Breakout Page 7

  As all night leave was stopped, the ratings assumed that something big might happen. Ted Tong, 41-year-old PO. steward aboard Whitshed, told his wife Violet, who was living near Harwich, that something big was brewing. He confided to her that Lt.-Cdr. W. A. Juniper, captain of Whitshed, kept walking up and down the wardroom twisting a match-box in his hand, as he always did when he was thinking over a problem.

  The only other forces ready when the attack came were six motor-torpedo boats in Dover and three in Ramsgate. The Dover boats were commanded by Lt.-Cdr. Nigel Pumphrey, the Ramsgate boats by Lt. D. J. Long.

  So, to contest the passage of the battleships through the Dover Straits the Royal Navy had six Fleet Air Arm Swordfish at Manston, nine MTBs at Dover and Ramsgate, and six 20-year-old destroyers at Harwich. It was a pathetic force to put against the might of the German battle squadron, steaming at thirty knots under the shadow of the greatest air umbrella any ships had ever had.

  On 11 February reconnaissance reports showed Scharnhorst, Gneisenau and Prinz Eugen out of the repair yards and lying against fuelling wharves. Six destroyers were also in harbour. But the boom defences were still in place.

  Admiral Ramsay at Dover made his preparations. His plan was to slow down and cripple the battleships with combined torpedo attacks by the MTBs and Swordfish, while they were in the range of the Dover heavy guns. If the Germans sailed through in moonlight, the Swordfish were to attack singly. They were to be directed by Flt-Lt. Gerald Kidd, the RAF Controller at Swingate, while Hurricane fighter bombers were to drop flares over the German ships. If they managed to scrape through the Straits they would be attacked by the whole might of the RAF Captain Mark Pizey's six destroyers were then to attack off the Dutch coast, in an area where they could fight unhampered by the British minefields. It was not much of a plan even for a night dash.

  Hurricane

  III

  "YOU WILL KISS YOUR WIFE TONIGHT"

  On 11 February a German supply petty officer went ashore as usual to collect the officers' laundry and the mail. The officers had to wait a long time for their clean shirts and the crew for their mail, as he received an additional order-to stay ashore and await further instructions. Not until the ships had sailed did he receive his orders — to deliver the bags to Wilhelmshaven and Kiel. Eventually he brought the ships' laundry and the mail by a regular German train running across France direct from Brest to Wilhelmshaven. It was known as the Submarine Train, as it mostly carried U-boat supplies.

  Among the officers who had to wait a long time for his shirts was Chief of Staff Reinicke. Although he spent most of his time aboard Scharnhorst he had rooms ashore where he kept personal belongings. When he boarded Scharnhorst that morning he left all his clothes behind. He did not dare pack anything in case French dock workers on the quai Lannion might notice his taking a suitcase on board — and wonder why.

  As a result of this precaution he had to borrow shirts and collars for seven weeks. But not everyone was deceived by these elaborate subterfuges. Small oversights occurred. Thirty-six-year-old Lieutenant Wilhelm Wolf was one junior officer who did not fully believe in this "exercise" of the ships. A car was used for ferrying officers to and from the nightly RAF air attacks. When he saw this car being taken on board it seemed to him a strange cargo for a short exercise.

  And in the German naval bases of Kiel and Wilhelmshaven the coming break-out was an open secret, particularly among the wives of the destroyer crews. As they left one by one to steam westwards down the Channel the women gossiped over their coffee, "They are going to escort the battleships home through the Kanal." In spite of these indiscretions, since these were German naval bases, not French ports surrounded by hostile inhabitants, the secret remained safe.

  Everything stood ready for the break-out. Ruge's minesweepers reported they had cleared a safe passage. Captain Bey's destroyers and torpedo boats were concentrated in Brest.

  Colonel Galland had brought up 280 aircraft for the air umbrella. Fuel reserves were held ready at French coastal airfields and new temporary air strips had been laid out. The liaison between Ibel's Luftwaffe officers aboard the ships and the fighter cover had been fully and finally tested. General Martini's powerful radar installations strung along the English Channel coast were ready to paralyse the British radar by jamming.

  It looked as if they were to have the best conditions — a strong tidal current running with the ships. The meteorologist also predicted low cloud and haze along the Channel.

  With everything prepared and the weather forecast proving ideal, Ciliax decided to go ahead. At noon he called Captains Helmuth Brinkmann of Prinz Eugen and Otto Fein of Gneisenau to join Captain Kurt Hoffmann and himself in the Admiral's cabin aboard Scharnhorst.

  Once again he reiterated to them the importance of following Group West's instructions to the letter. There was little chance any of them would not do so as these secret orders appealed to their temperament. They were a model of meticulous planning with little scope for personal initiative. Ciliax said, "It is a bold and unheard of operation for the German Navy. It will succeed if these orders are strictly obeyed. There is no margin for interpretation. They must be adhered to at all times. Ships will sail in the following order— Scharnhorst, Gneisenau and Prinz Eugen—with escort forces taking station outside harbour in accordance with their instructions.

  "Do not seek combat, but only engage the enemy if the operation cannot otherwise be carried out. The task of proceeding eastwards quickly is paramount."

