Winston Churchill on the role of sea power and the Battle of Jutland
Translation of Winston Churchill's articles published in the London Magazine in the autumn of 1918.
The text of this article is included as an appendix in Georg von Hase's book "Two White Nations" (Zwei weisse Völker). This book was published in Russian in a greatly abridged form under the title "On Derfflinger in the Battle of Jutland."
This article concludes the series dedicated to the Battle of Jutland.
Author: Winston Churchill
Translation: Slug_BDMP
An excerpt from articles published in the London Magazine in the autumn of 1918 by the British Minister of the Navy Churchill.
From the first day of the war, English fleet The Grand Fleet exercised complete and undisputed supremacy at sea. The powerful fleet, standing in its northern position, could command all the open seas until challenged to battle, in which it was defeated. It was the all-encompassing prerequisite for all Union undertakings in any theater of war, an unconditional veto on any external enemy activity. Although the battle squadrons of the Grand Fleet only once engaged German ships, and then for a few precious moments, and although they were never given the opportunity for a decisive battle, they nevertheless reaped the fruits of complete victory from the very beginning. If Germany had never built a single capital ship, or if all German battleships had been sunk, the comprehensive, logical power of the English fleet could not have acted more effectively.
Even without Trafalgar, the effects of Trafalgar continued to reverberate unceasingly—and with unprecedented severity. The entire colossal undertaking of British and Allied trade and transport communications continues unimpeded. Insurance at the rate of 1% covers not only military dangers as they were understood before the war, but also losses resulting from the illegal and inhumane submarine warfare against merchant shipping. Allied armies—limited only by the volume of available tonnage—can be sent to all parts of the world and supported in their places of deployment. The United Kingdom, its colonies, fortresses, protected areas, and the possessions of its allies remain secure and inviolable. The enemy, however, is deprived of all possessions beyond the front lines of his land armies, or will be deprived of them; in the vast expanse of the open sea, he cannot send a single ship to sea.
To send a letter to New York, the Germans are forced to build a special vessel capable of sailing underwater. The current North Sea air, the gloomy and stormy nights, the vast expanses of the seas and oceans are no defense against the constant, all-encompassing surveillance that impedes all German movement on the water. There is reason to believe that this state of affairs cannot continue indefinitely. However, the belief that its unlimited continuation—to the exclusion of all other means of attack—will decide the outcome of the struggle is fully justified. We have the right to be completely satisfied with this situation. The military mission of the British fleet is being fulfilled unconditionally, thoroughly, and successfully. Without a battle, we have gained everything that the greatest victory in battle could have given us. This is the starting point of all discussions of naval warfare. We are satisfied!
If the Germans are not equally satisfied with the existing state of affairs, the means to change it lies within their grasp. To free themselves from all the inconveniences they suffer, they need only find the Grand Fleet and destroy it in battle. If this were successful, all difficulties for Germany would be eliminated. The British armies would no longer be able to hold out on the continent; the life and industry of the United Kingdom would be paralyzed, the supply of ammunition would be cut off, and the entire edifice of war, diplomacy, and trade among the Allied Powers would collapse at a single blow. Victory in the Great War—certain, swift, and final victory, dominion of the seas, mastery of the world, the entire future of civilization—lies within their grasp if only this first obstacle were overcome. Their task is to act.
A consideration of these simple facts should make clear to common sense what is so often overlooked or misunderstood: namely, that the actions of the British fleet are, in fact, offensive and aggressive. We have seized the initiative and reaped every advantage; our silent assault on the enemy's vital interests continues uninterrupted—summer and winter, day and night, year after year. No military duty requires us to go further. The next move belongs to the Germans. It is a perfectly simple and understandable one. If they do not make it, it is only because they are not strong enough and do not dare. Never has the need been so great, nor the remedy so obvious.
The situation described above is complete in itself and, from our point of view, entirely satisfactory. If we turn to the Battle of Jutland, however, new and additional circumstances emerge. The British had no need to seek this battle. There was no strategic reason or compulsion to lead our battle fleet into Danish waters. If we wished to go there, it was prompted by zeal and a sense of our own strength. A burning desire to engage the enemy, crowded before us, and a cool calculation of a wide field of advantages justified the maneuver, which, however, was not required by any practical necessity. What harm would it do us if the German fleet one day put to sea? And to what extent could such an undertaking alter Germany's grim and deadly situation—would she find salvation or perish? If Germany wishes to reverse the course of fate, her fleet must not simply put to sea: it must put to sea and fight to the final outcome. The English fleet is given the right to decide where and under what conditions the battle will be fought.
When we hear of Sir John Jellicoe hastening across the North Sea, with his battle squadron at full speed towards the German coast, and Admiral Beatty and his battle-cruisers far in advance; when we see those great ships moving southward, with white foam curling about their stems, and black columns of smoke rising from their tripod masts, we must at once say to ourselves, "What a superiority they must have!" Surely the English fleet would not seek battle off the enemy's coast unless it felt itself not only strong enough to win, but strong enough to accept all the additional dangers and inconveniences that are inevitable in fighting away from its own strongholds and in dangerous waters.
