Defeat Into Victory

by Field-Marshal Viscount William Slim

  After an anxious two or three weeks, the situation in Bengal was well in hand, although that in Bihar was still far from happy. The Japanese had made no move, for in actual fact they had heard little or nothing of the disturbances until long afterwards. It would have been a great relief to me to have known that, but at the time, I am afraid, we rather overestimated the efficiency of the Japanese intelligence. By the end of August we were able to carry out our exchange of locations with Eastern Army Headquarters, and we moved to Ranchi without incident.

  The Ranchi plateau was almost ideal for the training we needed. Its climate was vastly preferable to the steaming heat of Bengal, malaria was much less, and the tawdry distractions of Calcutta were absent. There were great areas of jungle, wide stretches of more open country, and rivers and streams of all sizes. Here, as the first instalment of the new 15 Corps, we took over the 70th British Division, 50 Armoured Brigade, and some corps units. The division was still spread about Bihar dealing with the rebellion, which, though it kept on flaring up in odd places, was coming increasingly under control. The civil administration of the province had been badly shaken. While some of the district officials had tackled a most alarming situation with resolution, others had allowed their areas to slip completely out of their grasp. The police, too, on whom so much depended, gave me the impression of having been grievously neglected. Even their uniforms were in such a state that I gave them some hundreds of pairs of khaki shorts. A policeman with his shirt showing through the seat of his trousers is at a disadvantage in his attempts to uphold the majesty of the law. Apart from this the lot of the Indian policeman was a particularly unhappy one. He was called upon to suppress and jail the very people whom he shrewdly and rightly suspected would tomorrow be the Government and have absolute control of his and his family’s fate. The astonishing thing is, not that there were some mutinies and troubles in the police, but that so many remained true to their salt.

  Gradually the rebellion subsided into sporadic attacks on isolated stations and attempts to derail trains. A practical preventive to these outrages was found by enforcing village responsibility under which the inhabitants living along the railway guarded their own local stretches of line. They were willing to do this provided there were troops in the neighbourhood and that they were rewarded promptly for any success they achieved. British soldiers, as usual, proved the best of peace-makers. In spite of one or two nasty incidents in which a few of them were murdered, they kept their tempers admirably and were soon on good terms with the population. Civil power was slowly re-established, still rather shaky in places, and the 70th Division collected again for training.

  Meanwhile, we had really got down to training ourselves—the Corps Headquarters. As a battle fighting headquarters it was neither mobile nor efficient, and we had to make it both. I think we got most fun from making it mobile. First we had to make the individuals who composed it, staff officers, signallers, cooks, clerks, mess waiters, and menials, themselves mobile. Physical training started the day, with route marches increasing in length and toughness as time went on, varied by a little brisk drill under selected instructors from the 70th Division. At first, protests, mainly from the Indian clerical establishment, were indignant and vigorous. Our worthy babus averred that:

  (1) In many years of honourable service they had never been subjected to such an indignity as parades.

  (2) The drill instructors were harsh men who used rude words.

  (3) The exhaustion consequent on these warlike goings-on rendered them incapable of performing their clerical duties.

  (4) If compelled to continue this violent exercise, all the internal organs of their bodies—enumerated with unblushing detail—would cease to function and they would indubitably die.

  (5) Their boots would wear out.

  On the third morning before a route march the whole of the Indian clerks of one section of the headquarters paraded sick, complaining of divers obscure but incapacitating aches, pains, and distresses. I told the doctor attending them that, whatever was or was not the matter with them now, I relied on him to see that they really did feel ill within the next couple of hours. What dismal drench he administered I do not know, but, pale and shaken, they were on parade next morning. When I asked how they felt and inquired whether they would not like to see the doctor again, they assured me most earnestly that they were in no further need of medical attention.

  It had been vividly impressed on me during the Retreat from Burma that in the jungle there are no non-combatants, so, with this physical toughening, we introduced weapon training for everybody. The whole headquarters from the Corps Commander downwards went through qualifying courses in rifle, pistol, Bren gun, bayonet, mortar, and grenade. I was not much good with the Bren gun, but kept my end up with the other weapons. My Gurkha orderly, Bajbir, when I ordered him to parade at the rifle range protested:

  ‘What me!’

  ‘Yes, you.’

  ‘Me! On a range to shoot at a paper target?’

  ‘Yes, on a range, at a target.’

  ‘But I’ve killed five Japs!’

  All the same he paraded with the rest of us. He was a superb shot, and, having scored near possibles in all positions, at all ranges, and with all weapons, he was mollified by being made an instructor.

  After the first month there were no attempts to avoid parades, and everyone took a pride in toughness and soldierly skill. The efforts of some, handicapped by nature and years of soft and sedentary living, may have been pathetic, but they were gallant. As one of the British N.C.O.s said of a babu, ‘ ’Is feet’s horful, sir, but ’is ’eart’s all right!’ The physical effect on the men was plainly noticeable; not only did they look cleaner, fitter, and healthier, but they moved with the brisk and confident carriage of men sure of themselves. We began to get a very good feel about headquarters.

