Defeat Into Victory

by Field-Marshal Viscount William Slim

  Meanwhile, as I paused in Delhi to attend a General Headquarters exercise on air co-operation, the final attack on Donbaik took place on the 18th March. 6 Brigade made a desperate attempt to break through the strengthened Japanese defences. Advancing again, straight in the open, over the dead of previous assaults, they got among and even on the tops of the bunkers; but they could not break in. Like the Punjabis, they were caught by the merciless Japanese counter-barrage and bloodily driven back. It was a magnificent effort, and it was the last. Donbaik remained impregnable, and all hope of taking it was abandoned.

  Now, having brought us to a standstill, it was the Japanese turn to attack. A strong enemy column, which had marched from Central Burma, suddenly fell upon our flank detachment in the Kaladan and scattered it. Other Japanese detachments led by a Colonel Tanahashi, afterwards to become only too well known to us, broke into the Mayu Valley and struck behind 55 Brigade opposite Rathedaung. After fierce fighting, the brigade extricated itself and, badly shaken, fell back up the Mayu River. Lloyd reacted by a counter-attack, but the Army Commander, who had hurried to the front on the news of disaster, relieved him, took command of the division himself, and redisposed the forward troops to hold any further Japanese advance. For a short while it appeared as if the front was stabilized and the Army Commander, handing over to Major-General Lomax, who arrived to replace Lloyd, returned to Calcutta.

  At four o’clock in the morning of the 5th April at Gaya, I was awakened by a banging on the door of the railway carriage in which my wife and I were returning from Simla to Ranchi. I was told by a railway official that I was wanted urgently on the telephone and the train would be held up for me. In my pyjamas I staggered over the recumbent figures that invariably Utter every Indian platform at night to the station-master’s office. Here I heard Tony Scott speaking from Ranchi. Dramatically he proclaimed, ‘The woodcock are flighting!’ ‘Woodcock’ was the code name for the move of Corps Headquarters to Arakan. I was to go straight on in the train to Calcutta; my wife would be picked up at the junction for Ranchi; Scott would be off that morning for Chittagong with the Corps Headquarters.

  At dawn on a dismal station platform I said good-bye to my wife and left her rather forlorn, hoping that someone would come and take her to Ranchi. We had had too many partings of this kind in the last twenty years, but this was, I think she would agree, one of our most hurried and most miserable. Late in the morning I arrived in Calcutta and spent some hours with General Irwin, getting his view of the situation as it was known to him and receiving his instructions. Things in Arakan were obviously again going wrong; but how seriously was not clear. I was to set up Corps Headquarters in Chittagong as soon as possible, but I was not to take operational control until told to do so by him. I was not, even when I assumed operational command, to have administrative control; that would remain with Army Headquarters, who on all such matters would deal direct with the division. I was, therefore, to leave almost the whole of my administrative staff behind in Ranchi. I did not like this separation of operational and administrative control, especially as a corps could have relieved the overworked division of much of its administrative burden, but the Army Commander was insistent. The situation in Arakan was further complicated as at this juncture the 26th Division Headquarters from Calcutta was in process of replacing the 14th Division Headquarters, which, together with certain brigades, it was intended to bring back to India. That night I dined with Lloyd, the dismissed commander of the 14th Division, and heard his side of the story. He was quite without bitterness and took misfortune as well as I had seen him take success. His death some time later in the Middle East was a great loss, as, in spite of a failure in Arakan for which he was by no means wholly responsible, he would, had he lived, have regained his place in the group of brilliant divisional commanders the Indian Army produced.

  Early next morning I flew to Chittagong, where I picked up a fighter escort as Japanese aircraft were busy, and landed on a forward airstrip near Divisional Headquarters. I had never met Lomax, the new divisional commander, but I was at once impressed by his calm level-headedness. He would have had plenty of excuse for nervousness had he shown it. The situation as far as it could be discovered was fantastically bad. Lomax, barely arrived, had just begun to study the dispositions he had inherited from General Irwin, was learning the names of his brigadiers, and meeting a completely strange staff, when the Japanese struck again. Using not very large forces with the greatest boldness and rapidity, they had crossed the Mayu River in the night, fallen on the flank of 47 Brigade which had been extended to cover the eastern side of the range, and rolled it up. The brigade disintegrated and, losing practically all its equipment, struggled out over the hills in small starving parties. As far as we knew at Lomax’s headquarters that brigade had ceased to exist—as, indeed, it had—and his left flank was crumbling, if not already gone. The Japanese, without pause, had exploited to the full the opportunity this gave them. Straight over the Mayu Range they came, following or making single file tracks through the jungle and over the precipitous slopes that we had complacently considered impassable. On the night of the 5th, while Lloyd and I were dining in the Bengal Club, Japanese infantry and pack-guns, debouched from the foot-hills on to the coastal strip, west of the range. They struck into the rear of 6 Brigade as it pulled back from Donbaik. The Brigade Headquarters was rushed by howling Japanese streaming out of the darkness, most of the staff were killed, and the Brigadier, Cavendish, was captured, only to be killed a little later either by his guards or by our own artillery fire. Everywhere the units of 6 Brigade found Japanese in between them, behind them, and around them. It says much for the stubborn courage of the British soldier, that, in these conditions, with control temporarily gone, battalions, companies, and batteries rallied, cleared their immediate localities with the bayonet and began to fall back, holding off a fanatical enemy, delirious with success.

