Kohima
Page 18
Lieut.-Colonel Garwood, the C.R.E., had now received Grover’s permission to try and bulldoze a track up the southern face of I.G.H. Spur. (His first plan, it will be remembered, had been turned down flat.) On the morning of the 28th, the Dorsets were delighted to see a giant bulldozer arrive, protected by a Lee tank fore and aft. These drove round the Jap positions, selected their spot, then began cutting into the steep slope. After some hours a rough track had been made to the top, and the bulldozer backed down so that the sappers could fix a chain. Then, with a roar and a great churning of mud, the bulldozer tried to pull the tank up the track. For a while he had some success; but then, for some reason, the bulldozer driver had to climb down and make an adjustment to his blade and the tank chose this moment to go into reverse. Like a crazy monster, it swept downhill, pulling the bulldozer with it; then the chain snapped and the bulldozer went crashing down on its own till it was completely wrecked. Another effort had come to nothing. Squatting in the foul stench of their bunkers around the tennis court, the Japanese were no doubt delighted.
On the left flank, with 5th Brigade, things didn’t go too well either. The patrol of the Lancashire Fusiliers which was leading the operation soon ran into trouble on the jungle-covered slopes of Firs Hill, and commanding officer, Willie West, had to commit a company. Coming under light machine-gun fire, the company dealt with the enemy posts successfully and made good progress to within 150 yards of the top of the hill. West, therefore, decided to send a second company in support, and then to close the rest of the battalion forward. But, as things turned out, this decision was a bit too precipitous. Hawkins writes: ‘The last 150 yards to the top were covered with very thick bamboo through which visibility was nil, and the original delay to the patrol caused by the snipers had given the Japs time to man their positions along the crest.’ From his O.P., Hawkins could see what was happening, as there was a bald patch near the top of the hill across which the enemy could be seen streaming. West then called up Hawkins on the radio to say that if only he could have some artillery support, he thought he could still reach his objective. Hawkins, it will be recalled, had been warned that no guns would be available for this operation, but with the Lancashire Fusiliers pinned down, he asked Lieut.-Colonel Harry Grenfell to see what he could do. Grenfell immediately radioed the C.R.A., Brigadier Burke, who switched a couple of batteries to the task. But first they had to range, as the country was difficult; and to make sure that they didn’t get hit while this was going on, the Fusiliers had to be pulled back from positions they’d already gained. However, after a while, the gunners came on to tell Grenfell that they’d finished ranging, and zero hour and a hurriedly contrived plan were agreed. The gunners were to soften up the top of the hill, and the 150 yards leading up to it, then the Fusiliers were to go in as fast as they could before the Japs had clambered back into their fire positions.
But it didn’t work. To quote Hawkins again: ‘The bamboo was so thick that the Fusiliers couldn’t get in quick enough, and when they started forward met heavy opposition.’ The Japs, it now appeared, had followed up the withdrawal of the Fusiliers, and sited a strong screen of snipers and machine-gun posts in the bamboo. These steadily shot off the officers, five being wounded and five killed. However, the men pressed on steadfastly, and in places advanced to within twenty-five yards of the top, where they met fire from the main bunkers. West called up Hawkins again, to tell him that he might still take the objective, but at the cost of many more casualties; and even then he wasn’t sure he could hold it at night. After some discussion, Hawkins gave the order to withdraw. The total casualties were fifteen killed and forty-four wounded. Though the Japs undoubtedly lost some men also, their position was still intact.
The 28th, incidentally, was the Emperor’s birthday. Prisoners captured a few days previously had said that it would be marked by a general offensive along the whole ridge, and all troops were warned. In fact, the attacks, though supported by artillery and mortar fire, were limited in scope and were directed against the sector held by the Royal Berkshires. In places they succeeded in penetrating the positions, and the Berkshires were forced to get out of their trenches to start fighting with the bayonet. During the confusion, a company commander rang up battalion headquarters to say that a party of Japanese had invaded his cookhouse, where they were ‘throwing tins about and howling fiendishly’. Colonel Bickford replied shortly that he should ‘get in and deal with them’; but the company commander reported that his whole headquarters had been wounded, except for himself and a signaller. Nothing much could be done till daylight; but then a party hunted down all the Japs who had penetrated the perimeter and shot them. At this juncture a solitary Japanese came out from his hidey-hole and stood in the open, screaming defiance and staggering drunkenly towards the troops now facing him. For a moment the Berkshires looked on silently at this strange spectacle, this pathetic ending to the Emperor’s birthday. Then someone let off a burst, the screaming stopped, and the Jap sank to the ground.
