ACHTUNG ZEPPELIN IX:The Sky is a Big Place to get Lost in

The Naval Airship division of Germany in the later part of the summer of 1917 found itself without a plot.  While the success of the German Army's bombardment of England via airplane remained to be seen, it was clear that the big rigid airships were not what they used to be in the strategic bombing department. While they could fly over all of Britain's air defenses, the problems of navigation and target finding proved to be enormous. As a result, it was getting harder to see how Zeppelins could contribute to German victory. 

    The rest of Germany similarly was filled with anxiety over the future, though, unlike the Naval Airship Division at least, there was also reason to hope. Most of that hope came from the fact that while the war in the west was the same hellish stalemate it had always been, Germany's war against Russia was very different. As political revolution consumed Russia, the war in the east would be ending soon, in Germany's favor. Then, millions of troops on the eastern front could be transferred to the western one, allowing the German forces to hopefully win a victory that would allow a peace negotiation from strength.

    On tonight's episode of Achtung Zeppelin, I'm going to cover the 'Silent Raid', the last really big raid the Naval Airship Division accomplished on Britain. I'm also going to cover briefly airships on the Baltic front, which isn't that action packed, but provides an interesting alternative to how the Germans could have used their rigid airships. It also serves as a background to a tale of grade A aeronautical insanity I'll be covering next time.

L 45 ready to fly.

 Fear Factors

    Anxiety for the Naval Airship division was now no longer just caused by hydrogen fires and stiff headwinds. General Ludendorff, joint-supreme commander of Germany's war effort, wanted more of Germany's increasingly scarce resources to go toward aircraft construction, and not airships. In July 1917, he proposed that the airship construction program should be halted.  The Navy fought back, using the “tying up the enemy's resources” argument you've heard before, and stating that even if raiding by airship was abandoned, it would require ½ a airship a month (as opposed to the 2 airships per month it was getting right now) just to make good normal losses. Ludendorff conceded the navy it's ½ a Zeppelin per month, but refused to budge beyond that. The fight was taken all the way to the Kaiser, who sided with the general. Henceforth, the naval airship division would have to make do with what it had, and raiding the UK would be curtailed. While raiding in practice continued, now losses could no longer be made good.

    Strasser (never one to let setbacks get him down) organized a new raid on the British Isles, on the night of August 21st. Eight Zeppelins took off, and several airship captains turned in detailed attacks on British cities, but raid did little damage: only one Zeppelin's bombs were traced by the British. The raid also once again vexed the British defenses completely, flying above all of them. (This caused a fair bit of worry, believe it or not. The British feared the clock was turning back to 1915, when airship raiders could bomb London with impunity.) Unfortunately, all the problems detailed in the last post still existed, and the raiders were stymied by poor navigation and altitude sickness.

     L 46 had particular problems: their oxygen was badly contaminated, and so the men tried to do without it, and as a consequence several crew members kept passing out or were otherwise unable to do their duties. Hollender, the captain, tried to be a good example and took a great deal of oxygen, only to be violently ill, and then pass out while still on his feet. Hollender's XO, Richard Frey, took the captain to the radio room to sit down, and unfortunately for Holladner an oxygen-deprived Strasser was in there, who became very angry and yelled at the captain “what's wrong with you? Why are you standing there with your hands in your pockets?” Strasser then directed Frey to take command, and had him remove Hollander's binoculars from around the captain's neck. Hollander only regained full consciousness after L 46 landed some 12 hours later. Still, Hollander's suffering did lead to some good: it was the last time the Zeppelins carried oxygen instead of liquid air.

    In September the Naval Airship Division tried to raid twice, and both times bad weather called off the attempts. At this time a hydrogen shortage (explained in the Baltic section) made even regular patrolling difficult.  The next month, on the night of October 19th, Strasser finally had the resources to make a big raid.

