BATTLE FOR LEVTE GULF, PHILIPPINES: THE DECISIVE PHASE, OCTOBER 25, 1944
BATTLE FOR LEYTE GULF, PHILIPPINES: THE PURSUIT, OCTOBER 26–27, 1944
Meanwhile the Southern Japanese Force was nearing Surigao Strait, and that night they entered it in two groups. A fierce battle followed, in which all types of vessel, from battleships to light coastal craft, were closely engaged.* The first group was annihilated by Kinkaid’s fleet, which was concentrated at the northern exit; the second tried to break through in the darkness and confusion, but was driven back. All seemed to be going well, but the Americans had still to reckon with Admiral Kurita. While Kinkaid was fighting in the Surigao Strait and Halsey was steaming in hard pursuit of the decoy force far to the north Kurita had passed unchallenged in the darkness through the Strait of San Bernardino, and in the early morning of October 25 he fell upon a group of escort carriers who were supporting General MacArthur’s landings. Taken by surprise and too slow-moving to escape, they could not at once rearm their planes to repel the onslaught from the sea. For about two and a half hours the small American ships fought a valiant retreat under cover of smoke. Two of their carriers, three destroyers, and over a hundred planes were lost, one of the carriers by suicide bomber attack; but they succeeded in sinking three enemy cruisers and damaging others.† Help was far away. Kinkaid’s heavy ships were well south of Leyte, having routed the Southern Force, and were short of ammunition and fuel. Halsey, with ten carriers and all his fast battleships, was yet more distant, and although another of his carrier groups had been detached to refuel and was now recalled it could not arrive for some hours. Victory seemed to be in Kurita’s hands. There was nothing to stop him steaming into Leyte Gulf and destroying MacArthur’s amphibious fleet.
But once again Kurita turned back. His reasons are obscure. Many of his ships had been bombed and scattered by Kinkaid’s light escort carriers, and he now knew that the Southern Force had met with disaster. He had no information about the fortunes of the decoys in the north and was uncertain of the whereabouts of the American fleets. Intercepted signals made him think that Kinkaid and Halsey were converging on him in overwhelming strength and that MacArthur’s transports had already managed to escape. Alone and unsupported, he now abandoned the desperate venture for which so much had been sacrificed and which was about to gain its prize, and, without attempting to enter Leyte Gulf, he turned about and steered once more for the San Bernardino Strait. He hoped to fight a last battle on the way with Halsey’s fleet, but even this was denied him. In response to Kinkaid’s repeated calls for support Halsey had indeed at last turned back with his battleships, leaving two carrier groups to continue the pursuit to the north. During the day these destroyed all four of Ozawa’s carriers. But Halsey himself got back to San Bernardino too late. The fleets did not meet. Kurita escaped. Next day Halsey’s and MacArthur’s planes pursued the Japanese admiral and sank another cruiser and two more destroyers. This was the end of the battle. It may well be that Kurita’s mind had become confused by the pressure of events. He had been under constant attack for three days, he had suffered heavy losses, and his flagship had been sunk soon after starting from Borneo. Those who have endured a similar ordeal may judge him.
The Battle of Leyte Gulf was decisive. At a cost to themselves of three carriers, three destroyers, and a submarine the Americans had conquered the Japanese Fleet. The struggle had lasted from October 22 to October 27. Three battleships, four carriers, and twenty other enemy warships had been sunk, and the suicide bomber was henceforward the only effective naval weapon left to the foe. As an instrument of despair it was still deadly, but it carried no hope of victory.
Long should this victory be treasured in American history. Apart from valour, skill, and daring, it shed a light on the future more vivid and far-reaching than any we had seen. It shows a battle fought less with guns than by predominance in the air. I have told the tale fully because at the time it was almost unknown to the harassed European world. Perhaps the most important single conclusion to be derived from study of these events is the vital need for unity of command in conjoint operations of this kind in place of the concept of control by co-operation such as existed between MacArthur and Halsey at this time. The Americans learnt this lesson, and in the final operations planned against the homeland of Japan they intended that supreme command should be exercised by either Admiral Nimitz or General MacArthur, as might be advisable at any given moment.
