Breakout Read online

  Then came more reports by Hudson reconnaissance aircraft crews of further large-scale mine-sweeping operations by Ruge's flotillas along the Channel. This decided Sir Philip Joubert to give warning. On 8 February in a Coastal Command appreciation, he wrote: '"There are four large destroyers and a number of small motor torpedo boats and minesweepers in Brest. There are indications that the number of destroyers may be increased. During the past few days all three big ships have been carrying out exercises in open waters and should be reasonably ready for sea.

  As from the 10th the weather conditions in the Channel would be reasonable for an attempted break-through in darkness. On 15 February there will be no moon and the tidal conditions at Dover would favour a passage between 04.00 and 06.00 hours.

  "Finally, the large number of destroyers and small torpedo boats that have been concentrated at Brest would seem to indicate an attempt to force a way up the Channel — any time after Tuesday, 10 February."

  This was remarkably accurate. Yet Sir Philip hesitated to act upon his own document. Beaufort torpedo bombers under his command, which were possibly the greatest danger to the German ships, were left where they were. None were moved towards Dover. This decision was to bear heavily on the outcome of the battle. Also Joubert's RAF staff officers, impressed by the top secrecy of the operation, locked the battle-plans carefully away in safes. They considered their contents too secret to be revealed to the aircrews. No pilots were told what to look for before they took off.

  Admiral Power and his planning staff were convinced if the Germans broke out into the Channel it would be "a simple battle." When they fully realized the possibility of a break-out by the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, the Home Fleet, apart from ships patrolling the Denmark Straits, was anchored in Scapa Flow keeping a watchful eye on the German battleship Tirpitz hidden in a fiord near Trondheim.

  What had they ready to meet the break-out? Very little. The mine-layer Welshman, steaming at 39 knots, laid 1,000 magnetic and contact mines between Ushant and Boulogne. In the first week in February Bomber Command also laid 98 magnetic mines off the East Friesian Islands.

  The Admiralty also made three small defensive gestures. It moved six Swordfish torpedo-carrying planes from their base at Lee-on-Solent to the fighter fields at Manston on the tip of the Kent coast, and alerted six MTBs stationed at Dover and three at Ramsgate. They also ordered six old destroyers to Harwich in readiness to intercept the German battleships.

  Yet the behaviour of the Admiralty is not entirely to be dismissed by hindsight as ineffectual and puzzling. It was the blackest period of the war for Britain. In the defence of Singapore — due to fall to the Japanese forty-eight hours after the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau break-through — the two British capital ships, the Repulse and the Prince of Wales, had been sunk by land-based Japanese aircraft. The Prince of Wales, sister ship of King George V, was one of Britain's newest battleships. When she went down with her commander, Admiral Sir Tom Phillips, it was a numbing blow to the Royal Navy. It weighed very heavily with the First Sea Lord Sir Dudley Pound.

  That is why he hesitated. His naval power was stretched to the limit from Singapore to Scapa Flow. If he operated his great ships near the occupied coast of Europe they might also be sunk by determined attacks by German aircraft. It was a chilling thought. Like Jellicoe, Royal Naval Chief in the First World War, "He was the man who could lose the war in an afternoon." If several of his battleships were sunk or put out of action, needing months of repairs, it could change the whole picture of naval warfare in European waters.

  This was why Dudley Pound stated, "On no account will heavy ships be brought south where they will be exposed to enemy air attack, torpedo-boat attack and risk being damaged by our own and enemy mine-fields."

  His staff queried this point of view asking, "But surely the light forces available will be totally inadequate to deal with the German battle fleet?" The curt answer was, "We have scraped together all that is at present available."

  The real reason was that he never really believed that the Germans would be foolhardy enough to try and bring their ships through Dover Straits in daylight. Dudley Pound was an orthodox career admiral of the old school. The Dictionary of National Biography called his personality "reserved and unbending." Appointed in 1939, he was at 65 already over retiring age. He was also overworked, tired and ill. Although too old to cope with his job unaided, he did not even have a deputy.[4]

  Also, he greatly under-estimated the resolution of the former Austrian corporal, the "land animal" Adolf Hitler, who had ordered the daring plan.

