The Rising Sun: The Decline and Fall of the Japanese Empire, 1936-1945 (Modern Library War)

by Toland, John

  Yamashita himself was under emotional stress. The son of a simple country doctor, he had not chosen the Army as a career. “My father suggested the idea,” he said, “because I was big and healthy, and my mother did not seriously object because she believed, bless her soul, that I would never pass the highly competitive entrance examination.” He was a heavyset man with bull neck and large head. His face was expressionless and he appeared insensitive, but inside he seethed with resentment. He felt his promotion to lieutenant general had been delayed for years because back in 1929 he had supported General Ugaki’s plan to reduce the Army by several divisions, and his suspicions of superiors in both Saigon and Tokyo were beginning to verge on paranoia: General Terauchi was purposely holding back air support, and Tojo planned to have him assassinated once Singapore fell. Yamashita wrote in his diary: “It’s a crime that there is no one in high places in Japan who can be relied upon,” and “That damn Terauchi lives in luxury in Saigon, sleeps in a comfortable bed, eats good food and plays shogi.”

  His feelings of persecution reached a climax on January 23 when Terauchi’s chief of staff arrived from Saigon with a packet of notes on how to capture the island of Singapore. Yamashita tore up the suggestions and confided to his diary: “If there are two ways of doing something, trust Southern Army to pick the wrong one.”

  In the meantime his troops methodically kept breaking through the static British lines of defense. It was clear that even Bennett’s Australians could not hold them back and a general retreat from Malaya began. By midnight of January 31 almost all British troops had crossed the seventy-foot-wide causeway that connected the peninsula with the island of Singapore. Just after dawn a skirl of bagpipes could be heard, and to the tune of “A Hundred Pipers” the battered remnants of the Argyll Battalion, a mere ninety men, marched briskly onto the bridge. Bringing up the rear was their commander, the last man off Malaya.

  Demolition squads laid final charges on the causeway and at eight o’clock there was a dull roar. When the smoke drifted away, onlookers could see water rushing through a wide gap. They figured their fortress was safely cut off from the Japanese; but the water in the gap was scarcely four feet deep at low tide.

  Singapore, ten times the size of Manhattan, extended twenty-six miles from east to west, fourteen miles from north to south. Most of its population was crowded in the city in the south. Except for scattered towns and settlements, the rest of the island was covered with rubber plantations and jungle growth. The commander in chief was Lieutenant-General A. E. Percival, a tall, thin man with two protruding, rabbitlike teeth. He was a man of quiet charm and ability, but some felt he lacked the forcefulness to inspire the assorted units under him.

  There were two ways to defend the island: hold at the beaches or fight the enemy inland with massed reserves. Even with a coastline of more than seventy miles, Percival decided to make his stand on the beaches. The situation seemed to favor him. His intelligence unit estimated he would have to face 60,000 Japanese troops, and he had 85,000 men. Of course, 15,000 of these were noncombatants and many of the others were untrained and poorly armed, but the enemy would suffer heavy casualties in the attempt to storm across Johore Strait.

  In fact, he would only have to do battle with 30,000 Japanese. Their intelligence was as far off as Percival’s. Tsuji, who had been given the responsibility of planning the invasion, was told there were merely 30,000 defenders. He sat up all that night drawing a plan that would throw the British off balance. The main attack would be made to the right of the causeway and at night by the 5th and 18th divisions. However, the Konoye Division would make a demonstration attack the previous day on the other side of the causeway to deceive the British. To ensure secrecy, all inhabitants within a dozen miles of the strait were to be evacuated while the two attack divisions moved stealthily into position, with orders not to build any cooking fires.

  The following morning Yamashita assembled forty division commanders and senior officers in a rubber plantation and with flushed face read out the attack orders. Kikumasamune (ceremonial wine) was poured into each man’s canteen cap and a traditional toast was drunk: “It is a good place to die; surely we shall conquer.”

  Yamashita set up headquarters in the Green Palace, built by the Sultan of Johore on a hill overlooking the causeway. It was a striking building of red brick and green tile surmounted by a five-story observation tower. The command post was set up at the top of the tower in a room with large windows, which gave Yamashita a panoramic view of the north coast of Singapore. It was the most vulnerable spot he could have chosen, but he reasoned that the British would never imagine he was foolhardy enough to use it. Moreover, he was certain it ran against British policy to bombard such a fine building.

