There sat the pride of the German Fleet, and the apex of all his efforts to realize the dreams of the Führer in his Plan Z naval building program. Look at it now, he thought, noting the fresh paint that had covered over cinder black scars on the cold metal of the ship, where damage from many small caliber hits pot marked the superstructure. The news of the death of Admiral Lütjens had shaken him, and worse than that was the shattering of his battlefleet when Graf Zeppelin went down. Gneisenau was also lost, skewered by torpedoes in the heat of a running attack on HMS Rodney, and the sinking of that British battleship had been his only consolation. The Kapitan of the Hindenburg, Adler, was now at his side, ready to escort the Admiral aboard to survey the repairs that had been made to the damage. It was a most humbling moment, and Adler felt like a schoolboy being called to account for his misdeeds, a very uncomfortable feeling. “It was those damnable naval rockets again,” he said.