A Big Hit on the West End

    The Silent Raid, as it later came to be known, was the last really big airship raid of the war, and it came close to being a success for the Naval Airship division. Once again, height-climber Zeppelins completely foiled Britian's defense network, and even managed to bomb a few things worth bombing. Unfortunately, fortune was against the Zeppelins. The Silent Raid was also the raid where several of the unsolved problems of high-altitude flying came together in an especially nasty way, as the resulting casualties in both crews and now irreplaceable skyships were a disaster for the Zeppelinauts.

    The raid started as normal, with Strasser ordering an attack on the Industrial midlands. 11 out of 13 Zeppelins answered the call, and by 2 PM on the 19th, all were airborne on their way to Britain. (L 42 and L 51 were kept in their sheds thanks to a tricky crosswind.) By day over the North Sea, the weather was fine, but unknown to Zeppelin crews a deep depression was inbound from Iceland, and with it full gale force winds in the upper atmosphere above 13,000 ft. As the night wore on, airships found that at safe attack altitudes, they could do little but be driven before the wind. In addition to the wind, Strasser had chosen to stay behind, and in the critical moment when high winds were reported by many of the Zeppelins, radio communication with home base was lost. Strasser was then unable to do the right thing, and call the raid off. While the veteran airship crews could take care of themselves, the new crews would only turn back with direct orders.

    One of those veterans was Kplt. Von Buttlar, who you may remember from previous posts, flying the new L 54. Over the midlands, he correctly saw that the weather was turning nasty and gave up any idea of attacking Sheffield or Manchester. Instead, he bombed Derby and Nottingham from 21,000 ft. Not sure of his position, Von Buttlar then took a large risk, and descended to 5000 ft, where the winds were normal, and made his way back across the north sea. At one point, a D.H.2 spotted L 54 and chased her for half an hour, but could not make enough speed to overhaul her. Thanks to this unique roll of the dice, Von Buttlar was the only commander to bring his airship home over the North Sea. (Effectiveness of bombing: zero – bombs landed in remote fields.)

    L 46 also discovered the gale-force winds early. Blowing from the north, the winds pushed L 46 to make landfall stern-first over Norfolk at 11:30. Captained by Hollander, another veteran airship commander, the L 46 bombed Norwich instead of trying to get to the midlands. At  20,000 ft, Hollander later said that he could see the sparkles of heavy guns: along the Thames, out of Harwitch, and even on the western front at Flanders. Getting home proved challenging: the navigational wireless was completely out, and L 46 cut across Holland instead of trying to fight the gale on the normal route. Fortunately, Holland had solid cloud cover, and when L 46 descended through this solid cloud, she was greeted by anti-aircraft fire – German anti-aircraft fire, as L 46 had traveled over the Ruhr. She made a safe landing at Ahlhorn at 1 PM. (Effectiveness of bombing: zero – the bombs fell harmlessly.) L 47 had more or less the same experience, except mechanical problems added some drama. After dropping her bombs (and already having some engine failures) L 47 confirmed herself sort-of safe at sea, and descended to 3000 ft to get in under the gale. Then her remaining engines failed, and she drifted over the Netherlands, where she encountered some rife fire. Some engines were then swiftly put right, and she made it back to base – with only 98 gallons of fuel remaining. (Effectiveness of bombing: zero.)

 

L 50 taking off. You can see her venting ballast aft.

