With these bleak conclusions I marched back to the Chief of Staff. “General,” I said, “it will be a long time before major reinforcements can go to the Philippines, longer than the garrison can hold out with any driblet assistance, if the enemy commits major forces to their reduction. But we must do everything for them that is humanly possible. The people of China, of the Philippines, of the Dutch East Indies will be watching us. They may excuse failure but they will not excuse abandonment. Their trust and friendship are important to us. Our base must be Australia, and we must start at once to expand it and to secure our communications to it. In this last we dare not fail. We must take great risks and spend any amount of money required.”
He merely replied, “I agree with you.” His tone implied that I had been given the problem as a check to an answer he had already reached. He added, “Do your best to save them.” With that I went to work; my partner was Brigadier General, later General, Brehon Somervell, War Department supply and procurement chief. Every day—no matter what the other preoccupation—I met with him in the desperate hope of uncovering some new method of approach to a problem that defied solution. General Marshall maintained an intensive interest in everything we did and frequently initiated measures calculated to give some help, particularly on the morale side. He awarded unit citations to every organization serving in the Philippines, he promptly directed the highest promotions and decorations for General MacArthur, and he supported without stint every idea and scheme our imagination could suggest.
On my desk memorandum pad, which by accident survived, I find this note, made on January 1, 1942: “I’ve been insisting that the Far East is critical—and no sideshows should be undertaken until air and ground there are in satisfactory state. Instead we are taking on Magnet, Gymnast, etc.” Three days later appeared: “At last we’re getting some things on the road to Australia. The air plan includes four pursuit groups, and two heavy, two medium, and one light bombardment groups. But we’ve got to have ships—and we need them now! Tempers are short. There are lots of amateur strategists on the job. I’d give anything to be back in the field.” My obvious irritation was possibly caused by the knowledge that much time would elapse before the “air plan” could be implemented.
On December 22, when the Pensacola Convoy arrived at Brisbane, we began the establishment of our Australian base.8 This quick start was largely the result of accident. On the day of the Pearl Harbor attack numbers of our ships were en route to the Philippines with troops, planes, and supplies. The Navy counseled that they be ordered to return to the United States or seek refuge in Hawaii, since no one could be sure that the Japanese would not set up an interceptive net for them; those only a few days out of port did return. But the War Department insisted that one convoy of five ships—the Holbrook and the Republic, with 5000 troops aboard, and the Meigs, Holstead, and Bloemfontein, loaded with equipment and supplies—be ordered to proceed with all possible speed to Australia.9 This was the beginning of the great base that was eventually to be General MacArthur’s launching platform for the liberation of the Philippines.
Reinforcement of this Australian base and the island steppingstones to it was a continuous process throughout the winter. By February 21 our overseas strength in officers and men exceeded 245,000, the largest concentrations being in the Pacific, where there were on that date 115,877, exclusive of 29,566 in Alaska and the Aleutians. In the Caribbean the garrisons by then numbered 79,095. In the European theater there were as yet only 3785 officers and men, but two divisions were en route. The overseas garrisons of the Eastern Defense Command numbered 15,876, most of whom were in Iceland.10
Although at that time American forces were fighting only in the Philippines, there was literally almost no spot throughout the length and breadth of the continents and the oceans that did not present at least one problem for the planning staff of the War Department. In Alaska we were wide open to attack and there existed the definite possibility that the enemy might succeed in establishing himself in an Alaskan airfield, from which he could bomb, with one-way attacks, numbers of our important cities. The coast of Brazil was needed so that we could secure on the shoulder of the South American continent a base from which to combat submarines. That area had an added importance because it provided also a steppingstone for airplane flights across the Atlantic. With the Mediterranean closed, the shortest route to the Middle East theater of war was over central Africa; we had to establish an air route across that undeveloped continent.
Russia, of course, was now an Ally; and another problem was to determine the ways and means through which effective help could be given her so that she could successfully maintain herself against the common enemy. The Middle East, with its vast oil resources, was still another region whose safety was important to America. It provided one of the avenues by which supplies might be sent to Russia and we had the problem of early establishment of communications northward from the Persian Gulf into Russian territory. Dozens of islands in the Pacific had to be garrisoned if we were to maintain the security of communications to our Australian base. Burma was another area in which we had a great interest because running through it was the last remaining line of supply for China.
As a prerequisite to everything else we had to stop the Jap short of countries that were vital to our successful prosecution of the war—Australia and India.11 And all of us tirelessly sought ways and means of helping the defenders of the Philippines.
Problems of disposing troops, including anti-aircraft defenses, at key points within the United States itself; of making distribution and allocations of such weapons as we then possessed; of establishing bases, particularly air bases, in South America, Africa, and throughout the world; of attending to our own reorganization within the War Department; and of developing outline plans into actual directives for operations, required eighteen-hour days for all of us.
