Many aboard Scharnhorst saw Ciliax go with mixed feelings. Some were glad to see the testy Admiral depart. Others wondered what it all foreboded. The camouflaged destroyer was so patently mistress of the elements, while Scharnhorst was rolling helplessly in the North Sea swell — a sitting target for the vengeance of the English, which could not surely be long delayed.
It was obvious to all in Scharnhorst that unless they were able to get under way again the English would sink her. Look-outs kept an anxious watch for the RAE She was only twenty-five miles to the south-east of Pizey's racing destroyers. The crew felt helpless; even the telephones on the ship were dead.
Below in the engine room, Chief Engineer Kretschmer with his devoted staflF worked frantically on the automatic boiler controls, stopped by the shock of the mine. At 2:49 p.m. Kretschmer reported the boilers were operating again. Five minutes later he reported the port engine shaft was working. Less than half an hour after the explosion everything came to life. It was reported they had shipped a lot of water in their refrigerating room, but nothing vital was damaged. Had Ciliax waited for Walther Kretschmer's report, he could have remained on his admiral's bridge.
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.