Then at 0300 hours automatic fire started up, and grenades could be heard bursting around ‘A’ Company’s objective. Once they’d attacked, a whole group of inter-supporting bunkers came alive, and the company went in with the bayonet. Confused, desperate hand-to-hand fighting followed, in the darkness. One platoon under Lieutenant Murrill succeeded in getting into a position overlooking the road junction, and some of his men slid down the steep bank on to the road, to start mopping up the bunkers dug into the side. Men crawled along, sometimes under the muzzles of the Jap guns, to throw in grenades, often letting the lever fly off and counting two seconds before letting go. Meanwhile, the other two platoons of ‘A’ Company had turned right and advanced towards the tennis court from the north. Here, in the broken terrain, they pressed home their attack with great spirit, searching out the Jap positions, whether in banks or bunkers or buildings, and going for them without hesitation. By first light they’d even got a foothold in the bungalow itself, but then heavy fire came down from the Japs dug into the bank below the tennis court, and they had to withdraw.
‘C’ Company had enjoyed a limited success, destroying a large bunker on the north-east corner of the tennis court, from which the Japanese had sniped anyone approaching the perimeter in daytime. On the club square the situation was now an extraordinary one, the two sides facing each other only fifteen yards apart. The slightest movement brought a burst of fire, and grenades came hurling across. The attack had cost the company heavily, its commander being wounded and a platoon leader killed. At one point, the Company Sergeant-Major had to take over, till the CO. called forward Captain Morice, the company second-in-command. He ordered the men, with some of the Royal Berkshires, to organize around the club square and Pimple. Like all the actions this night, this one was desperate, confused, and bloody.
The Royal Berkshires had cleared the Pimple, which was a mercy as it was an ideal spot for snipers; but whether they could hang on to it was another matter. It was doubtful, too, whether John Bowles and ‘A’ Company could hang on to their position beyond the bungalow, by the road junction. This was only thirty yards from and below the Jap stronghold on the terrace; and any movement was punished immediately. The plight of the wounded was appalling, many of them having to lie out all day in the sun.
But one great thing had been achieved: the road was now open and the tanks could go through towards 5th Brigade.
The Dorsetshires weren’t the only regiment in action that night, and it is necessary to go back a few hours. About 0100 hours, a heavy mortar barrage came down on Summerhouse Hill, the spring grenades began landing among the Durham Light Infantry slit trenches, and men from three Japanese battalions rushed into the attack. They were held, but kept coming on again and at 0500 hours gained some success. According to ‘Tank’ Waterhouse: ‘The men of the leading ranks carried no weapons but bags full of grenades. Owing to sheer weight of numbers they broke through, and got on to the plateau on top of the hill. Here they went round shouting “Tojo” and blessing the Mikado.…’ Then they started to dig in. A period of confused fighting followed in which men seemed to be moving in all directions, and positions kept changing hands in bloody hand-to-hand fighting. For a while the gunners manning the 99th Field Regiment O.P. were completely cut off; and the Garrison Commander (Colonel Theobalds) emerged from his dug-out to find a section of Japs digging in only five yards away. These he shot dead immediately. The commanding officer ordered a counter-attack to go in at first light, from two sides, and a comprehensive fire plan was worked out. Some time after 1030 hours the 25-pounders opened up from the Jotsoma box, then the Durham’s mortars joined in, firing 1,300 rounds. At the agreed moment Lieutenant Greenwell sounded a blast on his hunting horn and led the battle patrol into action. Simultaneously Captain Shuttle led a composite company from the other flank. A good many Japs had already been killed by the barrage and those who stayed to fight it out were killed, many with the bayonet. Unfortunately, to prevent fire coming from the flanks, Kuki Piquet had been blanketed and some Japs managed to disappear through the smoke. The situation was restored; but in repelling these attacks the D.L.I, had suffered further casualties and were now pretty exhausted. Seeing their condition, Brigadier Shapland reported to Grover that they must be relieved, and arrangements were made for the Royal Welch Fusiliers to take over the following day.