  Having got the individuals mobile, it remained to achieve the mobility of the headquarters as a unit. The first step towards this was to limit the number of lorries allotted to each section for its baggage, tentage, office equipment, and messes, to an essential minimum. Heartrending appeals to increase these allotments were sternly refused. The next step was to order everything to be packed in ‘yakdans’, those leather-covered boxes, fitted with rings and chains, that can be slung one on each side of a pack saddle. This ensured that, not only was no superfluous equipment carried, but that all the impedimenta of Corps Headquarters could, without repacking, be loaded at once on to either trucks, boats, aeroplanes, or even mule transport. We were, I knew, likely to use all these, and change rapidly from one to the other. The accumulation of paper at any headquarters has to be seen to be realized. Every fortnight each section was ordered to sort its papers and destroy everything not essential. My order, rigidly enforced, was, ‘When in doubt, burn.’ We constantly practised moving until the drill for it was thoroughly mastered; we could pack in a couple of hours and open up a properly camouflaged working headquarters in the bush in less. A large part of headquarters I kept permanently in tents and we frequently moved out into the jungle for several days at a time. At last, even Tony Scott was compelled to admit we were mobile. If we were, it was largely thanks to him.

  Making ourselves mobile, essential as it was, was only one step towards being operationally efficient. Most of our junior staff officers were only partially trained, our clerks had a lamentably low standard of efficiency, our mess staff left much to be desired, and our signals needed a great deal of attention. Courses were held for staff officers, classes for clerks. Those of us who had wives in India were able to get them to Ranchi, and they at once set to work, in hospitals, canteens, or at any job required, including instruction in shorthand and typewriting.

  The operational efficiency of our organization was based on two nerve centres—the War Room and the Information Room. In the War Room, where the Second Grade Operational Staff Officer reigned supreme, there were throughout the twenty-four hours always on duty an operational and an intelligence officer. T
he War Room had also, either present or at immediate call, an administrative staff officer and a Royal Air Force representative. All signals both in and out came straight to the War Room, where one copy was posted on the appropriate board, others went direct to the branches of the staff concerned for action, and, unless really secret or not of general interest, a final copy went to the Information Room. Admission to the War Room was, of course, restricted to the principal staff officers and heads of branches, who could at any time bring themselves completely up to date on the situation and the activities of other departments from the signals and the marked maps. The Information Room, on the other hand, was open to all ranks. It was divided into two sections, one dealing with the operations of the corps, and its immediate neighbours, the other with more distant fronts and the war in general. It played a large part in keeping even the most subordinate in touch with events. I had long ago decided that any risk of leakage from such a source was more than outweighed by the increased keenness and intelligence developed by this feeling of being in the know. There was nothing very original in any of this, although we had to work out most of it for ourselves by experiment. We tested our system pretty thoroughly in exercises and manœuvres and assured ourselves it worked. I doubt if any headquarters ever had harder or more intensive training, and I am sure no body of men could have responded to it more wholeheartedly and effectively. Within three months we were a mobile and efficient fighting headquarters, very different from the static and rather stodgy crowd who had left Calcutta.

  As the 70th Division, under Major-General George Symes, reassembled around Ranchi, I was able to get to know it well. It was one of the best British formations I have met, with a magnificent battle-hardened spirit gained in the Middle East. It was a tragedy that it was never allowed to fight in Burma as a division. I found also in Ranchi many of the Indian units that had been in the 1st Burma Division of the Retreat, now formed into the 39th Indian Division. Not long afterwards, however, this division was taken from 15 Corps to become a training division. We had, too, a Special Training brigade used to test new organizations and tactics suggested by the experiences of 1942. It had a battalion of Indian infantry mounted on ponies and another in jeeps, in the attempt to solve the problem of jungle mobility. Eventually it abandoned its experimental role and joined a normal division. 50 Tank Brigade, equipped with Valentines, was the corps armoured formation, and I liked the look of it very much. With these four formations, and an increasingly alive Corps Headquarters, we began serious training.

  This training was based on a short memorandum I had drawn up, giving what I considered to have been the tactical lessons of the 1942 campaign. The chief of these were:

  (i) The individual soldier must learn, by living, moving, and exercising in it, that the jungle is neither impenetrable nor unfriendly. When he has once learned to move and live in it, he can use it for concealment, covered movement, and surprise.

  (ii) Patrolling is the master key to jungle fighting. All units, not only infantry battalions, must learn to patrol in the jungle, boldly, widely, cunningly, and offensively.

  (iii) All units must get used to having Japanese parties in their rear, and, when this happens, regard not themselves, but the Japanese, as ‘surrounded’.

  (iv) In defence, no attempt should be made to hold long continuous lines. Avenues of approach must be covered and enemy penetration between our posts dealt with at once by mobile local reserves who nave completely reconnoitred the country.

  (v) There should rarely be frontal attacks and never frontal attacks on narrow fronts. Attacks should follow hooks and come in from flank or rear, while pressure holds the enemy in front.