Fortunately for me, at this hectic time my youngest brother, Milton, and his wife, Helen, were living just outside Washington at Falls Church. During the weeks following my arrival in the War Department, until my wife could pack our belongings at San Antonio and re-establish a home in Washington, they insisted that their home be mine. My brother was already in war work in the government and his hours were scarcely less exhausting than mine. Yet every night when I reached their house, regardless of the hour, which averaged something around midnight, both would be waiting up for me with a snack of midnight supper and a pot of coffee. I cannot remember ever seeing their house in daylight during all the months I served in Washington.
Constantly General Somervell and I sought for one more hope to hold out to the Philippines garrison. In the final result all our efforts proved feeble enough, but after many months of contemplation I do not yet see what more could have been done. One proposition that was frequently advanced, both in the public press and by enthusiastic but ignorant professionals, was to dispatch fighter craft by carrier to some point within flying range of the islands and from that point to fly them in to land bases for operations against the Japanese invader. The first difficulty encountered was final in itself.
The Navy Department stated flatly that none of the carriers they then had could be supported with the necessary cruisers and destroyers to risk an operation that could place it, even for the required fleeting moment, within fighter range of the Philippines. Other obstacles, almost equally decisive, were exposed by a full examination of the proposal, but this one alone obviously made further entertainment of the idea completely futile.
Many months later I read the assertion that while the Philippines were forlornly battling for their existence United States bombers were flying in endless streams to Great Britain and materials needed in the islands were being saved for the North African campaign. That was far from the actual fact.
We had only one light bombardment squadron in England, which arrived in May 1942, and there was no American heavy bomber unit there until the following month.12 The African campaign was not even an approved project u
ntil July of the same year. Both these dates were after the surrender of Bataan and Corregidor. The crux of the matter was that Japan had command of the seas surrounding the Philippines; we could not furnish substantial help until we could develop strength to break the encirclement.
As early as December 1941 we determined to try a system of blockade running into the Philippines. We sent officers to Australia with money to hire, at no matter what fantastic prices, the men and ships needed to carry supplies into the islands and to smuggle them into the beleaguered garrison.13
The man we sent to Australia to head up this particular effort was a former Secretary of War, Colonel, soon Brigadier General, Patrick J. Hurley. He had reported to the Operations Division one noon to volunteer his services to the government. At that moment we were in search of a man of his known energy and fearlessness to invigorate our filibustering attempts out of Australia and his offer was immediately accepted.
I asked him, “When can you be ready to report for duty?”
“Now.”
“Be back here at midnight,” I instructed him, “prepared for extended field service.”
Although he seemed to change color slightly, he never batted an eye but replied, “That will give me time to see my lawyers and change my will.”
Immediately he was recommended for the grade of brigadier general. Knowing that he would be confirmed as such before he could reach Australia, Gerow and I each donated a star from our uniforms, and—pinning them on the ex-Secretary’s shoulders—sent him happily from our office. At one o’clock that night he was on a plane for Australia.
For the transport of a few very critical items the Navy provided submarines. The Philippines garrison was always short of proper fuses for their anti-aircraft and artillery, but we did succeed in sending them small quantities by this means.14
We began the assembly in Australia of fifty-two dive bombers, which we hoped to be able to fly to the Philippines via staging fields on the intervening islands.15 While all this was going on we continued to rush driblets of ground reinforcements to many threatened spots in the Pacific, from Alaska southward. They went to Hawaii, the Fiji Islands, New Caledonia, Tonga Tabu, New Zealand, Australia, and many smaller places.
To give one example of the desperate extremes to which we were reduced: I learned by sheer accident late one evening that the Navy, in order to place a small garrison at Efate in the New Hebrides, considered an important spot, had directed bluejackets to be detached from a carrier and temporarily used for the purpose. This was unthinkable. Each of our few carriers was worth its weight in gold. By scurrying about we determined, within a few minutes, that an Army battalion was available in the critical area to do the job, and it was moved in,16 but this was the type of thing to which all of us had to resort. The incident, small as it was, also brought home to me the sketchy and unsatisfactory character of our contacts with the Navy.
Mr. Quezon, then in Corregidor with General MacArthur, radioed to President Roosevelt in early February a plea for him to seek the neutralization of the Philippines, with each contestant agreeing to withdraw its troops.17 In view of our helpless situation there at that time, neutralization of the islands would have been an immediate military advantage and would, of course, have prevented tremendous suffering and privation on the part of the defending garrison and the population. However, its public proposal would not only have been greeted with scorn by the Japanese: such a confession of weakness would have had unfortunate psychological reverberations. None of us believed for a moment that the proposal represented a betrayal on the part of President Quezon. We felt that he was sturdily loyal but merely submitting for consideration a plan that, in his helpless situation, appeared to him as the possible salvation of his country. Receipt of the proposal was a bombshell—but the idea was instantly repudiated by the President and the Chief of Staff.
A principal duty of War Department planners was to recommend a scheme of operations for the Army in the waging of war against Germany and Japan. Our enemies, widely separated geographically, were each in possession of a rich empire. We had to attack to win.