We are justified in believing that such a decision was made solely on the basis of rational, prudent calculations of forces and well-founded confidence. Suppose, for example, that we had lost a dozen of our best ships; even then, we would not have abandoned such a bold policy, but would have merely retreated to a safer and significantly stronger position, forcing the enemy to approach our shores to seek the superiority he lacked. Thus, the Battle of Jutland should be viewed as a daring attempt to force battle on the enemy—an attempt born of a fully justified sense of overwhelming superiority, confirmed by the events themselves.
The movements of our battlecruisers and fast battleships can rightfully be more daring and adventurous. This fast squadron is at least three times stronger than all the enemy's fast heavy ships. No enemy force powerful enough to pose a threat to it can overtake it or force it into battle. Against the German battleships, it has no need to engage at all. It can approach the entire German fleet without requiring support, and yet remain significantly stronger than any single part of the enemy force without exposing itself to danger or engaging in a decisive battle.
Even if Sir David Beatty is a hundred nautical miles ahead of Sir John Jellicoe, he still maintains contact with him. Their mutual arrangement is completely secure and satisfactory. Beatty can withdraw at any moment, or Jellicoe can summon him. Communication between them is uninterrupted, and the situation is entirely within their control. The only danger is that an individual ship might fail to keep up with the others. But no matter how difficult it would be to abandon a comrade to his fate, this cannot be allowed to become the cause of a general engagement with the enemy battlefleet. With this caveat, the movements of our fast squadron are completely free. Therefore, there can be no question of carelessness or excessive haste, given the enormous distance between the fast ships and the Grand Fleet at the start of the battle.
The battle began with an attack by six British battlecruisers against five German ones, with the British ships significantly outnumbering the enemy. The enemy, understandably, retreated to its main forces. During the battle, we received reinforcements: first, in the form of four fast battleships of the Queen Elizabeth class, and second, three of Admiral Hood's old battlecruisers. Thus, in terms of the fast forces of both fleets, the British superiority in number of ships was 13 to 5, and in strength artillery — at least 4 to 1. When the German High Seas Fleet appeared on the battlefield, Beatty easily avoided a general engagement with it by a simple expedient: by increasing speed, he forced the German battlecruisers to stay close to him or allow him to encircle them ("put a stick over their T"). Thus, the fast ships escaped the German High Seas Fleet, and only the Queen Elizabeth-class ships, at the end of our line, engaged the leading enemy battleships for a while, for which they were, in fact, perfectly suited. All this seems natural and entirely satisfactory.
Surprisingly, however, the fire of the significantly superior British batteries failed to produce decisive results against the enemy battlecruisers during the three-hour battle. The Lützow was sunk. The Seydlitz and Derfflinger were heavily damaged, and the others suffered similarly. The shifting fog banks created poor visibility in every respect. The loss of three of our ships instantly reduced our forces. But the fact that four of the five German battlecruisers continued to sail and fire throughout the battle and then managed to escape is noteworthy.
The simplest explanation is that this can be attributed to the much heavier armor these resilient ships possessed compared to our battlecruisers. In any case, the Queen Elizabeth-class ships, the most heavily armored ships in the world, withstood the terrifying fire of the outnumbered German battleships without any losses or reduction in combat effectiveness. As far as lessons can be learned from this event today, the value of heavy armor appears proven. When the two main forces engaged, the superiority of the British gunnery became almost immediately apparent, even though only a portion of the British line was involved. The German fleet broke off the engagement and retreated under cover of fog and gathering dusk. It had suffered serious damage in this brief but memorable encounter. Certainly, individual ships of the British battle fleet demonstrated superior fighting qualities to the enemy—even without taking into account their numerical superiority. There can also be no doubt that the continuation of the battle would have led to only one outcome, and this was clear and acknowledged by the enemy himself.
Never before had a navy been under such pressure to win a battle and secure a decisive victory as the German fleet did in those days. Never before had it been presented with such a favorable opportunity. Its enemy had come almost to its very doors. It was far from its bases; it was in Germany's own dangerous waters. It was engaged in a pursuit that gave the Germans every opportunity to lead it into minefields and into the reach of submarines.
Poor visibility hindered long-range combat and offered good opportunities to employ the much-touted German medium artillery, as well as favoring all the principles by which the German fleet was built and trained. And yet, despite all this, although the Germans desperately needed victory, they were hesitant to tempt fate. So highly did they value the superiority of the British fleet that they avoided all risks and were strong enough to forego almost all the advantages that came to their aid in the hope of a solution they did not strategically require. So deeply ingrained was the conviction of their own weakness in the minds of the German commanders, and so intensified by direct contact with the enemy, that despite all the advantages in their favor, they refused to engage, even though victory in it could have saved Germany.
There can be no question of a lack of courage on the part of the German crews and commanders. This is acknowledged openly and without reservation. Here we are dealing with a cold, scientific calculation of military force, and the conclusion is absolutely clear and definite. History Naval warfare knows neither a more arrogant assertion of military superiority on the part of the strongest fleet, nor a more humiliating admission of one's own impotence on the part of the weakest - both were fully justified by the facts and events of this Battle of Jutland.
