Jutland: The Baltic Sea
Russian Battleships, Part Two
by Mike Bennighof, Ph.D.
April 2025

Jutland: Baltic Sea is an expansion book for Great War at Sea: Jutland, adding German, Swedish and Russian ships planned but not completed. It’s all brand new, making use of those Swedish and Russian ships in Jutland 2e plus 70 new pieces.

The Imperial Russian Navy did have a quick path to expanding its fleet of dreadnoughts. Seven of them either served in South American navies, or were under construction for them. Brazil already had two dreadnoughts with a third on the way from a British shipyard. Argentina had two under construction in the United States, and Chile had ordered two from a British builder.

All of those came into play at one time or another between 1912 and 1914, with the Russians very aware of this market and supposedly ready to pounce quickly. Greece, Ottoman Turkey and Italy all competed to buy at least some of the ships; France entered the bidding as well but more in the interests of blocking Italy or the Ottomans.

In the end, the Russians got none of the ships; Brazil sold hers to Ottoman Turkey, while Chile and Argentina declined offers to sell. The Brazilians seem to have been more interested in selling their two existing dreadnoughts (slow and weakly protected by current standards) than anyone else was in buying them.

Her Name Was Rio

In October 1910, Brazil followed through on a commitment to Britain’s Armstrong shipbuilding conglomerate to build a third dreadnought. The ship, named Rio de Janeiro, was laid down in September 1911 to an unusual design.

For reasons of prestige (the rocks on which navies and game companies alike break apart), the Brazilians wanted the world’s most powerful ship. After rejecting designs for ships with 14- and 15-inch guns, but failing to find a suitable proposal for a ship with 16-inch guns (and thus the world’s biggest guns at the time) they finally decided to go with the largest number of guns. Rio de Janeiro would carry fourteen 12-inch guns, in seven turrets. This would also allow her to fire the same round as Brazil’s two existing dreadnought battleships.

The world’s largest battleship when laid down, Rio de Janeiro displaced 27,850 with a staggering length of 671 feet (the super-dreadnought Queen Elizabeth, though heavier, was “only” 643 feet long). To meet Brazilian desires for prestige she had fourteen 12-inch (305mm) guns, in seven twin turrets, more guns and turrets than any other dreadnought. Plus, a secondary battery of twenty 6-inch (152mm) guns and three torpedo tubes. Belt armor was nine inches thick, somewhat light for a dreadnought (the British King George V class, laid down at roughly the same time, sported 12 inches of belt armor). But she was relatively fast, making 22 knots compared to the usual dreadnought top speed of 21 knots. She also possessed an impressive profile, with her weak protection not visible to the casual observer, who could not miss the many gun turrets.

Rio de Janeiro, now named Sultan Osman I, fitting out at Low Walker.

New economic developments made Brazil appear to be the country of the future: a booming market for coffee seemed to have endless growth potential, gold had been discovered, the Amazon rubber trade exploded, and exports of grain and beef climbed speedily. National wealth soared, and entrepreneurs even built the world’s finest opera house in Manaus in the heart of rubber country. But the whole boom was fueled by “primary” exports — raw materials rather than finished goods. Inevitably, it would crash.

When the price of coffee dropped, Brazil had to abandon dreams of naval dominance. The battleship went on the market, her sale handled by the Rothschild firm. Most naval observers knew that Brazil would try to unload Rio de Janeiro, and that Turkey would try to buy her. The Russian Admiralty made plans for this contingency, securing approval from their British allies ahead of time and arranging financing. On three days’ notice, the Russian Navy believed itself ready to acquire any dreadnought that came on the market.

A desire to keep the Turks from upgrading their fleet drove most of this effort. Russian industry’s slowness and inefficiency also played a role. The Russian Admiralty had contemplated ordering its first dreadnoughts in German yards, but backed down in the face of political opposition. A Russian yard took almost half again as long to build a Gangut-class dreadnought as an Italian shipbuilder did to finish the nearly identical Dante Alighieri, and more than twice as long as a German or British shipyard. While Russia produced excellent heavy guns, few Russian naval engineers preferred domestic engines to foreign machinery.

Agincourt seen in British service, 1918.

Despite having laid down eleven dreadnoughts, the Russians knew they could not get any of them into service before the British-built Rio de Janeiro became ready for sea. And regardless of the perceived strategic need to deny the vessel to the Turks, it would help strengthen the Tsarist navy that much faster.

Disputes between the Russian Admiralty and British shipyards probably doomed their chances of acquiring Rio de Janeiro. Vickers built the impressive armored cruiser Rurik for the Baltic fleet, but the Russians refused to accept her for two years, costing Vickers heavy financial penalties for late delivery. Many felt the Russians had deliberately stalled acceptance to invoke the penalty clause. For their part, the Russians did not think Vickers had handed over the ship’s plans promptly and completely enough to allow sister ships to be built in Russian yards. They also suspected that the British Admiralty had allowed the Rurik project to go forward without giving warning that the battle cruiser Invincible would make her obsolete before she was completed.

Greece also made a strong run at the ship, backed by their French patrons, but after several weeks behind closed doors in December 1913, the Turkish naval mission emerged with contracts in hand. The ship would never serve the Sultan, as the Royal Navy seized her in August 1914. Re-named Agincourt, she joined the Grand Fleet a month later. She fought at Jutland but was immediately laid up when the war ended and was scrapped in 1922.