Whether Mutaguchi attended any birthday celebrations at Maymyo isn’t known; but he did send a signal to Sato, cancelling his order to send three battalions to Kanglatongbi. Sato was therefore spared any immediate threat of disciplinary action; but Mutaguchi made it quite clear that he hadn’t forgiven him for his gross disobedience. However, forgiveness was not what Sato needed at this precise moment; he needed food, ammunition and medical supplies. And still they didn’t come.
*
On the right flank, the 4th Brigade column were still struggling through the jungle on the foothills of Pulebadze. In three days of heartbreaking exertion and labour, they had covered territory which on the map amounted to about four miles. For the last twenty-four hours, the rain had been adding to their torments, soaking them to the skin, and rendering the tracks treacherous and slippery. Often they weren’t negotiable at all by men carrying heavy loads, and the S.S. Company had to fix toggle ropes to the trees and haul them up. By the 29th the whole column was so exhausted that Brigadier Goschen decided to close it up and let the men rest for a day. The site chosen was a valley, lying a mile to the south of Pulebadze, which the Norfolks christened ‘Death Valley’ and the Jocks, with their wry sense of humour, ‘Happy Valley’. It was a vile spot. Everybody was wet to the skin, and tried to sleep ‘on ground that was a quagmire’. One of the Royal Scots recorded: ‘There were among the giant trees, rank shrubs with glaucous leaves so thick on the ground that it was hard for a man to move about.’ Captain Morrison, who was searching for a suitable site for his regimental aid post, ‘dropped through a tangle of bushes into a riverbed below’. ‘What a foul night…’ wrote one of the Jocks. ‘The coldest, dampest, unhappiest night of all—rations not plentiful, and next morning a little breakfast of bully, biscuits and cheese, all mixed up in a mess tin.’ Parts of this foul valley were never touched by the sun, and there the vegetation was dank, fungus-encrusted, and stinking. Some of the fungi were luminous and glowed horribly at night, giving the whole jungle an air of phantasmagoria. The Norfolks, Captain Hornor records, were in a ‘deep jungle-clad cleft, with an icy stream running down it, with such steep sides and so deep that… a perpetual damp mist overhung everything. Where it had been difficult to get a fire going before, here it was nigh impossible and the moss-covered trees and boulders combined with the gloom and cold rain might well have depressed the troops had they allowed it to do so.’ Exhausted though they were, the troops wanted to get on.
John Grover wanted them to get on, too, so that the brigade could be co-ordinated into the major operation he was now planning. As the calendar reminded him, not to mention the Corps Commander, his division had now been in action for twenty days, and it was high time that an offensive was launched against Kohima Ridge. His plan, shortly, was as follows: 6th Brigade were to take F.S.D. Hill, then Jail Hill, aided by tanks which would round the corner by the Dorsets’ position; 5th Brigade would capture Naga Village. And 4th Brigade would occupy Aradura Spur, block the road, then attack G.P.
T. Ridge from the south-west, in co-operation with 161st Brigade, which was to advance from the west, after occupying Two Tree Hill and Congress Hill. Owing to the shortage of artillery ammunition, the gunners were to support 6th Brigade in the centre, and 5th Brigade were to be given ‘Lifebuoys’, the American flame-throwers which had just been received. D-Day was fixed for the 2nd May.
But hardly had the plan been made than it had to be modified, so far as 4th Brigade were concerned. Grover learned that the position regarding the transport aircraft (which would be needed to supply the Brigade later on) was shakier than ever, as Mountbatten was being pressed hard to send the planes he had borrowed from the Mediterranean back again. Some rugged horse-trading was going on between the British and the Americans, between the soldiers and the politicians, and what would happen was anyone’s guess. But one thing was quite clear: all the aircraft which remained would be needed for the lift to Imphal. The only sensible solution, therefore, was to order 4th Brigade to head direct for G.P.T. Ridge, or as direct as Mount Pulebadze would allow. This decision was signalled to Brigadier Goschen on the morning of the 29th and immediately patrols went forward to reconnoitre routes and cut tracks.
