Second World War, The

by Corrigan, Gordon

  Giffard was in many ways an unusual British general. He had commanded a British battalion, but most of his service had been in Africa with African troops. In one of his brief incarnations in the wider army, he had been on the staff of 2 Division in Aldershot from 1933 to 1936, when Wavell had commanded the division, and it was that experience that convinced Wavell to ask for Giffard to come out to India. Wavell’s instinct was right: Giffard was a robust, no-nonsense commander who knew that the priority was to restore morale, and he began to institute better medical arrangements and measures to maintain health in an unhealthy climate, an improvement in rations and in the way that they were prepared and a shake-up of the army’s organization so that what we would now call human resources problems were better dealt with. Tactically, he examined how troops could best be supplied by air and insisted on resources and assets being devoted to ensuring that this could be done. One of his great strengths, much appreciated by those under him, like Slim, was that, once he was convinced that a subordinate knew what he was about, Giffard would back him to the hilt.

  As regards future strategy, Wavell as Commander-in-Chief India had become embroiled in one of those nasty little spats between allies that are not only unnecessary but usually a product of too much testosterone and individuals’ overweening ambition. In 1942 Wavell and Stilwell had discussed a joint offensive into Burma in 1943 with between fifteen and twenty Chinese divisions, or up to 140,000 troops, advancing from Yunnan Province and five to seven British and American divisions, plus the two Chinese divisions in India, advancing from Assam, with a landing at Rangoon. The two thrusts would converge at Mandalay, and, as air cover and protection against Japanese naval manoeuvres would be essential, this would be provided by a combined British and American fleet of several battleships and up to eight aircraft carriers. In the meantime, the Americans would increase supplies to China to enable the promised divisions to be equipped for the campaign, and the British would work on providing an all-weather road from India into Burma. When in November 1942 the British announced that the fleet could not be made available as most of the ships earmarked for it were needed in the Mediterranean, notably to support the Torch offensive, and it was becoming obvious that the first Arakan offensive was not going as well as had been hoped, Chiang Kai-shek insisted that the British had broken their promises, citing Churchill as having promised such a fleet earlier in the year. Churchill (correctly) denied this, saying that his remarks were an aspiration, not a promise. Chiang now threw his teddy bear in the corner and announced that, if the British did not provide the fleet, then he would take no part in the coming offensive, which he claimed his troops were assembled and equipped to undertake.

  There were also disagreements within the American command structure. Brigadier-General Claire Chennault, who since April 1942 had been in command of all United States Army Air Force units in China,* was in disagreement with General Stilwell as to the proper role of his air force. Chennault thought that Japanese supply lines, always tenuous, could be attacked from the air, and that, given the relatively primitive state of Japan’s industry, this would do far more damage than an expensive land offensive into Burma. General Stilwell, claimed Chennault, was deliberately starving the air force of aviation spirit in favour of bringing in army supplies for the forthcoming offensive, and soon Chennault’s men and machines would be grounded. It also soon became clear that, contrary to Chiang’s bellicose statements, his divisions were not ready to undertake an offensive and that complaints about British bad faith were a cover to allow him to refuse to play. Eventually, after the Casablanca Conference had reinforced the decision that the war against Germany had priority over that against Japan, and after much to’ing and fro’ing between Washington, Chungking and Delhi, and with the failure of the First Arakan, it was decided that the Allies should endeavour to recapture all of Burma in one dry season – November 1943 to May 1944. As control of the Bay of Bengal would be essential to prevent the Japanese landing reinforcements in Burma, no major forays should be made before that, although aggressive patrolling could be undertaken and jump-off positions along the Chindwin established. Meanwhile, work would continue on the construction of an all-weather road from Ledo that would replace the Burma Road and once again enable the Americans to run supplies overland into China, and when the advance began Wingate’s Chindits would be inserted behind the opposing lines, by air this time.