  The less experienced captains penetrated much further inland before they recognized the gale blowing against them, and would be blown all the way to France before they could try to get back home. L 41, for example, was aiming to bomb Manchester. After landfall, her captain, Manger, found that he had to turn L 41 north-west, and then north north west just to stay on course. Finally thinking he was over Manchester at 11:30, he dropped his bombs and turned for home. It's around this time that the sheer force of the wind appears to have sunk in with Manger, as he found his ship driven inexorably south, regardless of his heading. Not being able to make the coast before dawn, Manger just rolled with it and headed east, all the while being pushed to the south. Staying at 16,000 ft, L 41 was soon struggling over France, and crossed the front at 6 AM. Like L 47, L 41 landed on vapors, having consumed virtually all of her 1,465 gallons of fuel. (Effectiveness of bombing: actually near Birmingham and not Manchester, L 41 successfully bombed the Austin Motor Works at Longbridge.) L 53 had no firm landfall bearing, and found herself driven south while attempting to aim her bombs at nearby cities. Also driven over France, L 53 was caught in full daylight on the wrong side of the front, but used cloud cover to sneak across the lines at 10 AM, and made a safe landing. (Effectiveness of bombing: zero.) L 52 had much the same experience, bombing vague targets and then being driven south by the wind. Fortunately L 52 turned home as early as 11 PM, as she was only able to cross the front south of Verdun. (Verdun for those without an atlas being roughly equidistant between the English Channel and the Swiss Border.)  And even then she was still lost, only getting a positive navigation fix over the German medieval town of Worms. (Effectiveness of bombing: zero, though it was a near miss.)

    L 55 also did a confused tour of southern England. Making landfall south of the Humber, she flew south, dropped all her bombs, (effectiveness: zero) and then aiming roughly for home, she flew west of London, which was hard to miss, what with the flak guns making a spectacle of themselves. This was the last positive navigation fix L 55 was to have for some time. At 3:30 am, both after engines burned out their exhaust valves and were permanently out of action; especially bad news as those engines powered the radio transmitter, and the battery-powered backup couldn't reach Germany. At 4 AM, L 55 was fired upon; her captain believed her over Dover, but the gale had put L 55 over the western front at St. Quentin. Crossing the front at dawn, L 55 was still lost, and the sight of two aircraft on patrol made her captain take L 55 up to 24,000 ft, an altitude record for rigid airships, and damn near the current altitude record, period! 

At 11:30, L 55  found herself over a town that her captain believed to be Aachen, and the captain wrote a note for Strasser and dropped it over the side, writing that he was over Aachen and requesting instructions. The emergency radio picked up Strasser's helpful reply shortly after: “Head for Ahlhorn”. Strasser did not mention that L 55 was in fact some 150 miles south of Aachen. Still unaware of how lost they still were, L 55 headed north, expecting to find their base, and were surprised to find an empty wooded area instead. Now it was nearly 3 PM, and L 55 had been in the air some 27 hours. Searching desperately for any sort of sign as to where the hell they were, the crew spotted a sign on a railway station. A pocket railway guide one of the crew happened to have was checked, and the crew was dismayed to learn they were still some 200 miles south of their base. With only 2 hours fuel remaining and the crew exhausted, the decision was made to land, and L 55 landed hard, busting up both her gondolas. She was later disassembled. Oh, and L 55's captain was a Kplt. Hans Flemming, who survived all these unfortunate events just fine, only to be killed at the helm of the Hindenburg twenty years later. [Correction: While Flemming was involved with DELAG after the First World War, he made his last airship flight in 1934, and died shortly thereafter. Thanks to reader gingercake for pointing this out to me.]

The L 55, beached like a whale.

L 55's crew were more fortunate than some; at least they managed to get back to Germany.

Accidental Tourists

    L 44 was captained by Stabbert, a captain who we've read about before. He was at the helm the night a wind took his old command, the L 20, from Scotland to Norway. Having escaped the Norwegian internment camp and returned to Germany, he had once again taken command of an airship. Unfortunately, the winds were once again to take his ship on an unexpected journey, and this time, his luck did not hold.

    Once L 44 made landfall on the Norfolk coast, she drifted south, and seems to have had several mechanical failures. Altitude sickness among the mechanics was presumably a contributing factor to these failures, as it was a common story, especially among the less lucky Zeppelins. (Effects of bombs: damaged an inn.) In fact, it seems like once landfall was made at 8 PM, near constant engine problems kept L 44 adrift until dawn, which found her near Lorraine, some 40 miles on the wrong side of the front. Presumably with some desperation, L 44 made a bold attempt to get back to Germany. Finally having most of her engines working, took the risk of crossing the front in the morning light with no cover, hoping her 20,000 ft altitude would protect her. It didn't. French AA guns found her altitude quickly, where a 75mm incendiary shell set her aflame.