While 4th Brigade were resting, and 5th Brigade were patrolling and wondering how on earth they’d capture Firs Hill, the Royal Welch Fusiliers of 6th Brigade made their way into the Kohima perimeter to relieve the Durham Light Infantry. Since the siege had been lifted, the area had been subject to a further eleven days of bombardment, desperate hand-to-hand fighting, and bloodshed, and like everyone seeing it for the first time the Welshmen weren’t favourably impressed. The leading companies had to crawl, an officer recorded, ‘through the shallow, muddy communication trenches to take over the forward dug-outs and foxholes… coming under occasional fire from snipers overlooking the area.… It was strewn with empty cartridge cases, ammunition boxes and abandoned equipment—the debris of earlier fights which there had been as yet no chance to clear up. The most lasting impression of all was caused by the stench of decaying bodies, half buried or lying in the open between the lines. In some of the slit trenches, rotting bodies of Japanese were used to form the protective parapet…. Space was so limited that dug-outs, latrines, cookhouses and graves were all close together. It was almost impossible to dig anywhere without uncovering either a grave or a latrine….’ During the hours of daylight it was now possible to carry up supplies of ammunition, wire, water and food from the road, but the garrison still had to rely a good deal on air-drops. ‘In the late afternoon some half a dozen Dakotas, flying in line ahead, would come up the valley, circle low round Garrison Hill, and release their many-coloured parachutes. A good few of the precious parachutes drifted away to the enemy’s lines… some lodged in the trees.’ Great care had to be taken to get the latter down, because of snipers. A favourite method was to keep shooting at the cords, or the branches of the trees, till they came down. Altogether the troops at this period were never short of food or ammunition. Some loads were dropped without parachutes, notably tins of chloride of lime, intended to deal with the plague of flies which were breeding on the dead bodies. If any of these free-drop loads hit anyone it was certain death, so there was a good deal of scampering about as they came down, ‘to land in a cloud of choking white powder’. The silk parachutes themselves were very much coveted as they provided cover and warmth, in the absence of blankets. Some troops even lined the walls and floors of their dug-outs with them, making curtained doorways, so that they looked more like miniature harems than anything else. When the Royal Welch Fusiliers first joined the garrison, water was still rationed to a pint a day, very much as it had been during the siege, and washing and shaving were still forbidden. Thanks to the R.A.F., the ration was gradually increased to three pints; but even so it all went ‘for brewing up’.
Lieut.-Colonel Garwood and his sappers, aided by a Major of the R.E.M.E., had yet another go at getting a tank up on to the tennis court, but again they failed. Just at the critical moment the cable broke, then an enemy 37-mm. anti-tank gun opened up and scored a couple of hits. John Grover decided that all attempts to get a medium tank up by this method should be abandoned for the moment. However, the following day, a light tank was got up successfully and fired a number of rounds into the main bunker on the tennis court, before being hit by a Jap anti-tank gun, which damaged the turret traversing gear. But it was quite obvious that the 37-mm. gun wasn’t heavy enough to do any real damage to the bunker.
All day on the 30th the heavy showers continued and the evening closed in with low clouds and mist. The staff supplying 5th Brigade were getting increasingly worried, as the R.A.F. could not possibly drop all their demands, and the tracks up from the Zubza nala were getting worse all the time. The Pathans had stopped leading their mules up the khudside and were now driving them up like cattle. Often the mules would slither down again, crash against the trees, and splinter their bamboo ‘carriers’. Sometimes the loads would come off altogether and go sliding down the valley. By some miracle, the bulk of the supplies kept getting through… though how long this would happen as the monsoon got really going was problematical.
