the war in German East Africa.
Tanga.
SMS KONIGSBERG: Sea Wolf in Lair
SMS KONIGSBERG: Sea Wolf in Lair
A German commerce raider, harried by the Royal Navy, is tracked down to a muddy corner of an East African backwater. This action included one of the very first uses of aircraft in naval combat - both to bomb the Konigsberg and to act as spotters for British naval gunfire. No fewer than 11 aircraft of five different types and two airfields were used during 9 months stalking Königsberg.
A little before 0500, Helmuth sighted what looked like a large merchantman making her way cautiously through the shoals of Zanzibar's south channel. The stranger's reply to Helmuth's challenge was sudden and shocking. Breaking out the German battle-flag, she gathered speed and brushed Helmuth aside with two warning shots. His Imperial German Majesty’s light cruiser Königsberg drove in towards Pegasus. The first salvos from five of Königsberg's 10 4.1 in guns opened up from 9,000 yards and bracketed the motionless Pegasus, whose eight old 4in guns were outranged by about a half a mile. By 0525, when Pegasus had fired some 50 rounds to no more effect than a graze on Königsberg's 2 in armored deck, the British cruiser was ablaze amidships. One by one her guns fell silent as the German scored hit after hit.
Shrouded in smoke and with fires breaking out along her entire length, Pegasus ceased firing. For about five minutes, while Königsberg closed to under 7,000 yards, the German guns were also mute. A German account states that the British raised a white flag. But then showed signs of recommencing action. A British source claims that although Pegasus's ensign was momentarily struck--shot away--it was bravely held aloft by Marines, one man taking another's place as they were shot down. For whatever reason, Königsberg opened fire again, inflicting casualties among damage and medical parties on the British ship's torn decks. After 10 minutes' more bombardment, during which she put a few shells into the town but completely ignored the big collier Banffshire moored nearby, Königsberg steamed out to sea. She had scored around 300 hits on Pegasus killing 31 men, wounding over 50. She sank at 1300.
Königsberg triumphed in an unequal contest that began some days before the War Telegram brought the ships of Rear-Admiral Herbert King-Hall's Cape Squadron to battle stations. Late in July 1914, Pegasus was sent to Dar-es-Salaam--capital of German East Africa-to keep an eye on Königsberg. It was 16 years since Pegasus had made 21.2 knots on her trials. On 31 July 1914, she could only watch as the 10-years-younger, 3,400-ton Königsberg-still capable of approaching the 24 knots for which she had been designed and completed at Kiel in 1907-raced from Dar-es-Salaam and disappeared over the horizon. Like Ingles ofPegasus, Fregattenkapitan A. D. (Max) Looff had advance orders for the coming hostilities.
Königsberg was to be a hit-and-run commerce raider along the sea lanes linking Britain with her far-flung empire. A few hours after losing Pegasus, Königsberg slipped past the second of King-Hall's old cruisers, his flagship, the 2nd class cruiser Hyacinth, during the night. War was declared four days later. By then the German cruiser was at large somewhere in the vast expanse of water between Cape Town and Singapore.
King-Hall heard nothing of her again until 21 August, when news reached him of the fate of the 6,000-ton liner City of Winchester, out of Ceylon with the best of the season's tea. She was attacked by Königsberg some 280 miles east of Aden on 6 August. A week later, when her crew had been transferred to two German steamers and her bunkers emptied of coal to keep Königsberg running and fighting, Looff sank the liner in Khorya Morya Bay, SE Arabia. News of the sinking affected British station commanders from the Mediterranean to the China Sea. Their prime duty was to guard the routes along which Imperial troops and supplies were being rushed to Europe, to the vital Suez garrison, and to East Africa, where an able German commander, Oberstleutnant Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck, was building a powerful force of German and African askari soldiers. The sea lanes were not only threatened by lone wolves like Königsberg, the light cruiser Emden, armed merchant cruisers like the fast 9,000-ton liner Prinz Eitel Friedrich and as yet unknown numbers of smaller steamers, but also by Admiral Graf Maximilian von Spee's heavy-cruiser China squadron. Despite the Royal Navy's impressive superiority in capital ships (most, however, kept in home waters) and the help of Japanese and Russian cruisers, Britain's eastern admirals were forced to work their ships and crews to the limit.