  H.M.S Sealion

  Pound made one other move. A third submarine, H.M.S. Sealion, commanded by Lt.-Cdri G. R. "Joe" Colvin, hastily sailed from Portsmouth for Brest. Sealion was a fast 768-ton S-Class boat built in 1934 with a speed of fourteen knots. Colvin's orders were: "Your operational area is designed to intercept the main enemy units should they break out into the Atlantic or proceed south-eastwards to another Biscayan port." As the Admiralty were still undecided about the battleships' possible route, Colvin decided to keep patrolling as near to Brest as he dared.

  Why were only his new submarine and two old ones sent to watch for such an important target? The reason was that seventeen British submarines had been lost in the Mediterranean alone since Italy had declared war in June 1940, and others had been sent to the Far East for the war against Japan.

  Although Sealion was considered to have a good chance of encountering the battleships either by night or day, Joe Colvin had an extremely difficult task for many reasons. The tides along the Normandy and Britanny coast were running between three and four knots, and large waves breaking over the rocks made it very difficult to keep accurate station.

  Colvin had a bigger problem. Sealion had just returned from three months' service with the Bussian Navy, and at the end of this tour of duty most of the crew of reservists had been relieved. He had taken aboard twelve replacements. These included the torpedo-gunner's mate, one of the key men in a submarine. Even his First Lieutenant, E. E Young, a wartime sailor, had only joined with two other new officers just before sailing.

  On the morning he sailed from Portsmouth, Colvin had no doubts about his scratch crew's courage, but they needed time to master the intricate system of dials and levers in their modern submarine. His main worry was whether his crew would be able to man the torpedo tubes efficiently, for there could be no fumbling when the moment came. There was also a problem with the torpedoes themselves. He had sailed so hurriedly that he had a mixed cargo of torpedoes consisting of four modern ones and four old, not very efifective, Mark Four type.

  With this inexperienced crew aboard, Colvin nosed Sealion towards Iroise Bay, which surrounds Brest. His intention was to sneak among the German battleships while they were exercising, fire his torpedoes and escape submerged out to sea. For three days he cruised at periscope-depth watching and waiting for the battleships, but they remained in harbour.

  On 7 February, a signal from Sir Max Horton said the German ships could be observed exercising in the approaches to Brest. For another forty-eight hours Colvin patrolled between 14–20 miles from Brest harbour — and still saw nothing.

  On 9 February, he decided the moment for encountering the German ships was near. He fired off his four Mk-Four torpedoes in one salvo at sea and replaced them with the later type ready for immediate action. Then he sailed submerged into the northern part of the bay towards the boom guarding Brest Harbour. Shortly after midday Colvin raised his periscope in a choppy sea with good visibility and sighted Whistle Buoy, marking the end of the swept channel into Brest. As this was where the battleships must come out, he dived near the buoy and lay there until darkness came. At 8 p.m. he surfaced to wait for the Germans to come for night exercise. While he lay in the dark on the surface, another signal from Sir Max Horton reported the German ships still lying at their berths inside the harbour. But Colvin still kept up his vigil.

  An hour after receiving the signal a Dornier bomb
er, with its searchlights switched on, came swooping down to 200 feet. As the beams lit a pathway through the water ahead of Sealion, Colvin and his crew scrambled down the conning-tower hatch-way and the submarine dived. But he had been spotted. An hour later, as he lay underwater near Whistle Buoy, depth-charges made Sealion rock and shudder, but they were not near enough to damage her. When the propellers died away Colvin sailed submerged farther out to sea.

  What other preparations did the British make, apart from Colvin's solitary submarine, to prevent the Germans steaming up the Channel? First they gave the possible break-out the code name "Fuller." On receipt of this code-word, all available forces would be alerted.

  But what forces? Since the First Sea Lord Sir Dudley Pound had decided not to engage with capital ships, his preparations were barely adequate. If they came, he believed the RAF would bomb them to the bottom as the Japanese planes had done to the Repulse and Prince of Wales. It seemed to be overlooked that heavy bomber crews, used to attacking targets at night from a great height, were not trained for accurate bombing of ships steaming at thirty knots and taking evasive action. It was the most formidable bomber force the world had yet seen. But it still could hardly hope to hit fast-moving ships at sea.

  The main fighter opposition to the Luftwaffe was Number 11 Group, consisting of Kenley, Hornchurch, Debden, Biggin Hill and Tangmere wings. Their jpb was to protect the bombers against the escorting Luftwaffe umbrella.