In the following weeks the fight for the Philippines spread and grew. By the end of November nearly a quarter of a million Americans had landed in Leyte, and by mid-December Japanese resistance was broken. MacArthur pressed on with his main advance, and soon landed without opposition on Mindoro Island, little more than a hundred miles from Manila itself. On January 9, 1945, a new phase opened with the landing of four divisions in Lingayen Gulf, north of Manila, which had been the scene of the major Japanese invasion three years before. Elaborate deception measures kept the enemy guessing where the blow would fall. It came as a surprise and was only lightly opposed. As the Americans thrust towards Manila resistance stiffened, but they made two more landings on the west coast and surrounded the city. A desperate defence held out until early March, when the last survivors were killed. Sixteen thousand Japanese dead were counted in the ruins. Attacks by suicide aircraft were now inflicting considerable losses, sixteen ships being hit in a single day. The cruiser Australia was again unlucky, being hit five times in four days, but stayed in action. This desperate expedient however caused no check to the fleets. In mid-January Admiral Halsey’s carriers broke unmolested into the South China Sea, ranging widely along the coast and attacking airfields and shipping as far west as Saigon. At Hong Kong on January 16 widespread damage was inflicted, and great oil fires were started at Canton.
Although fighting in the islands continued for several months, command of the South China seas had already passed to the victor, and with it control of the oil and other supplies on which Japan depended.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE LIBERATION OF WESTERN EUROPE
GENERAL EISENHOWER, in accordance with previous and agreed arrangements, assumed direct command of the land forces in Northern France on September 1. These comprised the British Twenty-first Army Group, under Field-Marshal Montgomery, and the American Twelfth Army Group, under General Omar Bradley, whose operations Montgomery had hitherto controlled. He wielded more than thirty-seven divisions, or over half a million fighting men, and this great array was driving before it the remnants of the German armies in the West, who were harassed day and night by our dominating air forces. The enemy were still about seventeen divisions strong, but until they could re-form and were reinforced there was little fight left in most of them. General Speidel, Rommel’s former Chief of Staff, has described their plight:
An orderly retreat became impossible. The Allied motorised armies surrounded the slow and exhausted German foot divisions in separate groups and smashed them up.… There were no German ground forces of any importance that could be thrown in, and next to nothing in the air.*
Eisenhower planned to thrust north-eastwards in the greatest possible strength and to the utmost limit of his supplies. The main effort was to be made by the British Twenty-first Army Group, whose drive along the Channel coast would not only overrun the launching sites of the flying bomb, but also take Antwerp. Without the vast harbour of this city no advance across the lower Rhine and into the plains of Northern Germany was possible. The Twelfth U.S. Army Group was also to pursue the enemy, its First Army keeping abreast of the British, while the remainder, bearing eastwards towards Verdun and the upper Meuse, would prepare to strike towards the Saar.
Montgomery made two counter-proposals, one in late August that his Army Group and the Twelfth U.S. Army Group should strike north together with a solid mass of nearly forty divisions, and the second on September 4, that only one thrust should be made, either towards the Ruhr or the Saar. Whichever was chosen the forces should be given
all the resources and maintenance they needed. He urged that the rest of the front should be restrained for the benefit of the major thrust, which should be placed under one commander, himself or Bradley as the case might be. He believed it would probably reach Berlin, and considered that the Ruhr was better than the Saar.
But Eisenhower held to his plan. Germany still had reserves in the homeland, and he believed that if a relatively small force were thrust far ahead across the Rhine it would play into the enemy’s hands. He thought it was better for the Twenty-first Army Group to make every effort to get a bridgehead over the Rhine, while the Twelfth advanced as far as they could against the Siegfried Line.
Strategists may long debate these issues.
The discussion caused no check in the pursuit. The number of divisions that could be sustained, and the speed and range of their advance, depended however entirely on harbours, transport, and supplies. Relatively little ammunition was being used, but food, and above all petrol, governed every movement. Cherbourg and the “Mulberry” harbour at Arromanches were the only ports we had, and these were daily being left farther behind. The front line was still sustained from Normandy, and each day about 20,000 tons of supplies had to be carried over ever-increasing distances, together with much material for mending roads and bridges and for building airfields. The Brittany ports, when captured, would be even more remote, but the Channel ports from Havre northwards, and especially Antwerp, if we could capture it before it was too seriously damaged, were prizes of vital consequence.
