The attacks of the first three days shaved the Tortoise bare and cost us many casualties, but they did not shift the Japanese, burrowed deep into the hill, with their cunningly sited, wonderfully concealed, and mutually supporting machine-guns. It was the old problem of the First World War—how to get the infantryman on to his enemy without a pause in the covering fire that kept his enemy’s head down. It was solved in Arakan—and copied throughout the Fourteenth Army—by the tanks firing, first, surface-burst high explosive to clear the jungle, then delay-action high explosive to break up the faces of the bunkers thus exposed, and lastly solid armour-piercing shot as the infantry closed in. With no explosion, the last few yards were safe, if you had first-class tank gunners and infantrymen with steady nerves, who let the shot whistle past their heads and strike a few feet beyond or to one side of them. We had such tank gunners and such infantrymen—and they had the confidence in one another, even when of different races, that was needed. Gradually, bit by bit, Tortoise was nibbled away, until only in its very heart a few desperate Japanese, with a courage that, fanatical or not, was magnificent, still held out.
At this stage Christison swung his punch to the other side of the Mayu Range. Here, in the Kalapanzin Valley, the 7th Indian Division had pushed on until one of its battalions, the King’s Own Scottish Borderers, had audaciously seized a hillock overlooking the main lateral road between the tunnels and Buthidaung. Neither savage counter-attacks nor the point-blank fire of a 155-mm. gun from the tunnels area could dislodge them or the Gurkhas who relieved them. The time had come to seize Buthi-daung, preparatory to the attack on the Letwedet bastion. Over the Ngakyedauk Pass tramped a brigade of the 5th Division to relieve the right brigade of the 7th, and thus provide Messervy with a striking force. Behind it trundled the guns of a medium regiment and the tanks of the Dragoons, leaving behind at Razabil their reserves, to make the enemy believe the armoured regiment was still west of the range. Where the Ngakyedauk Pass road debouched into the valley, a maintenance area for the troops in the Kalapanzin was laid out, with supply depots, ammunition dumps, vehicle parks, and main dressing stations—the famous ‘Administrative Box’.
While 15 Corps thus methodically pounded forward, the Japanese, true to form, were not content to remain on the defensive. Christison and I had been quite sure that sooner or later, and almost certainly before they lost the tunnels fortress, the enemy would stage a counter-attack. For some time now, the signs had been becoming clearer that this would not be a local affair, intended merely to relieve pressure in Arakan, but a much more ambitious and more widely spread effort—something in the nature of a general offensive on the Burma front.
Another factor was appearing in the overall strategy of the theatre. While the resources allotted to us in South-East Asia had been reduced by recalls to Europe, it was becoming evident that the Japanese were greatly increasing their forces in Burma. Throughout the monsoon of 1943 their strength had been four divisions, plus, of course, a considerable number of army and line-of-communication troops. Then a fifth, the 54th from Java, began, as already related, to move into Arakan. A sixth, the 31st, had, we now heard, arrived from Malaya. In November we received intelligence that a seventh, believed to be the 15 th, was marching from Siam over the Takaw Ferry on the Salween River. In addition there were indications of other formations being transferred from the Pacific. At the end of January my intelligence staff, with considerable accuracy as it afterwards appeared, placed the Japanese formations as:
H.Q. Burma Army Area (Lieut.-General Kawabe): Rangoon
54th Division—In and en route Arakan.
55th Division—Arakan, with detachment in Kaladan Valley.
15th Division—Entering Burma from Siam.
5th Air Division—Rangoon and other airfields.
H.Q. 15 Army (Lieut.-General Mutaguchi): Maymyo
56th Division—Yunling facing Yunnan Chinese.
18th Division—Myitkyina facing Ledo Chinese.
These increases were, from the global strategy point of view, satisfactory to us, as they automatically fulfilled the Combined Chiefs of Staff directive to draw off the Japanese forces, and, at least, prevented these divisions being used to reinforce the Pacific theatre. From my point of view as Commander in Burma, however, it began to look as if I was not the only one staging offensives. Lieut.-General Kawabe, my opposite number, who commanded all enemy land and air forces in Burma, was not likely to have his army practically doubled for purely defensive purposes. It would be unlike the Japanese to reinforce anywhere on that scale unless they intended seriously to attack. Other indications were soon forthcoming, which showed that the enemy offensive, when it came, would not be confined to the 15 Corps front, but would involve also 4 Corps on the Central front.