  The only planes which had much chance of damaging the big ships were torpedo carriers. The British had two types of these — the Fleet Air Arm's Swordfish and the RAF's Beauforts.

  The most experienced squadron of Swordfish was 825 which had helped to sink the Bismarck. After the Bismarck operation, 825 Squadron reformed at Lee-on-Solent in December 1941. They had only six Swordfish, seven pilots, six observers and six air-gunners. Only two of the pilots and four of the observers had had operational experience. The air-gunners alone were fully trained and operational. One of them, Leading Airman A. L. "Ginger" Johnson, had won the Distinguished Service Medal for the Bismarck attack.

  The leader of the half-squadron of six Swordfish was Eugene Esmonde, a 32-year-old Irishman from Drominagh, Tipperary. Before the war he had been a pilot with Imperial Airways, a forerunner of BOAC. In April 1939 he joined the Fleet Air Arm with the rank of Lieutenant-Commander and was posted to Lee-on-Solent, the Fleet Air Arm's base near Portsmouth, to take command of a Swordfish training squadron.

  He was a short man — only five feet six — who was one of the Navy's most experienced and successful pilots. He also had the quality of firm leadership. He never barked brusque words of command, keeping his orders to a minimum and giving them in a quiet voice. If his aircrews were not actually on duty, he did not care what they did — they could creep up to London for a few hours if they wished when they were not wanted. This made the aircrews — most of them at least ten years younger than he was — feel that, however hazardous the operation he asked them to do, they could not let Esmonde down.

  He was, of course, a much more experienced pilot than any of them. One of the troubles was keeping up with him. He could fly flat out in a Swordfish loaded with a torpedo, whereas none of them would dare in case they overturned it.

  These single-engined biplanes — the Royal Navy's only torpedo bombers — were designed like First World War aircraft. They had a fabric fuselage stretched across light metal struts and open cockpits. They carried a crew of three — a pilot, and observer, and a rear-gunner manning a Vickers machine-gun on a swivel mounting.

  Swordfish

  Yet these old planes could absorb tremendous punishment. Anti-aircraft shells passed through the fabric instead of exploding against it, as they did with more modern metal fuselages. But the "Stringbags" — as the Navy affectionately called them — had a top speed of only ninety knots, which made them sitting ducks in daylight.

  During January, Esmonde was trying to bring his new aircrews up to operational standards, carrying a rigorous training programme in mock torpedo attacks at Lee-on-Solent. It seemed inconceivable that the Admiralty would allow 825 Squadron to remain at half-strength. He waited daily to hear news of another six Swordfish and more aircrew arriving. None came.

  In the first week in February, as part of Operation Fuller, the six aircraft were transferred to Manston in Kent to lead the attack on the Brest ships if they tried to force the Straits of Dover at night.

  The six Swordfish flew from Lee-on-Solent to Manston in a blizzard, and landed on an airfield covered with frozen snow. When he arrived Esmonde told Wing-Cdr. Tom Gleave, the station commander at Manston, "I shall need a month to get my chaps trained." Next morning the maintenance crews, commanded by Observer Edgar Lee, arrived in lorries from Lee-on-Solent.

  Then Esmonde, with RAF squadron commanders, was ordered to a special briefing given by senior officers from the Admiralty and Air Staff. They were told, "We believe that an enemy dash up the Channel is imminent. We believe also that he will attempt to run through the Straits of Dover under cover of darkness about two hours before dawn when tides and high-water levels will be most favourable. There is only one way we can prevent this and destroy him — by throwing in the greatest available torpedo fire-power by combined air and sea attacks. It is intended, therefore, that the Swordfish of the Fleet Air Arm and Coastal Command Beaufort torpedo bombers should stand by to support light naval forces for this purpose.

  "It will be pretty fierce when it starts. But with the protection of darkness the Swordfish should have a chance of delivering their attacks and getting away. We want the big chaps crippled so that heavier forces can sink them at will."

  Later a signal arrived for Esmonde saying, "The squadron commander to operate only those crews which he considers would contribute to the achievement of the object." He received this message with a wry grin, for he had barely enough fully trained aircrew to fly his planes, and half of them had never seen action.

