that she could be successfully attacked.
At about 5.30 AM one of the Königsberg ’s officers saw two shadowy ships appear through the morning mist. They looked ungainly craft, but they were armed and clearly meant business. The German inshore guns began to fire—47 mm field guns and small arms—but the Severn and the Mersey returned the compliment in heavier kind. A torpedo was launched against them from a tube on the shore, but it was blown up in the water by a shell from the Severn . Shortly afterwards, a British seaplane dropped bombs on the Königsberg —but missed, hitting some nearby mangrove trees. German troops were still firing on the Severn and the Mersey from the banks—a continuous hail of rifle and machine-gun fire—but the steel boxes made it through, the plates on their hulls rattling with a deafening din.
On board the Königsberg was Job Rosenthal, an Ober-leutnant zur See. Along with other members of the crew he was eating breakfast on deck when the British attacked at 6.40 AM The alarm went up with the shout: ‘Clear ship for action!’ Severn and Mersey ’s guns began pounding them, their fire directed by spotter aircraft overhead. Smoke drifted across the water as the British fired shell after shell into the mangroves. They fell just short of the Königsberg , hitting a bank and throwing up a fountain of mud and bushes; or hitting the river and creating waterspouts. One of Rosenthal’s colleagues shot himself out of fear, but the others fought back fiercely, dodging the moaning shells as they came. The suicide, a former merchant navy officer called Jaeger, took some time to die.
In the first hour of the battle, four men from a British gun-crew on the Mersey were killed when a German shell hit their casement. However, at about 7.50 AM a British shell hit the Königsberg , killing a sailor. Shortly afterwards another projectile tore off the foot of one of Rosenthal’s colleagues, Richard Wenig. The Königsberg fired back, its shells landing perilously close to the British ships.
The day grew hotter, as did the fighting, which continued for hours. By about 3.30 PM the Severn and the Mersey had together fired 635 shells. The Germans kept returning fire, despite being hit four times. If a single German shell had struck one of the ungainly barges below the waterline they would have been done for. But none of the German salvos found its mark, except for the one which had killed the four men on the Mersey . At 3.45 PM the British commander, seeing that his men were tiring and the guns overheating, decided to withdraw from the delta to the relative safety of the open sea. The Königsberg had been damaged and wasn’t going anywhere. Refuelled and rearmed, the Severn and the Mersey could return again soon enough.
Rosenthal and the other Germans on the ship knew this. After burying their four dead and sending away 35 wounded by paddle boat, they spent the next few days trying to repair the damaged ship, whose bunkers were beginning to fill with water. All combustible material was removed, along with any secret documents. Extra spotters were put up in the palm trees to watch for the return of the British. A telephone line was run from the lookouts to the ship. But the truth was that after eight hours of incessant firing, not to mention months of fever in the sweltering delta, German morale had been shot to pieces.
Away to the south-west, at a dinner table in Salisbury, skullduggery was afoot. Over the weekend of 10–11 July, Spicer stayed with General Edwards, the senior British officer in Rhodesia. Spicer persuaded the General that if the reports about Lee’s drunkenness and loose talk were true, the Belgians should be asked to arrest him. If this sounds like an over-reaction to what was, after all, an unconfirmed report, the answer may lie in the fact that the report came from Sub-Lieutenant Douglas Hope, the Spicer appointee sent to the Congo in Lee’s wake. Hope never even met with the big-game
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