That the torpedo proved comparatively ineffective in influencing the course of a general naval battle is equally clear and equally satisfying. A stronger navy bases its might primarily on the strength of its heavy guns in the line of battle. Our entire system, our entire understanding of naval warfare, rests on this. This has always been the case in the past, and despite all the changes brought about by technological advances, it remains the foundation of all naval policy and strategy. A first-class naval power relies on artillery; a second-class one must place its hopes on the torpedo. The designs and construction of German ships of all classes, the organization of their fleet—everything corresponds to this principle.
English naval thinking, while remaining true to the fundamental idea of the superiority of artillery, has in recent times increasingly taken into account the threat of torpedoes. weapons. And indeed, it's hard not to consider it as perhaps the decisive weapon in the struggle. However, at the Battle of Jutland, some sixty or seventy capital ships of both fleets were subjected to nearly two hundred daring surface and underwater torpedo attacks over nearly twenty hours—in daylight and darkness. On the British side, only one ship, the Marlborough, was hit, and without having to cease fire, while all the reckless courage of our own flotillas cost us no more than three or four losses. This is perhaps the most astonishing and, for us, one of the most reassuring results of the battle.
It would be dangerous to draw definitive conclusions from the experience of a single battle or to assume that the long and increasingly fierce rivalry between cannon and torpedo has already been decisively decided in favor of the former. But if this battle is at all capable of pointing the way, it inevitably demonstrates the primacy of artillery power and relegates the torpedo to a secondary role when it comes to the great decisions of war. And here we see again the harsh law of modern naval warfare: "To the strongest fleet, everything; to the next strongest, nothing." "From him who has nothing, even what he has will be taken away."
It is striking, in general, to what extent the effects of even moderate superiority at sea are complete and comprehensive. Take two fleets whose strengths are in the ratio of sixteen to ten. Does the stronger navy receive sixteen parts of the sea power, and the weaker ten? Does the stronger control sixteen parts of the sea, and the weaker ten? Does the weaker control even five parts? Or even one? No, decidedly not. The high seas are entirely and completely in the hands of the strongest. The weaker navy is left with nothing; its expenditures bear no fruit, its efforts go unrewarded. It cannot even, as in the old days of sailing navies, wage a protracted cruising war until the weaker main fleet is capable of giving decisive battle. The destruction of every cruiser or merchantman under its flag, every stronghold and every colony abroad, is only a matter of time. In this contest, there are no consolation prizes.
It's noteworthy that public opinion tends to judge naval operations more critically and even more biasedly than those on land. On land, heavy losses occurred—sometimes needlessly, sometimes with very minor and unsatisfactory results. Mismanagement, indecisiveness, slowness, and reckless daring all play a role there, leading to dire consequences. But in the chaos of battle, all of this is difficult to discern. So much remains uncertain, so much is shrouded in darkness, so many circumstances can confuse the picture and distort the outcome. And yet, through it all, shines the tireless courage of the troops, their selfless sacrifice, the supreme need to support them rather than encourage the enemy. Therefore, public judgments of events on land are either indulgent or expectant.
With a navy, it's different. The sea is smooth and clear. Every ship on its surface is visible—a precise target. If it perishes, it's an undeniable fact. If even one ship is lost, it's considered a misfortune, the result of some simple cause—carelessness, recklessness, incompetence—for which someone must be punished. And yet, an admiral undoubtedly has a greater right to count on the generosity of his compatriots than a general. His military craft is almost entirely unique. Hardly any of them had any prior experience at sea. They all had to learn during the war—in new and unpredictable conditions, and in peacetime, often completely unimaginable.
While some generals, perched in high headquarters and issuing orders for hopeless attacks over the telephone from miles away, have often thought it would be a great relief to be on the battlefield, even briefly, this is impossible under the conditions of modern warfare. But an admiral on his bridge, leading his fleet or squadron into battle with his very presence, an admiral whose proudly flying flag serves as the target of concentrated fire, which, minute by minute, with almost a single wave of the hand, directs the course of the greatest and most ferocious battle, like the warrior kings and paladins of antiquity—he is a truly heroic figure.
Never before had the average seaman of the Navy been exposed to such dangers as Jellicoe and Beatty. No general, however admirable, had to face, firsthand, amid the thunder of battle, with instant death ever before his eyes, such monstrous and excruciatingly difficult tasks as they did. Mighty ships, each equivalent in military value to at least an entire infantry division, vanish in a single, monstrous explosion, leaving not a trace. A third of the battlecruiser squadron is destroyed in a matter of minutes; ships of the greatest value are lost forever; the fate of the Allied cause, the fate of the British Empire, the outcome of the World War—all is at stake, all hangs in the balance, all is shrouded in uncertainty. Surely, of all the personal trials by fire of the Great War, this was the supreme test, and in it lies true glory.
Author: Winston Churchill. Translation: Slug_BDMP
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