  During the following days, trains and three thousand trucks moved up big guns, ammunition and supplies. Hundreds of folding boats and landing craft were transported under cover of darkness and hidden in the bushes a mile or so from the shoreline.

  On the evening of February 7 the demonstration by the Konoye Division began. With considerable commotion twenty motor launches landed four hundred men and two mountain guns on a small island in the strait overlooking Seletar Naval Base and Changi Fortress. The next morning at first light, artillery began pounding the fortress. As expected, the British rushed reinforcements above the causeway. After dark the 5 th and 18th divisions hoisted their boats to their shoulders and carried them more than a mile to the strait. As they neared the shore a concentrated artillery barrage of 440 guns opened up. The first targets were the huge tanks at the naval base to prevent the British from dumping oil into the strait and igniting it. Next, the guns were trained on the pillboxes, trenches and wire entanglements below the causeway where the landings would take place.

  At ten-thirty the first wave, almost four thousand men, boarded three hundred collapsible boats, landing craft and pontoons. The bombardment drowned out the sound of the motors as the little armada neared the northwest coast of Singapore. It was defended by twenty-five hundred Australians.

  From the glassed-in tower Yamashita and his staff could see little of what was happening. It looked as if all of Singapore Island was engulfed in fire and explosions. Ten minutes later blue flares rocketed up from the island. The 5th Division had landed on schedule.

  The first invaders had hit the beach at the end of Lim Chu Kang Road to be racked with heavy fire from Australians of the 24th Machine-Gun Battalion. Other landing craft beached on a nearby mangrove swamp area which was lightly defended. The outnumbered Australians fought hard all night but were unable to hold back the Japanese, and in the early-morning hours scores of tanks landed and strong infantry-tank teams moved inshore. By dawn there were fifteen thousand infantrymen and several artillery units on the island.

  From the Green Palace tower Yamashita watched his men stream past rubber trees toward Tengah Airfield. Advance elements were already within ten air miles of the city of Singapore. By the end of the day Yamashita left the tower with his staff to cross Johore Strait in a raft made of three boats.

  On Java, General Wavell decided to make a personal inspection of the embattled island. The Japanese controlled the air, but the following day the ABDA commander managed to break through. From the corridors at Percival’s headquarters, staff officers could hear angry voices. Wavell was criticizing Percival for allowing the Japanese to establish a bridgehead so easily, and he got so exasperated with Bennett that he told the Australian commander to “get the hell out” and take his “bloody Aussies” with him.

  Wavell ordered an immediate counterattack. Its utter failure did not inhibit him from issuing an order of the day that could have come from Churchill himself:

  It is certain that our troops on Singapore Island greatly outnumber any Japanese that have crossed the Straits. We must defeat them. Our whole fighting reputation is at stake and the honour of the British Empire. The Americans have held out on the Bataan Peninsula against far greater odds, the Russians are turning back the picked
strength of the Germans, the Chinese with almost complete lack of modern equipment have held the Japanese for 4½ years. It will be disgraceful if we yield our boasted fortress of Singapore to inferior enemy forces.

  There must be no thought of sparing troops or the civil population and no mercy must be shown to weakness in any shape or form. Commanders and senior officers must lead their troops and if necessary die with them.

  There must be no question or thought of surrender. Every unit must fight it out to the end and in close contact with the enemy.… I look to you and your men to fight to the end to prove that the fighting spirit that won our Empire still exists to enable us to defend it.

  This done, he flew back to Java. In the dark he fell off a dock and broke two small bones in his back. From the hospital he signaled Churchill:

  BATTLE FOR SINGAPORE IS NOT GOING WELL … MORALE OF SOME TROOPS IS NOT GOOD, AND NONE IS AS HIGH AS I SHOULD LIKE TO SEE.… EVERYTHING POSSIBLE IS BEING DONE TO PRODUCE MORE OFFENSIVE SPIRIT AND OPTIMISTIC OUTLOOK, BUT I CANNOT PRETEND THAT THESE EFFORTS HAVE BEEN ENTIRELY SUCCESSFUL UP TO DATE. I HAVE GIVEN THE MOST CATEGORICAL ORDERS THAT THERE IS TO BE NO THOUGHT OF SURRENDER AND THAT ALL TROOPS ARE TO CONTINUE FIGHTING TO THE END.