In Russian colors in Jutland: Baltic Sea, she’s named for the medieval Prince of Vladimir. Vsevolod had also been the name of a Napoleonic-era ship of the line.

The Argentine Dreadnoughts

Brazil helped make possession of dreadnoughts a necessary symbol of prestige. Her new ships, Minas Geraes and São Paulo, brought respect from the great powers. She had battleships, while major powers like France, Italy and Russia did not. In Argentina, President Julio Roca had established the principle that Argentina’s fleet should be at least equal to those of Brazil and Chile combined. And so, after considerable negotiations, Argentina ordered a pair of battleships in the United States. And like Brazil, Argentina soon had trouble financing them.

The two Argentine ships, named Rivadavia and Moreno, are often described as near-sisters of the American Wyoming class. Their design was much closer to European than American practice, and other than the typical American cage masts there was little design similarity to any of the American battleships. Their prime contractor, Fore River Shipyard in Massachusetts, drew heavily on their unsuccessful design for the battleships that became the Delaware class.

Like the Brazilian ships, they carried twelve 12-inch guns but like American dreadnoughts had much better protection (12 inches of armor on their belt, turrets and conning tower). Like Rio de Janeiro, they were big ships, displacing 27,500 tons with a length of 543 feet (Wyoming, by comparison, weighed in at 26,000 tons and was 562 feet long). They mounted the same 12-inch/50 Mark 7 rifles as the two ships of the Wyoming class, plus a secondary battery of a dozen 6-inch guns in a casemate battery, as well as a pair of torpedo tubes. And like Rio de Janeiro they were quite fast, clocking 22.5 knots.

Rivadavia on speed trials, late 1914.

A 1913 inspection by the U.S. Navy found that, with minor modifications, the ships would be acceptable for American service but the U.S. Navy declined to buy them in favor of building new ships with bigger guns. While Turkey wanted them, financing proved a problem. Turkey’s war with the Balkan states made the European banks reluctant to lend money.

Russia did have good relations with American industry, and made a bid for the two Argentine ships as well. At the beginning of 1914, rumors spread that the Turks had bought at least one Argentine ship. In February, 1914, the Russians held a special conference of military and civilian leaders. The government ministers promised to fund the purchase of both the Argentine and Chilean ships, and their diplomats made furious efforts to complete the deals. But the British refused to use their influence on the Chileans, and the Argentines would not sell unless their rivals did, too.

Both of them appear in Baltic Sea, in Russian colors. Viborg had been the name of a screw-powered wooden ship of the line some decades previously, as had Orel. Orel was also the name of a pre-dreadnought whose crew fought heroically at Tsushima. The Russians did not consider it unlucky to re-use the names of ships lost in battle, only those that suffered mutiny.

The Chilean Dreadnoughts

In the early years of the century Chile and Argentina almost went to war over a boundary dispute at the southern tip of the continent. Although this had been papered over, the two nations still had considerable border disagreements. Chile could not allow the Argentine order to go unchallenged, and ordered a pair of battleships from Britain’s Armstrong yard, which edged out fierce American competition. The Chilean ships were slightly larger and much more powerful than Argentina’s ships, with ten 14-inch guns against a dozen 12-inch guns.

Almirante Latorre and Almirante Cochrane were larger versions of the British Iron Duke class, faster than the British ships at 22.75 knots but not as heavily armored (just nine inches on the belt and 10 inches on the turrets). They weighed in at 28,100 tons, with a length of 661 feet. Secondary armament consisted of sixteen 6-inch guns, and she had four torpedo tubes below the waterline.

The Chileans ordered the first ship in November 1911, and she was laid down later that month. The order for the second came in July 1912, but she could not be laid down until January 1913, as Rio de Janeiro still occupied the slipway (construction having slowed thanks to tardy payments from Brazil).

Almirante Latorre serving as HMS Canada; watercolor by Eric Tufnell.

Chile’s ships had not been completed when the First World War broke out, and the Royal Navy took them over. Almirante Latorre served the Grand Fleet as HMS Canada, and fought at Jutland. Her sister had not been launched, and at first the Royal Navy planned to complete her as the battleship HMS India but instead chose her for conversion to the aircraft carrier Eagle.

After the war Almirante Latorre returned to Chile, and the Chileans demanded her sister as well — but restored as a battleship. The British claimed that this was not possible, and offered a pair of Invincible-class battle cruisers in her place. The Chileans next demanded the aircraft carrier, but eventually settled for cash and assorted naval equipment. Both ships appear in Baltic Sea, as Osliaba and Pobieda, for sister ships lost in the Russo-Japanese War (the former at Tsushima, the latter in the siege of Port Arthur.

At one time or another, all seven South American dreadnought battleships were “in play,” available for purchase by other nations. In the actual course of events only one of them was willingly sold, Rio de Janeiro going to Turkey. But all of the Latin fleets entertained bids for their dreadnoughts, and Chile unwillingly parted with hers. For a period between 1912 and 1914, no issue kept naval staffs more worried than the possible acquisition of this ready-made battle line by a rival.

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Mike Bennighof is president of Avalanche Press and holds a doctorate in history from Emory University. A Fulbright Scholar and NASA Journalist in Space finalist, he has published a great many books, games and articles on historical subjects; people are saying that some of them are actually good. He lives in Birmingham, Alabama with his wife and three children. He misses his lizard-hunting Iron Dog, Leopold.

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