Breakout

Then another Dornier swooped over the destroyer Z.29 with Admiral Ciliax and his staff aboard. As she approached for a bombing run, the flak gunners stood ready anxiously watching her. Just as they were about to open fire, she recognized them and swerved away. Firing off the recognition signal of five red stars, the plane vanished into the clouds.

While both British and German ships were fighting off attacks by their own planes, Worcester was waterlogged and rolling badly. But Chief Engineer Griffiths was now confident that, if he could get the after-boiler working he could get her under way. Pizey signalled her by lamp: 'Intend taking you in tow.' When Douglas Ward was ordered by the bridge to find a tow rope, he reported that it had disappeared in the wreckage. Coats signalled Pizey: 'Towing gear not available.' Pizey replied: 'Stand by. We will pass our own towing gear.'

It was still touch and go for Worcester. As she reached the end of her roll, she seemed momentarily to stand still. Coats realized that if she listed a fraction of a degree further she might turn turtle. She was also drifting so badly that Campbell had to turn and pass her bows to try and toss the towing gear aboard.

As Campbell was about to throw the gear, Pizey saw she was moving away from him. At first he thought his helmsman had miscalculated. Just as he realized she was moving under her own power a signal flashed across: 'One engine room connected up.'

Slowly Worcester began to make steam. The engine knocked and the pumps and dynamo repeatedly stopped, but somehow Griffiths and his men managed to start them again. Coats signalled Pizey: 'The only way I can make steam is by using salt water, but I can make my own way home.'

At 5:18 p.m. she began to move slowly, and Coats went to the wrecked chart-room under the bridge. Most of his navigational aids had gone. The ship had taken such a battering that the gyro-compass had been smashed and the magnetic compass was unrealiable. When Campbell gave him his position and a course for home, he told Taudevin to take over as officer of the watch while he was in the chart-room helping the navigator.

With smoke pouring from her after-funnel and steam issuing from a great rent in her starboard side, Worcester began to move slowly away from Campbell. At first she made only a knot or so through the heavy seas, but gradually gathered speed. When it was clear she could proceed on her own, Pizey decided to carry out the instructions of the C-in-C Nore that all ships which had fired torpedoes were to return to Harwich to re-arm and refuel. When they left Harwich, they had enough fuel to last two or three days. Running as they had been, at full speed ahead, they now had fuel for only ten hours. Campbell went off with Vivacious at twenty knots— the maximum they could make in existing weather conditions.

This left Worcester to make her own way home.

XI 'SCHARNHORST IN URGENT NEED OF HELP'

The official RAF report that only thirty-nine found the ships is obviously an underestimate. There seems little doubt that many of the missing planes found them and were then shot down into the water.

After wireless signals from Gneisenau telling of a battle with an 'enemy cruiser and destroyers' — Captain Pizey's force — were picked up by Scharnhorst, still lagging in the rear, heavy attacks by the bombers which the RAF had now thrown into the action began to increase.

T.13, the leading torpedo boat protecting Scharnhorst, was riddled with splinters when bombs fell all around her. Smoke poured from her hatches and she stopped. Scharnhorst and her escort steamed on leaving her to her fate. She limped towards the Hook of Holland, escorted by another torpedo boat.

As the winter darkness fell, the RAF attack developed so fiercely that the flak guns became red hot. Sailors tried to cool them by throwing buckets of water over them, but several guns jammed and one 20-mm gun-barrel burst.

The Prinz Eugen had her only casualty during these attacks. Curiosity killed Senior Artificer Erich Kettermann, who was below decks on repair work. He left his station and went up to the deck to see what was happening. As he opened an armour-plated door he was struck by a shell fragment and killed instantly.

The third Beaufort Squadron, twelve aircraft of No. 86 stationed at St. Eval, Cornwall, was not yet in action. They were so late leaving Cornwall that they did not arrive at Thorney Island until 2:30 p.m. There they were told they would be fitted with torpedoes at Coltishall, although it was primarily a fighter base. This order was technically correct— only no one had checked that the Mobile Unit had not arrived. Their squadron leader spoke to Flt.-Lt. Kidd on the phone saying, 'I have landed at Coltishall and there are no torpedoes there. What the hell are people playing at?' He was ordered back to Thorney Island.

It was not until 5 p.m. that the Beauforts arrived over Manston to find no fighters awaiting them. They circled for a few minutes then set off alone. At 5:41 p.m. they reached the reported position of the Germans given to them at Thorney Island hours before.

This information was, of course, completely out of date, as the German ships were now fifty miles away northwards. Searching low over the misty sea, the squadron saw four German mine-sweepers who fired at them. It was now getting too dark to see anything, so they turned and headed for home. Two did not make it. It is thought that flying low in the darkness, they flew into the water.

Apart from these planes, the Beaufort pilots who found the ships attacked with the utmost courage.

The surviving RAF air-crews themselves had no illusions about how the battle had gone. The entry in the 217 Beaufort Squadron log for 12 February read: 'Terrific flap. Gneisenau and Scharnhorst out of Brest heading towards North Sea. How they managed to get this far is one of the minor mysteries of the war. Late this evening still in a muddle.'

^{Bristol Beaufort}

By seven o'clock that evening, the Beauforts of 42 Squadron had landed at North Coates. The operational record book reported, 'Nine aircraft led by Sq.-Ldr. Cliff took off to attack the German fleet in the Channel. Seven torpedoes launched. Pilot Officer Dewhurst failed to release his torpedo. Flt.-Lt. Pett failed to find the battleships.'

Concerning Sq.-Ldr. Cliffs attack, the 42 Squadron log reported: 'The Beaufort sighted one destroyer and one large cruiser, believed to be the Scharnhorst, at 16:06. There were large columns of smoke forward of the funnel.

'A second destroyer was sighted to starboard with a speed of 10–12 knots. The torpedo was released at the battleships from 1,200 yards inside the destroyer screen. When they turned to port they sighted another destroyer 100 yards on the starboard beam. The torpedo was seen to run but the result not observed. Landed at North Coates 18:50.'

The attack delivered by twenty-eight torpedo-bombers had not only failed but very nearly sank Captain Pizey's destroyer. Yet no one can blame the pilots who had flown off in dribs and drabs with totally inadequate information. It was the result of inefficiency on the part of the ground staff and lack of liaison between all commands.

That evening the only surviving Swordfish air-gunner, Donald Bunce, made his lonely way back to the sergeants' mess at Manston, which he had left just before lunch. There he wrote this terse, undramatic report in his log-book, 'Torpedo attack against Scharnhorst and Gneisenau. Attacked by fighters (FW 190s) and forced into sea.'

The only other unwounded survivor, Edgar Lee, after reporting to Admiral Ramsay, was driven back to Manston where as senior surviving officer of the Swordfish squadron he had a lot to clear up before being sent on immediate leave. Tom Gleave shook him by the hand. He said nothing. What was there to say to a man when thirteen of his comrades were dead and three others wounded?

That same night Gleave sat in his office and wrote his first report on the Swordfish massacre. He admits he