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.
His submarine was lying only six miles away from the German battleships but his batteries were running dangerously low. Although he knew he must soon go out to sea to surface and recharge them he decided to hang on as long as possible. By 2 p.m. he had sighted nothing so he went out to sea on the ebb-tide.
When the German battleships sailed out of harbour, Colvin was thirty miles away cruising on the surface to recharge his batteries. He was nearly as far away as the two H-Class submarines. This was the first piece of bad luck for the British.
As the ships steamed through the starlit night away from Brest, Wilhelm Wolf, officer of the watch aboard
Sailing at twenty-seven knots and protected by a screen of destroyers, the battleships made their way towards the English Channel. At 10:20 p.m.,
All sounds seemed to be suppressed. Only the constant slapping of the bow waves and the distant noise of the boiler-room fans could be heard. The sky over them was like soft black velvet but the brilliant stars indicated a change of weather. There was hardly any wind and the sea was smooth with only a light swell. This could be detected aboard the battleships from the constantly changing height and shape of the luminous bow waves of the destroyers sailing on both sides. A thin haze rose from the sea and made the night still darker. Then the dark shadow of the high coastline of Ushant could be seen with powerful binoculars from the bridge.
By midnight the ships sailed past Ushant — only seventy-two minutes behind schedule. They were at the point of no return. The break-out had begun. Yet still none of their crews aboard knew where they were bound.
Just after midnight all the ships' loudspeaker systems called for attention. It was an announcement from Admiral Ciliax saying:
'Warriors of the Brest Forces! The Fuhrer has summoned us to new tasks in other waters. After great success in the Atlantic, the ships of the Brest Group — despite all the enemy's efforts to put them out of action and free himself from this threat to his sea communications — became ready for combat again with the vigorous help of everyone and with the prompt aid of the dock-yard personnel.
'Our next task, to the execution of which we were called upon last night, lies ahead of us. It is: 'Sail through the Channel eastwards into the German Bight.'
'This task imposes on men, weapons and machines the highest demands. We are all aware of the difficulties of the task.
'The Fuhrer expects from each of us unwavering duty. It is our duty as warriors and seamen to fulfil these expectations.
'What tasks await us after sailing into the German Bight need not concern us at the present time.
'I lead the Squadron conscious that every man at his post will do his duty to the utmost.'
Jubilant cheers rang out. For the Admiral's announcement meant that at last every man in the Squadron knew what he was facing. The audacity of the enterprise excited the sailors. At last they were leaving hateful bomb-torn Brest — even if they did have to pass through the narrow Straits of Dover. This news operated like an electric shock to everyone. In a moment all hands were fully awake and whispered discussions of the broadcast could be heard everywhere. Unusual guests — the ship's doctor and the paymaster — appeared on
What would be the outcome of it all? After the excited cheering and whispering came second thoughts. Men gazed stonily at the dark phosphorescent seas frothing by. When daylight came and they neared the Straits their presence was bound to be detected. Would they succeed in passing through them as Hitler had demanded? Or would they go to the bottom?
The Germans became even more jumpy when just after the announcement they picked up what they thought was an English radar frequency. Were they already detected? Although
A Morse message requested her to make a check-up. Twenty minutes afterwards the emissions ceased. An electrical installation mounted on a gun was not switched off and this had caused the so-called radar emission.
As they raced through the night, steaming to the north-east still undetected by the British, most of their special navigational aids failed them. The only one of real value was the tidal-stream and current atlas, freshly compiled by the Wilhelmshaven Marine Observatory.
They were using radar-finding for the first time. Radar navigation in 1942 was in its infancy and German systems were markedly less efficient than the British. Yet the more advanced British radar did not score any success either on that vital night.
Range-finding equipment, situated along the French coast to locate the battleships' direction and measure their distance away, was supposed to signal information to the Navy and Luftwaffe staffs about the progress of the break-out.
The range-finding transmitters on the ships were not switched on. That was too dangerous, as they could be monitored by the British. However, the receivers could pick up the shore beacon signals to check their position. But the bearings either came too late — or the information was wrong. Some of them did not transmit. Human error was not the monopoly of the British that day.
Gradually the navigators realized the system had failed. This was partly the result of too much secrecy. Security had ruled out any question of advance exercises by the radar operators, who were mostly untrained and some of whom were French. And no one had been able to tell them that they must exercise the greatest vigilance on that night.
This meant a nightmare for the Squadron navigator Giessler. Without the radio bearings, he had to navigate by dead reckoning while sailing at twenty-seven knots through the channel swept by Commodore Ruge's forces. It was only a mile wide and had been swept to a depth of twelve fathoms. By the calculations of the Wilhelmshaven tide tables, he reckoned this would just about give adequate margin to escaped moored mines.
As they steamed through the narrow swept channel, still the overriding anxiety was — had the British detected them? No radio signals were intercepted from them. All remained quiet as they sailed steadily towards dawn and Dover.
Occasionally dimmed red or green lights were seen and flash signals with darkened blinker tubes could be read, as some mine-sweepers, which had cleared the way, returned to ports on the ragged northern coast of France. Then the shore lights of the Casquets hove in sight and Giessler was able to check their position. The strong tidal current was helping them to make as much progress eastward as possible during darkness, and they were catching up with their schedule.
Although Group West kept sending out coded radio messages for guidance following the hold-up leaving Brest they were based on a two-hours' delay. The ships had already made up over an hour, but radio messages picked up