The loss of one out-of-date warship could be borne. But the threat to the prestige of the Royal Navy in the eyes of the Empire was more serious. The Admiralty despatched old battleships whose guns could guard the convoy routes while cruisers hunted down the raiders. With German bases closed, the Japanese navy guarding the China seas, and German colliers and supply-vessels sunk or interned wherever they appeared, the hit-and-run ability of ships like Königsberg must have become increasingly limited. But with the raiders' early successes, the governments of Australia and New Zealand, in particular, became reluctant to risk their troops at sea. In October 1914, New Zealand refused to sail more convoys until their security improved. Every available ship was now deployed in search of the raiders. Off East Africa, the three modern 25-knot cruisers Weymouth, Chatham and Dartmouth, each mounting 8 x Gin guns, looked for Königsberg.
Königsberg vanishes again
As far as Königsberg's hideout was concerned, preparations were made early in 1914, when the 650-ton survey vessel Möwe charted the tortuous waterways of the Rufiji Delta--a 30-mile wide, 200-square-mile wilderness of forest, bush and swamp through which the Rufiji river flows into the Indian Ocean in three main channels and several smaller branches. Möwe's charts, as well as fine seamanship, enabled Looff to 'vanish' after the sinking of City of Winchester. He took the 378ft-long Königsberg deep into the delta. It was from this secret base-where close liaison was made with German land forces-that Königsberg ventured out to sink Pegasus.
Had Looff stayed at sea after destroying Pegasus; relying for fuel on coal taken from prizes and on contacts with supply-ships in remote anchorages, Königsberg might have had a career as spectacular as Emden. Instead, warned of the three Gin gun cruisers hunting him and of the arrival of the pre-dreadnought Goliath at Mombasa, Looff decided to go into hiding again in the Rufiji. Here minor engine repairs could be safely carried out. By early October, Königsberg had 'vanished' once more.
Germany's carefully deployed supply-ships were, ironically, the means of Königsberg's betrayal. Early in October, Captain Sydney Drury-Lowe of Chatham, following yet another false trail in the Mozambique Channel, captured the 250-ton German tug Adjutant. The tug's papers linked her with the 3,385-ton liner President, whose movements had already aroused suspicion. Adjutant was bound for a rendezvous with Prasident in Lindi Bay, south of the Rufiji. This date was kept by Chatham. Although not registered as a hospital chip or painted white as international law, demanded, President flew the Red Cross flag. Turning a Nelsonian blind eye, Drury-Lowe sent a boarding-party. His action was proved legitimate by the liner's papers. These showed that she had off-loaded coal into lighters in September. These had taken it up the Rufiji. This, combined with a study of President's charts, gave Drury-Lowe the clue he needed.
Chatham arrived off the Rufiji on 30 October. Lookouts reported the German collier Somali about three miles up one main channel, three small steamers up another-and what looked like the upper-works of a bigger vessel much farther inside the delta. Local Africans confirmed that there was a large warship about 12 miles up-river and added that the main channels' banks were strongly held by German and askari troops and that the waters were mined. Chatham- outweighing Königsberg by about 2,000 tons-could not enter the delta.
Rightly, Drury-Lowe was reluctant to risk a 'cutting-out' expedition in launches. He also doubted that Königsberg was really so far up-river and hoped that if her location was pinpointed she could be sunk by long-range fire. The old Goliath arrived to hurl salvos from her four 12in guns in Königsberg's direction. This was to no avail and Goliath was forced to withdraw with engine trouble. After sinking Somali with gunfire, Drury-Lowe could only settle down to blockade the Rufiji, supported by Weymouth and Dartmouth.