In Arakan itself the signs multiplied. Captured documents told us that a formation of the Indian National Army, the force raised by the Japanese from Indian civilians and prisoners of war under Bose’s puppet government, had been brought up close to the front, east of the Mayu Range. This was significant, as it indicated an intention to advance into India, where the renegades would be used to rouse the population to rebellion. We learnt, also, of the formation of a new Japanese Army Headquarters, the 28th, under Lieut.-General Sakurai Seizo, to control operations in Arakan. Most of this intelligence was collected by our fighting patrols who were showing great skill in surprising Japanese minor headquarters. Conspicuously successful were the raids behind the enemy lines delivered by the Reconnaissance Regiment of the 81st West African Division. This unit developed to a high degree the technique of small amphibious commando operations. One of its coastal raids in January identified what up till then had been the missing regiment of the Japanese 55th Division which we had thought to be in the Pacific. Its arrival from that theatre was another pointer to enemy intentions in Burma.
About the middle of January I flew to Arakan, landing on a newly-made advanced airstrip. As hostile aircraft had been reported, I had an escort of four Hurricanes which circled round as my plane taxied to shelter. Suddenly one of them fired a burst into the Hurricane ahead of it. The pilot was killed and the machine crashed. The airman who had fired had shot down one of his best friends and could give no explanation except that he saw the other machine in his sights, and, forgetting that he had a gun instead of a camera, pressed the trigger. I wonder there were not more of these tragic accidents when our young pilots were under such strain.
I spent several days going round the Arakan front, watching the operations of both divisions, inspecting the Administrative Box, and discussing the future with Christison and his commanders. It was clear that the enemy counter-stroke in Arakan would not be long delayed, and, while it was difficult to judge in what strength it would come, we both agreed it would take the form of an outflanking attack on the 7th Divisions left. Christison was at the time beginning the transfer of his weight to the east of the range. This reinforcing of the 7th Division suited well with our ideas of the enemy’s intentions and it was continued. At the same time Christison warned the V Force posts screening the left to be particularly alert, and for patrolling on that flank to be intensified to obtain warning of any hostile moves. Christison and I agreed that if any 15 Corps troops were cut off they would stand fast. I promised that, when necessary, they would be supplied by air and that they would be relieved by our counter-attacking forces, with whom they were to co-operate by taking the offensive themselves at the first opportunity.
When I left Messervy’s headquarters east of the range, and drove through the Ngakyedauk Pass on my way to the airstrip at 15 Corps at the end of my visit, Japanese fighters were beginning to come over in formations of up to a hundred at a time. This challenge to our air force was clearly the opening move of the enemy counter-stroke. It was heartening to see how our fellows took it up. Our Spitfires, much inferior in numbers, fairly laced into the Zeros and began most effectively to knock them out of the sky. While these whirlwind dog-fights streaked about high in the clear air,
our reconnaissance Hurricanes kept up their steady patrols. I was impressed by the conduct of a reconnaissance squadron of the Indian Air Force. Flying in pairs, the Indian pilots in their outmoded Hurricanes went out, time and again, in the face of overwhelming enemy fighter superiority. I looked in on the squadron just at a time when news had come in that the last patrol had run into a bunch of Zeros and been shot down. The Sikh squadron leader, an old friend of mine, at once took out the next patrol himself and completed the mission. His methods, rumour had it, were a little unorthodox. It was said that if any of his young officers made a bad landing he would take them behind a basha and beat them. Whatever he did, it was effective; they were a happy, efficient, and very gallant squadron.
