Atoll Highlanders

[Marshal Murat]

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".