Atoll Highlanders

A thunderous crump broke the night apart, ripping at the roots of the palm trees. Then several more impacts ripped open the night sky, red-orange flames reaching to the stars above. The night was illuminated by a half-moon, dispersed with fish scale clouds. The ground shook like a dog from the rain, and the sandy soil shifted under the shrubs and palm trees.
"Goddamn Huns." Was all that Captain Andrew McDougall said from the foxhole. The other occupant, Lieutenant Henry McDougall nodded slowly.
"You know brother, those Germans couldn't hit Inverness Castle with one of the 14-inchers." At that another shell sent dirt and roots into the foxhole, scattering it over the khaki uniforms. Captain Henry McDougall trembled, shifting much of the debris off.
"Well, Henry, we haven't fired back yet, and I'm not goddamn surprised. Those muzzle flashes could be seen for miles in these conditions. The gunners aren't stupid enough to fire them off after only a couple shots. They want to ensure the position of those Huns." Captain Andrew McDougall.
All Henry could do was say goddamn.

Then the ground shook again, as the 14-inch guns opened up in a single salvo. It was hell-on-earth as the flames spit steam engine shells into the sky. One got lucky, and blew apart the flank of a German battleship. Another shell flew into the sandy soil of the atoll. The 14-inch guns didn't reply, saving their deadly cargo for sure hits. Few shots followed after the initial bombardment. They were lighter shells, ripping apart the palm tree canopy. By morning three Highlanders were dead, ripped apart by steel shrapnel. Andrew and Henry McDougall weren't among them.

Now as the glowing orange ball of the sun poked above the Pacific waters, the two brothers faced a task not encountered before. An amphibious assault under fire. The two brothers watched as the German navy slowly prepared the ferries for the landing. They were designed in Berlin and Frankfurt, Hamburg, Bremen, all the cities of the new German Federation. They were light boats, built like the boats mounted on the structure of the battleships. However, they were designed for landing on beaches, and now they were to go a trial-by-fire.
Captain Andrew stood and shuffled by the foxholes, followed by his brother. Walking by, he began to speak in his best parade ground voice.
"Lads, the Huns are coming for the beaches. Let's hold them there, and give them a grave that they deserve. Remember the HMS Wessex, remember the brave sailors who were there in Samoa when the Yanks and the Krauts opened fire on her tender frame. Now the traitors want to take the Blackmoor Atoll! Don't give them the chance. Fire, and don't stop firing. We don't have just those 14-inch hammers of God! We have light guns, machine-guns, and the trusty Enfield. British engineering, good gear that has served in the Boer Wars, the Boxer Rebellion, and everything in between. Don't let them take the atoll lads. For the Atholl Highlanders!" With that Andrew McDougall paced back to his foxhole and watched history.

A few minutes afterwards, a cannonade that would shake the dead opened up on the Blackmoor Atoll. Steam-train shells fell amongst the 'Atoll Highlanders', the Kraut 10-inch guns, the 12-inch, 14-inch, and 16-inch guns. They all fired, and fired, and fired. The shells pummeled the waters, the shore, the trees, the lagoon of the atoll. The land was carpeted by craters and tangled palms. Underneath this curtain of steel and explosions, the German ferries took off. A wave of ships, they slowly churned the water.

"Ready lads! Ready for the Germans!" Captain McDougall yelled, and then the 75-pound cannons fired. The first few landed a little short, but it was swiftly corrected. The shells landed amongst the ferries, and it was a watery grave for many Germans that day. Explosions sent geysers of water into the air, washing the men on the ferries. Shrapnel and shells ripped apart the sardine cans of men. It was unholy murder. The ferries shook like broncos in the concussions of water.
Andrew then saw the seeming impossible. Ferries continued through the murder and death, churning and rumbling to shore. The Vickers machine guns began to fire. Hundreds of needle white spikes appeared in the water, bullets whistling through the water, then through wood, then through flesh and bone. Rifles began to crack, and as the guns ceased firing, the silences was broken by the chattering of Vickers machine guns and Enfield rifles.
The Germans came on. Now Andrew could see the Kaiser Wilhelm mustaches, floppy blue caps, and their rifles. The ferries then beached, and the stationary targets were juicy meat for the Vickers. Bullets now stitched the sand and surf. Grenades appeared on shore, the explosions ripping apart the bodies of the Germans.