The Royal Naval Air Service (RNAS) was officially established on 1 July 1914. It had no strength in East Africa. But Admiral King-Hall remembered the summer sensation of Durban-the exhibition flights of two 90hp Curtiss seaplanes. They were then known as 'hydro-aeroplanes'. The aircraft, their pilot, Mr H. D. Cutler, and a Union Castle liner were smartly requisitioned.
On 6 November 1914, Flight Sub-Lieutenant Cutler RNAS sailed from Simonstown with one of the seaplanes aboard the armed merchant cruiser Kinfauns Castle. Bad weather on the way north damaged the aircraft. Parts from the second Curtiss were taken aboard off Durban. Helped by Midshipman A. N. Gallehawk, Cutler strove to put together one airworthy plane.
By 20 November, Kinfauns Castle lay at Niororo Island-18 miles from the Rufiji. The monsoon season of clammy heat and torrential rain was imminent. Cutler and Gallehawk labored feverishly to plug the seaplane's leaky hull and adjust its engine to run efficiently in tropical conditions.
On 22 November-his aircraft stripped to its bare essentials -Cutler took off from Niororo and headed for the coast, into the raging monsoon. He had no compass and only enough fuel for about an hour's flight. When he failed to return, many aboard Kinfauns Castle gave him up for lost. He might easily have been, had not the crew of a native sailing boat reported sighting an aircraft flying south down the coast. Launches were sent to search and found Cutler unharmed. His plane was damaged by an emergency landing on an uninhabited islet. Two days later, the airman took off again in his patched-up plane, and this time returned successfully. What he had to say disappointed Drury-Lowe. Königsberg was indeed 12 miles up the Rufiji, heavily-defended and apparently ready for a sortie should the blockade relax. Another flight was ordered with Captain Crampton of Kinfauns Castle as observer. It was made early in December -after the remains of the second Curtiss were brought from Durban and cannibalized to make a single airworthy machine. Crampton confirmed what Cutler had reported Königsberg lay beyond the range of Drury-Lowe's guns.
The cruiser had, however, shifted position a little. On 6 December Cutler again took off to check on her. The Curtiss's hull was waterlogged and its engine on its last legs. One mile up-river the aircraft could take no more. Cutler landed in the river right under the guns of a German patrol. He was trying unsuccessfully to set his plane on fire as they waded out to capture him. Cutler remained a prisoner for three years, but he had one comfort-the enemy failed to capture his aircraft. From the tug Helmuth, Midshipman Gallehawk saw Cutler's landing. In an action resembling the plot of a boy's comic book, Gallehawk and a motorboat's crew roared into the Rufiji supported by 3pdr fire from Helmuth, drove off the askaris who were dragging the Curtiss ashore, got a line to the aircraft and, under heavy fire, towed it out. A gallant gesture; but of little material value.
The Curtiss proved beyond repair and was eventually consigned to Durban Museum.
Chatham retired to Bombay for a refit and Rear-Admiral King-Hall himself arrived at the Rufiji aboard Hyacinth. Like Drury-Lowe, the Admiral called for aircraft-for bombing. He also proposed a surprise attack by improvised torpedo-boats, and an assault by monitors (shallow-draft vessels mounting heavy guns) which had acted successfully as fire-support ships off the Belgian coast in October. This was vetoed by the Admiralty. No monitors could yet be spared for East Africa, but aircraft were available. Two Sopwith float-planes--experimental variants of the 'Tabloid' land-plane-powered by the 100hp Monosoupape-Gnome Rotary engine developed for the 1914 Schneider Trophy event, were sent from Britain with a 20-man RNAS party commanded by Flight Lieutenant J. T. Cull.