*
The flanking movements of 5th Brigade, and the increasing pressure from inside the Kohima perimeter, made an immediate impact on General Sato. From his tactical headquarters on point 5120, near the eastern fringe of Naga Village, he could watch the press of trucks, jeeps tanks, and armoured cars on the road, and from time to time the Hurribombers, which swooped down on the positions in front of him. Day by day the weight of artillery had been increasing and his intelligence reports kept announcing that more and more troops were pouring through Dimapur and coming to the front. Sato was now receiving no reinforcements, nor supplies of food and ammunition, and his stocks were beginning to run low. The plan to drive 5,000 oxen from the Chindwin had turned out a ludicrous failure and indeed only a fifth arrived. Sergeant-Major Imanishi, who set off with 270 head of cattle, reported to Divisional headquarters with only fourteen. ‘The remainder,’ he said, ‘are dead, worn out on the journey, or fell down into the valley.’ It was quite obvious, in fact, that if Sato sent off Miyazaki with three battalions to join in the attack on Imphal (as ordered by Mutaguchi) his chances of taking Kohima Ridge would be nil. So he ordered Miyazaki to stay where he was at Aradura, with the two battalions of 124th Regiment, and told Captain Watari of the 1st Battalion, 13 8th Regiment (badly mauled, it will be remembered, during its attack on the Durham Light Infantry) to support Colonel Fukunaga’s 58th Regiment in its continued offensive against the centre. When Mutaguchi heard the news a flow of angry signals came from Maymyo. These repeated the order in no uncertain terms and reminded Sato of the penalties of disobedience. But Sato stuck to his guns; Mutaguchi could do as he liked, he said, but no troops would leave Kohima. Relationships between the two generals, already strained, deteriorated even further.
Miyazaki’s position was difficult. He’d always believed that, if the main objective were Imphal, then it had been wrong in the first place to send a whole division to Kohima. From a tactical viewpoint, he realized even now, Mutaguchi was right. But Miyazaki was a man of character and no opportunist; his loyalty, he decided, was to Sato, his divisional commander, so he did as the latter told him and secured the left flank on Aradura. This decision was to have an important bearing on the final stage of the battle.
In passing one should note that Sato had reacted just as Slim had intended he should when he gave his order to Stopford that the maximum pressure should be exerted at Kohima. This fact seems to have escaped the attention of historians so far; but time may prove it to be one of the most important decisions this great commander ever made, an example of his rare military genius.
These were anxious days for Slim, nevertheless. The battles at Kohima and Imphal were balanced precariously in the scales; and the outcome of neither could be regarded as a foregone conclusion. Already his staff were telling him that operation ‘Stamina’, the airlift to Imphal, was failing to deliver the planned tonnage of stores, and he knew that Scoones was getting anxious. Worse still, the rains were under four weeks away, and what their effect would be both on the R.A.F. and on the infantry struggling in the mountains it was impossible to say. One thing was certain: there was a good deal of bloody fighting ahead, with no chances of spectacular results. And results were what Mountbatten and the Chiefs of Staff desired with a passionate longing. Only the dry, dedicated figure of Sir George Giffard was shielding Slim from a rain of brickbats, both military and political. In war courage is not only displayed in the front line.
Apart from tactical problems, Slim was also engaged in supply problems himself. At Kohima the 3.7 howitzers, those magnificent mountain guns with their high trajectory, were now silenced, the crews being put on ground defe
nce work; and the 25-pounders were rationed too. Smoke shells, vital for blanketing enemy flanking positions during attacks by infantry, could only be obtained in negligible quantities. Angrily Slim railed at G.H.Q. India, and the departments whose job it was to produce and forward the ammunition; he received comforting replies that all was well, that vast quantities of ammunition had been sent to the front. ‘We can prove to you,’ they said, ‘that there is no shortage of ammunition on your front.’ But, except in a trickle, the munitions never came, and what happened to these vast supplies Slim never discovered. Rumour had it they were finding their way into the arsenals of the Congress Party for the eventual war between the Hindus and the Muslims. And rumours in India usually have some truth in them.