Andrew brought his rifle to bear, and with Army precision picked off the Germans. The fusillade was deadly, as the Germans were struck by the accurate rifle fire. Shots had to count, and the count was in bodies. Some were lucky and died swiftly. Others took bullets to the legs, and were washed with salty water and flames. Lead and grenades took apart the body. Red washed the shore, and the bodies shook in the tide.


A few minutes later the 'Atoll Highlanders' watched as the ferries were sinking under the barrage of the 75 pound artillery, retreating to their mother ships out at sea. The cost was horrendous for the Germans, with about 10 British dead, all from lucky shots by the German attackers. Andrew and Henry watched with horrible nausea as the bodies were attacked by crabs and fish, and the wounded cried out in their language.

The first day of the 'Siege of the Atoll Highlanders' ended with the swift deaths of the wounded by pistol shots, and another storm of shells on the atoll.

Looking foward to the next part. :yes:

Rear Admiral Jackson Montmon fumed at his predicament, scanning the map on the hardwood desk. His small naval force, based in Singapore was of the battleships Formidable, Irresistible, Implacable, Magnificent, and Majestic.
All fine warships, carrying 12 inch guns or smaller. The Germans had a fleet of ships, listed by all reports as the Kaiser Friedrich 3, Kaiser William 2, Kaiser Barbarossa, Brandenburg, Worth, Beowulf, Siegfried, Heimdall, and supply ships. They were roaming the seas outside of Australia, pummeling the island chains that linked the Empire to Samoa. The link was vital, to keep the meager garrisons supplied with food and ammunition. Now the Imperial German Fleet was doing it's damnedest to cut that supply line off, resorting to new submarine warfare.

Now Montmon was sitting in Singapore with a numerically smaller fleet, and even thinner supply lines. Then the Admiralty has the nerve to call
"Attack the German Fleet and destroy it to the best of your abilities." He only had five battleships with which to do battle against a confirmed eight German battleships and then face the bloody Yankees when they show up with their fleet. The nearest other garrison would be Hong Kong with the Mars, and then in Calcutta the Hannibal, and Jupiter. They weren't even assigned to him either. They were to keep watch with their might guns, and ensure no more German naval elements came through. While it seemed impossible the Krauts could get past the swift naval blockade the Royal Navy had posted around their ports, what were three ships going to do against something that broke through the Royal Navies blockade?
"Damned it all. What am I to do?" His voice seemed to echo back and mock his misery.
With that question, Rear Admiral Montmon stepped around to get another perspective. His smaller fleet was to get out of Singapore, cut across several seas, avoid submarine detection, and meet a numerically larger fleet? It was a startling proposition, and with the lines being cut shorter every day, it was untenable.
Rapping on the steel door, Montmon shook himself from the complicated thoughts that he knew where to disturb him for the following days.
"Come in."
Entering slowly was the captain of the Magnificent. A tall Irishman, his thick red hair was unkempt and while the navy blue suited his figure fine, he always seemed uncomfortable in it.
"Admiral Montmon, the officers are wondering where you are. I came up to inspect, and when I heard your outbursts I figured where you were. The problem can be solved with a good plate of beef and rice, and when Phat makes a beef and rice, it'll cure your ails as quickly as a good bottle of whiskey."
"That's what I need, a bottle of whiskey. Captain Donaldson, would you follow the fleet across the South Pacific, through the submarine waters, and against the German fleet numerically larger than we are and expect to succeed?"
With that question, Captain Donaldson smiled and replied swiftly.
"Admiral Montmon, I'd follow you to Hell and back, now if you'll come downstairs, there is beef and rice."
Smiling slightly, the admiral nodded and led the way downstairs to the officers lounge and did enjoy the beef and rice with a good glass of whiskey.