  Then he ordered champagne and they drank to the success of "Operation Cerberus." After the toast he said farewell to his commanders and wished them good luck before they returned to their ships'

  Despite his champagne toasts to the operation's success, Ciliax remained privately pessimistic. He had not changed the view he expressed in his memoranda to Admiral Saalwächter. He did not mind the fact that Group West's orders left him no room for manoeuvre, but he privately thought the operation had at best only a chance of partial success.

  So that afternoon after the Captains had left, he sat down and wrote the following entry in his log:

  "I want to take this opportunity to make the following observations to give my point of view upon the completion of preparations so long planned. I no longer regard the withdrawal from Brest as absolutely necessary. The danger from the air is not so great now we have flak fighters, camouflage, barrage balloons and artificial fog.

  "It also appears that the enemy has come to the same opinion. Although his air-force still comes over by day and night, the flak defence in its full strength, supported by the fog apparatus, considerably reduces the effectiveness of attack.

  "Random hits are of course possible and must be taken into account, but this is really only a matter of chance. Therefore Brest must be regarded as a usable base in its present state of defence, especially taking into consideration that the shipyards are able to meet all possible requirements. Long-term missions such as were undertaken in the spring of 1941 cannot be mounted again, but local sorties can be carried out in co-operation with the Luftwaffe or with U-boat reconnaissance. These can lead to noticeable successes against north-south convoys and in the sea area west of Gibraltar.

  "Against this, we must reckon all the imponderables inherent in sailing through the Channel. If the break-out in the Channel does succeed we must reckon with damage which the ships concerned will suffer. This may mean they will only be operational again after a considerable time.

  "I do not venture an opinion as to the strong strategic threat to the Norwegian zone. Accordingly, I cannot give a judgement as to the necessity of the defensive operational role of the ships on the Norwegian coast and in the North Sea.

  "In this situation the decision of the Führer is clear and unequivocable. We now have to be employed in a new role. But it must be stated that operating from a base without repair yards, such as Trondheim or Narvik, will bring with it very great dangers. Transfer of the battleships to be repaired in German ports
brings the possibility of danger, and in air defence none of the Norwegian ports equal Brest. Aircraft-carriers could approach and long-distance bombers attack, since the local Luftwaffe forces in Norway have not got the same defensive capacity.

  "Heavy enemy forces now being held down will be reduced particularly in the North Atlantic and on the main convoy routes to Gibraltar. The move from the Atlantic port of Brest will have an unfavourable effect on the strategic position, freeing enemy forces for redeployment in the Mediterranean and the Far East. Against this, the occasional operations in the Norwegian zone will produce different defensive problems hard to solve. If the enemy really attacks Norway with heavy forces we can no longer reckon with our own superiority. On the extended coastline, it will be impossible to give a decisive warning of the approach of an invasion fleet or to intervene effectively against landings.

  "Even small raids cannot always be hindered and the pressure of the British to attack our heavy ships will not let up. From the beginning the employment of our surface forces has always been offensive. In spite of the numerical inferiority of our ships, they gave us success because the unexpected led us to our objective. This principal is now being given up and the battleships employed in a defensive task, which means that the initiative will remain with the enemy.

  "In conclusion I would like to express the hope that the decision to evacuate our heavy ships with great difficulty from the Atlantic position will find justification in the future development of the war situation."

  A few hours after writing this dissenting report he put to sea as ordered by the Führer.

  As darkness fell on the evening of X-day, 11 February 1942, the warships' boiler-room fans roared as steam pressure was raised. At 6 p.m. the usual rush before leaving port prevailed on all ships. The order was given: "Prepare to proceed on exercise." The orders were to carry out exercises between La Pallice and St. Nazaire during the 12th, and return to Brest the following night.

  This was the "secret" order given to the ships, the destroyers, and the port authorities, as tugs with their red, green and white navigation lights fussed across the harbour ready to tow the big ships from their berths. Boats were lowered and landed to the yard. Telephone, steam lines and other connections with the shore were disconnected. Everyone except a few senior officers believed they were preparing for a night exercise due to start at 7:30 p.m. At 7:25 p.m. the German ships had doubled their mooring ropes in readiness for slipping, and hauled in the hawsers from the tugs. The weather was fine with a fresh northerly breeze.

  The binnacle light glowed in the darkness revealing shad-owy figures moving on Scharnhorst's bridge. They were Captain Hoffinann with his navigating officer Helmuth Giessler. "Sir, it's seven-thirty p.m.," a signalman reported to the Captain who gave an order for the mooring ropes to be lipped. Tugs began to churn the water.

  Signals from Scharnhorst were about to blink sailing orders when the Brest sirens howled. The RAF had arrived. Within seconds, the alarm bells—Glöcken—were ringing in the ships, it was a nerve-racking situation. The battleships were lying with steam up and tugs alongside. Worse still, in order not to interfere with fire control and gunnery practice on the pre-prended "exercise," the elaborate camouflage netting had been removed and rolled up on the jetty. This left the ships at the mercy of flashlight bombs from BAF planes. To avert this dangerous situation, artificial fog was hastily churned out by dock-side apparatus. Everyone began choking as they breathed in the filthy stuff. Captain Brinkmann on the bridge of Prinz Eugen took a mouthful of the fog and had a paroxysm of coughing.

