Breakout

by John Deanne Potter

  What was to be their fate? That was the unspoken question of many even after Walther Kretschmer got the screws turning again. There was a growing number who were fatalistic. They were beginning to realize from the immensity of the fighter cover, the size of the accompanying "mosquito" fleet around them, and the elaborate course marked out with anchored craft that they — even their Captains and the Admiral himself — were all puppets moving along the invisible wires laid down for them. During it all Captain Hoffmann, respected throughout the fleet for his great qualities of seamanship, remained imperturbable and gave confidence to all around him. Even though the engines were working again, the mine had put out of action both the direction finder and the echo-sounding gear. While technicians worked to get the equipment going' again, a torpedo boat was detailed to provide Scharnhorst with navigational help.

  Even with this help, when they got under way again at twenty-seven knots it was not plain sailing. There were minefields to port and sandbanks to starboard. Yet Captain Hoffmann decided to risk maintaining his highest speed to try and link up with the other ships again, fifteen miles ahead of them.

  While Scharnhorst battled with her mine damage, a smaller drama was being enacted in the operations room of Group West in Paris. No sooner had Ruge ordered champagne than a signal reported, "Scharnhorst has hit mine." There was consternation. Then came the time—2:32 p.m. She was two minutes out of their area. They had done their job. Ruge thankfully ordered another bottle.

  While the German naval operations officers were toasting each other in champagne in Paris, a gigantic, confused air battle was hotting up in the murky skies off the Dutch coast.

  The torpedo-carrying Beauforts, the RAF's most important ship-busting aircraft, were trying to reach the German battleships. But the struggle to intercept them was again held back by ground staff incompetence.

  At 11:55 a.m., when the Germans were at Cap Gris Nez and a quarter of an hour after Tom Gleave had warned Esmonde, a staff officer from Thomey Island telephoned No. 11 Group, asking for fighters to rendezvous with his seven Beauforts of 217 Squadron over Manston at 1:30 p.m.

  The Hornchurch controller pointed out that his fighters were all required to escort the Swordfish, but if Thorney Island would have their aircraft over Manston at 1:30 p.m. he would see what could be done. Following this uncertain arrangement the Beauforts were ordered to take off.

  The distance between Manston and Portsmouth is 120 miles. If they had left from Thorney Island at the same time as Esmonde took off from Manston, they could, by flying at twice his speed, have joined him to deliver a co-ordinated attack. But they were held up.

  When the order to take off was given, it was discovered that two of the planes were armed with bombs instead of torpedoes, while a third aircraft developed a mysterious technical fault which could not be traced. Instead of immediately launching the four available planes, they were held back while the ground crews struggled for over an hour to make the other three ready.

  Eventually, someone made a belated decision and the four torpedo-carrying Beauforts were ordered to take off for Manston. The three other Beauforts were ordered to follow as soon as possible. Owing to this delay on the ground, the four Beauforts, led by Pilot Officer P H. Carson, did not take off until 1:25 p.m. — five minutes before they were due to meet the fighters over Manston.

  The security curtain prevailed here too. Carson and his aircrews, flying in complete ignorance of the importance of their mission, were told to look for a German convoy. Nor did anyone at Thorney Island inform Hornchurch fighter control that the Beauforts would be late.

  Yet in spite of the Hornchurch controller's doubts, the Spitfires arrived on time and circled above the airfield waiting for the Beauforts. After five minutes Tom Gleave telephoned Hornchurch saying, "Why are your fighters circling over here? What are they waiting for?"

  This was the first news they had that the Beauforts had not yet arrived. When they telephoned Thorney Island, to discover the torpedo bombers had only just taken off, it was hastily decided that the Beauforts should meet the fighters over the battleships. The Spitfires were contacted by radio and ordered to fly off towards the Germans.

  Twenty minutes after the fighters had flown out to sea, Pilot Officer Carson arrived over Manston with his four Beauforts. The Morse kept crackling from Manston control telling him to take the same course as the Spitfires. But someone had blundered again. Thorney Island had forgotten to inform Manston that the Beauforts had recently exchanged Morse for radio telephone. Unaware of this, Manston persisted in trying to give new orders to the torpedo bombers. While they were being frantically signalled in Morse they could not receive, Carson's four Beauforts continued to circle the airfield diligently awaiting orders. Puzzled by lack of communication, but deciding he could wait no longer, Carson and another Beaufort flew off towards France to find the "convoy."

