Cowan’s moves were bold and flexible. On the morning of the 28th February, leaving all but essential fighting transport behind at Thabutkon, 63 Brigade, brushing aside light opposition, marched to an area about two miles north-west of Meiktila. From there it pushed on its forward troops until they were in close contact with the western defences, while a strong roadblock was placed across the main road from Chauk. At the same time the divisional artillery, with one battalion to help in their protection, came into action about two miles farther back, in a position from which the guns could support attacks on the town from any direction. 48 Brigade, moving astride the road from Thabutkon, struck at Kasuya’s northern defences, but was held up until nightfall by one of the strongest enemy positions around a monastery on the edge of the town.
255 Tank Brigade, with two infantry battalions and a self-propelled twenty-five-pounder battery under its command, moved rapidly by bounds round the north, north-east, and east of Meiktila. The roads to Thazi and Pyawbwe were blocked, and, after a most exhilarating ten-mile sweep across country, the tanks and their infantry regrouped to the east of Meiktila. Cowan put the bulk of his artillery and air support at their disposal and well co-ordinated, accurate, and heavy bombardment and air-strikes preceded the tanks as, with the infantry on their tails, they roared to the assault. This armoured onrush was met by very heavy artillery, anti-tank, and machine-gun fire from a deep screen of mutually supporting bunkers and fortified houses. Snipers, concealed everywhere, picked off our infantry, as they forced their way into the streets. The attack penetrated well into the town as far as the railway station, killing many enemy and destroying several guns. Resistance was fanatical and to the death. Wounded Japanese and small pockets of survivors still fought on desperately in the area we had overrun. In the late afternoon it became clear that mopping-up and consolidation could not be completed before dark. Cowan, fearing with justification, to leave his tanks among the ruins for the night, in spite of protests pulled the attacking force back to harbour two miles outside the town, leaving only strong patrols to hold our gains. During the night the Japanese infiltrated back into some of the areas they had lost and a fierce point-blank fight went on throughout the darkness.
That day I had been on the Mandalay front where the break-out of 33 Corps, led by the 19th Division, was beginning in earnest, and I was anxious that it should be well timed with the 4 Corps operation. On my return in the evening to my headquarters at Monywa, I studied reports from Meiktila. These gave the impression that the attack was held up, and I decided I ought to go there. We could not risk a second Myitkyina. I would fly in next morning. I was very angry when the R.A.F. informed me, with the utmost politeness but equal firmness, that they would not fly me to Meiktila—it was too dangerous! The airstrips had not yet been properly repaired, they were frequently under fire, and Japanese fighters were reported. It was no use pointing out that a whole brigade had been landed on these same airstrips, that they were being used every hour of daylight by unarmed R.A.F. and U.S.A.A.F. transports and that if they were being shot up that was not an R.A.F. responsibility as it was my soldiers who should protect them from ground attack. I was told that the R.A.F. would be delighted to fly any of my staff anywhere at any time, but not me, not to Meiktila, not now. This idea of my value was flattering, but extremely annoying. I was about to have it out with Vincent, when luckily, for the sake of our friendship which I valued, I had another idea.
There had just arrived at my headquarters a visiting American general with his own Mitchell bomber. I asked him if he would like to come with me and see something of the Meiktila battle. As I hoped, with characteristic American generosity, he suggested we made the trip in his aircraft. I gratefully accepted and early on the morning of the 1st March we set out—I feeling rather like a schoolboy who had dodged his masters and was playing truant for the day. We flew to 4 Corps Headquarters on the river bank opposite Pagan, picked up Messervy, and went on to one of the airstrips now in operation near Thabutkon. It was quite peaceful, though there was a little popping not far away and a few dead Japanese on the edge of the field. We were offered a second breakfast, and I ate my first Japanese-provided meal—biscuits and tinned food from a captured store. It was not very good. I gained more mental gratification from it than nourishment. Punch Cowan had sent a couple of jeeps to meet us, and we bounced merrily along the road to his battle headquarters just outside Meiktila. He soon put Messervy, me, and our American friend in the picture of the fight, which judging by the noise, smoke, and constant zooming of aircraft diving on their targets, was no skirmish. Indeed, this day, the 1st March, saw the bitterest fighting of the battle. Cowan’s troops were slowly biting into Kasuya’s defences, tough though they were. 63 Brigade had begun an attack on Meiktila from the west, and, in spite of restricted approaches, were into the outskirts of the town. 48 Brigade with some tanks had resumed their assault on Meiktila East from the north, and were making progress against the most resolute opposition. 255 Tank Brigade and its infantry had seized a steep, heavily defended hill, which rose abruptly to five hundred feet on the edge of the South Lake, near the south-east corner of Meiktila, and gave observation over the whole area. Here bitter fighting was going on, as tanks and infantry clawed into the defences of the town itself.