  As anti-aircraft guns opened up, aircraft could be heard droning in the sky, obscured by the artificial fog. Only the pale flickering flashes of the massed A.A. guns could be seen through the thickening mist. When a slight puff of the wind tore a hole in the fog blanket over the port area, the crews could see the white beams of the searchlights fingering the starry sky. Amidst the roar of the A. A. fire they could make out the hissing sound of falling bombs, followed by the crash of their explosions.

  When the news of the break-out reached Brest, wild rumours swept the town that the "raid" had been arranged by the Germans as part of a ruse to clear the streets while the ships slid away. The raid was, of course, genuine. Between 7:45 and 8:30 p.m. sixteen Wellingtons dropped bombs. Although some fell on the town, none hit the ships. But photographic planes took pictures in the glare of the flashlight bombs exploding overhead.

  This was to prove the first piece of extraordinary good luck for the Germans. For when the reconnaissance pictures were developed that night in Britain, some showed through gaps im the fog the ships still in harbour. This lulled the British into thinking nothing was going to happen.

  At 9 p.m., although the Wellingtons had left for home half an hour before, there was still no "all clear." Admiral Ciliax checked the time. If the battleships did not sail by 9:30 p.m. they would never make up for lost time, and the elaborately dovetailed plan would fail. He would have to postpone the operation, as Group West had ordered, if there was a two-hour delay.

  Ciliax was just about to cancel the sailing when at 9:14 p.m. the "all clear" sounded. He immediately gave orders to get under way. The crew thought this late departure only meant a delayed practice firing as had happened before.

  When the fog lifted sufficiently for the tugs to begin towing the battleships out, they were nearly two hours late on Group West's schedule. Clearing Brest harbour under ordinary night conditions was not easy and now, because of the artificial fog, the two pierheads could only be made out dimly.

  With Scharnhorst leading in the smoky darkness they groped their way out. The gap they had to sail through was only 200 yards wide. Suddenly one of the big floating buoys loomed up 300 yards dead ahead of Scharnhorst. But the other buoy marking the channel could not be seen. If they did not spot her the chances were even that they would pass on the wrong side. They did. When this buoy came abreast on the wrong side, Captain Hoffmann suddenly realized he was on top of the harbour nets. Any moment he expected his propellers to catch in the steel net barrage which would put an end to his part in the break-out. There was nothing he could do except to let her drift clear. He ordered: "Stop engines!" With propellers idle, he tensely watched Scharnhorst glide slowly clear of the nets.

  At last the 32,000-ton battleship was free of the heavy wires of the net defences without her propellers being fouled.

  Only when they were well clear did the officers on the bridge breathe again and Hoffmann ordered: "Slow ahead."

  Prinz Eugen ran into worse trouble. The first tug's hawser became entangled with the cruiser's starboard propeller. When the second tug eased her tow rope it also fouled the stern of the ship. It looked like deliberate sabotage, but it was probably only the habitual deliberate carelessness of the French tugrnen working for the Germans. Anyway there was nothing they could do about it. The first priority was to get the ships clear.

  When divers went down to clear Prinz Eugens propeller, thick artificial smoke was still drifting over the harbour. Orders had been given for the machines to keep churning out fog as a further safeguard for the break-out. As a result marker buoys could not be identified and squadron navigator Giessler aboard Scharnhorst used his compass to edge the ships out. He dared not flicker a searchlight to check his position. Even if he had done so it would have only reflected on the fog.

  Soon Scharnhorst was able to cast off, leaving her two tugs to port. As a precaution the French tugs were ordered to steam a course off Brest until midday next day. This was ostensibly to await the Squadron's return from the "exercise" but in fact this ensured extra security. They would not return to port until it was certain the battleships had been detected by the British.

  As Gneisenau and Prinz Eugen inched their way out of harbour in Scharnhorst's wake, the escorting destroyers moved to their planned position in Brest Roads to protect them.

  There was a Morse-flash from a night signal lamp as they came out of harbour. It was the only communication
between the ships. The strict order was no radio messages to be transmitted between them until the British were sighted, rendering such precautions unnecessary. The signal was: "Flagship leading. Gneisenau and Prinz Eugen following in line ahead."

  A few minutes later the crews could see by the rising of the slightly phosphorescent bow waves and feel by the vibrations of the ships that they were slowly working up towards thirty knots. With long white wakes behind them, the destroyers raced alongside the big ships.

  It was a dark night but the stars were visible. Although the break-out had started it was still not definite. If they should be spotted by a chance RAF patrol or by Colvin's submarine a swift return to Brest was planned. Course was due west and there was still time to revert to the fiction of "an exercise" if they were spotted.

  Where was Colvin's submarine? On 10 February he received another code signal reporting the German ships still in harbour. As this meant they had not exercised for four days, Colvin was certain they must come out soon. Next day, 11 February, he crept in once again towards Whistle Buoy and the shoals at the mouth of Brest Harbour.