Andrew McDougall threw his weight against the palm trunk, along with several other soldiers. Shifting slightly, it was all that was needed by the engineers to hammer stakes behind. Before it was a massive berm of sand and coral pieces, palm and brush, all to absorb the impact of a high explosives shells that the German battleships threw at them. The 14-inch guns were in similar bunkers but protected by some concrete walls and defenses. Already the atoll was becoming a scarred and pitted surface, with the ground churned and mixed with the blood of 'Atoll Highlanders' and German attackers. The defenses that the Highlanders were building linked much of the island together, trenches cutting across the ground, zig-zagging to avoid a shell getting lucky and blowing an entire trench-full of men apart. Hovels of wood and stone protected the men at night, and the radio brought in German naval signals along with anything else that happened to catch the small antenna. The atoll had been defended for three days, with two German assaults beaten back. Hundreds of shell casings were littering the ground, some being used as the walls of the hovels. Luckily the causalities were light, and Colonel Andrew McDougall knew he was lucky. Now there was hope, as the German navy bled away from several battleships and supporting ships to four German battleships , colliers, cruisers, and canoes of locals, out to see the thunder and smoke of battle.
"Colonel, we have sighted a new battleship." One of the privates called from down the trench, and with that Colonel McDougall scampered along the trench line to the communications center. There were the telescopes, sighting apparatuses, and field glasses that swept the sea for signs of life.
The station was run by his brother Henry now, since the corporal in charge was demoted by an enemy shell.
"Where?" Colonel Andrew McDougall picked up a set of field glasses to scan the rippling blue waves.
"There Colonel, right behind the stern of the trailing German cruiser, something-burg. See the smoke trail?"
There, line a thin line of string on a blue tablecloth, the trail of smoke from boilers.
"Have we gotten any new radio traffic?"
"No sir, but three cruisers were lost during the night, and it's either them, or they have gone to investigate."
Nodding at the report, Colonel McDougall looked at the younger one.
"Keep me posted, and watch the Krauts for any reports. If you get one, then tell me." Turning away, Andrew made his way back through the trenches, muttering "Goddamn."

Karl von Braunburg stood on the deck of the Heimdall, scanning the shimmering blue and green water of the South Pacific. Then the tip of a periscope appeared, and with a smile, Admiral Karl von Braunburg nodded to the signal officer. Rapping off several flashes of light, the rest of the Pacific Squadron turned their guns away from the surfacing submarine.
The entire squadron was about five ships, with seven coming from Togo. The entire fleet was to pummel the British into submission in the west, take Guam, and defeat the American fleet. A tall order, but the Prussian navy was full of spirit and ability. Now the new weapons of war, the submarines, were in their hands.

The U-043 was a newer model out of Hamburg, and brought not only records of kills, but important messages for the fleet in the Pacific. Sidling up to the submarine, lines were cast over and mail taken aboard. With eagerness befitting a child, Admiral Braunburg sifted through the letters. At the bottom of one was a steel case. Flickering through the combination, the contents were wrapped books and letters.
Taking them to his cabin, Braunburg pulled the first letter open, from the Admiralty in Berlin, Tirpitz.

Reading it silently, Braunburg tossed it into the wastebasket, and tossed a couple more letters onto it. With that he mused at his bunk, thinking into the subject. Then with a sudden alertness, Karl von Braunburg began to write. Several orders for the Pacific Squadron.



The shifting breezes brought a driving rain to the Blackmoor Atoll, and the bunkers were resonating with the light patter of rain on sand and scrub piled onto the palm forts. Colonel Andrew McDougall watched with eager anticipation. Usually when ships came to the Blackmoor Atoll, they were re-supplying with coal or attacking them. Tonight was different. The radio had picked up the H.M.S. Falklands, a supply ship moving to Guam to resupply the locals. Now they were stopping off at Blackmoor, dropping ammunition, food, and spades to dig with.

A light blue light flickered from the mouth of the lagoon. The Falklands was about to go between several crossfires, from Enfields and 75pd guns.
"Stand down the guns".

The end of the shipment was a couple rolls of barbed wire. The night was leaving quickly, and the transport was already speeding out the lagoon harbor, churning water and coral. The rain was still coming down, layering the sky with gray clouds. It provided a nice cover for the transport Falkland.

Colonel Andrew McDougall used the field glasses to scan the German fleet outside the Blackmoor Atoll. The enemy fleet was steely-gray, with black tipped funnels and red flags. The guns were pointed out to the Blackmoor Atoll, but they were silent. The Germans hadn't bombarded the atoll in a while, but it was now time. Five hours after the transport had shipped off the wire, the guns belched steel and smoke. Fire and death that threw sand into the air, splashing water, and the siege continued.