    Following behind the L 44 were the L 49 and L 50, who were both hopelessly lost. L 49's Captain, Kpltl. Hans-Karl Gayer, had waited the previous night out at sea for complete darkness to fall over Britain. Unknown to him, the wind moved him 100 miles south of his selected landfall point, the first in a series of navigation errors. Bombing what he thought were airfields and a railway station, (effects of bombing: killed some cows, damaged some farm buildings) mechanical breakdowns and altitude sickness left L 49 without her radio. Completely unsure of his position, Gayer thought when he crossed the coast he was over Holland, and flew south-east., but was actually over France. Spotting L 44 at dawn, L 49 turned to follow, only to see L 49 shot down, by what Gayer assumed was Dutch anti-aircraft guns. Turning west, L 44 descended to 6000 ft to orient herself. She was then jumped by five French Nieuports, who had regular machine gun ammunition, fortunately, but still, well, had machine guns. The subsequent strafing by the French fighters were the last straw, and Gayer resolved to land L 49. Landing on the wooded slopes of the river Apance, 19 frozen and exhausted men tumbled out of the gondolas, and Gayer took a flare pistol to deliver the coup de grâce.

    Only then, the flare pistol refused to fire. Then, Gayer tried to use the on-board igniter system in the forward gondola. The onboard igniter system didn't work. And then, while the crew fiddled with the igniter, an ancient Frenchman who had been out hunting stepped out of the bushes with his shotgun and captured both the L 49 and her crew. L 49 was eventually to be disassembled, but not before Allied intelligence had made a through study of the Kaiser's most modern airship. All allied powers received a copy of her design, and America's first rigid airship, the USS Shenandoah, was mostly based on the L 49.

 L 50, as it happened, came down not far from the L 49. L 50 had the same breakdown that silenced L 49's radio, due in part to altitude sickness affecting the mechanics. Also like L 49, L 50 had been driven south into France, completely lost. Wandering the night sky, L 50 actually crossed the front into German territory, didn't realize it, and crossed back over to France. Flying west for an hour, L 50 then changed course and flew south east. Daybreak also had her captain thinking he was over Holland, and he too saw the fiery end of L 44. After that, L 50 flew west in broad daylight, some 125 miles on the wrong side of the front. Still with no idea what country he flew over, the captain ordered a decent to 800 ft, where he made out that “the shape of the railroad cars showed it was not Germany.” That he was in fact over France was confirmed when Kpltl. Schwonder's binoculars made out the sign on a local cafe: “Cafe du Centre.” Reversing course again, L 50 headed east, till she returned to the river Apance, and spotted the now captured L 49. The captain also could make out enemy planes getting ready to take off nearby.

    Climbing to 6,500 ft,  Schwonder found that with three engines out, he could not make headway in a German direction. For reasons that probably had to do with oxygen deprivation,  Schwonder then decided the best course of action would be to crash L 50 into the ground at the highest speed possible, to crumple her 'like an accordion'. Schwonder sent L 50 charging into the earth at flank speed, but then his plan began to go awry. L 50 smashed into the ground, ripping off her control car, as men jumped for their lives from the engine pods. A telegraph cracked Schwonder in the head, knocking him out. When Schwonder came to in the ruins of the control car, he saw the L 50, with her bows caved in, floating away at a few hundred feet. Her crew were running after the broken airship trying desperately to set her alight with flare pistols. Suddenly, the Zeppelin tilted up 45 degrees and vanished. A muster of the crew revealed that 16 men were on the ground, while four more, either injured in the crash or incapacitated by altitude sickness, were still on board. For the rest of the day, the French air force tried – in vain – to shoot down he wreck of the L 54. The immense floating hulk had reached 23,000 ft, twisting this way and that like a lost toy boat, while French biplanes buzzed angrily below. Again and again, they would attempt to climb to L 50's level, only to stall at 20,000 ft. The wreck crashed and sank that night in the Mediterranean, taking the four luckless airmen with her.