Antwerp was thus the immediate aim of Montgomery’s Army Group, which now had its first chance to show its mobility. The 11th Armoured Division captured the commander of the Seventh German Army at his breakfast in Amiens on August 31. The frontier towns so well known to the British Expeditionary Force of 1940, and, at least by name, to their predecessors a quarter of a century before—Arras, Douai, Lille, and many others—were soon reached. Brussels, hastily evacuated by the Germans, was entered by the Guards Armoured Division on September 3, and, as everywhere in Belgium, our troops had a splendid welcome and were much helped by the well-organised Resistance. Thence the Guards turned east for Louvain, and the 11th Armoured entered Antwerp on September 4, where, to our surprise and joy, they found the harbour almost intact. So swift had been the advance—over 200 miles in under four days—that the enemy had been run off their legs and given no time for their usual and thorough demolition.
But our ships could only reach Antwerp through the winding, difficult estuary of the Scheldt, and the Germans held both banks. Hard and costly operations were needed to expel them, and the task fell principally on General Crerar’s First Canadian Army.* Much depended on their success. By the 9th they had cleared all the Pas de Calais, with its flying-bomb launching sites. The Channel ports, Dieppe, Boulogne, Calais, Dunkirk, were either seized or invested. Havre, with a garrison over 11,000 strong, resisted fiercely, and in spite of bombardment from the sea by 15-inch guns, and more than 10,000 tons of bombs from the air, did not surrender till September 12. The Polish Armoured Division captured Ghent, only forty miles from Antwerp itself. Of course, this pace could not last. The forward leap was over and the check was now evident.
But there was still the chance of crossing the lower Rhine. Eisenhower thought this prize so valuable that he gave it priority over clearing the shores of the Scheldt estuary and opening the port of Antwerp. To renew Montgomery’s effort Eisenhower gave him additional American transport and air supply. The First Airborne Army, under the American General Brereton, stood ready to strike from England and Montgomery resolved to seize a bridgehead at Arnhem. The 82nd U.S. Division was to capture the bridges at Nijmegen and Grave, while the 101st U.S. Division secured the road from Grave to Eindhoven. The XXXth Corps, led by the Guards Armoured Division, would force their way up the road to Eindhoven and thence to Arnhem along the “carpet” of airborne troops, hoping to find the bridges over the three major water obstacles already safely in their hands.
The preparations for this daring stroke, by far the greatest operation of its kind yet attempted, were complicated and urgent, because the enemy were growing stronger every day. It is remarkable that they were completed by the set date, September 17. There were not sufficient aircraft to carry the whole airborne force simultaneously, and the movement had to be spread over three days. However, on the 17th the leading elements of the three divisions were well and truly taken to their destinations by the fine work of the Allied air forces. The 101st U.S. Division accomplished most of their task, but a canal bridge on the road to Eindhoven was blown and they did not capture the town till the 18th. The 82nd U.S. Division also did well, but could not seize the main bridge at Nijmegen.
From Arnhem the news was scarce, but it seemed that some of our Parachute Regiment had established themselves at the north end of the bridge. The Guards Armoured Division began to advance in the afternoon up the Eindhoven road, preceded by an artillery barrage and rocket-firing planes, and protected by a Corps on either flank. The road was obstinately defended, and the Guards did not reach the Americans till the afternoon of the 18th. German attacks against the narrow salient began next day and grew in strength. The 101st Division had great difficulty in keeping the road open. At times traffic had to be stopped until the enemy were beaten off. By now the news from Arnhem was bad. Our parachutists still held the northern end of the bridge, but the enemy remained in the town, and the rest of the 1st British Airborne Division, which had landed to the west, failed to break in and reinforce them.