At Chittagong I warned Lomax and his 26th Division that they would probably be needed—and needed in a hurry. Then on to my headquarters at Comilla to meet General Giffard on his way, in his turn, to visit Arakan. I found him in complete agreement with my estimate of the situation and the measures we were taking. He also cheered me very much by telling me that he would order the 36th British Division from Calcutta into Chittagong to replace the 26th Division if I had to move it south. He went on to Christison and I checked over with Snelling, my chief administrative officer, Old, commanding the Troop Carrier Command, and Baldwin, of the 3rd Tactical Air Force, the arrangements for air supply to 15 Corps, should it be required. The joint air force and army organization which had been supplying the 81st West African Division had already been adjusted to meet possible new demands. Snelling quietly warned the air supply units and organizations at the Comilla and Agartala airstrips to go full out on the prearranged packing programme and to stand by for twenty-four hours’ a day working. The supply units were reinforced by Indian Pioneers who took over most of the non-technical work, additional transport was allotted to airfields, British reinforcement camps were told to earmark men to help supervise packing, and we called for volunteers to fly with the aircraft as ‘kickers-out’, whose task it was to push the stores out of the aircraft. The complete maintenance of over a division for several days, everything that it would require, from pills to projectiles, from bully beef to boots, was laid out, packed for dropping, at the airstrips. We were as ready as we could be.
Yet when the Japanese struck I am ashamed to say it was a surprise. On the 1st February, Frank Festing, the commander of the 36th British Division, arrived at my headquarters just ahead of his division. On the 2nd, General Giffard returned from his tour of Arakan and left again for Delhi next day. He had had a narrow escape when shot up by Zeros in the Ngakyedauk Pass. On the morning of the 4th, not feeling too bright myself, as I had just had my ninth daily emetine injection for dysentery, I was out at a reinforcement camp a few miles from Comilla watching a demonstration of the, to us, new lifebuoy flame-thrower, when a motor-cycle despatch rider roared up with a message. It told me that the Japanese had suddenly swept down out of the blue and rushed Taung Bazaar, five or six miles in rear of the 7th Division. The situation was obscure, said the signal, but it was clear that the enemy were in considerable strength.
The only thing I can think of more depressing than the effect of a series of emetine injections is the receipt of a message such as this. I had expected ample warning of the Japanese move, but this meant they had passed right round the 7th Division unobserved, and were within two or three miles of the Ngakyedauk Pass and the Administrative Box, which I knew was prepared for nothing more than raids. I was angry and disappointed that all our precautions had failed to give warning of the enemy move, but, trying not to look as anxious as I felt, I quickly got back to headquarters and telephoned Christison. He could tell me little more, except that Messervy’s reserve brigade was engaged in heavy fighting somewhere south of Taung Bazaar. It was a real Japanese break-through and looked nasty. This was not cheerful news. I rang up Lomax at Chittagong and warned him to be ready to move at short notice. Meanwhile my principal staff officers had assembled and I gave them the news, reminding them that things are never as bad—or as good—as they are first reported.
On the 5th February, I gave Lomax orders to move to join Christison at Bawli Bazaar and General Giffard flew to my headquarters. Some commanders-in-chief I would not have welcomed at such a moment, but General Giffard had the invaluable knack of not interfering, yet making one feel that he was there, calm, helpful, and understanding, if required. Early on the 6th, I flew to Chittagong, saw Lomax just off to Christison, and watched the last of 26th Division, workmanlike and cheerful, moving out. Then I saw Festing of the 36th Division, the brigadier commanding the Chittagong Area of the line of communication, and Air Commodore Gray, commanding 224 Group of the R. A.F. Everything was working smoothly, there was no flap, and 36th Division was taking 26th Division’s place in Army Reserve. Next day, after a conference with Baldwin and Old of the Troop Carrier Command and a talk on the phone with Christison, I told Snelling to put the 7th Division on to air supply. The switchover, as far as I was concerned, was simple, thanks to the preparation that Fourteenth Army, Third Tactical Air Force, and Troop Carrier Command together had made—it required only the word ‘Go!’ I made one attempt to interfere with Snelling’s arrangements. ‘Wouldn’t it be a good idea,’ I said, ‘to put a case of rum in every fourth or fifth plane so as to make sure that when the stuff is shoved out the chaps will really search for it?’ Alf Snelling looked at me in the slightly pitying way professionals look at amateurs. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I have already given orders that a case of rum should be put in every plane!’