Cowan’s conduct of this difficult and divided battle was impressive. With his main attention fixed on the various assaulting brigades, he had at frequent intervals to glance over his shoulder as ground and air reports of Japanese movements in the surrounding country were brought to him. He had, too, all the anxieties of an air supply line, which rested on precariously held landing strips, at a time when ammunition and petrol expenditure was at its highest. Not least, he was very short of sleep and remained so for several days. Yet throughout he was alert to every change in the situation on any sector, and swung his air and artillery support to meet and take advantage of it. His firm grip on his own formations and on the enemy never faltered. To watch a highly skilled, experienced, and resolute commander controlling a hard-fought battle is to see, not only a man triumphing over the highest mental and physical stresses, but an artist producing his effects in the most complicated and difficult of all the arts. I thought as I watched what very good divisional commanders I had.
After speaking on the ‘blower’ to a brigade commander and listening in on the tank net—always an interesting and often a worth-while thing to do in an action—I left Cowan conducting his grim orchestra. Assured that the battle was in competent hands at the top, I thought I would go a little closer and see how it was being handled lower down. I chose 48 Brigade as, at the moment, they seemed to be cracking a particularly tough nut. We went by jeep round the north of the town and then moved forward on foot somewhat more cautiously. We had a word with various subordinate commanders on the way; all very busy with their own little battles and all in great heart. One of them told us the best place from which to see anything was a massive pagoda that crowned a near-by rise. We reached it along a path screened from the enemy by bushes, and crouching below the surrounding wall, crossed a wide terrace, where already in occupation were some Indian signallers and observation parties. Peering cautiously over the wall, we found on our right the end of the North Lake, placid and unruffled. To our left front, about a thousand yards away, the main road entered Meiktila between close-built houses, now crumbling in the dust, smoke, and flame of a bombardment. We were, I knew, about to assault here, but it was the scene immediately below and in front of us which gripped the attention.
The southern shore of the lake, for nearly a mile, ran roughly parallel to the northern edge of the town. Between them was a strip about half a mile wide, of rough, undulating country, cut up by ditches and banks, with here and there clumps of trees and bushes. Three hundred yards from us, scattered along water cuts, peering round mounds, and lying behind bushes, were twenty or thirty Gurkhas, all very close to the ground and evidently, from the spurts around them, under fairly heavy fire. Well to the left of these
Gurkhas and a little farther forward, there was a small spinney. From its edge more Gurkhas were firing Bren-gun bursts. A single Sherman tank, in a scrub-topped hollow, lay between us and the spinney, concealed from the enemy but visible to us. In the intervals of firing, we could hear its engine muttering and grumbling. The dispositions of our forces, two platoons and a tank, were plain enough to us, but I could see no enemy.
Then the tank revved up its engine to a stuttering roar, edged forward a few yards, fired a couple of shots in quick succession, and discreetly withdrew into cover again. I watched the strike of the shot. Through my glasses I could see, about five hundred yards away, three low grassy hummocks. Innocent enough they looked, and little different from half a dozen others. Yet straining my eyes I spotted a dark loophole in one, around which hung die misty smoke of a hot machine-gun; I could hear the knock-knock-knock, slower than our own, of its firing. Searching carefully, I picked up loopholes in the other mounds. Here were three typical Japanese bunkers, impervious to any but the heaviest shells, sited for all-round defence, and bristling with automatics—tough nuts indeed. The tank intervened again. Without shifting position it lobbed two or three grenades and a white screen of smoke drifted across the front of the bunkers. One of the Gurkhas below us sprang to his feet, waved an arm, and the v/hole party, crouching as they went, ran forward. When the smoke blew clear a minute or two later, they were all down under cover again, but a hundred yards nearer those bunkers. A few small shells burst in the water at the lake’s edge. Whether they were meant for die tank or the Gurkhas, they got neither, and the enemy gunners made no further contribution.