  As time went on, it became increasingly apparent to Wavell and then to his successor Auchinleck that an invasion of Burma in 1943 as originally envisaged was going to be very difficult, if not impossible. Some discussion centred around bypassing Burma and landing instead on Java and Sumatra, which were closer to the Japanese homeland. This might succeed in breaking the Japanese defensive ring and also offered an opportunity to cut off Japanese shipping between the South China Sea and the Bay of Bengal, but the plan foundered on a lack of naval resources. British warships were needed most in the Mediterranean and to combat the U-boat menace in the Atlantic, and, anyway, supplies and equipment were not arriving from the UK in sufficient quantity to support the requirements for the planned expansion of the Indian Army, the building of airfields in Assam and the needs of Indian industry, never mind an offensive as well. There was also the risk of further political dissent within India which had not yet begun to affect the loyalty of the army but might do in the future. The enormous expansion programme had necessitated enlisting men from classes not previously considered suitable, and the commissioning of British and Indian officers who, unlike the prewar regular cadre, had not had the time to acquire the understanding of the language and culture of their men.

  Another real problem was famine, which struck Bengal in the aftermath of severe tropical storms in the autumn of 1942 that had flooded huge areas of rice-growing paddy. The peasant farmers had had to eat both their surplus and seed rice, rather than planting the latter in the winter, and so the 1943 crop was far smaller than usual. This would have been bad enough in itself, but the population of Bengal had increased hugely in the previous fifty years, the normal supply of imported rice from Burma had been cut off, there had been a poor wheat crop in the Punjab and a scorched-earth policy had been adopted along the Assam–Arakan border. As a result, there was simply not enough food available to feed the people. The Bengal provincial government was unable to cope; the British government had enough problems feeding its own population and in any case was unwilling to release shipping from the Mediterranean. By the summer of 1943 large numbers of Bengalis were starving, and with starvation came disease. By October people in Calcutta were dying at a rate of 2,000 a month (compared to a ‘normal’ death rate of 600 a month) and in the countryside things were worse, with men, women and children dying at the roadside or in their huts. Cholera was rampant and the crowds of refugees headed for the cities only made matters worse. The provincial government was composed of Indian politicians, many of whom had cornered the market in what rice was available and sold it at exorbitant prices, but it was advised by British officials and the provincial governor was British. If incompetence and corruption were among the reasons for the failure to provide relief measures, which they were, the British must shoulder the ultimate blame.

  At last it dawned on the British government that, if steps were not taken, and taken swiftly, to relieve the plight of the people of Bengal, then the implications for the security of India would be immense. Already Chandra Bose in Singapore was offering to supply rice from Burma, and this was trumpeted across India by Japanese radio broadcasts. The loyalty of its population was essential were India to be the base for operations against the Japanese, and so the War Cabinet in London reluctantly agreed to release the shipping to send food aid from the UK. That, and the realization by the new Viceroy, Wavell, that the civil administration was incapable of organizing and implementing famine relief measures and his instructions to the army to take over that responsibility, saved the day. Army convoys went to the outlying villages, army food distribution points were
opened in the cities, camps were set up for the destitute and teams from the Royal Army Medical Corps and the Indian Medical Services fanned out to deal with sickness and disease and to enforce preventative measures, particularly in regard to sanitation and the provision of clean water. The famine was quickly overcome, but it was a close-run thing that cost many lives and could, and should, have been prevented in the first place or at least alleviated far sooner than it was.

  On 31 November 1943 a limited Allied offensive into Burma began. In the Arakan, XV Corps was to establish a firm baseline from the small, but usable, port of Maungdaw on the west coast, along the track – which it would convert into a road – running east from there across the Mayu mountain range to Buthidaung on the River Kalapanzin. In the centre, IV Corps would advance from Assam towards Tamu and Tiddim, while Stilwell’s American and Chinese force was to move out from Yunnan to capture Myitkyina. Wingate’s greatly expanded Chindits, with better rations, more radios and a plethora of American-supplied weapons, was to support Stilwell’s and the Assam fronts, with two thirds of his columns being flown in and the others infiltrating on foot. Fighting was intense, and as usual the Japanese defended their bunkers, caves and dugouts tenaciously until they were winkled out by a combination of tanks firing armour-piercing solid shot at the bunkers to cover the infantry attacking them from the flanks or rear.