  As the Admiralty never considered the German battleships would ever try to pass the Straits in daylight, Esmonde continued to prepare for a night attack. In conjunction with Wing-Cdr. Tom Gleave, he worked out a tough training programme for low-level torpedo attacks. His inexperienced aircrews needed as much practice as they could get.

  Apart from the six Swordfish, the only effective air weapon which could sink or cripple the battleships were Beaufort torpedo bombers. They were a much more formidable aircraft, being able to fly twice as fast as the Swordfish.

  Three squadrons were available under the command of Sir Philip Joubert, Chief of Coastal Command. One of them was No. 43 Squadron of fourteen Beauforts, stationed at Leuchars in Scotland, whose main task was to help the naval operation against the German battleship Tirpitz in the Norwegian fiord.

  Following the Coastal Command appreciation, Joubert ordered these Beauforts from Leuchars south to Coltishall near Norwich. The decision was correct but bad luck intervened. For three days heavy snowfalls prevented them flying. There were also the usual "administrative delays" — in other words, ground inefficiency. Although Joubert ordered the Leuchars squadron south to meet the urgent threat, he made no effort to plan for his torpedo bombers to attack together.

  Twelve aircraft of No. 86 Beaufort squadron, reinforced by three Beauforts of 217 Squadron, were at St Eval in Cornwall. Their role was to deal with a break-out from Brest into the Atlantic. The seven remaining aircraft of 217 Squadron were at Thorney Island, near Portsmouth, ready for action in the Channel.

  They were much nearer the Germans' course, and could have attacked before the Swordfish at Manston. But the main burden of the immediate attack was left to the six Swordfish, because senior officers were convinced the dash through the Straits would be made at night — and the Swordfish were certainly the ideal planes for such an attack. Under these conditions they had destroyed the Italian fleet in Taranto harbour in 1940.

  The Admiralty made one other disposition. They alerted six 20-year-old destroyers, drawn from the 21st F
lotilla, based on Sheerness, and the 16th Flotilla at Harwich. With these six old destroyers were four smaller Hunt Class destroyers, which were not armed with torpedoes. The Admiralty decided that if the Germans were to sail through the Channel, these destroyers would attack.

  The combined flotilla was commanded by 42-year-old Captain Mark Pizey aboard HMS Campbell. He was ordered to sail for Harwich in Campbell, accompanied by Vivacious, to join Captain Wright commanding the 16th Destroyer Flotilla in Mackay, with Worcester, Whitshed and Walpole. Both these flotillas were normally out day and night escorting convoys along the east coast, to protect them against German E-boats.

  Late in the afternoon of 4 February, Captain Pizey sailed into Harwich and went straight to the Commodore's office, where he talked on the green scrambler telephone with Dover. They gave him the Admiralty's view of the possible Schamhorst and Gneisenau break-out, saying if they came through the Channel his six torpedo-carrying destroyers must attack them. To be ready for the attack, they were to remain in Harwich harbour at short notice for eight days, the period that favourable tides lasted.

  Captain Pizey was also handed a teleprinter signal from the Admiralty, timed 20:09 February 3, which read: "To Captain D 21 flotilla from Vice-Admiral Dover. If signal 'Proceed in execution of previous orders' is made, destroyers are to proceed forthwith at best speed to North-West Hinder Buoy, latitude 051 degrees 33 minutes North, longitude 002 degrees 36 minutes East, via 53 buoy. You will be kept informed of movement of enemy ships through Dover Straits and you should endeavour to intercept them in the approximate latitude 051 degrees 30 minutes North. MTBs will not operate north of latitude 051 degrees 23 minutes North. Acknowledge."

  He acknowledged the signal by teleprinter and went back aboard Campbell. A lamp signal ordered all the five destroyer Captains whose ships were secured to buoys in Harwich harbour, to come aboard his flagship for instructions. These were to be at five minutes' notice for steam from dusk to daylight, which meant that the Chief Engineer must be able to report "Engine room ready to obey telegraph" within a maximum of five minutes. They were to be moored with cables through the ring of the mooring buoys, ready to be instantly slipped and hauled aboard. Everyone slept in their clothes and the signal office was on twenty-four hours duty ready to receive Admiralty radio orders. Each evening at five o'clock, Pizey invited the five Captains aboard Campbell to discuss battle-plans and any new tactics—"tatticks" as the Navy calls them. Everyone scanned the charts thinking of every conceivable situation — but no action signal came.