  The position as Lomax and I looked at it next day was grim, so grim as to have almost a comic element. With the left flank, east of the range, gone, the right along the coast looked like a Neapolitan ice. First and farthest south, so far as we could discover, were some British artillery, then a wad of Japanese, next half 6 Brigade minus its headquarters, again more Japanese, and lastly the rest of 6 Brigade.

  For myself, I was in a strange position, which was new to me, and which I did not like. I have rarely been so unhappy on a battlefield. Things had gone wrong, terribly wrong, and we should be hard put to it to avoid worse. Yet I had no operational control and, even if I had, no troops in hand with whom I could influence events; Lomax already commanded everything. In spite of all this I would have had no hesitation in assuming tactical command at the front, as General Irwin had done with Lloyd and as I had done myself on occasion, but for one thing—Lomax. I did not know him; I had been with him only a matter of hours, but they were testing hours. Never had a divisional commander, immediately on taking over a strange formation, in a new type of war, been confronted with a more desperate situation. I was filled with admiration for the way in which he took hold. Wherever he went he inspired confidence by his steadiness, decision, and obvious competence. Was this his true form? Would it last? I was prepared to bet it was and would. In fact, I did not flatter myself that I could handle the immediate situation any better than he could. On the other hand, I did know there were a hundred ways in which, at Corps Headquarters behind him, I could take some of the strain.

  Quietly, without fuss, Lomax regrouped his rear brigades to cover the vital Maungdaw–Buthidaung road, and reorganized the units already shattered. In this latter task I did what I could to help. There was no doubt that the disaster had tragically weakened morale in a number of units, British and Indian. Those of 6 British Brigade, in spite of the hammering they had taken, were an exception. They had not liked it, but they were still staunch.

  Not the least of Lomax’s difficulties was that the tired but efficient headquarters of the 14th Division had been replaced by the untried s
taff of the 26th Division, newly arrived, unacquainted with most of the brigades, and finding the contrast between a fast-moving battle and the static life of Calcutta only too painful. The rapid recoil of our front made it necessary to move back Divisional Headquarters, and it was evident from the resulting confusion that, if it found it so difficult to move itself, it was not likely to be very efficient at getting others to move. With my concurrence, Lomax made a clean sweep of several of the divisional staff, whom I replaced for him by the temporary loan of officers from Corps Headquarters. In a few days we managed to produce as G.i, or chief staff officer for the division, Colonel Cotterill-Hill. He and Lomax made a splendid pair, and from the day of his arrival the 26th Division Headquarters began to sort itself out. Lomax was, at the same time, relieved of the strain of reorganizing the headquarters himself and could devote his energies more freely to the proper functions of a commander in battle.

  I stayed with Lomax for a few days and I hope he did not find my presence a handicap. My original opinion of his leadership was confirmed, indeed I never changed it throughout the war. When things at the front were rather more under control I rejoined Corps Headquarters.

  Chittagong was a melancholy place. It had not been badly knocked about, but the light bombing it had suffered had driven out a large part of its inhabitants. Those who remained, the poorest, were menaced by approaching famine. The railway workshops, formerly the chief industry of the town, had been dismantled when it looked as if the Japanese would advance into Bengal, and even the roofs had been removed. The docks, whose demolition had been stopped just in time, were a brighter spot. Under the energetic drive of Hallet, the naval officer in charge, and of some devoted civilians, the quays were beginning to show great activity. In peace, Chittagong must have been the most attractive of the larger towns of Bengal; now, its general air of neglect, stagnation, and apprehension was depressing.

  Scott had installed Corps Headquarters in part of a large college where it was ready to function, even if, without its administrative half, only one-sidedly. A few days later, on the 14th April, Eastern Army handed over operational control. In Chittagong we found 224 Group, R.A.F., under Air Commodore Gray, and with him and his squadrons we at once began the close and friendly co-operation that lasted between the corps and the group until the end of the war. The Army in Arakan already owed a great debt to 224 Group, which had achieved marvels of sustained effort to cover the recent withdrawals. More than once the troops could not have extricated themselves without this cover.

  I continued to visit Lomax and his troops every few days, and so was well in touch with the situation. He had, temporarily at least, stabilized his front on both sides of the Mayu Range and had at last got troops into position along its spine. It was quite evident that the Japanese would not rest satisfied with what they had achieved so far with such ease. They had made one or two tentative passes at 6 Brigade, now dug in across the coastal strip and in the foot-hills, but had shown no intention of delivering a real attack here. Perhaps they had too healthy a respect for this British formation in spite of their successes against it. With a second brigade in depth behind it, Lomax was reasonably secure on this flank. All indications were that the push would come east of the ridge. It would, I was sure, be a strong attempt to get across the lateral Maungdaw–Buthidaung road. If it succeeded we should certainly have to abandon Buthidaung—its supply would be impossible—and our hold on Maungdaw would become precarious.

