Breakout

by John Deanne Potter

  When the destroyers approached, Gneisenau was 5,500 yards ahead of Prinz Eugen. Fein, obeying his orders to save his ship at all costs, fired his guns at the shadowy shapes of the destroyers. Although Gneisenau was still in the fight she disappeared from Prinz Eugens sight, which led Captain Brinkmann to believe he was fighting the battle alone.

  Aboard Prinz Eugen, while Bohsehke's heavy guns were firing, the flak guns were also in continual action. In the Luftwaffe fighter operations room, Lt. Rothenberg and Lt. von Kuhlberg kept reporting RAF aircraft on all sides. The specially installed quadruple 2-cm guns scored many hits. Their shells were seen to explode against several RAF aircraft, but they continued to fly despite being filled with holes. They seemed to absorb the small shells but Lt. Paul Schmalenbach, the flak commander, wondered if they all got back.

  Meanwhile Pizey s five destroyers were still racing forward at thirty knots, replying with their own guns and firing pom-poms at attacking German aircraft. Shells began to fall very close, straddling them. Pizey held his course, waiting for the right time to launch his torpedoes. He stood on the bridge of Campbell watching the German aircraft and ships as calmly as if he were on manoeuvres, leaning forward every second or so to give orders to his navigator or the yeoman of signals.

  Aboard Whitshed, Ted Tong, being one of the tallest men in the crew, stood on a steel table with one arm round a stanchion hauling up shells for the 4.7 after-gun. He had hoisted up several dozen shells when he heard a yell from the gun crew above. "There they are!" and the guns started firing. The ship rumbled and rocked with explosions, but Tong still could see nothing. Even those on deck could see very little through the blinding spray and splashes of bursting shells, but as Mackay turned towards the Germans, Hutchings on duty above her bridge saw two shapes glinting a beautiful silver in a sudden patch of sunlight.

  It was getting towards dusk as the destroyers went into open battle order to attack. Waves broke green fore and aft and even officers on the bridge were drenched with spray. The torpedo crews, knee deep in water as the destroyers rolled heavily, tried to train their tubes. Flotilla-leader Campbell was followed by Vivacious with Worcester last of the line.

  On their starboard beam were Mackay and Whitshed, who were to attack first. As he hauled round to starboard to launch his torpedoes, Captain Wright in Mackay saw a big German ship steering directly towards him. He recognized the Prinz Eugen. But she was not going to attack. Her commander, Captain Brinkmann, had altered course thinking Mackay was a German destroyer. For two minutes Whitshed, rolling in the great seas, followed Mackay towards the German ships under heavy fire. Visibility was still bad and the destroyers came under attack from everything the Germans had, but by a miracle there were no hits. Neither Kahler on Gneisenau nor Jasper on Prinz Eugen had their range. The nearest German shells fell a quarter of a mile away from Mackay and Whitshed.

  It was 3:45 p.m. when Mackay and Whitshed launched their torpedoes together from 4,000 yards. As Mackay launched hers, Prinz Eugen again altered course. This was not to avoid what she still thought was a German destroyer, but to dodge an RAF plane that was trying to bomb her.

  Hutchings watched Mackay's torpedoes drop into the sea like a diver making a belly flop, and as they began to run she swerved sharply away. With the ship shuddering and turning at full ahead, Hutchings had to cling to the two brass handles of his sight-setter to keep upright.

  Aboard Whitshed, Tong heard the gun crews shouting, "We are attacking the Prinz Eugen. We can see her. I think we have hit her!" But Whitshed's torpedoes also missed Prinz Eugen, as German shells fell into the sea around the destroyer, the near-misses rocking the ship. Immediately after she had fired, cloud descended to nearly sea level and the German battleships disappeared from the destroyers' view in a rain squall.

  At this moment Pizey decided to attack. In his report he said, "As we closed to 3,500 yards I felt our luck could not last much longer. The ships were being well straddled."

