Despite a propensity to husband expensive equipment, the Chinese decided at this point to throw major parts of their new tank force into the battle. As was the case with the German-trained divisions and the air force, this was another key asset that had taken years to build up. Following the 1932 incident, when Japan had used its armor to some effect, the Nationalist government had decided to acquire its own tank arm, purchasing tanks from a variety of European nations, including Germany, Britain and Italy. As a result of these efforts, by the outbreak of hostilities in 1937, China was able to deploy the British-built, 6-ton, single-turret Vickers model in Shanghai.
The 87th Infantry Division was given disposal of two armored companies, and it lost everything. Some of the tanks had just arrived from Nanjing, and their crews had not had any time to undertake training in coordinated attacks, or even simply to establish rapport with the local troops. As a result, the tank companies were mostly left to their own devices without infantry support.77 The Chinese also often neglected to seal off adjacent streets when deploying their tanks, allowing Japanese armor to outflank them and knock them out. To be sure, the Japanese, too, lacked experience in coordination between armor and infantry and frequently saw their tanks annihilated by Chinese anti-tank weapons.78
On August 20, Zhang Zhizhong was inspecting the Yangshupu front when he met one of his former students from the Central Military Academy, who was in charge of a tank company that was about to attack the wharves. Some of the tanks under his command had been under repair and hastily pulled out of the workshop. “The vehicles are no good,” the young officer complained. “The enemy fire is fierce, and our infantry will have trouble keeping up.” Zhang was relentless, telling the young officer that the attack had to be carried through to the end nonetheless. A few moments later the tank company started its assault. The young officer and his entire unit were wiped out in a hail of shells, many of them fired from vessels anchored in the Huangpu River. “It saddens me even today when I think about it,” Zhang wrote many years later in his memoirs.79
In this battle, modern tank warfare mixed with scenes more reminiscent of earlier centuries. Wu Yujun, an officer of the Peace Preservation Corps, was manning a position in the streets of Yangshupu on the morning of August 18 when a detachment of Japanese cavalry attacked. The raid was over almost instantly, and left numerous dead and injured Chinese in its wake. The Japanese repeated the assault two more times. The third time, Wu Yujun prepared an elaborate ambush, posting machine guns on both sides of the street. As the riders galloped past, they and their horses were chopped to pieces. Apart from four prisoners, all Japanese lost their lives. The 20th century had met the 19th century on the battlefield, and won.80 It was a typical incident, and yet in one respect also very atypical. In the streets of Shanghai in August 1937, Chinese soldiers were far likelier to confront a technologically superior enemy than the other way around.
Many of the Chinese units arriving in Shanghai had never tasted battle before, and in the first crucial days of fighting, their lack of experience proved costly. Fang Jing, a brigade commander of the 98th Division, one of the units to arrive early in Shanghai, noticed how his soldiers often set up inadequate fortifications that were no match for the artillery rolled out by the Japanese. “Often, the positions they built were too weak and couldn’t withstand the enemy’s 150mm howitzers,” he said. “The upshot was that men and materiel were buried inside the positions they had built for themselves.”81
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No one was surprised that the Japanese soldiers put up a determined fight in Shanghai. Since their 1904–1905 triumph over the Russian Empire, the legend of the “brave little Jap”82 had become firmly established in the mind of the global public. So widespread was this view that if Japanese soldiers did not fight to the death, it was a source of genuine surprise. However, at moments of absolute frankness, the Japanese themselves could feel a need to add nuance to foreign stereotypes about their countrymen’s behavior in battle. “Our soldiers would prefer death to surrender,” a Japanese diplomat was quoted as saying, “but the majority secretly hope that they will return honorably to their own country, either wounded or unscathed.”83
Foreign journalists noticed to their astonishment that there seemed to be little in the Japanese code of honor that prevented them from fleeing from a hopeless situation. One of them remembered seeing a number of Japanese soldiers run back from a failed attack during the battle of Shanghai, with the Chinese in hot pursuit. There were even rare instances of Japanese soldiers raising the white flag. The same correspondent witnessed a party of about 50 Japanese motorcyclists who had become bogged down in a rice paddy near the city and were surrounded by Chinese. They surrendered immediately without making any effort to resist.84
These were minority cases. Most Japanese soldiers lived up to the high expectations placed on their shoulders at home and abroad. Physically, they tended to be short by western standards, but they were strong and capable of enduring immense hardship.85 This was as a result of rigorous training combined with draconian discipline, underpinned by the threat and liberal use of corporal punishment. The training was so efficient that a Japanese soldier entering the reserve never ceased to be a soldier again. In the early months of the war, American correspondent John Goette met a Japanese private in his late 30s who had just been called up from his civilian occupation as a dentist. “Hundreds of thousands like him had made a swift change from civilian life to the handling of a rifle on foreign soil,” he wrote. “Twenty years after his conscript training, this dentist was again a soldier.”86
An added element in the training of Japanese soldiers was indoctrination, which came in the form of repetition of the virtues—self-sacrifice, obedience and loyalty to the emperor—which the soldiers had learned since childhood. The result was mechanic obedience on the battlefield. “Even though his officers appear to have an ardor which might be called fanaticism,” a U.S. military handbook remarked later in the war, “the private soldier is characterized more by blind and unquestioning subservience to authority.”87 The downside was that soldiers and junior officers were not encouraged to think independently or take the initiative themselves. They expected to be issued detailed orders and would follow them slavishly. When the situation changed in ways that had not been foreseen by their commanders—which was the norm rather than the exception in battle—they were often left perplexed and unable to act.88
It could be argued that the Japanese military had few other options than to train its soldiers in this way, since to a large extent it drew its recruits from agricultural areas where there was limited access to education. It was said that for every 100 men in a Japanese unit, 80 were farm boys, ten were clerks, five factory workers, and five students.89 Nevertheless, reading was a favorite pastime among Japanese soldiers. Military trains were littered with books and magazines, mostly simple pulp fiction. When the trains stopped at stations, even the locomotive’s engineer could be observed reading behind the throttle.90 Some of them were prolific writers, too. A large number of Japanese in the Shanghai area had brought diaries and wrote down their impressions with great perception and eloquence. Some officers even composed poems in the notoriously difficult classical style.