While on the subject of supplies, it may be worth recording the vast bulk and variety of supplies that a brigade requires to keep it in action. Apart from the air-drops, 5th Brigade demanded on the night of the 30th April, and received next morning:
1,600
blankets
100
coils of barbed wire
1,000
gauzes
10
rolls of flannelette
30
suits of battledress
50
cardigans
10
bales of fodder
100
gallons of petrol
50
gallons of high octane
150
razors
160
Indian Type Compo rations
1,000
water-sterilizing outfits
4
drums of mosquito cream
4
drums dubbin
60
rounds 3-inch mortar H.E.
60
rounds 3-inch mortar smoke
20
mule loads of jam and tinned fruit
15
mule loads of vegetables
16
gallons of rum
100
pairs of boots
18
bags of mail
All this by mule-train, across a rain-soaked valley. This may help to explain why in Burma ‘logistics’ [as the Americans called them] always figured largely in any operational planning. It may also explain Slim’s sharp comment to anyone who asked him why he didn’t ‘fling a couple of divisions’ across the Chindwin, or elsewhere. Only amateurs fling divisions… not professional soldiers.’
During the whole of April the bickering by signal had continued between Sato and Mutaguchi. On the 8th, after the latter had signalled ‘Congratulations on your splendid achievement in capturing Kohima,’ Sato replied: ‘It is not your congratulations we want but food and ammunition.’ On the 20th he signalled: ‘We captured Kohima within three weeks as promised. How about Imphal?’ To this Mutaguchi answered: ‘Probable date for capture of Imphal 29th April.’ Sato waited till the 29th had gone by, then on the morning of the 30th signalled: ‘31st Division at the limit of its endurance. When are you going to destroy Imphal?’ To this there was apparently no reply.
*
If April died in a pall of black cloud, May came in with a burst of bright sunshine and blue skies. The staff captain, 5th Brigade, noted: ‘The shadows come racing across the mountains in a never-ending pageant of blues and mauves and deep purples… for wild, dark, lush beauty, there’s nothing to touch Assam.’ He was writing from the viewpoint of Zubza; but the men of 4th Brigade, now sweating it out on the flanks of Pulebadze, no doubt had different views. Through the heavy rains, the going had become so d
ifficult that the 143rd S.S. Company was now having to hack out a route to the Assembly Area through primeval jungle. The slopes were so steep that steps had to be cut and hand rails fixed; and even then loads had to be passed up by a human chain. Progress was cut down to a mile a day. A party from the Royal Norfolk succeeded in getting right on top of Pulebadze, and noted that ‘from here it was possible to see the reverse slopes of the positions which 6th Brigade was fighting hard to recapture, and which were unobserved from any other point. 99th Field Regiment thereupon shot their guns and the Japanese must have wondered how the previously unobserved shooting had suddenly become deadly accurate. The gunners enjoyed themselves.’ The account continues:
‘At over 7,000 feet the air was cold and clear and for once it wasn’t raining, and below the whole battlefield was spread out: Naga Village, Gun Spur, Treasury, Hospital Hill, D.I.S. Ridge, Garrison Hill, Jail Hill, the road running through a cutting between them, and to the southward, Aradura.’
Down below, things weren’t so calm or peaceful. It was now realized that the Nagas couldn’t accompany the column any further, even if they’d been willing, as on their way back to Khonoma the previous evening, a Japanese patrol had attacked them and killed two. Whether surprise had been lost, it was hard to say, but certainly the Nagas couldn’t keep travelling to and from the column on their own. The best hope was that the column would make contact with the road, or someone coming up from the road, before its supplies ran out.
Meanwhile, Brigadier Goschen had selected a feature for the jumping-off place for the assault on G.P.T. Ridge. This was a high pimple, to be known as Oaks Hill, and all day on the 1st May the 143rd S.S. Company were reconnoitring a route to it. But progress was slow; one route proved so precipitous that they had to turn back to find another, and before mid-day it became evident to Goschen that all hopes of taking part in an operation the following day must be abandoned. He therefore signalled Grover that it would be the 3rd May before he’d be ready. Grover accepted his explanation and in turn got on to Stopford. But, though appreciating the difficulties 4th Brigade were under, Stopford wasn’t too pleased at all, and rang up Grover at 10.30 p.m. to say he must get going on the 3rd. The battle could hang fire no longer. ‘A thoroughly depressing day’, Stopford noted in his diary.