  Lomax had no intention of sitting down waiting for this to happen, and, with my full approval, he planned a counter-stroke in the nature of a trap. The Japanese striking force was to be shepherded into a box. When it was well in, the lid was to swing to behind it with a bang. One side of the box was two battalions on the ridge itself; the other was two more along the Mayu River. The bottom of the box, its northern end, was yet again two battalions holding the hills south of the Maungdaw–Buthidaung road. The lid was a mobile striking force of a brigade less a battalion, placed behind the river side of the box, ready to swing in. That all sounds nicely geometrical and simple, but translated into tired troops, many of them badly shaken, holding positions among tangled jungle hills and streams, it was not so tidy, and much less simple. I was more than a little anxious as to the outcome. It would all have been so easy if we could only have washed out the last four months of defeat and frustration. Then the troops would have been mentally and physically fit for this sort of battle, but time is the one thing you cannot regain in war. I had no doubt the Japanese would walk into the trap. They did. Their attack began as we expected and, according to plan—our plan. Feeling stiff opposition on their flanks, they pressed rapidly forward in the centre and flowed into the box. So far, so good. Now was the time to crash down the lid. Lomax was just giving the order for this when the bottom fell out of the box, and out of our plan. The two battalions south of the lateral road failed to hold. First one, then the other gave way. The Japanese broke through and seized the Point 551 feature which dominated the eastern half of the Maungdaw–Buthidaung road. In the confused fighting that followed, we not only failed to retake Point 551, but were pushed back, and the Japanese got astride the road. That meant we could no longer maintain a force in Buthidaung, as the road was its only means of access. Even more serious, it put paid to most of the wheeled transport east of the range. We had now no route by which to get it away, and when the troops pulled out of Buthidaung by jungle tracks over the hills they destroyed their vehicles. It was too much like 1942 over again, with the added bitterness that this time we had been defeated by forces smaller than our own.

  It was no use crying over spilt milk. In war you have to pay for your mistakes, and in Arakan the same mistakes had been made again and again until the troops lost heart. I got very angry with one or two units that had not behaved well, and said some hard things to them, but thinking it over I was not sure the blame was all theirs. In any case, what was wanted now was not recriminations, post mortems, and witch hunts, but some clear—and quick—thinking.

  Could we hang on to the tunnels area and the western part of the lateral road? Could we hold Maungdaw? If not, where should we go back to? Bawli Bazaar, Cox’s Bazaar, Chittagong? Frankly, the troops that had been in action for the past weeks were fought out and many of them could not be relied on to hold anything. I had asked for the 70th Division from Ranchi to enable me to send back to India the bulk of worn-out formations, and it was coming in bit by bit, but less than a brigade had yet arrived. It would have taken a month or two to stock up Maungdaw, while ships coming in would have to run a Japanese gauntlet. To hang on to Maungdaw as a matter of prestige—and it had now no other value—would have been to invite a siege and a disaster. I urged its abandonment. The Army Commander was naturally reluctant, but I was quite sure, whatever the effects in Delhi, we must get out, and he finally agreed. Our only hope of stabilizing the front, if the Japanese really pushed us, was to hold the rice-field country. Our men were still untrained for the jungle and they feared it more than they did the enemy. We had to select areas where we could give our troops reasonable fields of fire and open manoeuvre. The first place where this could be done was about Cox’s Bazaar, and here we planned a layout for a division of three or four brigades, astride the main line of advance to Chittagong. Bawli we would hold as what amounted to an outpost position. It was very galling to be thrown back on these defensive tactics, but at the moment there was no alternative.

  I was constantly flying between Lomax’s and my headquarters. On one occasion, when seeking a forward brigade, I got a bad fright through landing on an airstrip we had already abandoned, but which luckily the Japanese had not yet taken over. The situation was not improved by the pilot of my Lysander stopping his engine before we realized where we were, and then being unable to restart it! Before he got it going again I was sweating with more than the heat.

  With great skill and very little loss Lomax broke contact with the Japanese. On 11th May we evacuated Maungdaw and pulled back to the
new positions. The rain came and the enemy, almost as tired as we were, sat down on his gains at Buthidaung, the Tunnels, and Maungdaw, making no serious attempt to follow us to Bawli.

  Here we were back where we had started, a sad ending to our first and much heralded offensive. Our actual losses in killed, wounded, and missing were not high, about two thousand five hundred, and, while we had not inflicted as many on the enemy, he had suffered too. Malaria had taken a heavy toll, far above our battle casualties, and we had lost a good deal of equipment. Neither these serious losses nor the abandonment of territory was as damaging as the loss of morale. It was no use disguising the fact that many of the British and Indian units which had fought in Arakan were shaken and depressed. As so often happens, too, the troops in the rear areas, who greatly outnumbered those at the front, suffered an even greater decline in morale. It was plain that our main task during the respite of the monsoon must be to rebuild that morale. At this critical time, two men, each almost the antithesis of the other, one indirectly, the other directly, came to our help. The first was Brigadier Orde Wingate; the second, General Sir George Giffard.