When I looked for it again, the tank had disappeared, but a smoke-screen, this time, I think, from infantry mortars, blinded the bunkers again. The Gurkhas scrambled forward, dodging and twisting over the rough ground, until some of them must have been hardly thirty yards from the enemy. Somewhere behind the spinney, the tank was slowly and methodically firing solid shot at the loopholes. Spurts of dust and debris leapt up at every impact.
As the fight drew to its climax, we moved out of the pagoda enclosure to a spot a little forward and to the right where, from behind a thick cactus hedge, we had a clearer view. The tank reappeared round the spinney’s flank and advanced still shooting. Gradually it worked round to the rear of the bunkers, and suddenly we were in the line of its fire with overs ricochetting and plunging straight at us.
One army commander, one corps commander, an American general, and several less distinguished individuals adopted the prone position with remarkable unanimity. The only casualty was an unfortunate American airman of our crew, who had hitch-hiked with us to see the fun. As the metal whistled over his head he flung himself for cover into the cactus hedge. He was already stripped to the waist and he emerged a blood-stained pin cushion. However, he took his misfortune very well and submitted to what must have been a painful plucking with fortitude.
After this little excitement, the tank having, to our relief, moved again to a flank, we watched the final stages of the action. The fire of Brens and rifles swelled in volume; the tank’s gun thudded away. Suddenly three Gurkhas sprang up simultaneously and dashed forward. One fell, but the other two covered the few yards to the bunkers and thrust Tommy-guns through loopholes. Behind them surged an uneven line of their comrades; another broke from the spinney, bayonets glinting. They swarmed around the bunkers and for a moment all firing ceased. Then from behind one of the hummocks, appeared a ragged group of half a dozen khaki-clad figures, running for safety. They were led, I noticed, by a man exceptionally tall for a Japanese. Twenty Gurkha rifles came up and crashed a volley. Alas for Gurkha marksmanship! Not a Japanese fell; zigzagging, they ran on. But in a few seconds, as the Gurkhas fired again, they were all down, the last to fall being the tall man. The tank lumbered up, dipped its gun and, with perhaps unnecessary emphasis, finished him off. Within ten minutes, having made sure no Japanese remained alive in the bunkers, the two platoons of Gurkhas and their Indian-manned tank moved on to their next assignment which would not be far away. A rear party appeared, attended to their own casualties, and dragged out the enemy bodies to search them for papers and identifications. It was all very business-like.
If I have given more space to this one incident, that was being repeated in twenty places in the battle, than I have to much more important actions, I plead some indulgence. It was the closest I had been to real fighting since I had been an army commander, and it was one of the neatest, most workmanlike bits of infantry and armoured minor tactics I had ever seen. There is a third reason. The men who carried it out were from a Gurkha regiment of which I have the honour to be Colonel.
Back at Cowan’s headquarters, we followed the general progress of the assault on Meiktila. It had not everywhere gone as smoothly as the fight we had watched. The enemy had not wasted the few days allowed him for preparation. Every house was a strong-point, every water channel had its concealed bunkers, every heap of rubble its hidden machine-gun or anti-tank gun. Snipers lurked in every ruin. It was costly fighting, and jeep ambulances shuttled between the battle and the airstrips carrying the wounded to quick and merciful evacuation. Progress if slow was, however, steady.
Throughout the 1st March and the following night, there was hand-to-hand fighting as savage as any yet experienced in a theatre where close combat was the rule rather than the exception. By evening, when we left for Monywa, our troops were well into the town, but the Japanese resistance showed no signs of breaking. They died where they fought, and as darkness fell, even in the sectors we had gained, survivors emerged from cellars and holes to renew the battle.