When the Sopwiths arrived at Niororo on 21 February 1915, Flt.-Lt. Cull agreed to make an immediate bombing-run. But the Sopwiths' delicate air-cooled engines-even when stripped of their cowlings-failed to provide anything approaching full power in tropical conditions. Cull began with full fuel, maximum bomb-load (two 501b, four 161b) and an observer. After four days' wave-hopping he at last got aloft-but with no bombs, no observer, a ceiling of about 1,500ft and fuel for only an hour's flight. Within a few days both Sopwiths were unserviceable, their wooden frames and propellors warped by the heat (and many of the RNAS contingent down with heat-stroke or sunburn).
Early in April there arrived three Short 'folder’ seaplanes aboard the auxiliary cruiser Laconic out of Durban. They were old and cranky but at least airworthy. On 25 April, newly-promoted Flight Commander Cull took off with an observer, Air Mechanic Boggis, who carried a 7x5 Goerz camera. Laboring on at under 1,000ft, the Short came under heavy fire from ground troops and from Königsberg's position. She appeared to be still ready for a sortie. The camera did not show that more than a third of her 330-strong crew had left to serve with von Lettow-Vorbeck's army. And although a South African professional hunter, Pieter Pretorius, with a team of African trackers, claimed to have got within 300 yards of Königsberg early in 1915, there is no record that he reported the shrinking crew-although he confirmed the strength of the land-forces guarding her.
Where were the monitors?
The Shorts' climate-imposed ceiling made bombing a near-suicidal undertaking. Therefore Rear-Admiral King-Hall concentrated on tightening his blockade while awaiting the monitors. In mid-April intercepted wireless messages told of a supply-ship bound for the Rufiji. Hyacinth steamed to intercept. On 14 April, off Tanga, a 3,600-ton steamer (the captured British vessel Pubens, masquerading as the neutral Norwegian Kronberg) was set ablaze and run aground. Engine failure caused King-Hall's premature withdrawal, however, and the Germans were able to salvage part of Kronberg's cargo of arms and ammunition. There were more rumors of relief-ships, and King-Hall's command was strengthened by the 3rd-class Australian cruiser Pioneer, the armored cruiser Cornwall and the refitted Chatham. But by mid-May, when the two latter ships were ordered to the Dardanelles, the monitors had still not arrived. All three Shorts were unserviceable, and although an airfield had been prepared on Mafia Island, about eight miles off the Rufiji, no more aircraft had come.
In fact, the monitors were on their way. Severn and Mersey had been designed by Vickers as 1,260-ton river gunboats for Brazil. Like other export craft being built in Britain, they had been requisitioned by the Royal Navy in August 1914. Their design-267ft long, 49ft in beam, but drawing only 4ft 9in, with an extremely low freeboard reflected their intended role, and mode them totally unsuited to the voyage from Malta, through the Red Sea to Aden, and down the African coast. The Aden to Mafia stage alone took 19 days, during which time the monitor's tender Trent and their collier had often to assist the four tugs towing the unwieldy craft-capable of a mere 12 knots under their own power. Captain E. J. A. Fullerton of Severn and Commander R. A. Wilson of Mersey and their crews more than earned the special commendation given them by the Admiralty before they had even fired a shot over the Rufiji.
The monitors finally reached Mafia on 3 June 1915. But they were not ready for action. Mounting two 6in guns-one forward and one aft, with one 4.7in howitzer also aft for high-trajectory fire-they were built to give punishment rather than take it.
Before they were risked in the heavily-defended delta, armor plate was added to their decks and sides. Sandbags were placed at such vulnerable spots as bridge, magazine and gun-mounts. On 18 June, while the work was still going on, the auxiliary cruiser Laurentic delivered new aircraft. These were land-planes-two Caudron GIII biplanes with 80hp Gnome engines and two Henri Farman HF27 'pushers' with 140hp Canton-Unné engines. The Farmans were from a small batch specially built for operation in the tropics, with frames of steel tubing, and had a four-hour endurance with a maximum bomb-load of 550lb. Squadron Commander R. Cordon took command of the Mafia airfield, which now boasted a large corrugated iron hangar as well as native-style grass huts for personnel.