Many Japanese soldiers grew large beards while in China, but in a twist that was not easy to understand for foreigners, they could sometimes mix a fierce martial exterior with an almost feminine inner appreciation of natural beauty. Trainloads of Japanese soldiers would flock to the windows to admire a particularly striking sunset. It was not unusual to see a Japanese soldier holding his rifle and bayonet in one hand, and a single white daisy in the other. “Missionaries have found,” wrote U.S. correspondent Haldore Hanson, “that when bloodstained Japanese soldiers break into their compounds during a ‘mopping up’ campaign, the easiest way to pacify them is to present each man with a flower.”91
Many Japanese soldiers also carried cameras into battle, and as was the case with the Germans on the E
astern Front, their snapshots came to con-stitute a comprehensive photographic record of their own war crimes. Journalist John Powell remembered his revulsion when he saw a photo of two Japanese soldiers standing next to the body of a Chinese woman they had just raped. He had obtained the image from a Korean photo shop in Shanghai where it had been handed in to be developed. “The soldiers apparently wanted the prints to send to their friends at home in Japan,” he wrote. “Japanese soldiers seemingly had no feelings whatsoever that their inhuman actions transgressed the tenets of modern warfare or common everyday morals.”92
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On August 20, five Chinese aircraft were returning after another fruitless attack on the Izumo, which was still moored in the middle of the Huangpu, when they encountered two Japanese seaplanes over western Zhabei. A Chinese plane broke formation, went into a steep dive and fired a short machine gun salvo at one of the Japanese. It did not have a chance. It burst into flames and plunged to the ground. The other Japanese plane disappeared in the clouds. The entire encounter had only taken a few seconds.93 It was one of a series of hits that the Chinese Air Force scored during a brief period in August before it was completely subdued by its Japanese adversary.
In particular, it posed a threat to Japanese bombers, such as the highly flammable Mitsubishi G3M medium aircraft assigned to striking targets in Shanghai and other cities in central China. Japan’s First Combined Air Group lost half of its medium attack planes in the first three days of the battle for Shanghai, some missing, some confirmed shot down and others heavily damaged. Their crews were particularly vulnerable, since they did not bring parachutes on their missions.94 From late August, the air group’s bombers were escorted by Type 95 Nakajima A4N biplanes.95 This action amounted to a humiliating admission that China’s nascent air force was a force to be reckoned with.
“In view of the pressing situation in the Shanghai area,” said the First Combined Air Group’s commander, “our air raids reminded me of that famous, costly assault against the 203-Meter Hill.”96 The battle for 203-Meter Hill had been one of the bloodiest episodes of the entire Russo-Japanese War, claiming thousands of casualties on both sides. The Chinese performance was significant enough that even foreign military observers paid attention. British intelligence, in a report summarizing military events in the middle of August, noted Chinese claims of having downed 32 Japanese aircraft. “This statement appears well-founded,” the report’s writer added.97
Even so, the Chinese airmen had been mostly untested and only partly trained when the war started. Their inferiority, especially against Japanese fighters, began to tell, and they gradually disappeared from the skies over Shanghai. Their compatriots on the ground expressed frustration over the lack of air cover. “We occasionally spotted two or three of our own airplanes, but the moment they encountered enemy anti-aircraft fire, they disappeared,” said Fang Jing, a regimental commander of the 98th Infantry Division. “They were no use at all. After August 20, I never saw our planes again.” 98
That may have been hyperbole,99 but it was undeniable that the evolving Japanese air superiority proved a major handicap for the Chinese. The Chinese commanders soon realized that they had to carry out major troop movements under the cover of darkness. Japan’s domination of the skies affected everything the Chinese soldiers did and even determined when they could get food. “We didn’t eat until at night,” said Fang Zhendong, a soldier of the 36th Infantry Division. “That was the only time we could get anything. In the daytime, it was impossible to transport provisions to the frontline.”100
Without fighter protection the troops on the ground were dangerously exposed. They had very little in the way of anti-aircraft weaponry, mostly 20mm Solothurn guns produced in Switzerland. However, even these weapons made next to no difference as they were primarily deployed against enemy infantry.101 Also, the Chinese officers were reluctant to use their anti-aircraft guns lest they reveal their positions to the Japanese aircraft.102 In late August when Japanese Admiral Hasegawa was asked by a Reuters journalist visiting his flagship if he was in control of the air, his reply was prompt: “Yes,” he said. “I believe so.”103
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By the morning of August 21, the 36th Division had pressed the attack against the wharf area almost without interruption for over 48 hours, and victory seemed as elusive as ever. Individual tanks had managed to break into the wharfs, only to discover to their dismay how extraordinarily robust the Japanese defenses were, and how numerous the troops manning them. In order to punch holes in the Japanese lines and reach Huangpu River, significant tactical muscle was required, and the Chinese no longer had it.104
The commanders had no choice but to acknowledge that the division had moved too fast and had neglected to secure its flanks, while reserves that could have moved up and shouldered that responsibility had stayed in the rear. It was necessary to withdraw. During the course of August 21, the division had to go through the agony of abandoning territory won at the expense of much blood over the preceding days. The 36th Infantry Division’s retreat marked the final admission by the Chinese that pushing the Japanese into the river was not going to be a simple maneuver.