  It was a sensible, courageous act — except he still did not know what he was looking for, nor where to go. Having had no further information concerning the position of the "convoy" since he left Thorney Island, he searched an area of the French coast fifty miles behind where the Germans were steaming.

  While further attempts were made from Manston to contact them in Morse, the two other Beauforts continued circling. As their fuel was running out, they landed at 2:45 p.m. — an hour and a quarter after the arranged rendezvous with the Spitfires. The two pilots went to the control room and asked, "What's all the flap about? We were told to rendezvous with some fighters over here and follow them to our target. Where are the fighters? What is the target, sir?"

  Station Commander Tom Gleave gasped, "Has no one told you what you are here for?"

  He hastily briefed them with the latest position, their Beauforts were refuelled, and the two pilots took off one and a half hours late. They flew across the North Sea straight into a whirling mass of FW 190s, Spitfires and Hurricanes. RAF fighters were diving, circling and firing at the Germans, while the Beauforts swooped down to wave height to find the battleships. At 3:45 p.m., they dropped their torpedoes but missed.

  It was now four hours since the British forces had been ordered to attack, three hours since Esmonde and his men had died trying to torpedo the battleships. The German ships had now passed through the dangerous narrow channel which had given them so little room to manoeuvre, and Scharnhorst had had enough time to patch up her damage. She was now steaming once again at full speed to catch up with the Gneisenau and Prinz Eugen.

  While the four Beauforts of 217 Squadron were circling uselessly over Manston, 42 Squadron was also running into trouble. Just as the German battleships were approaching the Dover Straits, the squadron landed at Coltishall from Leuchars at 11:45 a.m. It had been delayed by the weather and ground difficulties. Although the Coltishall controller, Sq. Ldr. Roger Frankland, knew about the break-out of the battleships it was only on the "old boy net." Other senior officers were under the strictest orders not to divulge the reason for the operation to the aircrews. Said Frankland, "I have never had an explanation of it. The Beaufort squadron were sent out to look for a convoy. I did not question this stupid secrecy at the time but now it looks bloody silly!"

  Coltishall was a fighter base and three of the Beauforts landed unarmed. North Coates, 150 miles away near Grimsby, possessed a Mobile Torpedo Servicing Unit which was at once ordered to Coltishall. The RAF told the police of the urgency and they supplied a siren-wailing motor-cycle escort to clear the road. They need not have bothered.

  The Mobile Torpedo Servicing Unit had not been called upon since the outbreak of war — over two years before — and was wrapped in a trance-like euphoria. If they had rushed the torpedoes and compressed air in half a dozen lorries, they could have reached Coltishall in three hours, but instead they crawled out of North Coates in a lengthy procession. This majestic slowness, aggravated by icy roads, caused the "Immobile Unit" as it was later cruelly dubbed, to arrive at Coltishall just as Ciliax's battleships reached German waters.

 
; This was only the beginning of the disasters that befell 42 Squadron. Apart from the tortoise-like behaviour of the Torpedo Unit, which immobilized three Beauforts, two aircraft developed mechanical trouble when the squadron landed.

  Like 217 Beaufort Squadron from Thorney Island, the serviceable Beauforts were held back for the other five. They were delayed for the incredible period of two and a half hours. It was not until 2:16 p.m. that the nine operational Beauforts, led by Sq. Ldr. W. H. Cliff, headed for Manston. A signal was sent to Manston to expect them at 2:50 p.m. They arrived only three minutes late.

  According to their flight plan, given to them at Coltishall before they took off for Manston, they were to follow the 407 Canadian Squadron of Hudsons to the Dutch coast. These Hudsons were to provide diversionary bombing of the battleships to draw off the flak while torpedo bombers attacked. Both squadrons were to be protected by Spitfires.