  What finally decided him was a heavy shell fired by Kahler's guns aboard Gneisenau which failed to explode, bounced off the waves and then dived under Campbell like a porpoise. Pizey turned to navigator Fanning and said, "Pilot, we are turning. What retiring course do you recommend?" Fanning had already worked this out, and the course was instantly radioed to the two destroyers astern. This was so that the ships would all turn together, firing their torpedoes simultaneously to give the greatest arc of fire. There was hardly a second's interval between Pizey's decision on the bridge of Campbell and the information being received by the other destroyers. As the torpedo gunners waited tensely to receive their orders by voice pipe and telephone, Pizey, half-blinded by spray on the bridge, said tersely, "Torps, we go in to attack the enemy with torpedoes… now!" The yeoman of signals on the bridge called down to the radio room, "Give the executive signal." This was three short dots and a long in Morse. As the Morse signal bleeped to the other destroyers, Pizey ordered, "Turn to fire."

  It was forty-seven and a half minutes past three when Campbell and Vivacious turned to port and fired together from 3,500 yards — about two miles. Campbell launched six torpedoes but Vivacious only three, because half her torpedo tubes had been removed to fit a 3-inch anti-aircraft gun.

  Midshipman Bohsehke aboard Prinz Eugen saw Campbell fire her torpedoes and called out a warning. Captain Brinkmann at once turned the ship hard to starboard away from their foaming wakes. At the same time, Campbell was once again straddled by shells from Bohsehke's forward guns, and every other gun the cruiser could bring to bear.

  The foretop was obscured by smoke blown forward by a heavy stern wind, so the German gunners could not see where their shells were landing. As the shells ringed his ships, Pizey was watching for the result of his torpedo attack. When he saw German destroyers appearing ahead of the Gneisenau, he hoisted the flag signal: "Disregard." This meant; "Act independently," which gave individual ships freedom to either attack the destroyers or take evasive action.

  But one destroyer had not yet attacked. While cascades of water from high waves and near-misses were showering over her, Worcester, shuddering from her labouring engines, pressed even closer than the other two destroyers. She steamed so near that as she ran parallel with the two German ships, the officers on her bridge could clearly make out their triangular masts and massive grey shapes. Lt.-Cdr. Coats, a very brave and determined man, muttered through his teeth, "I am going to sink one of those damned ships." He passed the message to his crew, "Everyone must do their best."

  In front of him towered the leading battleship of the Squadron — the Gneisenau. Coats steamed closer, ignoring the shells which were now raining down on him as the German gunners began to get the range of his tiny destroyer. Their broadsides cut a foaming swathe through the water fifty feet ahead of him.

  But smoke and Prinz Eugens torpedo-dodging course changes made firing and observation difficult for the German gunners. Then, as Worcester was still- holding a steady course towards her, Petty Officer Kuhn managed to get a "fix" on the destroyer's muzzle fire. None of the German gunners could tell through the mist whether she was a new destroyer or one of the four at which they had already fired.

  Although it was only a matter of seconds before the German guns must register a hit, Coats still stayed on course, firing back. Some of his shells aimed at Prinz Eugen burst harmlessly in the high waves. Douglas Ward fired one round from his after 4.7 gun, and then his second shot misfired. In the excitement of battle someone had forgotten to put in the cordite.

  It was three minutes since Campbell and Vivacious had fired. It seemed like three years. The ship was lurching and shaking and everywhere there was a shattering, overpowering noise. It was impossible to tell which were their guns firing and which were German shells exploding.

  On the bridge, a young sub-lieutenant with a pistol-type instrument in his hand waited for the order: "Fire One." Then he would press the trigger which fired the torpedoes electronically. Torpedo-gunner Wellman had his own sights below. If the
bridge did not give the order to fire, his duty was to pull his own lever and fire the torpedoes himself. The bridge ordered a deflection of 25 knots for the torpedo firing. By voice tube and telephone this order was given to Wellman, who acknowledged it.

  Worcester steamed on into the hellish cauldron, the Gneisenau a grey mass towering before her. But the usual count-down went calmly on—"40, 30, 20" — reporting the degrees to go before the "fish" went off. The orders were repeated continually, so there could be no misunderstanding.

  She began to heel over heavily to starboard before making her big turn to port to launch her torpedoes, while in the sea near her slanting deck there were dozens of fountains from shell splashes. She was now so near that Bohsehke in the forward gun position on Prinz Eugen ordered a flattened trajectory, which could hardly miss her.