Part of the reason for the lack of success was a failure to carry out joint operations involving different service arms. The German advisors complained that the Chinese troops on the Pudong side delivered only limited artillery support for the soldiers fighting in Yangshupu. By contrast, the Japanese naval guns were constantly active, doing their utmost to relieve the hard-pressed marines. This activity resulted in heavy losses, not only for the Chinese units at the front, but also for reserve and support units further to the rear, and contributed to the 36th Division suffering more than 2,000 casualties by late on August 22.105
Meanwhile, Japanese naval aircraft tried to prevent the movement of more Chinese troops to Shanghai by bombing the railway from Suzhou. However, despite the destruction of several bridges and damage to some railway stations, there were only minor delays. This was welcome news for the Chinese commanders, who had realized that the available resources were insufficient to bring the Shanghai battle to a successful conclusion. New reinforcements were necessary before further attacks could be launched.106 The assumption was that there was still time. The fact was that there was not.
While the Chinese officers were standing around their maps making plans for the future, Asano Yoshiuchi was waiting aboard the light cruiser Jintsu only a few miles away, in the Yangtze estuary. It was the afternoon of August 22, and the 23-year-old officer of the Imperial Japanese Army knew that very soon he would be part of one of the largest amphibious operations ever attempted. His own 3rd Division would land six miles north of Shanghai, and the 11th Division would get ashore a dozen miles further up the Yangtze. Neither division would be of full strength initially. The advance part of the 3rd Division numbered 3,500 men, while the 11th Division, which was short of the regiment-sized Amaya Detachment posted to northeast China,107 would land 4,000 men.108 If the operation succeeded, it would boost the Shanghai garrison by thousands of battle-ready soldiers and might tilt the balance in Japan’s favor.109
For Asano, the days since the 3rd Division had received orders to depart for Shanghai had passed in a confused and action-filled haze. When they had marched out of their barracks in the city of Nagoya in southern Japan a little more than a week earlier, cheering and flag-waving crowds of civilians had seen them off. Then there had been long days of waiting inside Nagoya harbor, until dawn on August 20, when the division had suddenly embarked on several large steamers and sailed off. They soon found themselves part of a task force headed for China. It was led by Nachi and Ashigara, heavy cruisers that had been the most powerful of their class when they were built a decade earlier and were still impressive vessels. Asano had felt his chest swell with pride as he watched the cruisers’ immense steel hulls plow through the violent waves.
Late at night on August 21, the task force had reached the Yangtze R
iver and the Saddle Islands off the river estuary. The soldiers had to be moved onto smaller vessels that could navigate the shallow waters of the Huangpu River. Asano and his unit transferred to the Jintsu, using gangways extended between the vessels. They had practiced this move many times before, and it was easy enough to do in the still waters of a harbor, but in the violent seas off China they had to take care that the ships did not collide against each other. Dozens of sailors were standing with long bamboo poles pushing the two hulls away from each other. Once aboard the Jintsu, Asano and his comrades discovered few creature comforts, and they had a hard time resting in the swelling heat of the Chinese summer. They had to find any spot they could on the vessel that offered some draft and get as much sleep as possible.
Asano and thousands of other soldiers were waiting almost within sight of the China coast, and still they went undetected. The Chinese commanders had neglected aerial reconnaissance over the Yangtze, and none of them had any idea about this large force waiting to strike. The intelligence failure was all the more astonishing because there had been speculation aplenty. It was widely assumed that if Japan were to send relief to the beleaguered marines in Shanghai, it would land somewhere outside the city, possibly on the right bank of the Yangtze River. “From these points threats can be developed to Chinese (lines of command) along the Shanghai-Nanjing and Shanghai-Hangzhou railways,” reasoned an anonymous British analyst in a weekly intelligence summary on the situation in the Far East.110
Shanghai 1937: Stalingrad on the Yangtze Page 10