  When the nine Beauforts arrived over Manston at 2:53 p.m. for once the co-ordination was perfect. Eleven Hudson bombers were waiting in the air and a score of Spitfires circled above them. Obeying their orders, the Beauforts formed up on the tails of the Hudsons. But instead of leading them out to sea, the Hudsons turned tightly and formed behind the Beauforts. The Beaufort commander Cliff, still carrying out his orders, reformed again behind the Hudsons once again turned and circled behind the Beauforts.

  Why this ridiculous ring-a-ring-a-roses? The Hudsons were waiting for orders. Once again Wing-Corn mander Gleave and his staff tried frantically and unsuccessfully to reach them — by Morse, while the planes had just been fitted with radio telephone. No one had told Manston.

  As Carson had done two hours before, Cliff decided he had had enough of this futile follow-my-leader, and led his aircraft out to sea. He was technically disobeying orders, as he headed towards the area where he had been told by Coltishall the "German convoy" would be. Six Hudsons decided to follow him, hugging the tail of the last Beaufort. The other five Hudsons remained circling over Manston for another half an hour. At 4 p.m. they turned and set course for their home base at Bircham Newton. It was not their fault. No one had told them where to go, what to look for — in fact no one managed to communicate any orders at all.

  Cliff led his Beauforts and the six Hudsons across the North Sea in thick cloud and light rain. It was not long before the Hudsons lost touch with him. Soon afterwards the Hudsons' radar began to "blip." Diving beneath the clouds, they sighted some German ships to starboard. They swooped through the flak and dropped their bombs on the E-boats and destroyers. Two Hudsons were shot down in this brave attack.

  While the torpedo-carrying Beauforts were struggling against the continuing ground muddle, Bomber Command finally came to life.

  Bomber Command was between commanders. Air Marshal Sir Richard Peirse had relinquished command at the beginning of January, and Air Vice-Marshal Arthur "Bomber" Harris was in America and was not due to take over for ten days.

  Since 4 February, 300 bombers had been ordered on a two-hour standby for "Fuller." But this had meant these bombers had to drop out of nightly attacks against Germany, which Bomber Command saw as their chief task. In view of this, the Air Ministry made a request to the Admiralty to remove the stand-by ordered on behalf of the Navy. The Admiralty would not agree, arguing that the break-out was more likely than ever.

  In spite of this, Bomber Command decided to hold only 100 aircraft ready for "Fuller." They reverted to normal stand-by working with the remainder. But RAF staff officers omitted to tell anyone of this decision. As a result, when the German ships were reported after midday in the Straits of Dover, it was not until nearly three hours after the alarm that the first bombers were airborne.

  Although 242 bombers were sent up, they proved practically useless. Courageous aircrews in formidable aircraft were sent on a mission in which everything was against them. The most operationally experienced bomber crews in the world, they were trained for high-level night bombing of static targets — not a needle-in-a-haystack operation of trying to find and hit fast-moving battleships in the poorest visibility. Also most of them had been bombing Germany the night before.

  They set off in three waves. At 2:20 p.m., the first wave of seventy-three bombers took off. It was a hasty, disorganized attack, the planes flying either singly or in pairs. On this cold, overcast winter's afternoon, they swarmed out over the North Sea towards the Dutch coast with thick cloud hanging only a few hundred feet over the waves. When their perspex froze, it was difficult to see, and their heavily-iced wings made flying even more perilous.

  Meanwhile, the three remaining Beauforts of 217 Squadron, which had been left behind at Thorney Island, arrived over Manston. The three pilots also knew nothing about the German battleships. However, the leader, Pilot Officer J. A. Etheridge, had sense enough to land and ask for orders. He was immediately briefed by Gleave and his staff and set off in the right direction. For once the instructions were absolutely accurate.

  When his Beaufort broke cloud, he found himself right above the German battle squadron. Etheridge, ringed with a flak barrage, took a wide swing over the Dutch coast but his aircraft was hit in several places. His wireless operator had his arm broken by shell splinters, then a cannon shell shot away the torpedo release gear. Unable to launch his torpedo, he turned back for England.