    The final Zeppelin that took part in the Silent Raid was the L 45, captained by Kplt. Kolle. L 45's story doesn't have a demise more colorful then that of the L 50 (which is frankly difficult to top) but it does contain the last bombing of London by airship.

    L 45 was originally aiming for Sheffield, and managed to make the most northerly landfall of the raiders that night thanks to the captain noticing the wind drift early. Once in the full teeth of the gale, L 45 drifted south, with no reference points at all except for vague lights four miles below. Some bombs were dropped, but the XO doing the aiming didn't bother to set the bomb-sight. The L 45's rudder man tells what happened next:

    At about 11:30 we began to see lights below and as the lights continued so it suddenly dawned on us that it could only be the city of London that we were crossing in the air. Even Kolle looked amazed at the dim lights as Schutz suddenly shouted “London!” It was then we first realized the fury of the savage tempest that had been driving us out of our course. But Kolle had but one thought – that was higher. So he released more ballast and the bombs – first two sighting shots, and then the rest...Fortunately for us we were unseen; not a searchlight was unmasked; not a shot was fired; not an airplane was seen. If the gale had driven us out of our course, it was also defeated the flying defenses of the city! It was misty or so it seemed, for we were above a thin veil of cloud. The Thames was just dimly saw from the outline of the lights; two great railway stations I thought I saw, but the speed of the ship running almost before the gale was such that we could not distinguish much. We were half frozen, too, and the excitement was great. It was all over in a flash. The last big bomb was gone and we were once more over the darkness and rushing onwards.

    L 45's bombs mostly fell north of London, but her three 660 lb bombs fell onto the city itself. Either due to L 45's altitude or atmospheric conditions, nobody on the ground heard L 45's engines, and Londoners were conducting their business when the bombs actually hit. One of them fell on Piccadilly Circus in the west end, blasting a hole 100 ft across, and turning the storefronts into a hurricane of shattered glass. Seven were killed, and 18 injured. The other two bombs killed an additional 25 people and wounded 30, causing about 50,000 pounds worth of damage.

    Having done this, L 45 attempted to exit the wild ride it had been on, add descended to 15,000 ft. But an BE2e some two thousand feet below attempted to attack the airship, and Kolle thought it best to ascend again. On the account of the rudder-man: “It was then that our misfortunes began. Hahndorf reported to Kolle that the engine of the port wing car was scarcely working – he thought owing to the sooting of the plugs. The plugs were cleaned by engineers but alas! Their hands were so cold and they themselves so clumsy with lassitude and fatigue owing to the height that, by the time the plugs were cleaned and replaced, the engine had ceased to function – the cooling water had frozen, the radiator had split and there was no means in our power to get our engine into action again. From this moment our journey became one of misery and pain. […]  At the helm of the ship, we began to feel that the gale was driving us away, still further out of our course. We were so high the earth was scarcely visible. Clouds were obviously being driven beneath us until we could not distinguish the sea.”

    Throughout the night, many of the crew were incapacitated with altitude sickness. One of these of course was the navigation officer. Just before dawn, another engine was lost: it ran out of fuel (the man who was supposed to keep an eye on that had altitude sickness) and the radiator froze and split. After dawn, L 45 crossed over Lyons in broad daylight, attracting lots of AA fire that fortunately couldn't reach her. Kolle made good progress toward Switzerland, but then a third engine fragged itself. A radiator cap had been not screwed on tightly, and all the water evaporated in the rarefied air. The engine went red-hot, and then seized up before the mistake was noticed. Still drifting southward, the acting engineer reported that only an hour's fuel remained, and Kolle decided to land. While landing, the ship tore off its port midships gondola, and then managed to stick itself onto a island in the middle of a river. After evacuating the airship, Kolle did a headcount, and then set L 45 aflame with his flare pistol. The crew then waded across the river to surrender to some (presumably amazed) french soldiers guarding some farming German POWs. From where they surrendered, they later that day saw the strange sight of wrecked L 50 drifting toward the Mediterranean.