Late in June the aircraft were assembled and work on the monitors completed. Training in combined air-surface operations then began. A simple 'clock-face' code was adopted for spotting. The new aircraft had wirelesses, but an alternative hand-and-flag-signal code was devised in the case of failure. The Laurentic was sent to escort a small contingent of Indian troops in a feint landing at Dar-es-Salaam--intended to divert German forces that might otherwise be rushed to the Rufiji.
King -Hall's fleet was strengthened by Pyramus (sister-ship to the ill-fated Pegasus), with the 2nd-class cruiser Challenger due to arrive early in July.
Laurentic's mock attack was mounted on 5 July. On 6 July, King-Hall launched his intended knock-out blow on Königsberg. Preceded by three 'mine sweeping' whalers, the monitors entered the Kikunja-northern branch of the Rufiji-at 0520. In the remaining Caudron-one Caudron and a Farman were wrecked in training--Flight Lieutenant Watkins bombed Königsberg from 6,000ft. He scored no hits but provided a diversion. As the monitors ploughed on, answering heavy fire from the banks with their 3pdrs and MGs, Flight Commander Cull arrived in the Farman, with Flight Sub-Lieutenant H. J. Arnold as observer.
Weymouth, with King-Hall aboard, and Pyramus at the Kikuja mouth shelled enemy gun-emplacements and observation posts on high ground. At the same time, Hyacinth and Pioneer engaged similar targets while guarding the Simba Uranga channel.
The monitors anchored at 0630, supposedly more than 11,000 yards from Königsberg. Here their 6in guns should outrange her 4.1 in. Because of inaccurate charts, however, Severn and Mersey were much closer-in sight of observation posts with telephone links to the cruiser. Severn opened fire at 0648. Almost immediately she was straddled by the first of many accurate four- and five-gun salvos from Königsberg. Severn’s first shots were signalled by the Farman as 200 yards short and off to the left.
First blood in the clash went to Königsberg. At 0740 a direct hit on Mersey's forward 6in disabled the gun, killed three men and wounded more. Minutes later, a motorboat alongside was sunk and another shell holed the monitor near the waterline.
Commander Wilson wisely retreated about 1,000 yards. Severn was faring better. At 0751, Arnold signalled 'H T' (hit). Five more hits were signalled inside 20 minutes, but then Arnold made 'WO'-meaning the aircraft must leave. By 0810, when Flight Lieutenant Blackburn with Assistant Paymaster Badger as observer arrived in the Caudron, Mersey had again started firing while Severn retreated. Severn's move was lucky. It brought in view a German observation post in a tree about 400 yards away. Its destruction saw a marked decline in Königsberg's accuracy.
The monitors closed in once more, but wireless communications with the Farman-piloted now by Squadron Commander Gordon with Arnold, who spent nine hours aloft that day as observer-failed. The Caudron, relieving it at 1145, had to leave almost immediately with engine trouble. At 1400, when the Farman returned with its wireless repaired, both monitors were firing briskly. But no more hits were signalled and many shots went unmarked. In fact, the monitors were firing better than they realized. Many shells landing very near Königsberg fell into deep mud and failed to explode. Of 635 rounds fired only six were signalled 'hits', but by the time the monitors withdrew-at about 1545-they had had many remarkable escapes from near-misses and the cruiser's ammunition reserves were depleted. It had also become apparent that in a subsequent attack the monitors should fire in turn rather than on their own time. This would allow the aerial observers to make their reports more specific.
On 11 July, just before 1200, Severn and Mersey steamed again into the delta. Cull and Arnold were overhead in the Farman.
Fire from the banks was as fierce as before. Mersey had two men wounded before reaching her firing position. Her orders were to draw Königsberg's fire while Severn closed the range. But the Germans were not deceived. Mersey received only brief attention, while Severn was soon straddled by four-gun salvos that spattered her decks with mud from near-misses. At 1230, however, when Severn anchored well inside 10,000 yards (5.6 miles) and opened fire. Königsberg's accuracy suddenly crumbled. Severn's opening shots broke the telephone line linking the most important German observation post (said to be an officer in a barrel sunk in the mud only 50 yards from Severn) to the cruiser.