On the 2nd March in Meiktila East, 48 Brigade with artillery, tank, and air support slowly forced the enemy from house to house, until they were penned in the southern end of the town with their backs to the South Lake. 63 Brigade, in two strong attacks, cleared the whole of Meiktila West with great loss to the enemy. During the 3rd, after intense fighting, Meiktila East was finally cleared by a series of converging attacks. Enemy 75-mm. guns engaged our tanks and infantry at point-blank range, but were gradually eliminated, one by one, until the last fifty Japanese jumped into the lake and were drowned or killed. The slaughter had been great. In one small area of the town alone, which measured only two hundred by one hundred yards, eight hundred and seventy-six Japanese bodies were collected. Meiktila was a shambles, but, by six o’clock on the evening of the 3rd, it was ours.
All day while the fight in the town had gone on, our tanks and infantry had been clearing the area to the east of numerous enemy parties. The country here was covered with villages, many of which ran into one another to form large groups of houses. In them and among them, along ditches, on the butts of a rifle range, and in the broken ground, the Japanese fought with the same grim fierceness as in the town. But it availed them no more; the slaughter was heavy. During the 4th and 5th March, wider sweeps with the closest air support were made to clear all sides of the town. The main airfield was secured, and was in full operation, though still at times under fire, by the 5th. Cowan’s whole force then concentrated in and around Meiktila.
The capture of Meiktila in four days and the annihilation of its garrison—for, as the Japanese themselves admitted, hardly a man escaped—was a magnificent feat of arms. It sealed the fate of the Japanese army in Burma, and it came as a terrible surprise to Kimura. He had been completely misled as to the location of our 4 Corps and as to the strength and intentions of our troops in the Pakokku area. At first he had no idea what this force, which had struck such a grievous blow at his vitals, was, but he did realize at once the fatal danger he would be in if he could not quickly recover Meiktila. Kimura, unlike many Japanese commanders, had always reacted speedily and boldly to changed situations. Once again he did so. The plan to concentrate all his resources against our 33 Corps was abandoned. Reinforcing formations, moving to the Mandalay area from every part of Burma, were diverted to Meiktila. Even some of the troops already engaged against the Mandala
y bridgeheads were pulled out of the fight and put into reverse to meet this new danger. All were urged to greater speed, and every available method of transport strained to move them quickly.
The task of recapturing Meiktila was entrusted to Lieut.-General Honda with his Thirty-third Army Headquarters, and he was left in no doubt as to its urgency. Under him were placed the 18th Division (less one regiment) from the north, one regiment of the 53rd Division from Mandalay, and one regiment of the 33rd Division, hurriedly pulled in from the Pakokku area. From the south, having travelled the two hundred and eighty miles from Pegu in under a fortnight, came the 49th Division (less a regiment), while army units, artillery, including heavy artillery, and what was left of the tank regiment were added. A regiment of the 2nd Division also took part in the later stages of the battle. Somewhat earlier, two battalions and other troops from the 55th Division arrived at Mount Popa to stiffen up the Indian National Army formation in the area, and two more infantry and one artillery battalion of the 54th Division, also from Arakan, reached Yenangyaung, crossed the Irrawaddy, and reinforced the troops facing our 28 East African Brigade on the west bank. Honda thus had the equivalent of a corps of two divisions for his task. His plan to retrieve the Meiktila disaster was a two-fold one. He intended to cut our communications to Meiktila on both sides of the Nyaungu bridgehead. On the west, the East Africans were to be driven back some fifteen miles until the road was cut there, and, on the east, converging attacks from the north on Taungtha and from the Mount Popa area in the south towards the bridgehead were to reach the Meiktila road. With our only artery to the 17th Division thus squeezed out, strong Japanese forces would attack Meiktila. The plan was probably about as good a one as could be made but, like so many Japanese plans, it did not take into account certain realities. The enemy’s total forces directed to the Meiktila battle, formidable as they were in numbers, were arriving piecemeal, drawn from many formations, and from all directions. Complete divisions were not being engaged. It would be difficult to co-ordinate and concert their common action, especially as their transport losses mounted daily and we had practically complete control of the air. Even so, there might have been some hope for Honda’s plans had not our commanders and troops shown themselves so aggressively active.
Defeat Into Victory Page 54
