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 was in tears. In his outer office a young WAAF sat sobbing over her desk. She was the girl friend of one of the naval fliers. He addressed his report to Air Vice-Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory, Chief of 11 Group, for forwarding to the proper naval authorities. In stilted service prose, he told of the courage of the Sword-fish crews:
"Concerning pilots and crews of 825 Squadron which operated from Manston against Scharnhorst, Gneisenau and Prinz Eugen, attached is the report of Sub-Lt. Lee. As Officer commanding this station to which 825 Squadron was attached for operational purposes, and having been fully acquainted with their operational activities and the circumstances attendant thereto in respect of the above operation against enemy warships, which resulted in the loss of the entire squadron and seventy-five per cent of their crews, I respectfully submit that it would not be presumptuous on my part to express an opinion on the manner in which Lt.-Cdr. Esmonde and the crews under his command carried out their duties on this occasion.
"I discussed the operation with Lt.-Cdr. Esmonde prior to the squadron taking off at 12:30. His pilots and crews present at this meeting displayed signs of great enthusiasm and keenness for the job they were about to undertake, and it was no doubt due to Lt.-Cdr. Esmonde's leadership that such a fine spirit prevailed. Nothing more was heard of the squadron until the five survivors were brought ashore. The German battle-cruisers were undoubtedly protected by a terrific barrage of flak, and covered by one of the biggest fighter screens ever seen. Against this, the determination and gallantry shown by Lt.-Cdr. Esmonde and his pilots and crews is beyond any normal praise. I am of the opinion that Lt.-Cdr. Esmonde is well worthy of the posthumous award of the Victoria Cross."
It was the first time in history that an RAF officer had recommended a naval officer, not even part of his command, for Britain's highest decoration. Gleave later had only one bitter regret. He felt he had written his report too hastily. If he had considered it a little more he would have recommended more VC.s for the Swordfish crews.
The Admiralty, who must take the main responsibility for the useless massacre, said of Esmonde: "He was free to act as he thought best and believed he might succeed. That he was taking tremendous risks he knew but he was prepared to face them as he had faced other risks many times before."
But Admiral Ramsay and his staff officers at Dover were not prepared to shrug off the deaths of 825 Squadron as an inevitable casualty of war. In a personal message to the Fleet Air Arm base at Lee-on-Solent Ramsay wrote: "I cannot help but regard the miscarriage of the plan to provide fighter escorts for the Swordfish as a major tragedy of this war. Until the time they took off I had thought all arrangements were proceeding satisfactorily. Had I known that the fighter escorts might not keep their rendezvous I would have told Lt.-Cdr. Esmonde to remain on the ground. Indeed I would have forbidden the flight as an order."
Nearly everyone involved felt personal resentment at every aspect of the operation. This applied particularly to the RAF It ranged from Sq. Ldr. Brian Kingcombe's remark, "I have never known anything so bloody silly as all that mystery about the Gneisenau and Scharnhorst" to Flt.-Lt. Gerald Kidd, radar commander at Swingate, who, encouraged by Admiral Ramsay, sat down that night and wrote a report of the action so critical! that he realized he might be court martialled for it. Instead it reached Churchill.
As the last British aircraft turned back for England and night fell, in some ways the most difficult part of the voyage lay ahead of the German ships. Though they had sailed through the Channel safely they were still a long way from home — and it was the darkest night anyone remembered. It hid them, but the channel along the Dutch coast known as Easy Street turned out to be not so easy as all that. There were sandbanks to starboard and the port side was thick with British mines. To add to their difficulties, Scharnhorst's echo sounder and direction-finder, damaged by the mine explosion, were still out of action. Captain Hoffmann coming into the Scharnhorst's chart-room said, "Only God and courage can help us now!"
As the German ships struggled along the Dutch coast towards the Kiel Canal, one last line of attack remained to the British. The fast minelayer Welshman and squadrons of RAF bombers had already strewn mines along the French, Dutch and Belgian coasts. These were now reinforced by twenty aircraft — eleven Hampdens and nine Manchesters — from Bomber Command who took off to drop mines in the mouth of the Elbe.
When Scharnhorst was off the Hook of Holland, steaming in twilight through seas whipped up by a force seven southwesterly wind the Friedrich Ihn appeared steaming slowly. She was followed by torpedo boat Jaguar, black smoke pouring out of her badly smashed superstructure with one dead and two wounded aboard her. She had been hit in a dusk attack by the RAE
Then directly in Scharnhorst's path two destroyers loomed up with a cutter between them. The look-out shouted a warning as the cutter appeared directly in front of the battleship's mighty bow wave. Just in time, the order was given to reduce speed so as not to cut the boat in half or capsize her in their wash. Then the look-out suddenly exclaimed, "The Admiral's in the cutter!" It was true. From the bridge they could make out Admiral Ciliax standing in the stern.
Captain Hoffmann recognized one of the destroyers as the Z.29, which had taken the Admiral aboard. Although a great cloud of steam was pouring from her engine-room hatches, she had not been hit by the British. One of her own A.A., shells had burst before leaving the barrel of the gun, and a fragment of the broken gun had cut through the deck, killing one man and severing the main lubricating oil line to the turbine bearings. As repairing the oil pipe and switching over to another tank would take at least twenty minutes it would mean their falling back, and Ciliax might lose touch once again with the squadron. While the ships were still visible in the growing dark he had to decide quickly.