In spite of heavy small-arms and 12pdr fire, Cull and Arnold swooped over Königsberg below 3,000ft to spot for Severn, whose eighth salvo brought 'H T' from Arnold. Of the next 12 shots, eight hit. The cruiser was reduced to three-gun salvos.
But she continued firing at the aircraft. At about 1250 a shell-burst sheared two cylinders from the Farman's engine. Cull began a shallow glide towards the river while Arnold asked Mersey to send a boat-still keeping up the report on Severn's fire. His final signal-'HT All forward'-was made just before the Farman hit the water some 150 yards from Mersey. It somersaulted and threw Arnold clear. But Cull, strapped firmly in his seat, narrowly escaped drowning before Mersey's boat arrived.
Arnold's last signal proved vital. Lowering sights a fraction, Severn hit Königsberg amidships-causing a massive explosion marked by a column of yellow-black smoke. Only two guns answered from the cruiser-then only one. For nearly an hour Severn fired a salvo every 90 seconds. By the time Mersey moved up to join her, seven big explosions had been counted.
Aboard Königsberg, Looff realized his ship was doomed and ordered scuttling-charges, rigged from torpedo-warheads, fired at about 1330. As her crew splashed ashore, the cruiser toppled to starboard and settled deep into the mud. At 1344-seeing Königsberg ablaze along her whole length and listing sharply, Lieutenant A. G. Bishop, observer in the Caudron flown by Flight Lieutenant Watkins, signalled 'O K'. Severn and Mersey continued firing until King-Hall ordered their withdrawal. Soon after 1420, the Admiral stood at the salute on the bridge of Weymouth-her decks lined with cheering men-as the monitors steamed out of the delta.
As sunset approached, a party of Germans re-boarded Königsberg to lower her battle-flag, still just above water-level, and disable her guns by dumping the breech-blocks overboard. As a commerce raider, Königsberg had had little success, but she had kept a strong force of British cruisers--cruisers that might have hunted down Emden earlier, or reinforced Vice-Admiral Sir Christopher Cradock's squadron and prevented its destruction by von Spee at Coronet on 1 November 1914-tied up for some eight months. Now her men went to join von Lettow-Vorbeck's force, while her name was passed on to a 5,440-ton cruiser launched in December 1915. She later surrendered to France and was renamed Metz. Königsberg's career was still not quite over. King-Hall was to regret that, because of the strong land forces in the delta, he did not order a final attack to completely wreck the cruiser. Early in August 1915, a Caudron from Mafia flew over the delta on a photo-reconnaissance mission. The airmen reported the cruiser a total wreck, but photographs showed a lighter alongside. Salvage of some kind was going on. (Her remains lay there until 1962, when the Tanzanian government sold them to a scrap-metal firm.)
The salvage work was directed by Commander Schönfeld, a naval reservist who had spent many years in East Africa as a planter. With the help of African and German divers, he recovered all 10 of the 4.1 in guns' breech-blocks from the Rufiji mud, as welt as salving a number of 12 and 3pdrs and MGs. The 4.1 in (105mm)-as powerful as any artillery then in East Africa-were mounted on wheeled wooden platforms each pulled by up to 400 native laborers. In March 1916, when the British attacked German-held Kahe (more than 300 miles from the Rufiji), they were initially repulsed by guns from Königsberg, which played no small part in enabling von Lettow-Vorbeck to hold out until the Armistice. Perhaps the most ironic instance of the guns' use was at Kondoa Irangi in May-June 1916-where Königsberg's guns bombarding the British-held settlement were answered by guns salvaged from Pegasus!
Richard O'Neil with additional material















