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.
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 Scharnhorst, turned to the navigator, Giessler, and asked, "What course now, sir?" When Giessler replied, "Alter course to starboard. New course three-four-zero," he looked at him in amazement. For this would take them right through the Channel. Giessler grinned in the dim light. "Course correct," he said. "Tomorrow you will be kissing your wife in Germany!"
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., Scharnhorst sighted the first mark-boat and signalled to the other two ships to reduce speed and follow her across the danger area.
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.