*
‘Are the troops fresh?’ Napoleon asked Marshal Ney at breakfast one morning. ‘Yes, Sire,’ replied the barrel-cooper’s son. ‘It’s been raining all night.’ This remark was forcibly recalled by the staff captain, 5th Brigade, as he put his head out on the morning of the 28th April to find the whole area awash and the rain still pouring down from black, swirling clouds. This was not the monsoon, the experts informed him. This was merely the ‘chota barsat’ or little rain. But as he and many others observed, whatever it was, water was still water—and mud was mud. The battle must inevitably enter a new phase.
1 The great mountain stronghold in Eritrea, taken in 1942.
2 An observation by Colonel Yamaki is interesting in this connection. He records that Sato and Miyazaki disagreed strongly on the subject of night attacks. About this time Sato gave orders that they should be abandoned ‘in favour of more orthodox tactics’. He added: ‘We’re losing so many troops this way, before long we’ll be too thin on the ground to achieve anything.’
7
Delay and Crisis
The 27th, the last dry day for some weeks, was eventful both on the left flank and in the centre. After a stiff artillery concentration, laid on by Harry Grenfell, the Camerons attacked the hill separating them from their objective at the road junction, and took it without opposition. The rest of the brigade moved forward to find itself among the bashas (bamboo huts) of the Reinforcement Camp. From their positions on a thickly wooded hill to the south the Japanese machine-gunned and sniped the brigade, and Victor Hawkins was lucky to escape when a burst tore up the ground a few inches from his feet. The Japs, cut off at Merema, also shelled the brigade with a 75-mm. gun, causing a dozen casualties among the Worcestershires. The brigade, therefore, removed itself to less exposed positions and began active patrolling, to ferret out the Japanese. Then, after a warning message from John Grover, a troop of Lee tanks arrived from the 149th Regiment R.A.C. with a troop of light tanks from the 45th Cavalry, and some sappers in armoured carriers. Hawkins immediately set the Lees the task of securing the water point on the Nerhema road, which they did.
But now the next hill to the south had to be dealt with. Patrols reported that it was held only by a ring of snipers and light machine-guns, but there were about 200 Japs in the valley to the north. When warning was given, the latter would immediately scramble up the hill to their positions. Bereft of artillery support because of the ammunition shortage, Hawkins decided to try and get a patrol on to the hill, followed by a company, then a battalion. The Lancashire Fusiliers were invited to take on the job, zero hour being fixed for early the following morning.
All day during the 27th, John Bowles and his men of the Dorsets somehow held on to their position at the road junction below the D.C.’s bungalow. They saw the tanks move by and go up towards 5th Brigade, and another troop swing round to the right, in front of them, on their way to help their own ‘C Company in the Club area. This was the second attempt to get a tank up the drive towards the D.C.’s bungalow, but it was no more successful than the first. The C.R.E., with tremendous effort, had manœuvred a bulldozer round, and after this had improved the slope of the drive, a medium tank managed to follow it half-way to the top. Then, at the critical moment, some Japs who realized what was going on began sniping. The tank slewed round to return the fire and smashed into the bulldozer, reducing it to scrap-iron. This put paid to the efforts for a while, but then the C.R.E. had tackle brought up and for hour after hour the sappers struggled to winch the tank up the slope. But it was all in vain. With darkness coming on, the tank had to be released to go back to its laager, and the Dorsets had to battle on as best they could.
Their role, and especially that of John Bowles’ company on the knoll at the road junction, was increasingly difficult. But Bowles and his men knew the vital function they were performing in this stage of the battle; knew that while they hung on the tanks could keep getting round to help smash the Japanese bunkers all along the back of the ridge. Fortunately, the divisional 25-pounders could help them, laying down a concentration within twenty yards when called upon. After dark on the 27th, as Colonel Fukunaga’s men launched attack after attack, the guns were called upon with great urgency. The Japs came from positions across the road, to be shot down in droves. Hour after hour the shells rained down, breaking up the attacks before they could be properly launched. The Dorsets suffered heavy casualties; they were wet, tired, and rocked by the hurricane of sound that roared round them. But not a position gave way.