It might not have been so simple. The first flight of Dakotas had to turn back to avoid enemy fighters. Old himself at once took the pilot’s seat in the leader of the next flight, and led it in to drop on 7th Division. The Spitfires and Hurricanes of 3rd T.A.F. swept up, the Zeros tumbled out of the sky or scuttled back. Air supply for 15 Corps was on, and, as long as needed, never faltered. Snelling himself, and in turn his administrative staff officers, flew with the supplies. When an unfortunate crash during taking-off destroyed three Dakotas and killed several of the British soldiers who were kickers-out, it only brought a new rush of volunteers. The pilots, American and British, flew three or four sorties a day, or more usually a night, as most of the supply dropping was done after dark to avoid the Japanese fighters, who still occasionally slipped in between our air cover. Day and night the army supply units continuously packed for dropping whatever was required, delivered it on the airstrips, and loaded it into the aircraft. All round the clock, in the sunshine or by the light of flares and car lamps, the ground-crews snatching their broken rest on the airstrip, worked to turn round the Dakotas.
On the 8th, I flew down to Christison’s headquarters, which had been subjected to several jitter raids by parties of infiltrating Japanese. With my approval he pulled his headquarters back a couple of miles to Bawli Bazaar behind the river, where it was easier to protect. He was going to have a tough battle to fight, and it would not help if he and his staff were standing to alarm posts half the night. I knew only too well what that meant.
The situation was now fairly clear. Thanks to the Japanese habit of carrying orders and marked maps into action, we had an almost complete picture of their general plan. It was, as we would expect from them, tactically bold and based on their past experience of the effects of cutting our communications. They intended to destroy 15 Corps and capture Chittagong as, it seemed, the first stage of an invasion of India.
The Japanese 55th Division, reinforced, and with detachments of the Indian National Army under its command, had been divided into three parts. The first or main striking force under Colonel Tanahashi, who had proved himself the most formidable of the enemy leaders in our 1943 Arakan disasters, was formed round his 112 Regiment and was about seven thousand strong. Its task was to move secretly through the jungle, between the left of our 7th Division and the right of the 81st West African Division, and seize Taung Bazaar from the east. It was then to turn south, overrun the Administrative Box and cut the Ngakye-dauk P
ass, thus isolating the 7th Division. The second smaller force, a battalion group under Colonel Kubo, was to move even wider than Tanahashi, block the track south from Goppe Bazaar and, turning west over the range, cut the main road to Maungdaw just south of Bawli Bazaar. This would isolate our 5th Division. The outflanking operations were under the direct command of Major-General Sakurai Tohutaro, the commander of the infantry of the 55th Division, not to be confused with Lieut.-General Sakurai Seizo, 28th Army Commander. The third Japanese force, known as Doi Force, consisting of the remainder of the 55th Division and some other troops, was to put in holding attacks from the south on both our 5th and 7th Divisions. Overall command of the whole Arakan offensive was in the hands of Lieut.-General Hanaya, commander of the 55th Division.
The basic idea was that the British divisions, when thus cut off, would behave as they had in the past, and, deprived of all supplies, turn to fight their way back to clear their communications. The 7th Division would be destroyed as it tried to scramble to safety through the Ngakyedauk Pass. All the Japanese forces would then turn on the wretched 5th Division and annihilate it as it struggled to escape across the Naf River. Chittagong would be the next stop for the victorious Sakurai. There the local population, rallied by the Indian National Army, would rise and Bengal would lie open to the invader. The much heralded ‘March on Delhi’ had begun.
The operation was planned to a strict time-table under which the total destruction of the British forces was billed to be completed in ten days. The Japanese administrative arrangements were based on capturing our supplies and our motor transport by that time, and thence onwards using them. So confident of success were they that they brought with them, in addition to a considerable artillery, units of gunners without guns to take over ours. None of our transport was to be destroyed; it was all wanted intact for the March on Delhi. The Japanese radio had evidently been issued with a copy of the programme, as for the first ten days of the battle it announced the destruction of our forces strictly in accordance with the time-table.
Defeat Into Victory Page 29