  Slim had always predicted a Japanese counter-attack, but when it came it was a surprise. From the Japanese viewpoint, the one thing that the first Chindit expedition had done was to convince Lieutenant-General Kawabe Masakasu, commanding the Burma Area Army, that to prevent another, and possibly larger, infiltration they should seize the likely mounting areas in India – Imphal and Kohima. This was approved by Imperial Headquarters in Tokyo and it was agreed that the necessary reinforcements could be moved using the newly completed railway that ran from Siam to link up with the existing rail network in Burma. Built between July 1942 and November 1943, a month ahead of schedule, the railway cut through 260 miles of mountainous jungle in what is probably one of the unhealthiest climates in the world. The Japanese used 60,000 prisoners of war and up to 200,000 Burmese, Siamese, Tamil, Malay and Javanese civilian labourers to build the railway and regarded this labour force as entirely expendable. Fed a meagre diet, or often nothing at all, and beaten unmercifully for the slightest attempt to rest from a pace that was unceasing, 9,000 British and Australian, 2,500 Dutch and 350 Americans died of disease, malnutrition or beatings, as did probably around one third of the civilian labourers.

  Once permission from Tokyo had been obtained and the necessary reinforcements agreed, the plan became rather more than just the capture of British mounting bases in Assam. Kawabe, egged on by his subordinate commanders and with the encouragement of Bose, the leader of the Japanese Indian National Army, thought that the offensive could be expanded into an invasion of India: once Imphal was taken, the units of the British Indian Army would desert en masse to the INA, there would be revolution in India and the ‘March on Delhi’ could begin. The 40,000-strong INA was moved up to the Burma front and Japanese soldiers were issued with guidance advising them not to eat cows once they reached India and not to treat Indian females as ‘comfort women’ in the way they had in all the territories conquered by them so far. Kawabe did not have the logistic support, artillery or air cover to embark on such an ambitious scheme so relied on the usual Japanese tactics of speed and surprise. If he could capture Imphal quickly, he could use the British supply depots to feed and fuel his army, and he had a large contingent of gunners without guns who would operate captured British artillery pieces. Experience had told the Japanese that, once British units were cut off from their supply lines by a Japanese hook to their rear, they would attempt to fight their way back and could be annihilated while so doing. The first phase of the operation would be a diversionary attack in the Arakan, aimed at the rear of XV Corps, and particularly the administrative area, or admin box, of the Indian 7 Division, the left-hand or easternmost division of the corps. This would be Operation Ha-Go, which would force the British to commit their reserves and distract them from the far larger Operation U-Go against Imphal.

  Despite Slim’s conviction that the Japanese would counter-attack, when Japanese troops suddenly appeared behind Lieutenant-General Christison’s XV Corps and threatened his administrative area, Fourteenth Army had no prior warning and had to react very swiftly to prevent disaster. The British practice had been to fight backwards towards main supply routes, but now XV Corps stood fast and the 7 Division administrative area was reinforced and told to defend itself. When the blow fell against Imphal, Slim flew two divisions in by air and the position held.When Kohima, north-east of Imphal, was also attacked and the main supply route from Dinapur cut, Slim refused to panic and ordered all concerned to stand firm. The fighting, much of it hand to hand, was ferocious, and at one stage the opponents blasted each other from either side of the tennis court of the Deputy Commissioner’s bungalow. In a prodigious effort, the RAF’s Third Tactical Air Force succeeded in resupplying all the beleaguered units while its fighters destroyed more and more Japanese aircraft. Time was not on the side of the Japanese. The INA proved useless, unwilling to fight and unhappy about having to eat Japanese rations, and the arrival of the monsoon in May made what were already scanty logistic arrangements almost unworkable. As it was, the road to Dinapur was reopened and, on 18 July, Kawabe was forced to admit that the operation had failed and ordered a withdrawal back across the Chindwin. Now the Chindits, instead of being a support for a main advance elsewhere, found themselves harrying and disrupting a beaten army as the Japanese reeled back.