So to the 28th April, which, as already noted, dawned wet and muddy. It brought a surprise too. At 0830 hours a dozen Oscar fighters arrived to strafe the box at Zubza. By now the troops were so conditioned to the fact that every plane in the sky was friendly, that at first they did not give them more than a cursory glance. It so happened that at this moment the sun had broken through the cloud, and an officer spotting the planes observed ‘how pretty they were as they rolled and turned against the sky, with the light flashing on their wings and fuselages’. But as they began manœuvring to come in to the attack, memories of France and the German dive-bombers swept to the surface. The cry went up: ‘Look out—they’re Japs! They’re going to bomb us!’ As most people knew, the Ack-Ack guns were being used in a ground role, the R.A.F. having undertaken to maintain complete superiority, so there was nothing for it but to bolt for cover. Men ran for the nala bed which skirted the box, dived under trucks, hurried mules in all directions. For a while a mixture of fighting and administrative units surged round in a confused mass; then the leading plane took a run and dropped a stick of four bombs near the gun-sites. There were four explosions. Then each plane came in turn, systematically straddling the crowded box. By some accounts this went on for ten minutes, by others seven, but then some Hurricanes came up and a dog-fight ensued, after which the Oscars roared away over Garrison Hill. Luckily there wasn’t much damage, though the 100th A.A./Anti-Tank Regiment suffered some casualties, including two battery commanders. The hero of the occasion was undoubtedly a sapper subaltern called Brunel-Hawes. Taking shelter in a shallow drain, he had the presence of mind to count the bombs falling from the Oscars, and compare the total with the number of explosions. This showed a deficit of six, so running down to the road, where the dud bombs seemed to have fallen, he began searching for any detonators which might have become separated. And there they were—two of them slap on the tarmac. A third was snatched away just before a truck ran over it.
As might be expected, the arrival of their fighters was an immense fillip to the Japanese infantry, who were beginning to imagine that their Air Force had deserted them; but the enthusiasm soon turned to bitter disappointment, as Sergeant-Major Imanishi has recorded: ‘As soon as the enemy aircraft came up, they ran away without fighting. This was a terrible discouragement to us.’
In itself the airstrike was small and rather ineffective, but as a warning it could hardly be more important. By now the single road had five brigades plus divisional and corps troops operating on it and the crush of traffic was reminiscent of the Brighton Road on a Bank Holiday. Trucks, jeeps, gunner quads, guns, tanks, armoured cars, mule columns and specialist wagons belonging to R.E.M.E. were surging along it from morning to night. Altogether, the road was a ma
gnificent target for aircraft, and if the Japanese decided to send over planes in strength, the maintenance of the forward troops would become a virtual impossibility. There could be no movement at night either to help matters, as the Japs had still not retired completely from their flanking positions in the hills.
Curiously enough the Zubza airstrike coincided with a scare that the pressure against the road might increase. During the night a report reached Grover’s headquarters of an enemy patrol near milestone 34 (that is two miles back from Zubza), and soon afterwards the translators sent a copy of one of Sato’s orders to Colonel Torikai, the 13 8th Regiment, telling him to make nuisance raids across the Zubza Valley, with a view to interrupting communications. In the light of this, it seemed that the airstrike was part of a coherent plan; so Grover contacted Stopford, and it was agreed that the 4th/1st Gurkhas of 33rd Brigade which had now come under command should move forward to milestone 32. Now it seems that there must have been a mistake in the translation and that the date of the order was the 7th April, not the 25th. It was on the 7th that Sato sent the troops across the valley, which held up the 5th Brigade at Bunker Hill, and fought the Royal Scots at Khabvuma. However, at the time, Grover was not to know this, and could do no other than conclude that his L. of C. was being threatened again.
On Garrison Hill the Dorsets began constructing head cover; and at his precarious position by the road junction, John Bowles and his men gratefully took the rations brought up by the scout cars and sent some of the wounded away. The company was weaker now, but still confident and in control of things.
Kohima Page 17