  Coats, about one and a quarter miles away, running broadside to the German ships, was just about to give the order to fire when there was an ear-splitting crash. Three heavy shells exploded on Worcester at almost the same time, with a cloud of white smoke and orange flashes.

  One burst abreast of the 12-pounder gun, and all the gun crew were either killed or wounded. Just forward of the 12-pounder was Gunner Wellman, with the ratings manning the torpedo tubes. Deafened, their faces blackened, they dodged the splinters shaken but unhurt.

  Forward of the torpedo tubes on the starboard side a hole was driven which extended from half-way across the deck to below the water-line, completely wrecking and flooding the No. 1 boiler room. Fragments of shell penetrated No. 2 boiler room, making another large hole from the deck halfway to the water-line.

  Another direct hit landed on the starboard side of the fo'c'sle deck about fifteen feet from the sick-bay, drilling it full of holes and knocking out Dr. Jackson and his sick-bay attendant, A. J. Shelley. It also tore up her decks, smashing the lower part of the bridge and wrecking the radio room. Miraculously, neither Cdr. Coats nor his officers were hurt, even though below the bridge boxes of ammunition for the Oerlikon guns began to explode.

  The third shell exploded on the water just short of the ship level with the wardroom, completely wrecking it and blowing to pieces some of the supply and repair party. The three shells which hit the ship were so heavy that some of the crew thought they were from shore batteries firing from the Dutch coast.

  Worcester had still not fired her torpedoes when Bohsehke's shells hit her. The sub-lieutenant on the bridge still continued giving orders to prepare to fire but Wellman on the torpedo deck, deafened and dazed, could not hear him because of the noise. When the Oerlikon ammunition started exploding, Wellman thought the bridge had gone and muttered, "We will have to fire the torpedoes ourselves." Still not being able to hear the bridge, he did his duty and went ahead and fired.

  When they jerked over the side they were 2,500 yards from the Gneisenau. Yet, although the Worcester had steamed so near to the Gneisenau, her three torpedoes passed harmlessly astern of her and ahead of the Prinz Eugen, which was dodging seven bombs RAF planes had just aimed at her.

  The noise was appalling. There were so many explosions that it was impossible to make out whether they were being hit again or not. The ship was completely curtained by shell splashes. That concealment momentarily helped to save them from further punishment. All sight of the German ships was lost and it was difficult to see what had happened to the torpedoes.

  Coats, still unhurt on the bridge, recalls, "It was three minutes after Campbell had fired diat I launched my torpedoes. As I went in zigzagging to avoid the German shells, it was the longest three minutes of my life. The other destroyers had vanished making me feel very lonely. When I fired my torpedoes I saw black smoke coming up from the water. I thought it was a hit from one of my torpedoes, but it was a bomb exploding near Gneisenau. I felt shattered and useless as I realized my torpedoes had gone well astern of Gneisenau and ahead of Prinz Eugen."

  After the three shells had disabled her, Worcester made an almost complete circle, her engines silent, drifting to her port broadside to Prinz Eugen. It was like target practice for Bohsehke's gunners. Two of his shells scored direct hits to be followed by two more from the Gneisenau. The four heavy shells ripped through the disabled destroyer, smashing her guns and tearing more great gaping holes in her side.

  One shell from Prinz Eugen went through her bows, exploding in the paint locker and starting a fire. When someone shouted, "Fire in the fo'c'sle!" the sea was so high that at first the waves seemed to put it out, but it flamed up again.

  As Chief Engineer Griffiths came on deck to report his boilers useless, there was a puff of brown smoke and large jagged splinters whistled across the deck. A shell hit the base of the forward funnel, making a hole about four feet across and breaking the mast six feet above the deck. It fell backwards and leaned, swaying crazily, against the top of the funnel, with the rigging hanging loose. Commander Coats's mind went back to Nelson's day when grapeshot tore down the rigging and he muttered to Lt. Taudevin, "This is just like old times."