Broken Wings

    If the raid hadn't encountered the gale it did, it might have been a large success. But it did, and Strasser had a disaster on his hands. The Zeppelins did manage to bomb both the capital, and something industrial, but the measures the British had taken in their newspapers would deny Strasser this knowledge. No less than five modern airships had been lost in the silent raid, which meant that the Naval Airship Division was now five down in strength permanently.

    The British, for their part, seem to have realized that they had succeeded through luck and not by skill. The German losses were all (save one) caused by weather and mechanical problems, and even the airship shot down had been downed over the Western Front, and not Britain. The British aerial defense network, the first of its kind, would eventually savage German Army bombers to the point that strategic raiding was given up entirely in 1918, but it was apparently helpless before high altitude airships. In addition to purely practical concerns, this was one aspect of the war was also highly political, and so there was lots of pressure to 'do something' about the Zeppelin menace. The British would continue to aggressively act to end this menace, in many ways out of proportion to the actual threat.

    Strasser would get one crumb of comfort out of the silent raid. When the crew of L 45 was captured, they were turned over to British Naval Intelligence, where they were all interrogated by a Major. Trench. Major Trench had two outstanding features: he spoke fluent German, and he had a hatred for all things German. Apparently he had been a POW of the Germans in a early part of the war. Anyway, when interrogating Kplt. Kolle, Major Trench attempted to impress Kolle with his staggering knowledge of the inner working of the Naval Airship division. He knew everything: who was married to an Englishwoman, who was passed over for a new command, what was thought of the SL airships, everything. Kolle a few months later managed to smuggle a letter to Strasser via a repatriated German prisoner, detailing Major Trench's comprehensive knowledge. After an investigation, three men were shot in Tondern, Kolle's home base, and two in Nordholz for spying.

The Worst Game Expansion - Zeppelin!!: Baltic Edition

    Well, now that we have all the spy intrigue and insane crashes out of the way, let me briefly tell you about the Baltic Zeppelin campaign, which makes for quite a contrast to the North Sea.

    Two small bases allowed airships to scout the Baltic Sea and keep an eye on the inactive Russian fleet. Because of the dearth of any sort of action over the Baltic Sea, it was used as a training ground for new crews and a place to send unwanted or obsolete airships – usually of the SL type. This comfortable routine would have continued, if it was not for the fact that the Kaiser's brother was in charge of the Navy in the Baltic, and wanted some modern airships to raid Russia with. In December 1916, L 35 and L 38 were dispatched east, and despite the bitter cold managed to fly unopposed on a raid – only to have a series of mechanical failures see both ships turn back. Worse, L 38 was lost: for a start, the extreme cold froze all the oil lines, and the steadily worsening mechanical problems after that left L 38 skewered on top of pine trees some hours later. While this was in German territory and nobody was hurt, the ship broke up in high winds the next day.

    Having done the minimum, L 35 was sent back to the North Sea, and everybody was happy, except the Kaiser.  He complained “When they spent the whole summer waiting for good weather for long-distance flights, they can hardly look for better conditions in January with its short days and the rain and the snow we are having this winter.” Just to keep things friendly with the Imperial family, more airships were promised when available. In the spring of 1917, the lonely SL 8 was reinforced by the L 30 and the L 37, and four army airships, two of which, the LZ 113 and the LZ 120, were the first 2 million cubic foot six engined Zeppelins in service. Since bombing was out, and the political revolution had rendered the Russian air service inert, naval patrols were resumed at a low, comfortable, altitude. An Ob. Lehmann, commanding the LZ 120, wrote:

 Our work was by no means gratifying in spite of being very strenuous at times. The job was to determine daily the presence or absence of enemy naval forces in the Baltic, to keep a close check on the Russo-English submarine stations in the gulf of Finland, patrol for sea for mines and observe the movements of merchant vessels along the Swedish coast. The routine was for us to be out 24 hours on a patrol and then rest for a similar period. We made a great number of flights that summer of 1917, mostly in wonderful weather that lent an atmosphere not unlike that of our peacetime operations...By and large we had time to study the manifold beauties of the Baltic shores – blue skies, little white clouds, blue sea, and this enveloped in the mellow haze particular to that part of Northern Europe...