  By sunrise the Japanese had taken almost half the island, including strategic Bukit Timah (Mountain of Tin), the highest point on the island. Advance units were approaching the racetrack at the edge of Singapore City. Nevertheless, Tsuji was dismayed by the increasingly stiff resistance, particularly from effective British artillery fire. The enemy seemed to have an endless supply of shells, while Japanese ammunition was already dangerously low. Moreover, it was now obvious that intelligence had grossly underestimated British strength at thirty thousand troops; there must be at least twice that many.

  And so it was with covert desperation that Yamashita sent Percival a demand for surrender. Late that morning a reconnaissance plane dropped a tube marked by red and white streamers on the outskirts of the city. It contained a message signed by Yamashita but composed by Lieutenant Colonel Ichiji Sugita. The words were inspired by the surrender of the forty-seven ronin.

  In the spirit of chivalry we have the honour of advising your surrender. Your army, founded on the traditional spirit of Great Britain, is defending Singapore, which is completely isolated, and raising the fame of Great Britain by the utmost exertions and heroic feelings.… From now on resistance is futile and merely increases the danger to the million civilian inhabitants without good reason, exposing them to infliction of pain by fire and sword. But the development of the general war situation has already sealed the fate of Singapore, and the continuation of futile resistance would only serve to inflict direct harm and injuries to thousands of non-combatants living in the city, throwing them into. further miseries and horrors of war. Furthermore we do not feel you will increase the fame of the British Army by further resistance.

  Percival did not send Yamashita a reply. He had been told to “fight to the end.” As yet there was no panic in Singapore despite bombs and shells. Civilians were standing in line outside the cinema in the Cathay skyscraper to see The Philadelphia Story, and the Raffles Hotel was crowded with staff officers with nothing to do but drink and carp. Someone scrawled in chalk on a wall: ENGLAND FOR THE ENGLISH, AUSTRALIA FOR THE AUSTRALIANS, BUT MALAY FOR ANY SON OF A BITCH WHO WANTS IT.

  Stragglers streamed down the main roads toward the city. An intelligence officer, David James, stopped a formation of Indians and asked their commander why they were going in the wrong direction. He said an Australian officer had advised them “to beat it because the Nips were coming over the hill.” You’re supposed to find the Japanese, not run a foot race with them, said James. “Quite so, but you don’t remain where you are not wanted, do you?” answered the commander and led off his men at a jog.

  Even several Australian units which had fought well in Malaya pushed aside MP’s attempting to block their way to the city. “Chum, to hell with Malaya and Singapore,” said one. “Navy let us down, air force let us down. If the ‘bungs’ [natives] won’t fight for their bloody country, why pick on me?”

  Sensing complete collapse, Percival formed a tight defense arc in front of the city, but by Friday the thirteenth it was apparent to every one of his commanders that Singapore was doomed. Wavell was asked to approve an immediate surrender, but his stiff answer from Bandung ordered the defenders to “continue to inflict maximum damage on enemy for as long as possible by house-to-house fighting if necessary.” Percival replied that the Japanese controlled most of the reservoirs and there was little water left. Wavell replied:

  YOUR GALLANT STAND IS SERVING A PURPOSE AND

  MUST BE CONTINUED TO THE LIMIT OF ENDURANCE.

  Ironically, Japanese concern over Singapore was growing on all levels. “I hope it won’t turn out to be another Bataan,” Admiral Matome Ugaki, Yamamoto’s chief of staff, wrote in his diary. On the island itself Captain Asaeda prophesied that if the British held out for another week, “they’ll beat us.” Each field gun had a hundred rounds at most, and the big guns fewer than that. There was pressure on Yamashita to call off the attack and even to withdraw to the peninsula. He ordered the assault continued.