  Worcester, drifting beam-on exposed to point blank fire from the two German ships, was clearly seen by Petty Officer Hehenberger on the range-finder in the foretop of Prinz Eugen. He watched Worcester, on fire and apparently stopped, disappear into the black smoke of more heavy bursting shells. When the smoke cleared, other men on the foretop of Prinz Eugen glimpsed her for a short time through the haze before, battered by Bohsehke's shells, she seemed to disappear beneath the waves. Master-gunner Emmanuel Pietzka, on the stern flak gun, also saw Worcester burning in a vast cloud of smoke. A few seconds later, she could no longer be made out — only smoke and surging water. The sight reminded him strongly of the sinking of Britain's biggest warship, the Hood, which he had observed from the same position in Prinz Eugen.

  Coats shared the view of the German gunners. As he gazed from the bridge at his battered burning ship, he decided she would sink at any moment. She was wallowing down by the stern with a list of 20 degrees to starboard. The quarter-deck was awash and she was rolling sluggishly. The main compartments were so full of water that every time she rolled it felt as if she would not right herself again. So he gave the order: "Prepare to abandon ship." As one of the young ratings descended the starboard ladder from the bridge, shouting out the order, he was hit by a shell splinter.

  As a result, a garbled version of the order spread rapidly round the ship. Deafened by the guns and bursting shells, the crew thought the order had been given "Abandon ship."[7]

  Carley floats were thrown over, the whaler was lowered, and a few men began jumping overboard to swim or hang on to floats which drifted near the ship.

  But Worcester did not sink. She was probably saved from complete annihilation by a tiny bit of luck—Gneisenaus heavy guns went out of action. A shell which was being rammed into a heavy gun jammed and the cartridge case became twisted, stopping the moving ammunition belt.

  Worcester was still afloat but now with a fire in the paint store which the crew tried to get under control with buckets of water. The forepeak, the locker-room, the wardroom, the after-magazine, the shell-room and the after-stores were all flooded. A newer destroyer would have sunk but her older, closer frames probably saved her. But she was finished and out of the fight.

  Nightmare scenes were taking place aboard her. When the shell shattered the lower bridge, destroying the ammunition locker underneath it, the force of the explosion also jammed the water-tight doors of the radio room below the bridge, and the men inside were roasted like turkeys.

  The helmsman, with a shattered hand, still kept trying to steer. Another sailor next to him in the wheelhouse was a mass of blood and bone.

  One young sailor in a gun turret had his arm blown off and picked it up sobbing and tried to push it on again. As the gun was still in action, a Petty officer knocked him unconscious. It was not only the kindest thing he could have done, but it also prevented panic spreading among the young gun crew, several of whom were also wounded. The unwounded gun crews continued to fir
e until they ran out of ammunition. Ward and his mates still tried to fire their gun, but the ship began to settle so rapidly into the water that they could no longer get a bearing.

  Worcester's guns fell silent. All that could be heard were the screams of the wounded, the hiss of steam escaping from the broken boilers and shouted orders as she swung helplessly in the waves.

  At the same time the Germans' big guns stopped raining death on to Worcester. Through his binoculars, Captain Fein of Gneisenau watched the blazing destroyer wallowing in the heavy seas. She seemed gradually to be settling into the water so he gave the order to cease fire. He said, "I watched our guns score direct hits on the English destroyer and it seemed to me that she heeled so far over under their impact that she nearly capsized. I ordered our guns to cease firing, as there seemed no point in wasting shells on a ship already sinking. No ship of that size could be hit so heavily and survive."

  No more British destroyers could be seen from either ship. Worcester had presumably sunk in a cloud of black smoke and the others had vanished into the mist. Midshipman Bohsehke aboard Prinz Eugen fired once again at long range at a dimly recognizable ship and also at the gun flashes of another ship astern. Then Gunnery Commander Jasper ordered: "Halt, Batterie, Halt!"

  It was 3:56 p.m. The destroyer action was over after eleven minutes. The shelling of Worcester had only lasted three minutes.

  The official German report said: "Both Prinz Eugen and Gneisenau opened fire with their heavy naval guns. The English destroyers turned on a parallel course, engaging the main formation in a running gun battle. They were firing torpedoes at the same time as the German ships were attacked from the air by torpedo carriers. After the first direct hits on the enemy destroyers — three of the hits seen from the Gneisenau caused fires — the Prinz Eugen sank one destroyer and set another on fire. The enemy turned away sharply in order to engage while passing and were almost immediately out of sight in the mist." The German report was incorrect — only Worcester was damaged.