In late December, Prime Minister Churchill came to Washington, accompanied by the British Chiefs of Staff. These were Admiral Sir Dudley Pound for the Navy, General Sir Alan Brooke for the Army, and Air Chief Marshal Sir Charles Portal for the Air Force. At that time the old War Plans Division, under General Gerow, was still in existence and most of the staff liaison work with the British group was carried on by him and other members of the staff.
The conference18 had two principal purposes, the first of which was to organize a workable system by which the American and British Chiefs of Staff could operate effectively as a team. The gist of the arrangement made was that each of the British Chiefs of Staff designate a representative to serve in Washington, in close contact with the American staffs. The British named Sir John Dill as the head of this mission and in that capacity he continued to render outstanding service until his death in 1944. A second purpose of the conference was to confirm earlier agreements19 upon the region in which should first be concentrated major forces of the two nations. The staffs saw no reason to change prior conclusions that the European enemy should be the first object of our attacks. There were, of course, numerous and important other subjects of discussion but from my place on the fringe of the conference it seemed to me that these were the two greatest accomplishments.
Stated in simple form, the basic reasons for first attacking the European members of the Axis were:
The European Axis was the only one of our two separated enemies that could be attacked simultaneously by the three powerful members of the Allied nations, Russia, Great Britain, and the United States. The United States was the only one of the coalition free to choose which of its enemies to attack first. But if we should decide to go full out immediately against Japan, we would leave the Allies divided, with two members risking defeat or, at the best, struggling indecisively against the great European fortress. Meanwhile America, carrying the war alone to Japan, would always be faced with the necessity, after a Pacific victory, of undertaking the conquest of Hitler’s empire with prostrated or badly weakened Allies. Further, and vitally important, it was not known at that time how long Russia could hold out against the repeated attacks of the Wehrmacht. No effort against Japan could possibly help Russia stay in the war. The only way aid could be given that country, aside from shipping her supplies, was by engaging in the European conflict in the most effective way possible. Finally, the defeat of the European Axis would liberate British forces to apply against Japan.
As far as I know, the wisdom of the plan to turn the weight of our power against the European enemy before attempting an all-out campaign against Japan has never been questioned by any real student of strategy. However—and here was the rub—it was easy enough to state this purpose as a principle but it was to prove difficult indeed to develop a feasible plan to implement the idea and to secure its approval by the military staffs of two nations.
Within the War Department staff basic plans for European invasion began slowly to take shape during January and February 1942.20 As always, time was the critical element in the problem. Yet everywhere delay was imposed upon us! It profited nothing to wail about unpreparedness. It is a characteristic of military problems that they yield to nothing but harsh reality; things must be reduced to elemental simplicity and answers must be clear, almost obvious. Everywhere men and materials were needed. The wave of Japanese aggression had not then reached full tide, and everything upon which we in the United States could lay our hands had necessarily to go to the Southwest Pacific to prevent complete inundation. Aside from preserving lines of air and sea communications to Australia, we had to hold the Indian bastion at all costs; otherwise a junction between Japanese and German forces would be accomplished through the Persian Gulf. Prevention of this catastrophe became the chief preoccupation of our British partners.
The prospect of the two industrial empires of Japan and German
y drawing freely upon the vast resources of rubber, oil, and the other riches of the Netherlands Indies was too black a picture to contemplate. The Middle East, of course, had to be held; if it should fall and the German U-boats were able to proceed through the Red Sea into the Indian Ocean, it was doubtful that India could be saved. Moreover, Middle East oil was a great prize.
In the late winter of 1941–42 the U-boat campaign in the Atlantic was at almost the height of its effectiveness. We were monthly losing ships, including valuable tankers, by the score. A typical month was March 1942, when we lost in the Atlantic and Arctic areas 88 Allied and neutral ships of 507,502 tonnage. During May 1942, when 120 Allied and neutral vessels were sunk in the same waters, the United States sustained its highest loss of merchant shipping in any one month of the war—40 vessels.21 For a time even our vital sea lines to South America were in peril. Shipping was at a premium; simultaneously we needed every type of fighting vessel, cargo and personnel ship.
Already we had learned the lesson that, while air power alone might not win a victory, no great victory is possible without air superiority. Consequently the need for airplanes in vast numbers competed with all other needs—shipping, cannon, tanks, rifles, ammunition, food, clothing, heavy construction material, and everything from beeswax to battleships that goes to make up a nation’s fighting power.
We had to do the best we could, with almost nothing to distribute but deficits, in stemming the onslaughts of our enemies, but plans for victory had to look far ahead to the day when the airplanes, the battle fleets, the shipping, the landing craft, and the fighting formations would allow us to pass to the offensive and to maintain it. It was in this realm of the future—a future so uncertain as to be one almost of make-believe—that the projected plan for European invasion had to take its initial form.
Crusade in Europe Page 4