The canal was bridged on the 18th, and early next morning the Guards had a clear run to Grave, where they found the 82nd U.S. Division. By nightfall they were close to the strongly defended Nijmegen bridge, and on the 20th there was a tremendous struggle for it. The Americans crossed the river west of the town, swung right, and seized the far end of the railway bridge. The Guards charged across the road bridge. The defenders were overwhelmed and both bridges were taken intact.
There remained the last lap to Arnhem, where bad weather had hampered the fly-in of reinforcements, food, and ammunition, and the 1st Airborne were in desperate straits. Unable to reach their bridge, the rest of the division was confined to a small perimeter on the northern bank and endured violent assaults. Every possible effort was made from the southern bank to rescue them, but the enemy were too strong. The Guards, the 43rd Division, the Polish Parachute Brigade, dropped near the road, all failed in gallant attempts at rescue. For four more days the struggle went on, in vain. On the 25th Montgomery ordered the survivors of the gallant 1st Airborne back. They had to cross the fast-flowing river at night in small craft and under close-range fire. By daybreak about 2,400 men out of the original 10,000 were safely on our bank.
Heavy risks were taken in the Battle of Arnhem, but they were justified by the great prize so nearly in our grasp. Had we been more fortunate in the weather, which turned against us at critical moments and restricted our mastery in the air, it is probable that we should have succeeded. No risks daunted the brave men, including the Dutch Resistance, who fought for Arnhem, and it was not till I returned from Canada, where the glorious reports had flowed in, that I was able to understand all that had happened. General Smuts was grieved at what seemed to be a failure, and I telegraphed: “As regards Arnhem, I think you have got the position a little out of focus. The battle was a decided victory, but the leading division, asking, quite rightly, for more, was given a chop. I have not been afflicted by any feeling of disappointment over this and am glad our commanders are capable of running this kind of risk.”
Clearing the Scheldt estuary and opening the port of Antwerp was now given first priority. During the last fortnight of September a number of preliminary actions had set the stage. Breskens “island”, defended by an experienced German division, proved tough, and there was heavy fighting to cross the Leopold Canal. The hard task of capturing South Beveland was undertaken by the 2nd Canadian Division, which forced its way westwards through large areas of floo
ding, their men often waist-deep in water. They were helped by the greater part of the 52nd Division, who were ferried across the Scheldt and landed on the southern shore. By the end of the month, after great exertions, the whole isthmus was captured. In four weeks of battle, during which the 2nd Tactical Air Force, under Air Marshal Coningham, gave them conspicuous support, they took no fewer than 12,500 German prisoners, who were anything but ready to surrender. Thus all was set for the Walcheren attack.
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The island of Walcheren is shaped like a saucer and rimmed by sand-dunes which stop the sea from flooding the central plain. At the western edge, near Westkapelle, is a gap in the dunes where the sea is held by a great dyke, thirty feet high and over a hundred yards wide at the base. The garrison of nearly 10,000 men was installed in strong artificial defences, and supported by about thirty batteries of artillery. Anti-tank obstacles, mines, and wire abounded, for the enemy had had four years in which to fortify the gateway to Antwerp.
Early in October the Royal Air Force struck the first blow. In a series of brilliant attacks they blew a great gap, nearly four hundred yards across, in the Westkapelle dyke. Through it poured the sea, flooding all the centre of the saucer and drowning such defences and batteries as lay within. But the most formidable emplacements and obstacles were on the saucer’s rim. The attack was concentric. The main stroke was launched by three Marine Commandos. As they approached the naval bombarding squadron opened fire. Here were H.M.S. Warspite and the two 15-inch-gun monitors Erebus and Roberts, with a squadron of armed landing-craft. These latter came close inshore, and, despite harsh casualties, kept up their fire until the two leading Commandos were safely ashore. The whole of the artillery of the IInd Canadian Corps, firing across the water from the Breskens shore, was brought to bear against powerful enemy guns embedded in concrete, and rocket-firing aircraft attacked the embrasures. In the gathering darkness No. 48 Commando killed or captured the defenders. Next morning it pressed on and by midday No. 47 took up the attack, and, with a weakening defence, reached the outskirts of Flushing. On November 3 they joined hands with No. 4 Commando after its stiff house-to-house fighting in the town. In a few days the whole island was in our hands, with 8,000 prisoners.
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