  The second Beaufort, piloted by Pilot Officer T. A. Stewart, was attacked by two Messerschmitts. As a cannon shell ploughed through the Beaufort's tailplane, Sergeant Bowen, his gunner, fired a long burst at one of them. The Messerschmitt went spiralling down towards the sea with smoke pouring from it.

  The third Beaufort, piloted by Sergeant Rout on his first operational flight, flew low through the flak barrage to drop its torpedo. FW 190s pounced on his tail and he was wounded in the hand by a shell. His wireless operator had a bullet wound in the arm and leg, and his rear-gunner had been seriously wounded when a splinter from the shattered windscreen perspex hit him in the right eye. The aircraft caught fire, but despite their wounds the crew crawled about painfully and put out the flames.

  As the two aircraft swept low over Scharnhorst, their wings and fuselages riddled with shell splinters from flak gunners, Captain Hoffmann watched from the bridge as the two Beauforts split up to attack on opposite sides from astern. A torpedo was seen running, and Hoffmann ordered hard to starboard. When he did so, the Beaufort on the starboard side turned in towards the ships, flying low over her quarter-deck, sweeping her with machine-gun fire. The flak gunners on the port side, busily firing at the first plane, found bullets smacking on to the deck behind them. A hail of bullets struck the bridge of Scharnhorst, but no one was injured.

  After this determined attack, both Pilot Officer Stewart and Sergeant Rout managed to bring their damaged planes back to Mansion. Etheridge nearly did not make it. Near Ramsgate, anti-aircraft batteries, who appeared to be firing at everything coming in from the Channel, mistook his Beaufort for a German and he was shot up again. He staggered back to make a belly-landing at Horsham St. Faith, Norfolk.

  Meanwhile Carson then did a very gallant thing. Not waiting for the other Beaufort, which was refuelling, he took off alone to look for the Germans. It was raining hard and visibility was only three miles. German fighters, cruising around the North Sea looking for British aircraft, instantly swooped on his lone plane, but the mist helped him to dodge them.

  When his radar picked up the German ships, he skimmed along the waves ahead of the outer screen of E-boats protecting the Gneisenau, while flak burst all around him and more fighters came at him, their cannons rattling.

  Pulling the stick back, he lifted the Beaufort up a little to cross the masts of the German destroyers laying smoke along Gneisenaus side, and then came down to wave height to drop his torpedo from 2,000 yards. A thumping noise reverberated through the plane as cannon shells smashed into his tail. As he turned to head back into the clouds, he did not know that Gneisenau had quickly altered course, and this lone attack narrowly missed crippling her. His to
rpedo passed only twenty yards from Gneisenau s port side.

  The bombers, through no fault of the aircrews, had an almost completely frustrating day. The experience of 40 Squadron Wellington bombers stationed at Alconbury, Huntingdonshire, was typical. The night before, they had taken off at 6:30 p.m. to bomb Mannheim, arriving back just before midnight.

  Just before lunch, they were loafing around the mess or resting in their huts when they were called to the briefing hut for the "Fuller" emergency. Four Wellingtons under Sq. Ldr. McGillivray took off at 2:40 p.m. They flew most of the way over the North Sea in "ten-tenths" cloud reaching up to 1,500 feet.

  When the four Wellingtons reached the estimated position of the battleships, a German fighter approached to within 200 yards. As the Wellingtons swerved away, the fighter vanished into the clouds. The bombers continued to circle over the estimated position but their perspex became totally iced up. The de-icer failed in the Wellington piloted by Sergeant Hathaway, preventing him from seeing out of the cockpit. As he would have been a sitting duck for any German fighter in this state, he turned back to grope his way home.

  Flying Officer Barr, twenty minutes late taking off, was not airborne until three o'clock. When he arrived over the target area he also circled round, but could see nothing through the thick cloud. Then the front gunner reported his guns jammed, so he too turned back. As he approached the English coast near Lowestoft, anti-aircraft gunners fired at him. The firing still continued as he roared over the roof-tops of Lowestoft, frantically giving three-colour recognition signals. But his rear-gunner, Pilot Officer Leavett, was hit in the back of the head by shrapnel. Barr made an emergency landing at Lakenheath with the bleeding, unconscious gunner in the back, and Leavett was rushed to the RAF hospital at Ely.