  On the morning of February 15 Percival called a conference of area commanders and told them that there was almost no gasoline or field-gun and Bofors ammunition. In twenty-four hours there wouldn’t be a drop of water. He said he would ask the Japanese to cease fire at four o’clock. Before the day was out, he got permission for what he had already planned to do. Wavell told him he was free to surrender once it was evident that he could do no more.

  … WHATEVER HAPPENS I THANK YOU AND ALL TROOPS

  FOR YOUR GALLANT EFFORTS OF LAST FEW DAYS.

  From the heights at Bukit Timah, Yamashita watched a Union Jack still fluttering atop Fort Canning in the city of Singapore. It would take a week of hard fighting to take that hill alone, and many more days to break through the final defense lines. The field phone rang. A front-line commander reported that the British were sending out a flag of truce.

  Colonel Ichiji Sugita, his neck encased in a plastic cast after a motorcycle crash, drove forward to meet the British parliamentaries. “We will have a truce if the British Army agrees to surrender,” he said in Japanese. “Do you wish to surrender?”

  The British interpreter, Captain Cyril H. D. Wild, said, “We do.” He was tall, blue-eyed, the son of the Bishop of Newcastle. Sugita told him to return with Percival and his staff. They met again at four forty-five and proceeded in two cars toward the Ford factory near the village of Bukit Timah. Next to Percival sat Sugita. He turned painfully to the general and said in halting English, “We fought for more than two months. Now we come to the end. I compliment you on the British stand.” Percival politely mumbled a few amenities. His thin face was red, his eyes bloodshot.

  The surrender party dismounted in front of the factory. They seemed arrogant to the Japanese, although it was Percival himself who carried the white flag. Inside the big rambling building they were surrounded by clamoring reporters, photographers and newsreel men. Five minutes later, at seven o’clock, Yamashita appeared, and the commotion increased as more than forty men crowded into one small room. The surrender had come so unexpectedly that Yamashita had not glanced at the surrender terms, which Sugita had typed out in English days earlier. “The Japanese Army will consider nothing but surrender,” said Yamashita. He knew the British outnumbered him by far and his greatest concern was to prevent Percival from finding this out.

  “I fear that we shall not be able to submit our final reply before ten-thirty P.M.,” Percival replied. He had no intention of continuing the battle. He merely wanted to work out specific details before signing any surrender.

  But Yamashita was sure the Englishman was stalling. Terms had to be settled before the enemy realized that the Japanese were numerically inferior. Street fighting in the city would be disastrous.§ “Reply to us only whether our terms are acceptable or not,” he said tersely
. “Things must be settled swiftly. We are prepared to resume firing.” Through a window came the glare of fires in Singapore.

  Sugita saw that misunderstanding was threatening the surrender and took over from Yamashita’s incompetent interpreter. He did little better. The disjointed argument continued, aggravated by Wild’s poor command of Japanese and Percival’s reluctance to submit on the spot.

  Yamashita lost his patience. “Unless you do surrender,” he burst out, “we will have to carry out our night attack as scheduled.”

  “Cannot the Japanese Army remain in its present position?” the stunned Percival asked. “We can resume negotiations again tomorrow at five-thirty A.M.”

  “Nani!” Yamashita pretended indignation to hide his concern. “I want the hostilities to cease tonight and I want to remind you there can be no arguments.”

  It was not the gentlemanly surrender Percival wanted. “We shall discontinue firing by eight-thirty P.M.,” he mumbled. “Had we better remain in our present positions tonight?”

  Yamashita told him to do so. Firing would cease at eight-thirty and a thousand men could keep arms to maintain order in the city. Percival’s vague manner made Yamashita suspicious. “You have agreed to the terms but you have not yet made yourself clear as to whether you agree to surrender or not.” Percival could not speak. It was the worst military disaster in British history, the bitterest moment of his life. He cleared his throat but all he could do was nod.

  In exasperation Yamashita told Sugita he wanted the British to give a simple answer. The interpreter, however, got involved in another lengthy discourse with Wild. Yamashita restlessly kept looking at his watch and finally shook a finger at Sugita. “There’s no need for all this talk. It is a simple question and I want a simple answer.” He turned to Percival and shouted, “We want to hear ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ from you! Surrender or fight!”