Holland peered at the target ships and agreed. The cruiser was a generous side shot, and the freighters were anchored together in a curious cluster behind her. Although he would certainly prefer a warship, the freighters were large, rode low in the water—which told him they were fully loaded—and, judging by the way they were secured away from the others, quite important.
The sub’s position was adjusted for aiming. King gave the order and the torpedo surged from the tube with a splash that Holland feared would attract the attention of the entire German navy. It was not so. Quiet returned and the only sounds were the grunts and cursing of the men laboring below to load a second torpedo.
Holland squinted at his stopwatch and counted down the seconds. With only a mile to travel, the torpedo should take about two minutes to reach its target, perhaps less. As the count neared the two-minute mark, Holland’s anxiety grew. As it reached two, he began to worry. When the seconds continued past two minutes, he had to accept the fact that he’d missed. He asked how soon the second torpedo would be ready and was told a couple of minutes more. Then he realized that he was out of range for a normal Whitehead torpedo and would have to get much closer to a target.
He was just about to order Lieutenant King below and the sub to get under way when a flash of light by one of the clustered freighters caught his attention.
As he watched spellbound, the flash grew into an explosion that fed itself into a monster, turning night into day as it started to roar to the heavens. Seconds later, the shock wave hit the submarine and hurled John Holland into the rear of the hatch, crushing his skull and snapping his spine into a dozen pieces. Lieutenant King, who had been on the deck, was hurled into the sky and down into the foaming black water. Then the Holland, its plates ruptured everywhere, settled into the muck of the Upper Bay.
In the Kill Van Kull, Capt. Richmond Hobson looked on incredulously. It was a few minutes past four and his little flotilla was barely under way. Ammunition ships, he realized. Holland has blown up ammunition ships. “Brace yourselves,” he hollered and heard it repeated down the line of ships.
By the time the shock wave reached him, its force had dissipated substantially. Even so, it rocked him and he heard cries as several of the crew were flung to the deck. When the roar and the shock had ended, he looked toward Manhattan and beheld a sight he never could have imagined. Ships were on fire everywhere, and some of those not burning had been capsized. Exploding ammunition from a multitude of sources popped off like giant firecrackers and sent shells in all directions. It was glorious! He had no idea how the Holland had managed it, but what a wonderful event!
“Mr. Blaine, signal the boats forward. Nothing has changed. We will attack according to plan.”
Behind him, the eleven other torpedo boat destroyers began to surge forward. They would attack in pairs, each married to a ship with corresponding speed and size. As the engines roared, Hobson allowed himself a moment of pride. These torpedo boats, often called destroyers, were considered obsolete, since they had virtually no oceangoing capability and little range. Already there were designs about for ships that were many times the size of his, which would also be called destroyers. Until the larger ships were built, however, the smaller torpedo boats would continue to be used as they were being used tonight.
As Hobson’s flagship, the Alvin, accelerated to its maximum speed of nearly thirty knots, and its mate, the Farragut, ranged alongside, he thought of how difficult it had been to have all these boats shipped by rail and still retain secrecy.
The Alvin was one of the largest destroyers, at just over two hundred feet, and it displaced 280 tons. It had a crew of three officers and fifty-three enlisted men but only two precious torpedoes. Hobson thought she was overlarge for this small a payload. The smallest destroyer was the Talbot, which was only ninety-nine feet long, had a crew of fifteen, and chugged along at a mere twenty-one knots, although she too had a pair of torpedoes. The disparity in sizes reflected the confusion in the Navy Department as to exactly what the so-called destroyers were supposed to do. Tonight, their task was quite simple. They were to sink German ships.
With their greater speeds, the destroyers needed only a few moments to come into clear view of the carnage wrought by the Holland. As they roared past a burning cruiser, they chose to ignore the mortally wounded ship. It would likely sink without their assistance. Hobson looked around and saw his well-trained and meticulously instructed crews peel their ships off and begin to make attacking runs. His orders had been quite simple: one torpedo for one ship. If the first missed, or the target didn’t sink, crews could use another, but they were not to intentionally fire two at one ship. He had also instructed them to ignore empty transports unless there were no other targets available. Let Remey’s vultures pick them off.
It was then that Hobson realized his further good fortune. Although the fires had illuminated the harbor and deprived him of the cover of darkness, the Germans were in such shock that they hadn’t even noticed his boats. Or perhaps they thought their own ships were coming to their aid. After all, who would have expected a dozen American destroyers in the midst of the German convoy? He could only hope that they could make their attack and get away before the Germans recognized their mistake.
The rattle of machine-gun fire and pop of 1-pound cannon firing told him that he would not get his wish. He lurched and grabbed a railing as the boat righted itself after launching a torpedo. There was no time to watch for results as the Alvin’s skipper turned sharply to avoid machine-gun fire and find another ship. The Alvin’s gunners added to the din by shooting at anything within range. All around Hobson were the explosions of other torpedoes striking home; it occurred to him that there was a real danger of crossing one of their own torpedoes’ paths in the chaos of the swirling attack.
The Alvin’s second torpedo was launched only moments later, and then it was time to depart. Signaling the Farragut to return to base without him, Hobson ordered the Alvin to stand off in the harbor and wait for his boats to race by. When the count stopped at eight, he knew that three of his small craft would not be returning.
Hobson looked about and realized that the harbor was a circle of flaming buildings and ships. All about him the sky was turning red, not from a false dawn but from the multitude of fires burning on Manhattan and in Jersey City and Brooklyn. He gasped when he realized the Statue of Liberty was headless and without her outstretched torch and arm.
Hobson ordered the Alvin’s captain to circle while he assessed the damage on the land. Most of the German warehouses on the Brooklyn side were giant torches and continued to be racked by explosions. As he watched, the wall of one burning building collapsed on another, creating a huge shower of sparks that fell on running figures. He thought he could hear their screams.
On Manhattan, he could see numbers of people running about in panic, some even jumping into the water to escape the fires that had burst in on their sleep. Where had all the people come from? Hadn’t the island been evacuated by the Germans? Or were these Germans he was seeing? Not likely. He knew that part of town was populated by immigrants, and it appeared that many had remained regardless of the kaiser’s orders. On the New Jersey side, the damage seemed to be substantially less, as a result of the greater distance from the explosions. Already, people were starting to work on the fires, and there seemed to be a little less chaos as well. As he watched, fingers of water began lifting from horse-drawn pumpers and onto burning buildings.
He had intended to hurt the Germans and had accomplished his task. But had he hurt his own country worse? Totally confused and disoriented, he ordered a return to Newark Bay. What had he done?
Roosevelt’s face was red. He was upset and distraught. “Would someone please tell me why it was necessary to destroy several of our largest cities in the course of that action? Is this our definition of victory? My lord, spare us from future victories if that is the case!”
Hay tried to soothe him. “Now Theodore, buildings can be rebuilt and, frankly, I don’t think the damage or loss of life to civilians is as great as the rumormongers say.”