  Wingate himself had been killed in an air crash during the deployment of his force in March 1944 and immediately the legend-makers went into action. Perhaps it was well for Wingate’s reputation that he died in action: as with those of General Gordon and T. E. Lawrence, his methods and ideas might not have stood up to cold scrutiny had he survived. His successor in command of the Chindits was Brigadier Joe Lentaigne, an officer of the fourth Gurkhas who, although he had commanded one of Wingate’s brigades, had never absorbed the Wingate ethos, considering his ideas and tactics to be fundamentally flawed. Inevitably, the Wingate deification lobby has accused Lentaigne of being the man who grievously misused the Chindits after Wingate’s death, whereas in fact he was simply reflecting Slim’s view that long-range penetration was an adjunct to more conventional operations and not an end in itself, and should not be allowed to denude the army of all its best men and assets.

  Although neither side realized it just yet, the failure of U-Go and Ha-Go was the beginning of the end for the Japanese in Burma. The British and Indian units were very different in outlook, skills and equipment from those that had been defeated so comprehensively a year before. Training and leadership had given them the confidence to hold out against a determined Japanese assault, and now they had shown that they could do that and win. For the Japanese, it was their first taste of defeat by the despised British, Indians and West Africans; of the 85,000 Japanese combat troops committed to battle, 35,000 were killed or missing and the rest were starving, disease-ridden and exhausted. It is certainly true that Fourteenth Army outnumbered the Japanese both in the Arakan and in Kohima and Imphal, just as it is true that the British were able to resupply by air whereas the Japanese could not and that the British were able to evacuate their wounded while the Japanese had to be left to die. All this notwithstanding, the Japanese were able to achieve local superiority in some areas, they did surprise Slim and his intelligence staff, and they did fight ferociously, tenaciously and with real courage. Slim has been accused of using a sledgehammer to crack a nut – some nut.

  Furthermore, what had previously been sheer fear of the Japanese had now been replaced by hatred: most of the soldiers of Fourteenth Army had heard of the atrocities committed in Hong Kong and Singapore, but few had actually experienced them. The overrunning of a field hospital in the Arakan in February and the po
intless massacre of the British and Indian medical staff and the patients brought it home just how inherently bestial their enemy was, and little mercy would be shown from here on. While this had the laudable effect of galvanizing the individual soldiers, it had less desirable results too, and Indian soldiers who captured members of the INA took to shooting them out of hand, partly because they were associated with the Japanese and partly because they had let down the Indian Army. While the soldiers who had remained loyal no doubt considered that they were only anticipating the results of subsequent courts martial, the shooting of prisoners, however understandable, is and was unquestionably illegal.

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  While Slim and Fourteenth Army were giving the Japanese a bloody nose in Burma and the Americans were preparing for Phase Two of their two-pronged strategy in the South Pacific, the Americans were also engaged in a battle rather closer to home. In June 1942, as part of the manoeuvres that led to the Battle of Midway, the Japanese had landed on Atu and Kiska, two of the Aleutian Islands. The Aleutians are a string of small and generally inoffensive islands that run from the tip of the Kamchatka peninsula in Russia to the tip of the Alaskan peninsula. Running in the other direction from Kamchatka, and part of the same geological feature, are the Kurile Islands that run for 700 miles to northern Japan. Atu and Kiska are 1,700 miles from Alaska but they are American territory and raised an old bugbear, one that dated to well before the first war, of invasion of the USA by the Yellow Peril. The Japanese had no intention of trying to invade continental America and had only occupied Atu and Kiska in case the Americans thought of invading Japan by way of the Aleutians and the Kuriles, but American public opinion demanded that they be removed and on 11 May 1943 an American division was landed on Atu. The Japanese garrison of 2,650 fought to the last man – 2,622 were killed and the remaining 28 too badly wounded to kill themselves – and it was not until 29 May that resistance ceased. The next step was to take Kiska, and 30,000 American and 5,000 Canadian troops were assembled in Alaska for this purpose. The Japanese, realizing that they could not reinforce in the teeth of American naval superiority, decided to evacuate the garrison, and in a brilliant little operation in July, carried out in thick fog, Japanese destroyers embarked the entire garrison and Japanese civilians – 5,000 in all – and slipped away unseen.When the American expeditionary force came storming up the beach on the night of 15/16 July in driving rain, they found nobody there. The operation to reclaim the Aleutians was entirely unnecessary and the Japanese garrisons could well have been left to wither on the vine, as the official history puts it, and the troops put to far greater use elsewhere, but in a democracy military common sense often has to come second to political necessity, and this was one of those times.