  (vi) Tanks can be used in almost any country except swamp. In close country they must always have infantry with them to defend and reconnoitre for them. They should always be used in the maximum numbers available and capable of being deployed. Whenever possible penny packets must be avoided. ‘The more you use, the fewer you lose.’

  (vii) There are no non-combatants in jungle warfare. Every unit and sub-unit, including medical ones, is responsible for its own all-round protection, including patrolling, at all times.

  (viii) If the Japanese are allowed to hold the initiative they are formidable. When we have it, they are confused and easy to kill. By mobility away from roads, surprise, and offensive action we must regain and keep the initiative.

  These were the lessons I had learnt from defeat and I do not think I changed them in any essential throughout the rest of the war. There was, however, one big omission, as I gave them to 15 Corps. I did not mention air supply. This was intentional. Most of us had long ago recognized that air transport could solve some of our worst problems, but as yet we had no transport aircraft. My experience was—and is—that it only does harm to talk to troops about new and desirable equipment which others may have but which you cannot give them. It depresses them. So I made no mention of air transport until we could get at least some of it.

  The troops lived in tents or bashas, the bamboo huts, thatched with leaves, that were so familiar to us. Reasonably cool and certainly airy, they were pleasant enough in dry weather, but far from waterproof in wet. The aboriginal tribes of the Ranchi plateau were a friendly race of excellent physique. Their men made our roads, and their young women provided most of the labour for our camps. On my first visit to a camp under construction, I was startled to find, working among the troops, gangs of these cheerful girls, most of whom wore nothing above the waist. I was more than a little apprehensive of the results of such a display of dusky but by no means unattractive femininity. It says much for both parties, the girls and the soldiers, that there was practically no trouble of any kind. Later a Bihar regiment was raised, and when I inspected it in Burma, where it did well, and complimented the men on their appearance, one of them laughingly replied, ‘Ah, but, sahib, you should see our women!’ I told him I had and admired them. A friendly, cheerful, free people who deserve to remain so.

  In our training we had as neighbours our old friends, the Chinese. Sun’s sorely tried 38th and the remnants of Liao’s 22nd Chinese Division had been collected after the Retreat at Ramgarh, some forty miles from Ranchi. In spite of their reduced state, Stilwell, indomitable as ever, planned to raise on this nucleus, a strong, well-equipped Chinese force of several divisions that would re-enter Northern Burma and open a road to China. Only Stilwell believed that was both possible and worth the resources it would demand. The Chinese themselves were by no means enthusiastically co-operative; the Indian Government, not without justification, felt considerable apprehension at the prospect of thousands of Chinese about the countryside. With a few notable exceptions, the Americans had little confidence in anybody—in the Chinese, in the British, or in Stilwell.

  Stilwell was magnificent. He forced Chang Kai-shek to provide the men; he persuaded India to accept a large Chinese force, and the British to pay for it, accommodate, feed, and clothe it. The American ‘Ferry Command’ then flew thirteen thousand Chinese from Kunming over ‘The Hump’, the great mountain range between Assam and China, to airfields in the Brahmaputra Valley, whence they came by rail to Ramgarh. This was the first large-scale troop movement by air in the theatre and was an outstanding achievement. The young American pilots of the Hump should be remembered with admiration and gratitude by their countrymen and their allies.

  The two Chinese divisions were reconstituted. Good food, medical care, and regular pay achieved wonders. I have never seen men recover condition as quickly as those Chinese soldiers. Intensive training, under picked American instructors, began on mass-production methods, which were most effective. I was very impressed by the rapid progress of the infantry who were converted to artillery, and who in an astonishingly short time were turned into serviceable pack batteries. No doubt they were apt pupils, but the major credit went to their teachers, under Colonel Sliney, one of the best artillery instructors any army has produced. Everywhere was Stilwell, urging, leading, driving.

  I
saw a good deal of Sun and Liao, as well as a number of Chinese regimental and battalion commanders whom I had met in Burma. The mass system of instruction left these senior Chinese officers little to do but watch their men being trained by the American experts, and they feared a loss of face. Sun, I think, especially felt this, but when I advised him to make the best of it and reap the benefit later, he was too sensible not to agree. If it surprised us to see our Chinese friends coming on at such a rate, it had an even greater effect on the Americans themselves, an effect which spread even to their headquarters in Delhi. At last they began to catch some of Stilwell’s faith and to believe that the Chinese could, with training, equipping, and leadership, be made fit to fight the Japanese.

  Some weeks later another division, the 7th Indian, joined 15 Corps. It had not been tried in war, but there was a freshness and a keenness in all it did, which received an imaginative lead from its new commander, Major-General Frank Messervy. He had been chief staff officer of the 5th Indian Division when I had been a brigade commander in it, and later with his audacious Gazelle Force in East Africa he had made a great name for hunting the Italians. He had had his ups and downs as a divisional commander in the Middle East, but I welcomed him as an offensively minded leader, steadied by experience and misfortune in a hard school.