    We learned to feel very much at home aboard ship and since we could then afford to carry some extra weight in the control car, which was exceptionally roomy, we made that and the crew's quarter's exceptionally comfortable by adding wicker chairs, pictures, table cloths and enviably fresh flowers on the table.

    As the summer progressed, the great intellectual debate between the Baltic Zeppelin men was the optimum length for patrol flights, and how long a properly supplied airship could remain airborne. With the news near summer's end that the Army Airship service was to be disbanded, Ob. Lehmann decided to test the theories under discussion, and end the summer with a bang a grand finale. He would see how long exactly a Zeppelin could stay aloft.

    Loading his ship with the normal stores, Lehmann found space for extra 2500 pounds of oil and 37,000 pounds of gasoline, which were rigged in the keel to drain into the normal fuel system. They also packed LZ 120 with 'thick pea soup and bad bread', and had a double-walled heating kettle. This they hooked up to one of the engine radiators, and the hot water it boiled made for hot meals and coffee while in flight. 160 gallons of drinking water was brought along, and for washing, they simply used some of the 7700 gallons of water brought along as ballast. Showers for officers happened every morning, at the ship's nose. While the flight didn't go perfectly – the food caused indigestion and it was noted a second toilet wold have been nice – LZ 120 stayed aloft on her patrol 101 hours, an endurance record that would stand for two years, till a British copy of a German Zeppelin, the R 32, was to break it.

    The last operation the Baltic wing took part in was operation Albion. By September and October 1917, the German army had captured Riga, and was putting together a combined arms operation to take the three islands that guarded the bay Riga sat upon. The Imperial Navy deployed most of its fleet for fire support, and the naval airships (the army ships being absorbed by the Navy shortly after Ob. Lehmann's experimental flight) were as a distraction first to bomb ports on the eastern side of the gulf of Riga, and then were expected to fly reconnaissance or attack missions as needed. The Baltic Zeppelin fleet had in it the L 30, L 37 , LZ 113, LZ 120, the old SL 8 and the newest SL class ship, the SL 20, which had been completed in September.

    When they tried to implement this plan,  the problems of running a large number of ships at remote sites became clear. Supplying 6 big airships and one smaller one with the hydrogen they needed required the combined output of all the hydrogen plants, and all of the special made hydrogen rail cars, for a time causing a hydrogen shortage at the North Sea bases. As it turns out, Strasser had been nagging HQ to expand hydrogen production for years, as most of the hydrogen plants had been built in 1914-1915. R class ships often needed a million cubic feet of hydrogen after a mission - the entire displacement of a P class airship from early 1916. This logistical bottleneck was why the Germans simply didn't redeploy some Zeppelins to other, less demanding fronts in World War 1.

In addition to these difficulties, thanks to lousy weather, the Baltic airships struggled fulfill their (admittedly very ambitious) role in Albion. On the plus side, since the Russians had no anti-aircraft guns, the Baltic ships could bomb like it was 1914 – IE from 4000 ft. While the usual records on the Russian side are missing, apparently real damage was done by the occasional raids. Then, a quicker than expected resolution: one of the three islands was taken, and the other two surrendered. Some criticism was directed at the airships because they often could not be dispatched as scouts like HQ had planned, but LZ 120's new commander Kplt. Von Lossnitzer wrote an impassioned defense of the Baltic rigid airships so good he evidently caught Strasser's eye as a man after his own heart. He would soon become Strasser's right hand man.

After this operation, the Baltic airship wing was disbanded, with modern ships being dispatched to the North Sea, and older ships being 'hung up' in the now inactive sheds.