He was in the cutter transferring to the second destroyer Hermann Schoemann when Scharnhorst nearly ran him down. The sea was now so rough that the crew of the cutter were ordered not to try to return to Z.29. They climbed aboard Hermann Schoemann with the Admiral and the small boat was sunk by gunfire.
At 6:16 p.m. the last British plane vanished into the darkness. Ten minutes later the last Luftwaffe fighters flew back to Dutch, Belgian and French airfields. From Le Touquet, Fighter Commander Adolf Galland signalled his congratulations to the Luftwaffe aircrews. Their job was over, the ships were now protected by thick weather and dense darkness. Only Vice-Admiral Ciliax aboard the destroyer Hermann Schoemann did not rejoice. He knew this might be the hardest part of the passage. As the night closed in, Giessler put on his green militairy sheepskin which was warm and comfortable for watch-keeping. It was a present from his father who had worn it during the First World War. Round his neck he wore a thick scarf which he called his "white shawl."
Near Tershelling the direction-finding system became operational again in Scharnhorst and Giessler checked his position on a positive bearing with radio transmitters ashore. But the echo-sounder was still defective and no further mark-boats were due to be sighted until nearly 8 p.m., when the Texel mark-buoy would provide a much-needed guide into the Friesian channels.
The strain of the past twenty-one hours was beginning to tell on officers and men now as they sailed without lights in the narrow channel, groping their way homeward on the final stretch.
At 7 p.m. there came the drone of high-flying aircraft obviously tracking the ship by radar. Once or twice planes were heard quite clearly in the black night. But the battleships were now considered fairly safe from air attacks.
At 7:15 p.m. the destroyer Hermann Schoemann came up at high speed with the Admiral's flag fluttering at her masthead, and signalled Scharnhorst to follow her. Led by the destroyer, Scharnhorst was steaming at increased speed towards the mark-buoy when the weather took a hand. A fierce squall blotted the ships out from each other and Scharnhorst lost Hermann Schoemann s stern light.
On Scharnhorst's bridge everyone peered at the dark water ahead. As there was still no sign of the destroyer's light, Hoffmann ordered Giessler to turn on to the new course by dead reckoning. Just as the helm order was being given a look-out shouted, "Small boat on the starboard quarter." It was the mark-buoy. Scharnhorst was in the proper channel. Now all Giessler had to do was to follow the buoys through the channel.
The long day was ending. For the ship's company it was their second night at sea with twelve hours at battle stations. Now that the last British aircraft seemed to have vanished into the darkness Captain Hoffmann decided that the men could take a break.
At 7:30 p.m., as the port watch ended, the battleship returned to a modified normal working. For the first time since they left Brest, Scharnhorst's mess decks had their tables down for the port watch to eat a hot supper instead of gulping emergency rations in gun turrets or battle stations.
The men, though tired, were still keyed up. Everyone was eager to tell his own story of the day's action. Gunners who had been in the main armament turrets and others who had been manning the lighter flak guns exchanged stories of the air and destroyer attacks. The members of the coastal artillery on board also gave their account of the ceaseless British air attacks.
Now everything seemed to be going like clockwork. At 7:34 p.m. Scharnhorst passed the Texel at almost exactly the time scheduled by Group West. Not only had they made up the two hours delay in setting out from Brest but also the time lost through striking the mine.
Gneisenau, making twenty-seven knots in waters where she should normally have sailed at ten, lost touch with Prinz Eugen in the same squall which separated Scharnhorst and the Admiral's destroyer. Then she also stumbled across the marker-boats lying off the Friesian Islands.
Eleven minutes later — at 7:55 p.m. — she shuddered and stopped as a sudden flash lit up the battleship followed by an explosion. She had also struck an RAF-dropped mine. Yet the mine explosion was felt less strongly on her bridge than Scharnhorst's mine had been from 1,500 yards. The middle engine failed at once, and Captain Fein ordered the other engines stopped in order to prevent too great a pressure on places where there was an inrush of water.
She drifted in the tides only six miles from Terschelling as damage-repair parties went below to investigate. Their examination showed a hole on the starboard side but only trivial damage. Reports coming in very quickly showed him that there were no more serious consequences. The mine had evidently gone off at right angles some distance from the ship.
Half an hour later, with the hole in her bottom near the stern blocked by a steel collision mat and with water-pumps operating, Gneisenau picked up speed. But her navigational equipment had broken down and she had to creep through the shoals using a hand lead. At times there was so little water under her keel that she had to reduce speed to eight knots. If she tried to go any faster her propellers stirred up enough mud from the bottom to stop her. She steamed uncertainly through the same area where Hermann Schoemann and Scharnhorst were looking for each other.
Prinz Eugen, having lost Gneisenau, was also moving blindly along the Terschelling banks at eight knots. She reported that she had no position and asked for a bearing.
At 9:35 p.m., when Scharnhorst was ten miles from the Dutch coast between Terschelling and Schiermonikoog, the sailors aboard were still talking about the action. One man on the mess deck was dramatically describing with outstretched arms how a Wellington had banked away from the hail of flak fire, when there came a gigantic jolt accompanied by heavy vibrations which seemed almost to wrench limbs away from bodies. The explosion sent Captain Hofi'mann hurtling against the helmsman on the bridge. It was followed by a series of sharp cracks and grating noises as sailors were thrown to the deck. The current failed and the lights went out. Fans and other electrical apparatus ceased to function and a great quiet descended. The engines once again stopped. Scharnhorst had struck another mine.
Then all the bells began to ring together and telephones and voice pipes which were undamaged reported, "Helm jammed," "Engines stopped," "Gyro compass out of order," "Electric light circuit failed." When the blue night lights were switched on they revealed that the damage appeared to be much greater than that caused by the afternoon mine.
The starboard main engine was damaged and stopped and the other two were jammed. The dynamo room and most of the auxiliary machinery was out of action. Several compartments on the starboard side were flooded and thousands of tons of water were rushing in, giving her a starboard list of seven degrees.
With communications broken down officers groped their way through the ship with torches, trying to assess the damage. As torches twinkled in the darkness they revealed smashed pipes, lights torn from sockets — even the welded compass fastening had broken away. Many instruments were useless. The shock had put the delicate prisms of the big guns out of trim. As the rest of their elaborate gear was affected they had become useless. They could not even be budged by hand.